him.
Anger still burned within Romulus. He could have happily killed Crassus in combat, but a public display like this went totally against his nature. It was as brutal as the worst depravities of the arena. He glanced at Brennus and could tell the Gaul felt the same way.
As always, Tarquinius seemed completely calm.
A smith leaned over the fire and dipped a ladle into the cauldron. Fat white globules of molten gold spilled from the lip as it emerged, narrowly missing his feet. With arms outstretched, he walked slowly towards the stage.
The crowd shrieked with anticipation and Romulus looked away.
Two guards bent Crassus' head backwards, forcing his chin up on to an angled wooden crossbar. Using loops of rope, it was bound to face the sky. The priest moved alongside and inserted a small metal vice between the prisoner's jaws. He cranked it open, baring teeth and tongue.
Crassus screamed as he realised what was about to happen. He continued wailing as the smith ascended the steps, his burning load held at arm's length.
The priest gestured impatiently.
'Gold cools fast,' said Tarquinius.
Crassus' eyes flicked from side to side as the heat approached and the frame jerked as he tried frantically to get away.
The ladle rose high above his head and paused.
To shouts of approval, the bearded Parthian chanted a deep, resonant series of words.
'He is calling on the gods to receive the offering,' muttered Tarquinius. 'It symbolises victory over the Republic. Shows Parthia is not to be trifled with.'
The smith's hand began to tremble from holding the heavy weight. Suddenly a fat bead of gold tipped out, falling into one of Crassus' eyes. The globe ruptured, and a bellow of pain like Romulus had never heard split the air. A mixture of clear fluid and blood spurted on to the general's cheek.
Crassus' other eye held a look of utter terror. Urine formed in a puddle between his feet.
The priest intoned a last prayer and made an abrupt motion with his right hand.
An inarticulate moan escaped Crassus' lips as the gold poured down in a stream of molten fire. With a sizzling noise audible to all, the boiling liquid emptied into his gaping mouth, silencing the general for ever. His body shuddered and spasmed with the unbelievable agony of the ordeal. Steam rose in little spirals as flesh reached cooking point. Only the tightness of the bonds prevented Crassus from breaking free. At last the precious metal reached heart and lungs, burning the vital organs into stasis.
He slumped and hung limply from the frame.
Crassus was dead.
The watching Parthians went into a frenzy. Nothing could be heard except the clamouring shouts, clanging bells and thudding drumbeats.
Many soldiers vomited at the sight. Others had closed their eyes rather than witness the savage execution. A few shed tears. Romulus swore silently that whatever the cost, he would escape.
When the crowd had quietened, the priest stabbed a finger at Crassus' body, yelling at the prisoners. At his words, there was again silence.
The spectacle was not over.
Tarquinius leaned forward. 'He is offering us a choice.'
The soldiers nearby pricked their ears.
'What kind of choice?' growled Brennus.
'A cross each.' The Etruscan indicated the officers. 'Or the fire, if we prefer.'
'Is that it?' spat Felix. 'I'd sooner die fighting.' He tugged at his neck rope.
Angry shouts of agreement rang out.
'There is another option.'
Seeing Tarquinius translating his words, the priest smiled and pointed eastwards with his dagger.
Everyone turned to the Etruscan.
'We can join the Parthian army and fight their enemies.'
'Wage war for them?' Felix was incredulous.
'Same job. Different masters,' said Brennus. After the horror of the executions, he had recovered his poise. 'Where?'
'The far borders of their empire.'
'To the east,' the big Gaul added calmly.
Tarquinius nodded.
Romulus was also unperturbed but the legionaries were terrified.
'Can we trust them?' Felix scowled as guards prodded Crassus' limp body with spears.
'Make your own choice.' Tarquinius raised his eyebrows. 'They have left us alive this long and shown us Crassus' death as an example.' He turned to face the men behind and shouted out their choices.
When Tarquinius had finished, the bearded priest called to him again.
'We must choose now!' cried the Etruscan. 'If you want crucifixion, raise your right hand!'
Not one hand went up.
'Do you want to die like Crassus?'
No reaction.
Tarquinius paused. Sweat was rolling down his face, but he was utterly controlled as he delivered the ultimatum.
Romulus frowned. The Etruscan was almost too calm.
'Join the Parthian army?'
Silence filled the air. Even the crucified officers' groans were inaudible. The crowd watched with bated breath.
Romulus raised his eyebrows at Brennus.
The Gaul raised his right hand. 'It is the only sensible choice,' he said. 'This way we stay alive.'
He lifted an arm in the air and Tarquinius did the same.
Around them a sea of hands rose as the other prisoners slowly accepted their fate. It was unlikely that their comrades in the stockades would argue with their decision.
The priest nodded with satisfaction.
Ten thousand legionaries would march east.
Chapter XXVIII: Manumission
Rome, autumn 53 BC
It had taken a while for Fabiola to decide on the best method of dealing with Pompeia. There had been time to think while she washed her bloody bedding and Vettius disposed of the snake 's body down the sewer. After that, acting normally and secure in the knowledge that Vettius was staying within earshot, Fabiola had calmly joined the group of women in the baths.
Pompeia's face had first turned grey with shock; then it had flushed with anger. But with so many others present, she could do nothing. There had been an uneasy silence as the other prostitutes watched the two enemies. Feigning complete ignorance, Fabiola filled the air with bright conversation about the forthcoming public holiday, which usually saw even more business than usual. Gradually the atmosphere relaxed.
As Fabiola suspected, Pompeia was not to be put off. This was exactly what she wanted. The redhead soon made her excuses, climbed out of the warm water and went to the madam. With Benignus eavesdropping, Fabiola quickly knew that Pompeia had managed to wheedle permission from Jovina to leave the brothel later. Apparently she wanted to consult a soothsayer about her best client. Of course she really wanted to know whether it was still possible to kill Fabiola, perhaps even buy more poison. The black-haired girl smiled grimly at that thought. It
