Since delivering the news of Caesar's predicament to Marcus Antonius, Caesar's official deputy, Brutus had been engaged in running the Republic with Antonius and other main supporters of the dictator. There was to be no let-up either: Rome was more troubled than ever. Unsettled by the lack of information about Caesar — until Brutus' reappearance, his whereabouts had been unknown for more than three months — the populace had been demonstrating. Encouraged by a few power-hungry politicians, unhappy nobles who were heavily in debt were demanding total recompense from Caesar, making a mockery of his earlier law to partially abolish their liabilities. Dissatisfied, some had even declared for the Republicans. To make matters even worse, hundreds of veterans from Caesar's favourite legion, the Tenth, had been sent back to Italy and were adding to the unrest. Infuriated by the delay in providing their retirement settlements of money and land, they were demonstrating on a regular basis.
Marcus Antonius' response had been typically heavy-handed: troops were brought in to disperse the first sets of troublemakers, and soon after blood had been spilled on the streets. The treatment was reminiscent of that meted out to rebellious Gauls rather than to Roman citizens, Brutus ranted to Fabiola. While the issue of rebellion by Pompeian supporters had subsided, Antonius had done little to reassure the veterans. His token attempt at placation had backfired badly. More diplomatic by nature than the fiery Master of the Horse, Brutus had been to meet the Tenth's ringleaders, and had appeased them for the time being. Yet much remained to be done before the situation was stabilised.
By early summer, Fabiola was content that Brutus was occupied with other matters, and that there had been no sign of Scaevola. An outrageous idea had come to mind and she finally decided to visit the Lupanar, the brothel that had been her home during her prostitution. Brutus was to be left in the dark, though. For the moment, the less her lover knew, the better. Unfortunately, keeping her destination secret meant that none of Brutus' legionaries could escort her. Fear bubbled in Fabiola's throat at the thought of walking the streets accompanied only by Sextus, but she managed to quell it. She could not remain confined behind the house's thick walls for ever, nor did she wish always to rely on squads of soldiers to go out in the world.
Secrecy was paramount.
So, ignoring her servant Docilosa's pursed lips and the muttered complaints of the optio in charge of Brutus' men, she and Sextus headed out into the Palatine. The suburb was mostly inhabited by the wealthy but, like all parts of Rome, there were plenty of insulae, the tall wooden blocks of tenement flats in which the vast majority of the population lived. With open-fronted shops occupying the ground floors, the insulae were three, four and even five storeys high. Poorly lit, rat-infested, without sanitation and heated only by braziers, they were death-traps. Disease lurked within them, flaring into frequent outbreaks of cholera, dysentery or smallpox. It was commonplace too for insulae to collapse, or to go up in flames, burning to death all the inhabitants. Their close proximity to each other meant that little light penetrated down to the narrow, crowded and muddy streets. Only the largest thoroughfares in the capital were surfaced; even fewer were more than ten steps wide. All were thronged daily by citizens, traders, slaves and thieves, adding to the claustrophobic atmosphere.
A city-dweller from birth, Fabiola had grown to love the open spaces around her latifundium. She had assumed that she was still used to crowds — until she and Sextus had left the domus a hundred paces behind them. Hemmed in on all sides, an image of Scaevola instantly came to mind. Try as she might, Fabiola could not throw it off. Her feet began to drag and she fell behind.
Seeing her pinched face, Sextus laid a hand to his gladius. 'What is it, Mistress?'
'I'm fine,' she said, pulling the hood of her cloak closer. 'It's just bad memories.'
He reached up to touch his empty eye socket, his own memento of Scaevola's ambush. 'I know, Mistress,' he growled. 'Best to keep moving, though. Avoid attention.'
Determined not to let dread rule her any longer, Fabiola followed him. It was mid-morning after all, the safest time of the day, when ordinary people got their business done. Women and slaves shopped for food among the bakers, butchers and vegetable merchants. Wine-sellers boasted and lied about the quality of their produce, offering a taste to anyone who would listen. Blacksmiths toiled over their anvils while neighbouring carpenters and potters exchanged idle banter over a cup of acetum. The stink from the nearby tanneries and fullers' workshops laced the air. Money-changers sat at low tables, glaring at the cripples who were greedily eyeing their neat piles of coins. Snot-nosed urchins ran through the crowds, chasing each other and stealing what they could. Nothing looked different to any other day in Rome.
Except for the plentiful numbers of Antonius' legionaries, of course, thought Fabiola. The old law denying entry to the city to soldiers had been set aside by Caesar himself. With the threat of rioting constant, there were more of them about than ever. The knowledge gave her strength. In addition to Sextus' presence, they would ensure nothing happened to her. Fabiola stuck out her chin. The Lupanar wasn't far. 'Come on,' she declared.
Sextus grinned, used to her determination.
A short while later, they had reached a street that Fabiola knew better than any in Rome. Close to the Forum, it was home to the Lupanar. Again her feet slowed, but this time her fear was under better control. Today, she was no terrified thirteen-year-old dragged here to be sold. Soon Fabiola's nervousness had been replaced by excitement. She began to outstrip Sextus.
'Mistress!'
She ignored his cry. The crowds finally parted a few steps from the entrance and Fabiola's mouth fell open. Nothing had changed. A brightly painted, erect stone penis still jutted forth on either side of the arched doorway, graphic evidence of the business's nature. Outside stood a shaven-headed hulk, clutching a metal-studded club. 'Vettius,' she said, her voice cracking with emotion.
The huge man did not react.
Throwing back the hood of her cloak, Fabiola moved closer. 'Vettius.' The doorman's brow wrinkled at being called by name and he glanced around.
'Don't you recognise me?' she asked. 'Have I changed that much?'
'Fabiola?' he stuttered. 'Is it you?'
With tears of happiness filling her eyes, she nodded. Here was one of the most loyal friends she had ever had. When Brutus had bought Fabiola's freedom, she had been desperate for him to free the two doormen also. Wily to the last, however, Jovina had refused all offers. The pair were simply too valuable to her business. Leaving them behind had torn a deep wound in Fabiola's heart.
Vettius rushed to give her a hug, but stopped short.
Sextus had shot in front of Fabiola. Dwarfed by the other, he nonetheless drew his sword. 'Stay back,' he snarled.
In a heartbeat, Vettius' face went from surprised to angry, but before he could respond Fabiola had laid a hand on Sextus' arm. 'He's a friend,' she explained, ignoring her bodyguard's confused expression. With a scowl, Sextus stood aside, allowing Fabiola and Vettius to gaze at each other. 'It's been too long,' she said warmly.
Conscious of his low status, the lantern-jawed doorman did not try to hug her again, instead making an awkward bow. 'Jupiter, it's good to see you, Fabiola,' he said, half choking. 'The gods must have answered my prayers.'
Fabiola picked out the concern in his voice at once. Sudden terror filled her. 'Is Benignus all right?'
'Of course!' A lop-sided smile split Vettius' unshaven face. 'The big fool is inside. Snoring his head off, no doubt. He was on the late shift last night.'
'Thank Mithras,' she breathed. 'What is it then?'
He looked around uneasily.
Jovina, thought Fabiola, remembering her own caution when she lived here. Nothing wrong with the old witch's hearing yet then.
Vettius stooped low to her ear. 'Morale has been terrible for months,' he whispered. 'We've lost most of our customers too.'
Fabiola was shocked. In her time, the Lupanar had been busy every day. 'Why?'
The doorman had no time to answer.
'Vettius!'
Fabiola felt an instant wave of nausea. For nearly four years, that shrewish voice had called her out to be inspected by prospective customers.
'Vettius!' This time Jovina sounded irritated. 'Get in here.'
With an apologetic grimace at Fabiola, the doorman obeyed.
