‘They’re pushing Caesar into a corner,’ said Romulus. It was all starting to make worrying sense. Things had changed dramatically in Rome since his departure. For the worse. If he did manage to return, what would happen to him? And to Fabiola? Suddenly there was more to worry about than just revenge.
Varus nodded resignedly. ‘If they force the issue, he won’t lay down his command meekly either.’
‘You think it’ll come to war?’ queried Romulus.
‘Who knows?’ Varus replied. ‘Yet that was all the talk on the street and in the bathhouses when I left.’
Romulus could not explain why, but he wanted Caesar to come out on top. Was it because of the cruel mass combat sponsored by Pompey that he and Brennus had taken part in? Unusually required to fight to the death, scores of gladiators had died that day. No, it was more than that, he decided. Unlike Crassus, Caesar sounded like an inspiring leader — a man to follow. And Romulus did not like lots of people ganging up on another. That was what had happened to him, in the
In contrast to Romulus, Tarquinius felt some pleasure at the Republic’s plight. The state which had crushed that of the Etruscans, his people, was in danger of collapsing. Then he frowned. Although he hated Rome, perhaps this anarchic situation was not desirable. If the Republic fell, what would replace it? Olenus’ voice rang in Tarquinius’ head, clear as a bell, and a chill ran down his spine. ‘Caesar must remember he is mortal. Your son must tell him that.’ He glanced sidelong at Romulus. Was this why Mithras had preserved them thus far?
A blinding realisation struck Tarquinius. Why had he not thought of it before? He stared again at Romulus, who meant as much to him as a. son.
Then Tarquinius stiffened. There was danger nearby.
‘We’re all better off out of the army, that’s for sure,’ said Varus jovially. ‘Who wants to fight other Italians?’
Neither of the others replied. Romulus was daydreaming again, lost in memories of Rome. Deep in concentration, Tarquinius’ eyes were distant.
Suddenly Varus grinned. ‘Why don’t you come and work for me? I’ll pay you well.’
Tarquinius turned to regard him. ‘Thank you, but no.’
Disappointed, Romulus saw the faraway look on the haruspex’ face which often presaged a prophecy. His protest died in his throat. Something was up.
Tarquinius drained his cup and stood. ‘My thanks for the wine,’ he said. ‘May your trip be profitable. We have to go.’ He jerked his head at Romulus.
Leaving the bewildered Varus behind them, the pair headed outside.
‘What is it?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Tarquinius replied. ‘A threat of some kind.’
They had gone only a few paces before the slap of sandals reached their ears. Reaching a larger thoroughfare, they saw Zebulon, a Judaean member of the crew, running past. One of the men chosen by Ahmed to help with the provisions, he beckoned to them urgently.
‘What is it?’ cried Romulus.
Zebulon slowed down, his chest heaving. ‘Back to the dhow!’
‘Why?’ demanded Tarquinius. ‘What’s wrong?’
Zebulon sidled closer. ‘Customs,’ he whispered. ‘All the ships are being searched.’
No more needed to be said.
Yet again, Romulus was amazed by the haruspex’ ability. Then he remembered their companion. ‘Mustafa!’ he cried. ‘Where is he?’
‘There were at least a dozen whorehouses,’ said Tarquinius. ‘You can’t search them all.’
Instinctively, Romulus looked up at the narrow band of sky that was visible between the closely built buildings. Nothing. Frustrated, he turned to Tarquinius. ‘We can’t just leave him.’
‘There’s no time,’ the haruspex muttered. ‘And Mustafa is master of his own fate. He’ll find a place on any vessel.’
Zebulon was showing no inclination to look for his crewmate either.
Romulus nodded jerkily. It was not as if they were leaving Brennus behind. And after five years of hell, the last thing he wanted was to be caught as a pirate. Yet if the
Raised voices and shouts were coming from the quay, where a large crowd had gathered. Like people the world over, the denizens of Cana were happy to relieve the daily boredom of making a living by watching someone else’s misfortune.
Halfway along the dock, Romulus saw the harbourmaster, accompanied by a number of officials and a group of heavily armed soldiers. The stout figure was gesticulating furiously at a man on a large ship tied up near the merchants’ stalls. At his signal, his men notched arrows to their bowstrings.
Unhappy at the prospect of being searched, the captain stood his ground.
The harbourmaster pointed angrily. At once, the bows were aimed at the sailors on the ship. Loud gasps rose from the crowd. Finally the captain spat into the sea, acknowledging defeat. With a furious wave, he beckoned the officials on board. Full of self-importance, the harbourmaster clambered down first. Several soldiers followed. Still covering the crew, the others watched.
‘Now’s our chance,’ Romulus urged. ‘While they’re busy with that one.’
Sauntering casually on to the quay, he began to weave his way between the onlookers. Tarquinius and Zebulon were close on his heels. Few people glanced at the trio as they passed by. The goings-on were far more interesting.
They found Ahmed uneasily pacing the dhow’s deck.
‘Seen any of the others?’ he barked.
Romulus and Tarquinius shook their heads.
‘Just the ones I sent back,’ said Zebulon. ‘And these two.’
‘Gods above!’ spat Ahmed. ‘Three are still missing.’
It was hardly the crewmembers’ fault, thought Romulus resentfully. They had been given permission to stay ashore until an hour before sunset. Zebulon had done well to find so many.
The stocky Nubian stamped up and down as the crew quietly prepared to leave. By the time the soldiers had finished checking the first vessel, he was growing increasingly nervous. Although there were two more ships to be searched before his own, Ahmed could take the pressure no longer. Losing three crewmembers was of less concern than the alternative.
‘Cast off!’
His muttered order was immediately obeyed by the worried pirates.
Romulus could not help himself. ‘What about Mustafa?’ he tried one more time.
‘He’s a fool,’ snapped Ahmed. ‘And so are the others. They can fend for themselves.’
Romulus looked away, still feeling quite guilty about leaving the long-haired hulk behind. He sent up a swift prayer to the gods, asking them to watch over Mustafa, who had been a comrade of sorts for over two years.
Then he glanced at the rows of heads on the battlements above. Eyeless, nearly fleshless and with grinning teeth, they resembled demons of the underworld. Once they had been men though. Lawbreakers. Criminals. Pirates. A whiff of rotting flesh reached Romulus’ nostrils. Stomach turning, he moved his gaze to the open sea.
Chapter XXIII: The Rubicon
Ravenna, northern Italy, winter 50/49 BC
Fabiola shivered miserably and moved closer to the fire. Hot wine, thick clothes, underfloor heating — even staying in bed didn’t help. Nothing she did could get her warm. Snow lay thick on the ground outside and a biting north wind was rattling the red tiles on the roof, as it had all week. Fabiola’s lips tightened. The new year might have begun, but the weather gave little sign of improving. Neither did her mood.
Naturally, there was more to Fabiola’s bad humour than the cold. Yet there was much to be grateful for —
