amphitheatre. 'But don't go thinking you're something special now. You're not — you're just a plain legionary, like me. Never again speak to an officer unless he addresses you first. Unless you want a good flogging, of course.'
Romulus nodded. No longer having to conceal his identity was worth any harsh discipline.
'Don't expect any special treatment from your comrades either. They won't give a shit about what you did here today,' the soldier went on. 'All they'll care about is how you fight against the fucking Republicans in Africa.'
Romulus caught the nervousness in the other's voice. 'How bad is it over there?'
There was a resigned shrug. 'The usual when fighting for Caesar. By all accounts, we'll be outnumbered two or three to one. The bastards also have vast numbers of Numidian cavalry, while we have next to none.'
Resigned, Romulus eyed the temple of Jupiter which loomed over the city. He couldn't visit it just yet. Nor would he get to see Fabiola. Instead, more danger beckoned.
In Africa.
Chapter XIII: Strands of Fate
Fussing like an old woman, Brutus put Fabiola to bed. Aided by Docilosa, he fetched warm blankets, watered-down wine and an assortment of herbal remedies. Guilt filled Fabiola. Unlike her 'fever', his solicitousness was natural and unfeigned. She had to continue with her charade, though, at least until that evening. Lying back, Fabiola closed her eyes and tried to put the image of unarmed men being killed by a horned, armoured beast from her mind. It was difficult, but the alternative — staring at Brutus' worried features — was little better.
Jovina had stepped in to run things from the reception area while Docilosa hovered in the background, her face a neutral mask. Fabiola knew well that this was only for Brutus' benefit. There were telltale signs that she could read: her servant's flaring nostrils, and the way she slapped down the glass of wine on the bedside table. As soon as he'd left, Docilosa would vent her spleen. It was unsurprising, thought Fabiola. Her coupling with Antonius had been an uncharacteristic moment of madness, which could have left her out on the street. Despite the calamitous outcome that had been so narrowly avoided, Fabiola still felt a surreptitious pleasure at what she'd done. They hadn't been caught, and that's all there was to it. She was her own mistress, and would carry on her own affairs as she chose. Docilosa wasn't going to tell her what to do. Who did her servant think she was anyway?
Part of Fabiola knew that she was overreacting, but Docilosa's self-righteousness wound her up so much that she felt it impossible to let go. There would be no unburdening of her worries and guilt today, she realised. Best to get a good rest — she could always do with more sleep — and settle things with Docilosa tomorrow. Slowing her breathing down, she pretended to doze off. Satisfied by this, Brutus issued a string of orders to Docilosa and left. He was still keen to see the Ethiopian bull.
With a disapproving sigh, Docilosa sat down on a stool by the bed. She made a few attempts to talk, whispering questions at Fabiola. Still annoyed and set on her decision, Fabiola studiously ignored her. Eventually Docilosa gave up. It wasn't long before Fabiola actually surrendered to sleep. Running the Lupanar was draining work.
Despite the sleeping draughts which Brutus had made her drink, Fabiola's nap was far from restful. Instead, she was plunged into a dark nightmare in which Antonius knew all about her secret plan. Dragging her before Caesar, he laughed as his master raped Fabiola. Brutus was nowhere to be seen. Tossing and turning, Fabiola could not stop the horrifying dream. When Caesar was finished, she was turned over to Scaevola. That was too much. Fabiola woke up in a cold sweat, both of her fists clenched in the blanket. The room was silent. Was she alone? Her eyes darted wildly to the stool where Docilosa had been sitting. In her place perched an unhappy-looking Vettius.
Seeing her distress, he jumped up. 'Should I fetch a surgeon, Mistress?'
'What?' she cried, startled. 'No, I'm feeling better.' Physically she might be, but Fabiola's mind was full of horrors. Damping them down as best she could, she sat up. 'Where's Docilosa?'
His gaze flickered away. 'Gone to see her daughter.'
'When?'
'About three hours ago.'
'She left me?' cried Fabiola in disbelief. 'When I was ill?'
'She said that your fever had broken,' Vettius muttered as if it were his fault. 'Was she wrong?'
Fabiola considered what to say for a moment. There was no point making this bigger than it was already. 'No,' she sighed, throwing off the bedclothes. 'It has gone. Go back to your post.'
Vettius beamed happily. Looking after his sick mistress made him most uneasy. Now that she was recovered, all was well with the world once more. Picking up his club, he bowed and left her.
Watching his massive back disappear down the corridor, Fabiola wished that her outlook on life was so simple. A few dozen steps from the Lupanar, Tarquinius was squatting in much the same position he'd occupied for a time eight years before. The spot brought back mixed memories. Back then, he had been waiting for Rufus Caelius, the malevolent noble who had killed Olenus. Unsurprisingly, every moment of the melee outside the brothel was crystal clear. He tried to block out the recollection of his single knife thrust, which at the time had felt so right. Although the haruspex felt it was destiny that had guided his blade, he was still being tortured by the consequences of his action, and the look in Romulus' eyes when he'd told him. Which was partly why Tarquinius found himself here once more, pretending to be a beggar.
It was strange how life worked in circles, he thought.
Fabricius had been as good as his word, taking Tarquinius down to the little fleet in Rhodes harbour. He'd insisted that his fellow devotee should travel on his own ship, the lead trireme. Tarquinius had accepted with alacrity. It seemed perfect: after Mithras' intervention, a passage back to Italy in relative comfort, with possible access to the ancient documents and artefacts he needed. Soon after their departure, though, the haruspex had discovered that most of the items that he wished to look at were on the other vessels. In a stroke, half his plan came undone. He had hoped on the journey to spend as much time studying as possible. In the event, however, the cargo arrangements were a blessing in disguise. When an autumn storm struck the fleet off the island of Antikythera, it was the ships laden with precious goods which sank, not the one with Fabricius and Tarquinius on board. Not that their trireme escaped unscathed. Braving waves taller than a block of flats, and hours of terrifying thunder and lightning, it finally limped into Brundisium with only the stump of its main mast remaining. At least a dozen members of the crew had been washed overboard.
Unharmed against all the odds, the haruspex chose to interpret his good fortune as most would. A deity — Mithras — was guiding his way. Although Tarquinius no longer knew what his purpose was, here was clear evidence that he had one still. He was grateful for this. Rome was where he needed to be.
Fabricius was also thankful to the warrior god. Nonetheless, he made an offering at the temple to Neptune before they left Brundisium. 'Got to keep them all happy, haven't you?' he muttered. Like the Etruscans, Romans commonly worshipped a number of divine beings, depending on their need. Tarquinius was no different.
Reaching Rome, the centurion had taken him to a large house on the Palatine Hill. 'I can do no less,' he had insisted. 'It's a place to rest your head.' The building turned out to be the headquarters of a group of veterans, all followers of Mithras. There, in the underground Mithraeum, Fabricius introduced Tarquinius to Secundus, the Pater of the temple. Stunned by the presence of a Mithraic shrine in the heart of Rome, the haruspex had been even more astonished to recognise in Secundus the one-armed veteran he'd met outside the Lupanar years before. In contrast, the Pater had seemed unsurprised.
Meeting Fabricius and surviving the storm had substantially restored Tarquinius' faith in the gods. Just when it seemed that the obstacles in his way were too immense to overcome, they were removed. During the journey, he'd continued to see occasional images of Rome under a stormy sky. Clouds the colour of blood told the haruspex that someone's life was in danger, but he had no idea who. The vivid dream about the murder at the Lupanar did not go away either, and so the brothel was Tarquinius' first destination once he'd had a night's rest.
Recognising Fabiola soon after arriving, Tarquinius was surprised to discover that she was the Lupanar's new owner. Why she had bought the brothel, no one knew, but the knowledge gave him somewhere to start. Had she something to do with his nightmare? He'd also discovered that Fabiola was the lover of Decimus Brutus, one of
