Caesar's right-hand men.
The haruspex didn't go bowling in to introduce himself as a friend of her brother, though. That wasn't his style. Instead Tarquinius sat outside, watching who came and went, gaining an understanding of what was going on. Within a few hours, he knew that all was not well in the Lupanar. The brothel was renowned throughout the city for its prostitutes' abilities, yet scarcely ten customers crossed its freshly painted threshold each day. It also seemed to have a disproportionately large number of armed guards, bullet-headed thugs armed with staves, knives and swords. These patrolled the almost empty street, eyeballing anyone bold enough to glance their way. To avoid their attention, Tarquinius had adopted the mien of a drooling, twitching simpleton. It worked nicely; the heavies gave him a wide berth.
This afforded him the time to consider what he was seeing. In Tarquinius' mind, the guards' strong-arm tactics weren't enough to explain the Lupanar's parlous state. They were there as a response to a threat, and those who wanted sex wouldn't be put off so easily. Important men were still visiting the brothel too — he'd heard passers-by mentioning Marcus Antonius' name as a burly figure had gone in that morning. Antonius' must have been a brief encounter, Tarquinius concluded. Less than a quarter of an hour had elapsed before the grinning Master of the Horse emerged. No one had troubled him either, other than another noble. A pleasant-faced man of average build, he appeared most displeased to see Antonius. Could the danger he saw refer to either of them? Tarquinius wondered. What did it matter, unless it impacted on Fabiola? He felt frustrated and fascinated at the same time. If Romulus' sister was in peril, though, he felt a duty to help.
More was revealed at midday as he hobbled away in search of some food. In the surrounding streets, the haruspex noticed different groups of armed ruffians standing around. Directed by a stocky, brown-haired man in a mail shirt, they formed checkpoints reducing, or preventing, access to the Lupanar. Only the most insistent pedestrians — such as a plain-faced woman in middle age he'd just seen — managed to get past. It wasn't difficult to come to the conclusion that some kind of turf war was going on.
Tarquinius still wasn't sure if he should get involved.
Best to wait and watch instead. Morose, Fabiola was sitting at her desk in the reception area when Docilosa returned. It was near sunset, which meant that her servant had been gone for several hours. By the happy look on her face, the visit had gone well. Seeing Fabiola, her features stiffened.
'You've recovered then?' she asked with a show of concern.
The expert needling made Fabiola's hackles rise. 'Yes,' she snapped. 'No thanks to you.'
Docilosa made a small contemptuous sound and brushed past, into the corridor. 'I'll be out the back, washing clothes,' she said.
Furious, Fabiola bit her tongue rather than respond further. The anteroom a few steps away was full of prostitutes who would be listening to every word. Jovina was lurking about somewhere too. The less said in public, the better. Yet the situation could not continue in this manner. It would have to be resolved one way or another, and soon. Fabiola's nostrils flared. Docilosa's friendship was valuable to her, but not under conditions like these.
Before she could do any more, a trio of wealthy merchants from Hispania rolled in the door. Fabiola stood up to welcome them. Well-oiled, they insisted on recounting their story. After a hard week of selling their goods, they'd celebrated by going to Caesar's games that day. A drinking session followed that, and now, the Spaniards declared to Fabiola, they wanted the fuck of their lives. No street gangs were going to stop them visiting the Lupanar, which they'd heard of in their home country. 'You've come to the right place, gentlemen,' Fabiola purred, instantly spotting the heavy purses on their belts. Quite the madam now, she called the girls out to be inspected.
The inebriated merchants made their selection quickly and were led off to various bedrooms. Again Fabiola moved towards the corridor, but a pair of wide-eyed figures in working men's tunics were next through the entrance. She wondered why Benignus had let them in until she saw the money clutched in their fists. Ordinary citizens, they had won a small fortune at the day's games by making an outside bet on an ageing retiarius, the underdog in a gladiator duel. As they told Fabiola, it was a gamble which had paid off richly when the favourite, a murmillo from Apulia, slipped on a patch of bloody sand, allowing the fisherman to stab him in the belly with his trident and end the fight at a stroke. Unhappy at the unexpected result, the bookmaker tried to renege on the wager, but the angry crowd had swarmed in around the two friends and forced him to pay up. Now they were here in the Lupanar to spend their winnings.
Caesar's games were certainly helping business, thought Fabiola as she watched the goggle-eyed pair disappear with their choice of girls. Maybe she should have gone to see them for herself?
No. Fabiola's reaction was instant. Her pretence to Brutus that morning had not been entirely selfish. Her gorge rose at the thought of seeing men die for little more than the crowd's pleasure. She would never be able to watch such spectacles without seeing Romulus on the circle of sand. Just imagining her brother made her heart ache. Where was he? How she wished to see him again! Although they'd both grown into adults since their last meeting, Fabiola had no doubt that they would get on famously. Twins, they'd been inseparable as children. What could be different now? Their bond was unbreakable. Feeling happier, Fabiola thought of Docilosa. Shame filled her. Her servant was almost as close as family. It was time to kiss and make up.
Ordering Jovina to cover the reception, Fabiola went in search of Docilosa. Outside, Tarquinius was considering how much longer he would wait before calling it a day. Little of interest had happened since Antonius' hurried departure and brief conversation with his fellow noble. He noted the middle-aged woman from the checkpoint enter the brothel, and marked her down for a servant or slave. She was too old and plain to be a prostitute in a place like the Lupanar, that was for sure. Tarquinius was surprised to feel a surge of energy as the woman disappeared through the arched doorway. The insight he got was so brief that he almost missed it. An old sadness had recently been washed away, to be replaced by a deep joy. Anger was also present, a resentment at someone who had ideas above her station. Irritated, Tarquinius did not try to see more. The emotions of a servant were not what he wanted to know about.
Still, it was a start.
He scanned the patch of sky that was visible in the narrow gap between the buildings for a clue. It had a typical autumn appearance: heavy cloud cover, with the promise of rain before nightfall. Little else. The haruspex looked away, and a gust of chill wind swept down, carrying with it the threat of bloodshed. Tarquinius stiffened; fingers of fear clutched at him. He focused his thoughts, trying to understand. A moment later, he felt certain. Danger was in the air. Here. Was this the threat he'd seen so many times?
At once the haruspex' fingers fumbled under his cloak to the hilt of his gladius. He'd left the great two-headed axe in the veterans' house. It was guaranteed to attract unwanted attention. Thankfully, the solid feel of the sword calmed his racing heart. Tarquinius glanced up and down the darkening street, seeing nothing of concern. Somewhat reassured, he sat back, wondering if anything was about to happen. Did he need to worry about Fabiola's safety? It was a shock to realise how important it already felt to watch over her.
Half an hour passed, and darkness fell. The brothel's doormen retreated to the arcs of light cast by the torches on either side of the front door. Tarquinius began to wonder if he'd been imagining the threat. He was growing stiff and cold, and his belly was grumbling. Yet experience had taught him not to rush things, so he gritted his teeth and stayed put.
Some time later, the tramp of feet on the rutted ground drew Tarquinius' attention. Waking himself from a half-doze, he sat up. Illuminated by their torches, a large party was approaching the brothel from the other end of the street. The time of day made the number of guards unremarkable. Unless they were mad, anyone who ventured out after dark travelled like this. What did surprise Tarquinius as the group drew nearer was the fact that they were gladiators. He saw Thracians, murmillones and secutores, as well as a number of archers. Usually only a lanista used men like that as protection.
Was this more than a visit in search of carnal pleasure?
Tarquinius leaned forward, all his senses on high alert.
The heavily armed party came to a halt by the entrance. Looking uneasily at each other, the Lupanar's doormen gripped their weapons. Sniggers of contempt rose from the gladiators, and a short, grizzled figure in a wool cloak pushed his way to the front. 'Is this the way you greet all your customers?' he demanded.
An enormous slave with a wooden club shuffled forward. 'My apologies, sir. We're having some trouble at the moment. Got to be prepared at all times.'
The lanista sniffed. 'Something to do with that rabble at the crossroads, no doubt. The bastards didn't want to let us through until I had my archers draw a bead on them. Then they opened up quicker than a whore's
