The Silver Eagle

Having a youthful woman as his owner seemed to trouble the old vilicus little. Brutus had made it perfectly clear that in his absence, Fabiola was the mistress of the household. Corbulo was delighted just to have someone to tell him what to do to stop the estate falling into rack and ruin, as it had been for years.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Supervising this lot, Mistress,’ said Corbulo, indicating the nearby slaves. ‘Always plenty of routine jobs to keep them busy.’

Fabiola was intrigued by daily life on the latifundium. She could not imagine her former master feeling the same way. ‘Did Gemellus have any real interest in this place?’

‘When he first bought it, yes,’ Corbulo answered. ‘Used to come down here every few months.’

Fabiola concealed her surprise.

‘He brought in the new olive trees from Greece and had the fish pools constructed,’ the vilicus revealed. ‘Even picked which hillsides to grow the vines on.’

Fabiola disliked the thought of her former master having a creative side. He had only ever shown brutality at the house in Rome where she and Romulus had grown up. ‘What happened then?’ she asked.

There was a shrug. ‘His businesses started to do badly. It started with goods from Egypt. I can still remember hearing the news.’ Corbulo’s lined face grew anguished. ‘Twelve ships sank on the way here from Egypt. Can you believe that, Mistress?’

Fabiola sighed expressively, showing her apparent empathy. In reality she was trying to understand how a man such as Corbulo could care if his master’s fortunes took a turn for the worse. She had been delighted when Brutus revealed the circumstances that had led to Gemellus’ sale of the latifundium. Yet it was inevitable for slaves to identify with their owners in some way, she supposed. Fabiola could recall how proud Romulus had been about safely bringing back a note from Crassus’ to Gemellus’ house, dodging the moneylenders’ men who were always lounging opposite the front door. Yet her twin had hated Gemellus as much as she did. Even those with no freedom had some pride in their lives. So she should not judge Corbulo on that alone. Although he had worked for Gemellus for over twenty years, the vilicus had thus far proved loyal, reliable and hardworking.

Almost on cue, Corbulo barked at a male slave who was sharpening a scythe with slow, indifferent strokes. ‘Put a proper edge on that, fool!’ He tapped the whip hanging from his belt. ‘Or you’ll feel this across your back.’

Hastily the slave bent over the curved iron blade, running an oilstone back and forth along its entire length.

Fabiola smiled approvingly. While not a brutal man, Corbulo wasn’t scared of using force either. It was a good sign that the threat was enough. ‘I thought his fortune was huge,’ she said, probing for more information.

‘It was.’ Corbulo sighed. ‘But the gods turned their faces away. Soon, everything the master did turned to dust. He began to borrow money, with no means of repaying it.’

She could remember the heavies waiting outside Gemellus’ domus day and night and the rumours in the kitchen where the slaves gathered to gossip. ‘Brutus mentioned a venture with animals for the arena being the final straw.’

Corbulo nodded reluctantly. ‘Yes, Mistress. It should have made Gemellus a king’s ransom. He had a third share in a expedition to capture wild beasts in southern Egypt.’bestiarius’

Fabiola felt a pang of nostalgia: her brother had often pretended to be a bestiarius. Grief quickly dissolved her happiness. Instead, Romulus had become a gladiator. Yet no emotion showed on her face. The Lupanar had endowed her with the ability to conceal her feelings from everyone, even Brutus.

Suddenly an old memory surfaced. Not long before they were sold, she and Romulus had overheard Gemellus and his bookkeeper having a conversation. It had concerned the capture of animals for the circus, a venture with the potential for huge profit. The twins had been shocked that the merchant could not afford the initial outlay. As poor household slaves, his wealth always seemed immeasurable. ‘That should have cleared his debts,’ she said calmly.

‘Except the vessels sank,’ Corbulo announced. ‘Again.’

‘All of them?’

‘Every last one,’ replied the vilicus grimly. ‘A freak storm.’

Fabiola gasped. ‘Bad luck indeed.’

‘It was more than that. The soothsayers said Neptune himself was angry.’ Corbulo swore violently, then his face coloured as he remembered whom he was speaking to. ‘Sorry, Mistress,’ he muttered.

Fabiola abruptly decided to show her authority in front of the slaves. It was something she had seen Brutus do on a regular basis, ensuring that he was feared as well as respected. ‘Remember who I am!’ she snapped.

Corbulo bowed his neck and waited to be punished. Perhaps his new young mistress was no different to Gemellus.

In fact Fabiola had heard far worse in the Lupanar, but Corbulo had no knowledge of that. She was still learning to give orders, so his response gave her confidence. ‘Continue,’ Fabiola said in a more gentle tone.

The vilicus bobbed his head in gratitude. ‘Gemellus was never one for prophecies, but there was one he mentioned just before those ships were lost.’

Her lip curled. ‘Haruspices tell nothing but lies.’ Hoping for a sign of release from their awful existence, many girls in the brothel spent large amounts of their meagre savings on readings from soothsayers. Fabiola had seen precious few predictions borne out. Those that had come true had been of minor significance, strengthening her determination to rely on no one but herself. And on the god Jupiter, who had finally answered her prayer for freedom.

‘Indeed, Mistress,’ Corbulo agreed. ‘Gemellus said the same himself. But this one was not made by one of the usual shysters hanging around the great temple. It came from a stranger with a gladius, who only agreed to do a reading on sufferance.’ There was a deliberate pause. ‘And virtually all of it came true.’

Her curiosity was aroused. Soothsayers did not carry weapons. ‘Explain,’ she ordered.

‘He predicted that Crassus would leave Rome and never return.’

Fabiola’s eyes widened. It had been common knowledge that the third member of the triumvirate wanted military success to win public approval. Crassus’ choice of the governorship of Syria had been little more than an opportunity to invade Parthia. Yet few could have predicted that his trip abroad would be his last — except a genuine soothsayer. Someone who therefore might have knowledge of Romulus. ‘What else did he say?’ she hissed.

The vilicus swallowed. ‘That a storm at sea would sink the ships, drowning the animals.’

‘Is that all?’

Corbulo’s eyes flickered from side to side. ‘There was one other thing,’ he admitted nervously. ‘Gemellus only mentioned it once, the last time I saw him.’

Fabiola pounced like a hawk on its prey. ‘What was it?’

‘The haruspex told him that one day a man would knock on his door.’

She tensed. Romulus?

‘He seemed haunted by the thought,’ Corbulo finished.

‘Not a gladiator?’

‘No, Mistress.’

Her spirits plunged.

‘A soldier.’

And rose again from the depths.

Confused by her interest, Corbulo glanced at her for approval.

The vilicus got a perfunctory smile instead. Fabiola would give away nothing.

Not a gladiator, she thought triumphantly. A soldier, which is what her brother had become after fleeing Rome. Gemellus knew how much Romulus hated him: the prospect of seeing him again one day would have been terrifying. Now the journey to the temple of Jupiter had two important purposes. If she could find this mysterious soothsayer, she might be able to discover if Romulus was alive. It was a wild hope, but Fabiola had learned never