The Silver Eagle

Not for the first time, Fabiola was struck by how alike Caesar and Romulus were. She herself bore the same fair complexion, aquiline nose and piercing eyes. And while their stations in life were worlds apart, Fabiola felt the burning drive to succeed that she saw in Caesar. Here he was, unafraid to take on the entire institution of the Republic. A similar stubborn courage had burned in Romulus’ heart; it did in hers too. And while Fabiola’s task might be less ambitious than Caesar’s, she would not stop until she discovered who had raped her mother. And taken revenge upon him. Even if it is Caesar, thought Fabiola fiercely. I owe it to Mother. And Romulus. At once doubt filled her. Is he really my father? How in the name of all the gods can I know?

Finally Caesar sensed their presence. Straightening, he gave them both a warm smile. ‘Thank you for coming.’

‘My pleasure, sir,’ replied Brutus.

‘And mine.’ Fabiola bowed deeply.

He offered them both mulsum. ‘To a swift victory,’ said Caesar, raising his glass. ‘Or to the Senate seeing sense.’

Smiling, they drank.

‘This is a sad day for the Republic,’ commented Caesar. His voice changed, growing angry. ‘But they leave me no option. The most successful general in our history should not be treated like a dog.’

‘Of course not, sir,’ agreed Brutus indignantly. ‘Pompey will not lay down his commands or disband his legions, so why should you?’

Fabiola murmured in agreement.

‘Pompey is no raw recruit,’ warned Caesar. ‘I hope that he and the Optimates decide to negotiate, or this could be a long struggle.’

‘Gaul only took seven years, sir,’ said Brutus with a grin. ‘What’s another few?’

Caesar threw back his head and laughed before regarding Brutus steadily. ‘My success has a lot to do with good men like you,’ he said. ‘I do not forget these things.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ replied Brutus.

Fabiola was delighted by this show of affection.

They made polite conversation for some time. Then Caesar reached into a drawer on his desk. ‘I need you to do something important for me,’ he said conspiratorially to Brutus. ‘It won’t take long.’

‘Anything, sir.’ Brutus looked eager.

A rolled parchment appeared in Caesar’s hand. ‘These are fresh orders for the troops in Ariminium.’ He saw Fabiola’s confusion and explained. ‘I sent some there yesterday, dressed in civilian clothing.’

‘You want me to travel on ahead, sir?’ asked Brutus.

‘No. Just deliver it to the optio who’s waiting outside by my carriage. He knows where to go.’

Taking the parchment, Brutus hurried from the room.

Left alone with Caesar, Fabiola smiled uneasily. Had this been planned? For a short time, her worries seemed unfounded as Caesar asked solicitously about her wellbeing and hopes for the future.

‘Will you bear him children?’ he asked.

Fabiola coloured. ‘If the gods will it, yes.’ Using her knowledge of herbs from the Lupanar, she had avoided pregnancy this far. Consolidating her new position was far more important. Naturally, Brutus knew nothing of this. Trying not to look nervous, she fiddled with one of her gold and carnelian earrings.

Seemingly satisfied, Caesar took Fabiola into another chamber, where he showed off his gilded breastplate and red general’s cloak. ‘That’s what I’ll be wearing later,’ he said. ‘At the Rubicon.’

‘You will look magnificent,’ gushed Fabiola, listening out anxiously for Brutus. What was taking him so long? ‘Quite the conquering hero.’

‘You certainly know how to compliment a man,’ said Caesar, leaning in close. ‘Brutus is very lucky to have a woman like you.’

‘Thank you, general.’ There was a soft clunk, and Fabiola looked down. Something glittered in the carpet. It was her earring, which had now fallen off. Fabiola bent to pick it up, revealing rather more cleavage than she intended. When she stood, Caesar was eyeing her flesh greedily. Terrified, Fabiola froze.

‘So young,’ he murmured. ‘So perfect.’

There was a new, predatory look in Caesar’s eyes which made Fabiola feel very uncomfortable. She backed away a step, her fist clenching on the earring until it hurt.

He followed silently.

Retreating further, scared now, Fabiola collided with the wall. There was nowhere else to go. She tried not to panic. Where was Brutus?

Caesar stepped forward. Wine fumes filled her nostrils. ‘You’re a real beauty.’

Fabiola looked down, praying that he would go away. Instead he reached out and cupped her breasts. Next he began to lick her neck. Terrified and disgusted, Fabiola did not dare react. This was one of the two most important men in the Republic, while she was just a nobleman’s mistress. A nobody.

At length, Caesar paused. ‘You were a slave before.’

She nodded.

‘Then you should be used to this,’ Caesar hissed, lifting her dress.

Silent tears of fury ran down Fabiola’s cheeks.

Breathing heavily, he pulled aside her underclothes and fumbled with her.

Mithras and Jupiter, she thought. Help me! But there was no divine intervention. Nor any sign of Brutus.

Caesar’s efforts grew more frantic, and Fabiola felt his erection pressing forward against her thigh. ‘No,’ she cried. ‘Please!’

One of the legionaries outside laughed, instantly arousing Fabiola’s suspicions. Perhaps this was not the first time Caesar had assaulted a woman?

Hearing the noise, he stopped for a moment, listening.

Fabiola’s heart leapt, but it was a false alarm. Instead of releasing her, Caesar twisted Fabiola’s arm and forced her on to her knees with him. She moaned with fear.

‘Be quiet, or I’ll hurt you.’

Fabiola was unsure why, but the words struck a deep chord. Suddenly she knew. She just knew. Caesar was the rapist. He was her father.

‘Take off your dress,’ he ordered. ‘I’m going to fuck you on the floor.’

An image of Velvinna flashed before her eyes. Naked. Helpless. Alone. Twenty-one years before, this man had done the same thing to her mother. Burning fury consumed Fabiola. ‘No,’ she snarled. ‘I won’t.’

Caesar drew back his hand to strike her.

And she prepared to fight back with all her strength.

‘Fabiola?’ Brutus’ voice was not far away. ‘Caesar? Where are they?’

There was an awkward silence.

‘Answer me!’ Brutus shouted.

‘In the other room,’ one of the sentries reluctantly muttered.

‘Stand aside!’

Caesar cursed under his breath. Hastily rearranging his clothing, he got to his feet.

Fabiola was quick to do so as well. Brutus must not suspect anything. She knew his temper. Brutus was liable to lash out at anyone who had assaulted Fabiola in such a manner, even Caesar, his general. The consequences if he did that were far too grave to even consider. For both of them. She had to act as if everything were normal. Inspiration hit, and Fabiola opened the throbbing palm of her right hand. On it lay her gold and carnelian earring, now crushed. Overcome by terror, she had been unaware of her actions until that moment.

Brutus appeared in the doorway. ‘There you are,’ he said, relieved. His brow creased at the sight of Caesar and his lover standing so close together. ‘What’s going on?’

Caesar self-consciously cleared his throat.

‘Nothing, my darling. The general was showing me his armour. Then I lost this,’ answered Fabiola brightly, holding out her hand. Lamplight flashed off the mangled piece of jewellery, and she prayed he would not peer too closely at it. ‘We were just looking for it.’

‘I see,’ Brutus answered, looking suspicious. ‘The optio has left, sir.’