'Sounds like my stepfather,' said the urchin darkly. 'He deserved to die then, surely?'
Romulus' face grew sombre. 'Perhaps. I'm glad that I spared his life, though. Revenge should not be the only reason for living.'
Mattius fell silent, making Romulus wonder what his family situation was like. He'd have to find out. Falling into a reverie about the day's events, he missed Tarquinius' approving look. After all his travails, the gods had shown him their favour once more. His only worry was Fabiola's shocking revelation, which still hadn't fully sunk in. He couldn't stop thinking about it either. After all he'd been through under Caesar — the marching, the fighting and killing — how could it be that the dictator had raped their mother? Damn it all, Romulus thought. I love the man, as does every legionary in his entire army. But I hate the bastard who raped my mother.
Tarquinius' hand on his arm startled him. 'This is it.'
Romulus looked up. They were high on the Palatine Hill, a wealthy area, and although plain, the high wall of the house before them was an imposing sight. 'The Mithraeum is here?' he asked in surprise, remembering the veterans' ragged look.
'Left to them by a wealthy army officer who'd converted to the religion,' Tarquinius disclosed. 'It's even more impressive inside.' He rapped on the door in a staccato pattern.
'Who goes there?' came the challenge from within.
'Tarquinius, and another friend.'
The portal partly opened and a stolid veteran peered out. Seeing Romulus behind the haruspex, his face split into a grin. 'This must be Fabiola's brother. Enter.'
Romulus bid farewell to Mattius, who promised to call by each morning. Following Tarquinius inside, he was bowled over by the first thing he saw: an immense, brightly painted statue of Mithras crouched over the bull, which dominated the atrium. The oil lamps that burned in alcoves all along the hallway gave the figure a most forbidding air. He made a deep bow, remaining in obeisance for several heartbeats to show his respect and awe.
The doorman was watching him when he straightened. 'It has that effect on everyone. The atmosphere in the Mithraeum is even more intense.'
Self-conscious, Romulus grinned. Already he felt at home.
'You'll want a wash and a good meal first,' Tarquinius butted in. 'I can take you to the temple later.'
Looking down at Scaevola's blood on his arms, Romulus nodded. With his headache and weariness combined, he felt utterly drained. It was a familiar feeling after combat. With luck, though, he was done fighting for a while. How good it would be to take up Sabinus' invitation and visit him on his farm, Romulus thought.
After he'd sorted things out with Fabiola. His stay in the domus proved to be a welcome break. Because Romulus was a devotee of Mithras, the veterans received him as another comrade. Knowing that Fabiola would need time to re-establish herself in Brutus' good books, Romulus took the opportunity to catch up on lost sleep, and to think. Accompanied by the limpet-like Mattius, he made a brief visit to the honour guard's camp, seeking out Sabinus and the rest of the unit to let them know he wasn't dead. The legionaries' bleary faces, wine-stained tunics and demands that he join them for more revelry were not hard to refuse. Making his excuses, and promising to visit Sabinus, Romulus headed back to the veterans' house. The previous period of riotous celebrations had left him exhausted. A contemplative life of regular meals, prayer and rest was like manna from heaven. Of course it was more than just a need to take it easy. As Romulus soon realised, what he was doing was trying to decide how he felt about Caesar raping his mother, being the dictator's son, and Fabiola's demand that they kill him.
After three days, Romulus had solved nothing. He was even more confused.
A huge part of him — influenced by the memories of his childhood — still hated the man who had violated his mother, and wanted to plunge a knife into his heart. Another part, having been freed by Caesar and then fighting under him for more than a year, held the general in the highest regard. Romulus could not deny to himself that this devoted feeling bordered on love — was love. Like his comrades, he had revelled in it before, but now it threw him into paroxysms of guilt. Could it even be the filial feelings of a son for his father? How could he regard Caesar like that, given the abominable way the dictator had treated his mother?
Yet he did.
Of course Fabiola could be wrong, he told himself. If Caesar hadn't actually admitted to the rape, how could she be so sure? Their father might be any one of a thousand faceless nobles. The longer Romulus thought about it, the more convinced he became that this must be the case. Every time he tried to consider the other option — believing Fabiola, and then possibly agreeing to help her — he grew upset and angry. He also began to compare his decision not to kill Gemellus with his predicament over Caesar. Had the merchant not been a far worse man? After all, he had raped their mother on countless occasions, rather than just once. If he hadn't wanted to end Gemellus' miserable life, then how could he do the same to Caesar? Romulus was genuinely disturbed by the idea of murdering the general. Furious at Fabiola for trying to destroy his idolisation of Caesar, he also felt great anguish at not believing her word completely. He worried at the problem until his head spun, but no solution emerged.
Respecting Romulus' obvious need for silence, Secundus and the other veterans let him be. Tarquinius did not interfere either. He was regularly there for short periods, checking if Romulus needed to talk — which he didn't — but made himself scarce the rest of the time. The young soldier was not so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn't recognise this. Tarquinius had seen that he was an adult now, who made his own decisions, which made his situation all the harder. Of course the haruspex had his own demons to face; despite his best efforts, he had still not managed to perform an interpretable divination. Rather than disappear, his visions of Rome under storm clouds were visiting him daily, obscuring all else. To his shame, Romulus was somewhat relieved by this. It meant that there was no point asking Tarquinius to seek the truth about his parentage. It was better that way. Romulus wanted to resolve the matter by himself.
On the fourth morning, he resolved to go and see Fabiola. She would be wondering what had happened to him, he told himself. It was difficult to brush away the fact that while his twin knew where he was staying, no messenger had come to find him. Perhaps this could be explained by Fabiola's need to be with her lover, but Romulus felt piqued. Brutus' house was not far.
'Want me to come along?' Tarquinius asked.
'No, thank you.' Washed and shaved, Romulus was clad in a brand-new russet military tunic. He'd polished his phalerae until they shone, and greased the leather of his belt and caligae. He might be a plain legionary, but he could present himself well. There was no question of leaving his decorations behind in case Fabiola was offended by them: they meant the world to Romulus. While Caesar had awarded him the phalerae, they stood for far more. 'I need to do this on my own.'
Understanding, the haruspex nodded.
'What are you planning?'
There was a shrug. 'The usual. To try and see something of the future. Ask for information about Brennus.'
Pleased by this, Romulus took his leave. On the short walk to Brutus' domus, he did not consider his dilemma at all, chatting instead to Mattius. Romulus just wanted a joyous reunion with Fabiola — like the one he'd spent years imagining. That was what would happen this morning, he thought excitedly. It wouldn't take long for everything to be as it was in their childhood. Romulus revelled in the idea of properly seeing Fabiola again, of getting to know her a little. He wanted to learn all about his sister's life over the previous ten years — how she had risen above the degradation of prostitution to become the lover of one of the Republic's most prominent nobles; what she had done to find their mother. Doubtless she would want to hear of his experiences too.
Romulus' pretence did not last any longer than it took to arrive at Brutus' residence. Giving his name to the optio in charge of the legionaries outside, he was ushered inside. In the atrium, a military messenger was taking receipt of a rolled parchment from an imposing figure in full uniform. 'Take this straight to Caesar,' ordered the staff officer. 'Wait for an answer.' Saluting crisply, the soldier brushed past Romulus on his way out. He immediately felt irritated. Did he have to be reminded of the dictator's existence straightaway?
'Who is this man?'
The imperious demand shocked Romulus back to the present, and he found the officer regarding him with downright suspicion. Anger flared in his belly. Who does the prick think he is? Wary of the other's rank, he waited for the optio to speak.
'Fabiola's brother, sir. A veteran legionary,' answered the optio hastily. 'He has come to visit.'
'I see.' The officer raised an eyebrow. The tiny gesture was more powerful than a thousand words, clearly conveying his contempt. 'Carry on, then.'
