Fabiola smiled. 'Didn't the Venetians have proper seagoing vessels?'
'They did! Big, deep-bottomed craft with huge sails that were far superior to ours,' said Brutus, grinning triumphantly. 'But Mars blessed us with flat calm weather and we rowed in one afternoon, hemming them against the jetties and cliffs below the villages. Just to make sure, I had ordered dozens of scythes tied on long poles and the sailors were able to cut their rigging to pieces.'
His lover gasped admiringly.
'Our boarding parties swarmed over and we took the settlements in double-quick time. Freed the officers too.' Brutus sighed. 'Caesar wanted an example made of the Veneti, though. We executed all their leaders and sold the whole tribe into slavery.'
Fabiola adjusted the pearl-encrusted gold brooch which held up her hair and tried not to imagine the scene: the cries from injured and dying warriors on the ships; the sea red with blood and full of bobbing corpses. Thatched roofs on fire, women and children screaming as they were beaten and tied with ropes, new slaves to make Rome even richer. It was hard to justify anything that Caesar did in its name. There should be more to life than warfare and slavery.
Sensing her unease, Brutus took Fabiola's hand. 'War is brutal, my darling. But once Caesar is in power alone, he will have no need to conquer anywhere else. The Republic will be at peace once more.'
Your general has butchered and pillaged an entire nation to pay his debts to Crassus and make himself rich, Fabiola thought bitterly. That certainly makes him cold-blooded enough to have raped a lone slave eighteen years ago.
'When will I be introduced to Caesar at last?' She batted her eyelashes. 'I want to see the reason for all this adulation.'
As was his recent custom, Caesar was overwintering at Ravenna, two hundred miles north of Rome. Once Fabiola was settled in the villa, the staff officer would be taking the liburnian up the coast to consult with his master.
'He has spoken of his desire to meet you also,' said Brutus, looking pleased. His expression changed abruptly. 'But it won't be any time soon. Those damned Optimates in the Senate are putting a lot of pressure on Pompey to break faith and recall him to the city. They want Caesar to stand trial for exceeding his jurisdiction as proconsul in Gaul.'
'Cato and his henchmen?'
Brutus scowled in response.
Fabiola knew a lot about the young senator who had made it his life 's mission to defend the Republic from what he saw as rapacious opportunists. He and other politicians who felt the same way called themselves the Optimates, the best men. Caesar was their number one enemy. A former quaestor, Cato was an excellent public speaker and lived as austerely as his main foe, often wearing black because aspiring politicians wore purple. He had even visited the Lupanar with friends once. Unusually for a noble customer, he had refused all Jovina's offers of women and boys, relaxing in the baths instead. It was a restrained decision that had gained Fabiola's admiration as she had listened to his stimulating conversation from her hiding place.
'And his crony, Domitius.' He grimaced. 'Caesar is slowly being pushed into a corner.'
'But he won't give up control of his legions.'
'Why should he?' Brutus cried. 'After all he 's done for Rome?'
Fabiola nodded, remembering the recent gossip. Caesar would be treated worse than a dog if he came back to the city as a civilian. 'What if Pompey disbands his?'
'The crafty sons of whores won't ask him to do that.' Brutus thumped a fist into his palm. 'Double standards.'
She sighed. Two powerful nobles wrestling for control, both with massive armies at their disposal and a weakened Senate caught in the middle. It did seem as if the Republic was heading inexorably towards civil war.
It was not long before the liburnian reached Pompeii, bumping against the timbers of the dock and allowing the exhausted slaves to slump over their shipped oars, work done. As a few sailors used boathooks to hold the
Positioned a short distance south of the city, Pompeii's harbour was much smaller than that of Ostia. Fishing vessels rocked in the water alongside the larger shapes of naval triremes. Heavily laden barges filled the opening of the River Sarnus around which the curtain walls had been built. Pompeii was a busy trading port. A ferry packed with passengers furled its sails as it followed them in, pausing on the journey from Misenum to Surrentum at the other end of the bay.
Dominating the city and harbour, almost overhanging them, was Vesuvius. Fabiola stared up at the huge mountain, taking in the grey clouds covering its peak, the forests greening its upper slopes, the farms and empty fields below. It was an imposing sight.
'They say Vulcan himself lives up there,' said Brutus. 'Not so sure myself.' He laughed. 'The crater at the top is a miserable damn place. Boiling hot in summer, covered in snow at this time of year. No sign of a god anywhere. But it doesn't stop the locals trying to appease him at Vulcanalia. More fish are thrown into the bonfires that week than get eaten here in a year. Superstitious peasants!'
The noble cared little for any deities except Mars, the god of war.
Fabiola shivered, pulling closer her woollen cloak. There was a strong smell of rotting fish and human waste in the cold air. She looked down into the dark water and made a face.
'Sewage from the town,' declared Brutus. 'Don't worry. There's none of that at the villa. It has proper drains that lead half a mile away.'
Eight slaves had been waiting miserably on the exposed dock for their arrival. A large litter stood beside them. Leaving the newly freed Docilosa to supervise the offloading of their luggage, Fabiola and Brutus climbed in and set off for the villa.
Pompeii's streets were almost deserted. Those who were out hurried by on their way to the baths or the market, their necks hunched against the biting wind. An old augur tottered along, holding his blunt-peaked hat tightly to prevent it blowing away. Ragged children ran past, screaming with glee at the bread that they had stolen. Angry shouts followed them.
The forum was a decent size for a rural town, although it was a work in progress. An unfinished temple to Jupiter occupied the position of prominence in the square, flanked by the usual theatre, public library and other shrines. Statues of the gods were dotted in front of many buildings. A covered market filled most of the open space, the stallholders' cries muted by the bad weather.
The litter bumped and swayed its way north out of the city for some time. Seemingly unaware that Fabiola was tired from the voyage, Brutus chattered about the villa that they were approaching.
'It was originally built by a noble family. But a rich pleb bought the place when they fell on hard times nearly thirty years ago,' Brutus said. He winked. 'They got on the wrong side of Sulla.'
She laughed dutifully at his macabre joke. Thousands of people had died under the dictator's rule.
'The augurs say that bad luck follows bad men. Or maybe it's because the merchant lived on the Aventine.' Brutus shrugged. 'He had to put the villa on the market two winters ago when there weren't many buyers about.' He smiled. 'I got it for a song.'
'A merchant?' said Fabiola, leaning forward with sudden interest. 'From the Aventine?'
He looked surprised. 'Yes. Old, smelly and fat. Why?'
'What was his name?'
Brutus ran a hand through his short brown hair, thinking.
Her heart raced as she waited.
'Gemellus?' He paused. 'Yes, it was Gemellus.'
Fabiola's composure slipped and she gasped with delight. The idea that she was the new mistress of her former owner's villa was a dream come true.
'You know him?' asked Brutus curiously.
