when she cursed the building and all its inhabitants to Hades. The haruspex was perturbed and intrigued by this. Few people would dare to treat one of Orcus' followers in such a manner. For it to happen meant that someone — probably Fabiola, as she was in charge — was extremely confident of herself. Long after the priestess's outline had vanished into the darkness, he sat pondering the significance of what had transpired.
Tarquinius' conclusion came more from his powers of deduction than any sign from the wind or stars. All kinds of scenarios went through his head, but few made any sense. Docilosa wouldn't throw her own daughter out in the middle of the night, especially when she had come with a warning. Neither would Jovina, for fear of her new mistress's reaction. Why would Fabiola do it then? The haruspex dwelt the question for an age, and eventually reasoned that Docilosa had been the woman screaming earlier. Had she been hurt, or even killed? A portent of this might have brought her daughter hurrying over. Arriving too late, the priestess's reaction would have been extreme, prompting Fabiola to have her thrown out.
Had Memor been the violent customer? What had happened to him?
Before there was any chance of finding answers to these questions, Tarquinius' attention was drawn by the noise of footsteps. It sounded as if at least a dozen men were approaching the brothel, but only one man emerged into the arcs of light by the entrance. Weaving from side to side, he drew amused smiles from the guards, who didn't appear to have noticed anything untoward. The newcomer's companions stayed in the darkness, making Tarquinius very uneasy. Who were they? He was careful not to move from his position. Hopefully, they wouldn't notice him.
'Let me in!' demanded the powerfully built man. 'I want to see Fabiola.'
'Marcus Antonius?'
'Who else?' he sneered.
At once the guards opened the portal, allowing the noble to enter.
Tarquinius' interest in what was going on deepened. Fabiola had two lovers then: Decimus Brutus and the Master of the Horse. Given that he hadn't seen Antonius visit the brothel before, the men probably didn't know about each other. That meant Fabiola was playing a very dangerous game. Why? Again he scanned the sky, hoping for some information. Could he have been mistaken in his presumption that his disturbing dream involved his murder of Caelius? Perhaps it had happened tonight?
Tarquinius' hunch became certainty a short time later. The two enormous doormen emerged, carrying a lumpen shape wrapped in a blanket. Fabiola stood by the open door, hurrying them on. Their burden was clearly a human body, and was in all likelihood the man who'd caused someone to scream earlier. Clever, thought the haruspex. Wait until everyone is in bed, and then get rid of the evidence. He was pleased. Fabiola was a woman of some ability.
Tarquinius' opinion of her was strengthened when a bleary-eyed Antonius appeared in the doorway. After challenging the doormen, he had a muffled conversation with Fabiola. Then, to Tarquinius' surprise, he let them go. The door immediately closed, preventing any further insights. Drawing the conclusion that he had been guided to the Lupanar by his dream, the haruspex grinned. The gods wanted to show him that although there was danger in Rome, Fabiola for one was well able to look after herself.
There was no need for him to watch over her so closely.
Tarquinius had no idea how wrong he was.
Chapter XV: Ruspina
Several weeks go by… The north African coast, winter 47/46 BC The sea was calm now, a different creature to the monster that had battered Caesar's ships on the three-day crossing from Lilybaeum in Sicily. Under a clear blue sky, gentle waves rolled in, rocking the two dozen or so anchored triremes and flat-bottomed transports that lined the shore. Soldiers disembarked, gratefully jumping down into the shallow water before being handed their kit by their comrades. Using special timber frames, horses were lifted from the holds and then lowered into the sea. Their riders then led them ashore. Sacks of foodstuffs, spare equipment and dismantled ballistae were passed hand over hand by chains of legionaries to the ground above the waterline. Under the close supervision of a quartermaster with a tally sheet, they were piled in neat stacks.
Further inland, the playing-card shape of a camp had been marked out; Caesar's tent and the pavilion for the headquarters had been pitched first, their positions in the centre marked by a red vexillum. Hundreds of men were digging the first fossa, using the earth from their efforts to form the beginning of the defensive rampart. Centurions and optiones strode up and down, encouraging the toiling soldiers with alternating promises and threats. In a giant arc around them stood fully half the legionaries present, guarding against sudden attack by the enemy. In the midst of these was Romulus.
The scene was the picture of order, he thought proudly. The Roman army at its efficient best. He was only a small part of it, but he belonged now, which counted for so much. For the first time in his life, Romulus was somewhere that he wanted to be. He would be eternally grateful to Caesar for that. As a result, his dreams of seeing Fabiola and of killing Gemellus had been placed firmly on hold. He owed his freedom to Caesar and, in Romulus' mind, that debt had to be paid back before he could contemplate pursuing his own path again. He would repay Caesar by being a loyal and brave soldier for however long was necessary. Romulus adopted a practical approach to the effect this had on his plans. Thus far, the gods had seen fit to protect Fabiola, and with their help, she would continue to be safe. Just as they were saving Gemellus' miserable hide for him, he thought, gripping his pilum tightly. Every night, after his prayers for his sister's wellbeing, Romulus asked for the fat merchant to be alive if he ever returned to Rome.
Of course there was no guarantee that he or his comrades would survive. The campaign had got off to a bad start, with Caesar already proving fallible. Setting sail against the advice of his soothsayers and without instructing his captains where to land, Caesar and his men had run into severe weather, which had broken up the fleet. In another seemingly bad omen, the dictator had stumbled and fallen that morning as he jumped from his ship into the surf. In a master stroke, Caesar turned the ominous moment on its head by grabbing two big handfuls of shingle and shouting, 'Africa, I have hold of you!' Everyone present had been able to laugh off their superstitious reaction.
Yet their situation remained critical.
Although few men had been lost, only a fraction of the force which had set out from Lilybaeum was in this anchorage. Instead of six legions, Caesar had only 3,500 legionaries, mostly cohorts from different units. More worryingly, thought Romulus, the dictator had fewer than two hundred horsemen, while the Pompeian troops in the area were dominated by Numidian cavalry. Romulus knew all too well how dangerous that could be: Crassus had also retained insufficient horse. He trusted that Longinus, the grizzled officer who'd interrogated him on Caesar's behalf, had passed on this critical detail. Unlike Crassus, Caesar trusted and relied on his subordinates, many of whom had served him for years.
However, there was little Caesar, or anyone, could do about this glaring weakness for the moment. The rest of the army had been carried off by the strong winds and heavy seas, and only the gods knew where they were now. Ships had been dispatched to scour the coast, but their quest could take days. Days in which the enemy could well discover their position.
Romulus grimaced. That eventuality did not bear thinking about. Caesar would cope. They all would — somehow. In the meantime, it was time to dig in and pray that their reinforcements arrived soon. A week passed by without event. Most of the scattered fleet was rounded up and brought to join the small force that had disembarked with Caesar. While still severely outnumbered, his army had also been blessed with good fortune. The local Pompeian forces — more than ten legions strong — proved to be widely dispersed along the coastline. Led by Metellus Scipio, they had been caught napping by Caesar's arrival in the middle of winter. It was only a few days into the new year — hardly the time to start a campaign. Typically, that is just what Caesar had done. Now his enemies needed time to gather their strength, which afforded the dictator crucial breathing space.
The realisation that Caesar had probably expected this lag phase helped increase Romulus' admiration for his leader. The man knew that most soldiers thought in a regimented fashion, only ever fighting in daylight and waging war when it was supposed to happen — in the summer. So he did the opposite. Yet Caesar's lightning-fast tactic had brought a major problem of its own: that of providing the legions with supplies. The empty transport ships were
