would feel to have her twin join her cause, she thought. With Romulus by her side, things would be so much easier. He might even want to kill Caesar himself. With this happy notion, Fabiola fell asleep, slipping into a vivid world in which the dictator was dead, she and Romulus were reunited and Brutus cared for her again.
It was the best night's rest she had had in months.
She finally emerged into the reception area at midday the following day.
Jovina nodded cautiously at her. 'Sleep well?'
'Yes, thank you. Morpheus remembered me at last,' smiled Fabiola, remembering her dream. 'Any customers yet?'
'No,' the old madam replied. 'We won't see any until much later. They'll all have massive hangovers thanks to Caesar's munificence.'
Fabiola scowled. Word had swept through the city about the twenty-two thousand tables of food and wine that were to be supplied by Caesar on the night of his last triumph. His popularity continued to grow with each passing day. Curse him, she thought. The bastard can do no wrong.
'Don't worry,' Jovina chirped, misinterpreting her reaction. 'The amount of money he gave away will bring his soldiers through the doors in droves. After all those years on campaign, half of them probably look like Priapus.' Chortling, she indicated the painting on the wall. As always, the god of gardens, fields and fertility was depicted with a huge, erect penis. 'Scaevola's men won't dare try and stop them!'
Despite herself, Fabiola smiled. 'Who's outside?'
'Vettius,' Jovina replied. 'Been out there since dawn. Nothing doing, he said. Scaevola's lot probably joined in the festivities last night. No man likes to fight with a pounding head.'
'Hmm.' When he picked his moment, the fugitivarius would make sure his men were ready, free wine or no. Pursing her lips, Fabiola headed out to see for herself.
Vettius was leaning against the wall by the entrance, dozing in a patch of sunlight which reached down to the street. His club rested by his right hand. Eight or nine of the guards were also present, either playing knuckle-bones or watching the few passers-by. Hearing Fabiola emerge, Vettius opened his eyes. He jerked upright with a start. 'Mistress.'
'I've told you not to call me that,' chided Fabiola.
He bobbed his great shaven head, still awkward around her. 'Fabiola.'
'Any sign of Scaevola or his lot?'
'Not so much as a whisker.'
'Stay on your guard anyway.' She beckoned him closer and whispered. 'Make sure all the men are ready to fight. Now that Caesar's triumphs are over, I think the danger is even greater.'
Vettius picked up his club and slapped it across the palm of his left hand. 'If the bastard does arrive, he'd better be ready for a good fight.'
Fabiola took some reassurance from his confident manner.
As it turned out, Scaevola came prepared for a war.
Later that day.
Fabiola's first inkling that something was up came when she ventured out to check on the guards early in the afternoon. To her surprise, the lane was completely deserted. No noisy children playing; no housewives gossiping over their shopping or dirty washing. The few beggars who plied their trade near the brothel were nowhere to be seen. Even the shutters on the windows of the insulae in the block opposite were shut.
'How long's it been like this?' she asked Benignus, who had replaced Vettius.
He rubbed his jaw, thinking. 'About an hour or so. I didn't pass much comment, because the streets beyond aren't much busier.'
Her nostrils flaring, Fabiola stared at the nearest businesses: a bakery, a potter's workshop and an apothecary's. The bakery was shut, which wasn't surprising. It opened well before sunrise each day, baking the loaves which were a staple of most citizens' diet. The entire stock was usually gone by mid-morning, and the baker closed soon afterwards to catch up on his sleep. Unusually, the potter's was also boarded up, when in normal circumstances it would have been open until dark. Fabiola frowned as she saw the apothecary, a stout balding Greek, tidying away his display, a host of jars containing the treatment or cure for every disease and malady known to man. Her prostitutes frequented this shop on a daily basis, buying everything from tinctures and doses that prevented pregnancy and disease to love potions for their favourite clients. In fact, the Greek relied on the Lupanar for most of his business. Why then was he closing early?
Fabiola set off towards him at a brisk pace.
'Where are you going, Mistress?' Benignus called. 'Fabiola?'
She didn't answer, prompting the huge doorman to pelt after her, along with a trio of the others. The apothecary's was only twenty paces from the brothel, but Benignus was taking no risks.
As Fabiola reached the open-fronted shop, the proprietor emerged, rubbing his hands on his stained apron. Seeing her, he bowed. 'A pleasure to see you in person, lady. Need some more valerian to help you sleep?'
'No, thank you.' Fabiola indicated the nearly empty stands and tables. 'Shutting up shop already?'
'Yes,' he admitted, avoiding her gaze. 'My wife's not well,' he added hastily.
'How terrible,' Fabiola cried, the picture of solicitousness. Inside, the suspicion she'd felt at the other two shops' closure was increasing fast. 'Nothing serious, I hope?'
The apothecary looked awkward. 'She developed a fever during the night.'
'You must have given her something for it,' barked Fabiola.
'Of course,' he muttered.
'What?'
The apothecary faltered, and Fabiola knew that he was lying. The Greek was a family man, and if his wife had really been ill, he wouldn't have opened at all that day. 'What's going on?' she demanded, stepping closer. 'The potter's gone too, you know. The whole damn street's like a cemetery.'
He swallowed noisily.
'Come now,' Fabiola urged, taking his hand. 'You can tell me. We're all friends and neighbours here.'
He glanced up and down the street, seeming relieved that it was deserted. 'You're right. I should have warned you before, but he threatened my family.' His voice cracked with emotion. 'I'm sorry.'
'He?' Fabiola's stomach clenched, but she also felt a sense of relief. 'Scaevola, you mean?'
His eyes darted about with fear. 'Yes.'
'What's the dog planning?' Fabiola wanted her suspicion confirmed by someone independent.
'He didn't say. Nothing good, I'm sure,' the apothecary replied, wiping sweat from his forehead. 'All the shopkeepers have had the same warning — that it'd be best to disappear this afternoon.'
Fabiola nodded. The instruction to remove possible bystanders — and witnesses — from the street had probably originated from Antonius. Merciless beyond belief, Scaevola wouldn't care how many people he killed, but the Master of the Horse would want a clean job done. 'You'd best leave then,' she said briskly. 'Get home to your family.'
The apothecary looked embarrassed. Here he was, a man, running away while a woman stayed to fight. 'Can I do anything?' he asked.
Fabiola smiled warmly, easing his conscience. 'Leave us a few bottles of acetum and papaverum. They might come in handy later.'
'Of course.' Scurrying inside his shop, he emerged a few moments later with his arms full. 'This is all my stock,' he said.
Fabiola began to protest, but the apothecary would have none of it. 'It's the least I can do,' he insisted. 'May the gods protect you all.'
'Thank you.' Directing her men to carry the vital medicines, Fabiola headed back to the Lupanar.
They did not have long to wait. Sweating, Tarquinius finally reached the top of the Capitoline Hill and the great complex dedicated to Jupiter. His head was throbbing and there was a foul taste in his dry mouth. He'd partaken of Caesar's public feast the night before and was now heartily regretting it. What had been a good idea at the time seemed foolish, he thought, given his tardiness today. The best hour for visiting the great shrine was early in the morning before the crowds got there, or in the evening after they'd left. With the sun nearing its zenith, he would arrive to make a sacrifice just as half of Rome did. Hardly the ideal moment to expect a good divination.
