Fabiola's satisfaction at ridding herself of Pompeia and her threats did not last for long. The redhead's barbed comment about Romulus being dead had sunk deeper than she had realised and worry began to consume Fabiola day and night. Her prayers to Jupiter grew even more fervent. Thus far, the news from the east had been quite encouraging: the city was full of tales about minor skirmishes and the riches extorted from cities that Crassus' army had passed. Fabiola tried to use this to calm her fears for Romulus. With no large battles taking place, the risk of many men being killed was surely low. But everyone in Rome knew that Crassus would not rest with mere intimidation. He was bent on one thing: military success.
And it was common knowledge that his target was Parthia.
Fabiola felt sick when she thought about it.
Things got even worse when word reached Rome of the crushing defeat at Carrhae. Longinus had led the Eighth across the Euphrates to safety, his rank senior enough to mean that his account could be relied upon. Publius and twenty thousand soldiers had been slain, ten thousand taken prisoner and seven eagles lost. Adding insult to injury, Crassus was now a helpless captive in Seleucia. The triumvirate had been reduced to two.
While the news would have pleased Pompey and Caesar, it was devastating for Fabiola. Romulus was surely among the dead. Even if he wasn't, she would never see him again, lost to the savage east. Since entering the Lupanar, she had hidden all emotion from everyone, but the awful certainty of her brother's fate broke something inside Fabiola.
For weeks she managed to conceal the sadness from everyone, even Brutus. She laughed and smiled, entertaining clients with her customary panache while the grief inside her knew no bounds. Rather than diminishing as time passed, it grew: a deep inconsolable gloom. Their mother was long dead, a nameless victim of the salt mines, and now Romulus had joined her. It became harder and harder for Fabiola to remain composed. The clever young woman was losing the will to carry on.
What point is there in living? I am nothing. No one. A prostitute, she thought bitterly. A slave with no living family, apart from the bastard who fathered us. And while the prospect of revenge on the noble who had raped her mother still appealed, she knew it was a hopeless quest. All Fabiola had to go on was a statue of Caesar that she had seen once in Maximus' house. Using the embers of her desire for revenge, she continued working numbly, haunted constantly by thoughts of Romulus. Of how Gemellus had dragged him away to the
When a new girl from Judaea arrived in the brothel, it had seemed a good opportunity to find out about where Romulus had died. A way to start letting the sadness go. But the tales of the eastern deserts were terrifying: the boiling heat, the lack of water, the natives with lethal bows. Fabiola's imagination was flooded with vivid images, each more gruesome than the last. She began to sleep badly and suffer from nightmares. Soon she was taking mandrake just to get some rest at night.
Late one morning Fabiola was still lying in bed, avoiding the world. Two miserable months had passed in this fashion. Despite being offered a better one by Jovina, she had retained the original tiny room given her on the very first day in the brothel. It was comforting to her. Fabiola's favourite clothes hung from iron hooks on the walls; bottles of makeup and perfume sat on a low table alongside. A shrine now took up one corner; on it sat a statue of Jupiter, surrounded by dozens of votive candles. Over the years, Fabiola had spent countless hours on her knees before it, praying for her family. She had also been generous with her donations at the huge temple on the Capitoline Hill.
All her efforts had been in vain.
Romulus and her mother were gone.
As far as Fabiola was aware, there were no regular clients coming to see her until that evening. It was a small consolation as she had slept little, thanks to a graphic nightmare about Romulus being disembowelled by a slashing Parthian sword. She still couldn't banish the image from her mind.
'Romulus.' Her head slumped and Fabiola let a tear form in her eye. Another followed, and another. Then the dam burst. Grief overcame her and she began to sob, deep surges of anguish erupting from the depths of her soul. She hadn't cried since her first day in the brothel. Now she couldn't stop.
She cried for her mother. For Romulus. For her own lost innocence. Even for Juba, who had always been friendly to her.
The gentle knock startled her.
'Fabiola?' The voice was Docilosa's.
She gulped, wiping her eyes with the edge of the blanket. 'What is it?'
'Brutus is here. He wants to see you.'
Her lover wasn't due to visit for two days. How could she bear to appear happy? 'Now?'
Docilosa opened the door and peered in. She took one look and entered, closing it quietly behind her.
Over the previous four years, the older woman had proved herself reliable on many occasions, running errands, buying items outside the
'What's wrong?' Docilosa sat down on the bed, taking Fabiola's hand in hers.
She sobbed even harder.
'Tell me.' Docilosa's voice was kind but firm.
It all poured out. Every last detail, from Velvinna's rape to Gemellus' nightly visits. Romulus training with Juba and his sale to the
Docilosa listened without saying a word. When Fabiola had finished, she leaned forward and softly kissed her on the forehead. The gesture meant more to the young woman than anything had in her entire life.
'My poor child. You have been through so much.' Docilosa sighed, her eyes dark with sorrow. 'Life can be very hard. But it goes on.'
'What's the point?' asked Fabiola dully.
Docilosa took her by the arm. 'That handsome noble out there is the point! Brutus would do anything for you.' She smoothed Fabiola's lustrous hair. 'He would, you know.'
Fabiola knew Docilosa's words were true. Brutus was indeed a kind, decent man and she was genuinely fond of him. To jeopardise in any way her best chance of a life outside the Lupanar would be very foolish.
'Dry those eyes and get dressed,' said Docilosa. 'You mustn't keep him waiting.'
Feeling more composed, Fabiola nodded and did as she was told. Being able to open her heart to a sympathetic ear had lifted some of the weight from her shoulders. Docilosa helped her choose a low-cut silk robe and apply some ochre and perfume. Thanks to her good complexion, Fabiola had not yet resorted to using lead.
'Thank you,' she said warmly.
Docilosa nodded. 'You remind me of what my own daughter might have been like.'
Fabiola felt a pang of guilt. She had never asked. 'What happened to her?'
'Sabina was taken from me when she was six,' replied Docilosa in a flat tone. 'Sold to one of the temples as an acolyte.'
'Have you seen her since?'
Docilosa shook her head. Tears formed in her eyes.
Fabiola reached out and hugged her. 'Bless you,' she whispered.
With a little smile, Docilosa regained control of herself. 'Go on,' she said brightly. 'He 's in the usual place.'
Fabiola disappeared up the corridor.
Her lover was waiting in the bedroom where they had first slept together. It was the only one that Brutus would use and Jovina was happy to allow this privilege. Customers as rich or as frequent as the staff officer were uncommon.
'What a surprise!' Fabiola swept in, making sure her cleavage was on full view.
A powerful smell of incense filled the air and only two oil lamps had been lit. Rose petals covered the bedspread. Docilosa had done well to prepare the chamber at such short notice.
Brutus stood up, surprising her. Normally they tumbled straight on to the bed. He seemed unusually
