gods grant you speed.' Letting the urchin lead the way, he headed for the Lupanar.
Tarquinius hurried in the opposite direction, hoping against hope that his delay hadn't cost Fabiola dearly.
Chapter XXIII: Reunion
Including herself, Fabiola had sixteen people left who could fight, but only ten of those were hired men. The rest were kitchen slaves, who by now looked terrified. The remainder weren't so badly affected, although Fabiola had no idea how they would fight when it became clear defeat — and death — was imminent. She gave them all a short pep talk, promising more money to the guards, and manumission to the slaves if they fought well. This seemed to lift everyone's spirits. It was all she had time for. The noises from above indicated that Scaevola's thugs were already on the roof. Lifting the red clay tiles and gaining entry wouldn't take long.
Fabiola had her men gather the prostitutes and take them to the courtyard, which was dominated by fruit trees and a fountain. They locked all the rooms as they passed by — anything to slow down their attackers. In the open-aired square, she positioned three gladiators by one exit and the two doormen at the other. A quick head count of the weeping, terrified women revealed that one was missing. Jovina. Before Vettius or Benignus could object, Fabiola darted up the dimly lit corridor. Although she had little love for the old madam, she felt a duty to protect her. She found Jovina by her desk in the reception, grim-faced and with a dagger at the ready.
'Come to the courtyard,' Fabiola cried. 'It's the best place to defend.'
'I'm staying here,' Jovina replied, setting her jaw. Along with her usual jewellery and heavy layer of makeup, she was wearing her finest dress. She looked like a tiny, determined sparrow about to defend its nest. 'This is where I've spent more than half my life, and no sewer rat is going to make me run away.'
'Please,' Fabiola pleaded. 'They'll kill you.'
Jovina laughed knowingly. 'And they won't out there?'
Fabiola had no answer to that.
'Go,' Jovina ordered her, reversing their positions. 'Die with Benignus and Vettius. They're your men — have been since the first day you won them over. Just make sure one of them ends it for you before that brute Scaevola gets too close.'
Fabiola nodded. Bizarrely, tears were brimming in her eyes. 'Perhaps we'll meet again,' she whispered.
'I doubt it,' cackled the old madam, showing more life than she had for months. 'After all I've done, Hades is the only place for me.'
'And me,' replied Fabiola, remembering how she'd slain Pompeia, a prostitute who'd tried to murder her. While her motive had been self-preservation, she had done it in cold blood, just as she had ordered the doormen to kill Jovina. Her decision about that had only been reversed because Antonius made their affair public. Surely that was as bad as anything the old madam might have done? Biting back a sob of guilt, Fabiola lifted a hand in farewell.
Jovina did the same.
As she ran down the passageway, Fabiola could hear voices and the sound of breaking plaster emanating from many rooms. Loud thuds followed as the intruders jumped to the floor, and her pace increased to a sprint. She must not get caught here! Steps moved to the doors on either side and then the handles turned. Finding them locked, those within began to rain kicks and blows upon the flimsy timbers, quickly splintering them apart. Why did we even bother, thought Fabiola. It's only delaying the inevitable. Resignation filled her every pore.
She heard Jovina shout a shrill challenge. Unconsciously, Fabiola slowed down to listen. Scaevola's men laughed contemptuously at the crone, but their attitude soon changed. Screaming at the top of her lungs, Jovina launched herself at the intruders. There was a cry of pain and then the sound of muffled blows carried down the corridor. At once Jovina fell silent. Fabiola closed her eyes. She had heard the sound of swords hacking into flesh before. Go well, she thought. For all her faults, Jovina had possessed a warrior's heart. May the gods reward her courage.
The two doormen reacted with surprise and respect when Fabiola recounted what had happened. 'Who knows, she might have even killed one,' muttered Vettius.
For a while after that, Fabiola wondered if she was wrong about losing the battle. It was easy to defend a narrow corridor in which only one man could attack at a time, and her followers performed heroics to deny the fugitivarius' heavies access to the courtyard. For the loss of only two men — both gladiators — Fabiola's defenders had killed more than a dozen of the enemy. There were so many corpses piled in the passages that the attackers had a job to clamber over them, which made them easy targets.
Scaevola was no fool, however. At length, he pulled back his thugs and barked a succession of orders, which Fabiola could not make out. Then silence fell.
A new fear filled her: that of uncertainty. 'Have they gone?' She looked to Benignus.
'I doubt it.'
'What are they doing?' Fabiola demanded, peering into the nearest corridor.
He sighed deeply. 'If I were in charge of those bastards, I'd get a few bowmen or spearmen. Attack from above.'
Alarmed by his words, Fabiola scanned the roofs around the courtyard. To her relief, no one was visible, but Benignus' words made sense. Soon they would be picked off one by one, unable to defend themselves. Like fish in a barrel, she thought disgustedly. 'We're all going to die,' she whispered.
'It's not looking good,' agreed Benignus. 'There's nowhere else I'd rather be, though.'
Beside him, Vettius growled in agreement.
Fabiola's mouth opened in surprise.
'You've always treated us like people, not animals. That's more than anyone else ever did.' Benignus gave her a gentle smile, which made Fabiola feel twice as bad about what she was going to say next.
'When the end comes…' She paused, feeling sick. She realised that, despite everything, she didn't want to die. How foolish it had been to wish such things on herself! Now, with the end fast approaching, Fabiola felt a new humility. 'Scaevola came close to raping me once before. I don't want the same to happen again.' She looked at them both pleadingly. 'I ask you as a friend. Will you kill me before I'm captured?'
The pair's faces twisted with sorrow and pain. They glanced at each other, and then back at Fabiola. She did not speak, could not speak. Incongruously, tears began rolling down the men's cheeks. They were not cowards, though; they would not shirk from their duty. First Benignus, and then Vettius, nodded.
'Thank you,' said Fabiola, fighting her own emotions. She wanted to ask the other women if they wanted the same way out, but she never got a chance.
Unseen until that moment, several of Scaevola's men had crawled along the roof to the edge of the tiles overlooking the courtyard. Armed with spears and bows, they launched an immediate attack. They aimed solely at men, and at such close range, they could hardly miss. First, a broad-headed hunting spear struck Vettius in the middle of his broad back, driving down into the lower part of his chest cavity. He staggered to one side with the force of the impact, looking surprised. Fabiola stared in horror, seeing the outline of the spearhead straining against the front of his tunic. Cutting through lungs, diaphragm and his intestines, it had exited the doorman's body over his belly. Vettius' eyes bulged with surprise as his legs gave way beneath him.
'No!' Fabiola screamed.
Vettius tried to speak, but couldn't. With a heavy sigh, he fell on to his side, dropping his club. Gouts of blood soaked his tunic and began to pool beneath him. Clutching weakly at the wooden shaft protruding from his back, he closed his eyes. Even a man as strong as he could not keep fighting with such a wound. It was a case of slowly bleeding to death instead.
Panicking now, Fabiola scanned the courtyard. Scaevola's thugs were wreaking havoc with their spears and arrows, still targeting those who could fight first. Not counting Vettius, three of her men were down, injured or killed. A number of the prostitutes had been hit by stray missiles too. Their screams of agony were adding to the general air of mayhem and terror. While Catus had picked up a spear and hurled it at a bearded ruffian, the other kitchen slaves were huddled together, weeping. Fabiola's shouts of encouragement made no difference, which didn't surprise her. After all, they barely knew how to hold a sword, let alone what to do with it. The courtyard had
