Romulus waited no longer. He leaned forward and stabbed in one side of Lentulus' throat and out the other, severing the major vessels. Bright red blood gushed over his arm in a warm spray.
Lentulus gurgled as the back of his mouth and throat filled with fluid. Clawing uselessly at the iron, he stared into Romulus' eyes. The Goth seemed more startled than anything. He tried to speak, but could not.
Anguish filled the boy.
'Rom-ulus! Rom-ulus!' He was aware that the chanting had grown louder. Kill or be killed, he thought grimly, twisting the gladius as he pulled it free. Lentulus fell face forwards into the sand with a soft thump and did not move again.
The pain was suddenly overwhelming. Romulus staggered, staring at the hilt protruding from his leg. Dropping both sword and shield, he reached towards it.
'Stop!' Brennus was at his side.
Romulus toppled back into the Gaul's arms. Gently the huge gladiator lowered him to the ground.
'I let my concentration slip,' he said, voice tailing away as shock began to set in.
'Get the surgeon!'
The words came as if through a fog. Head swimming, Romulus could no longer focus. Pain surged upwards from his thigh, radiating in agonising waves. It took superhuman effort not to scream. 'Am I going to die?'
'You'll be fine.' Brennus took his hand in a grip of iron. 'Well done, lad.'
Romulus' last memory was hearing his friend roaring again for the Greek surgeon.
When Romulus' eyes opened, the first thing he saw was Astoria's voluptuous figure, bent over the brazier. A rich, aromatic smell reached his nostrils and he stirred restlessly under his blankets.
'I'm hungry.' He managed to sit up on one elbow. 'What time is it?'
'Past noon . . . the following day. You've slept for almost a day and a half,' Astoria replied. 'How do you feel?'
'I'm alive.' Romulus moved a hand down to his right thigh, finding a heavy bandage. He grimaced. 'My leg aches.'
'It was a deep wound. The Greek gave you mandrake to kill the pain.' Astoria came over to the makeshift bed, a bowl in her hands. 'Time for some more.'
He sipped a little, instantly screwing up his face. 'Tastes awful.'
'It will hurt less afterwards. Drink.'
Romulus drained the bitter liquid obediently. He was too weak to do anything else.
'Now lie back and rest.'
'How bad was it?'
'Lentulus missed the artery by a whisker. The gods were looking after you.' She smiled. 'Dionysus cauterised the bleeding and stitched the muscle.'
'When can I start training again?'
Astoria rolled her eyes.
Romulus tried to speak again, but his tongue already felt thick and useless. The mandrake was starting to take effect.
'In about ten days.' Brennus came stamping into the room, torso covered in sweat. 'Light exercise only!'
Romulus felt his eyelids grow heavy. A few moments later he was asleep.
'Can't leave him in the hospital, that's certain,' said Brennus. 'Figulus or one of the others would cut his throat.'
'Good. You need a friend to watch your back.'
The Gaul sighed. It had been years since he trusted anyone. But Romulus reminded him strongly of Brac. Grief welled up at the memory, which was still raw.
'You haven't got eyes in the back of your head,' she scolded. 'Neither can you kill ten men at once.'
Brennus' face darkened as he pictured the village in flames. Brac's death. Capture. I killed more than ten legionaries that day. Wasn't enough. 'Be good to have someone reliable around,' he mused.
'You said before that Romulus is a good fighter.'
Brennus rubbed his chin thoughtfully. 'And it wasn't universally popular to kill the murmillones.'
'Figulus and Gallus have been talking to many of the others.' The Nubian looked uneasy. 'They're probably planning to kill you, my love.'
'Nobody in the ludus would dare touch me.' Trying to conceal his worries, Brennus patted her arm.
'No one alone – but working together?' she replied. 'You could be in danger!'
'I know,' the Gaul finally admitted. 'And Romulus seems like a good man. Let's take care of him till he can walk, anyway.'
Relieved, Astoria kissed him.
'Then we'll see if Romulus wants to fight with Brennus.'
The pair were as good as their word. Over the next ten days, Romulus was looked after better than he had been since he was a small child. By the third day, the young fighter was able to swing both legs out of the bed and stand unaided. Two days after that, he was taking short walks outside using a crutch that Brennus had fashioned. The Gaul stood by, encouraging him.
'Don't seem too happy.' Romulus indicated Figulus and Gallus, gazing sourly from the other side of the yard.
Brennus spat in their direction. 'So?'
Romulus did not answer straight away.
The two fighters were fearsome enemies. Figulus was an ox of a man, a veteran Thracian with more than ten single combat victories under his broad leather belt. Gallus was short and stocky with a bad limp, but his skill with net and trident was well known in the ludus.
'Have to kill both of them too,' Romulus said with as much bravado as he could muster.
'Fighting talk, my young friend! But you aren't a match for either.' Brennus grinned. 'Yet. Two or three years, maybe.'
'That's a long time if they want to kill me now.'
'It is.' The Gaul paused, thinking. 'So I propose we become allies. Look out for each other.'
'Me look after you?' Romulus' mouth opened and closed. 'But I'm only fourteen.'
'With two kills to your name. And one was in fair combat.' Brennus' eyes were bright. 'You show great promise, lad. You'll be an excellent fighter one day.'
'I'd be honoured.'
'Among my people, such friendship is not made lightly.' A flicker of emotion passed across the Gaul's face. 'Needs be, we fight to the death for each other. Makes us brothers until one or both is dead.' His jaw clenched.
'Are you prepared for that?'
Romulus paused, aware the gesture meant a lot to Brennus. It did to him as well. Previously Juba had been the only man he had trusted. Taking a deep breath, he nodded.
Brennus held out a muscled arm and the two clasped firmly. Romulus met the other's steady gaze and the Gaul smiled in satisfaction.
'The first lesson will be how to kill quickly. Lentulus nearly got you at the end.'
'I was so excited at winning.'
'Exactly. You didn't stay focused.' Brennus punched him on the chest. 'Always keep in mind what an enemy might do next.'
Romulus glanced over at Figulus and Gallus. Judging by their scowls, they were none too pleased at the clear gesture of friendship.
'We need to watch those two constantly for a start.'
'We 'll have to kill them sooner or later,' said Brennus, shrugging. 'Forget the pricks for now. A good soak is what we need!'
The Gaul saw Romulus' questioning look. 'Memor gave in, let me start using the baths again,' he said with a grin. 'Hot water will loosen up that leg. Then the unctor can get to work softening the scar tissue.'
Romulus limped across the yard, his arm on Brennus' shoulder. For the first time since losing Juba and his family, the young fighter felt he had a friend he could trust.
With his life.
It was a good feeling.
Chapter X: Brutus
The Lupanar Brothel, Rome, 56 BC
Fabiola trembled as she heard Jovina's summons.
Two days had passed in the Lupanar without a customer agreeing to the high price for her virginity. Several old men had lustfully eyed the stunning girl and one had even begun pawing at her breasts until Jovina intervened. To Fabiola's relief, none had been able to come up with the money required.
It was late on the third morning and Fabiola had been waiting nervously in a small anteroom beside reception. She had been there throughout the previous two days too. The walls were covered in p
ornography. At least half the sexual positions looked physically impossible. Pompeia had taught her the basic techniques of most, but Fabiola's stomach constricted at the thought of actually performing them. She had only ever kissed one of the merchant's other young slaves before.
Stay focused. Become the best. Remember Gemellus. Remember Romulus.
More than half a dozen brightly adorned prostitutes sat on benches lining the room. A powerful smell of perfume filled the air. The women giggled and laughed among themselves – it was just another working day – while Fabiola sat alone in one corner. Although no one had been unkind, Fabiola missed Pompeia keenly. The redhead was engaged with a well-paying regular, a middle-aged senator who liked dressing up in her underclothes.
When clients arrived and let the madam know their preferences, Jovina called out the names of suitable girls. The chosen prostitutes would walk out to be appraised and then selected by whoever took their fancy.
Fabiola was the only virgin in the Lupanar. Her wait had been a lonely one. But she had managed to remain calm, planning her future.
'Get out here!'
'Be quick,' hissed the Nubian. 'Don't put off the customer or Jovina will get angry.'
'Coming!'
'Good luck! Remember what Pompeia has taught you.'
'Tease him until he begs for more,' said another woman.
Grateful for the encouragement, Fabiola stood, smoothing down her dress. It was the fine white linen one with a purple hem that Pompeia had selected a few days before. Fabiola walked to the open door, out on to the colourful mosaic floor. Her heart was pounding. She forced herself to breathe in calmly as Pompeia had shown her, letting the air out very slowly.
'You look amazing!' Jovina stood waiting, head cocked to one side. There was an encouraging smile on her painted, wrinkled face.
Beside the madam was a man in his twenties with a tanned, pleasant appearance. Fabiola had never seen him before. He was of average build, clean shaven, with short brown hair. A simple, well-cut tunic was belted at the waist, which marked him as a soldier. The jewelled hilt of a dagger protruded from the narrow belt.
'Closer!'
Fabiola obeyed, gazing demurely at her soft white leather sandals. At least he's not old.
'Look at me.' The man's voice was calm and deep.
Fabiola lifted her head and stared into his clear blue eyes.
'Quite a beauty, aren't you?'
She glanced back at the floor, unable to hold his gaze.
'Fifteen thousand sestertii?'
'A trifle for the virginity of such a girl.' Jovina's voice was wheedling.
'That's a lot of money.'
'When have my girls ever not been worth the price, Decimus Brutus?'
He smiled. 'Turn around.'
Fabiola revolved slowly under the intense scrutiny. From the corner of her eye, she could see Benignus standing unobtrusively in shadows by the front door. It lent a feeling of safety to the inspection.
'Very well.'
Fabiola felt her stomach turn over. The moment had come.
'If you'll just sign a chit first, Master.' Jovina scuttled to her desk, deftly unrolling a parchment. She added a few quick details, in the manner of someone who had done the task before.
'You know I am good for it.'
'Of course, Master. But when Fabiola has finished, you will be in no state to even sign your name,' said Jovina with a cackle.
Brutus laughed, taking the stylus. He scrutinised the parchment before adding his signature to the bottom.
The madam immediately picked up a lighted candle, tipping it so a circle of wax pooled beside Brutus' mark.
'Your seal as well?'
'By all the gods! You'd make a great quartermaster in the legions, Jovina. Never happy until the paperwork's complete!' Brutus pressed his signet ring into the hot liquid.
Jovina grinned from ear to ear. 'You know where to go, child.'
Unable to speak, Fabiola nodded. Taking Brutus by the hand, she led him down the dimly lit corridor. The soldier followed but did not speak, which added to her nerves. Torches flickered from brackets in the walls, lighting up alcoves filled with statues of the gods and the small offerings to them. As they passed the figure of Aphrodite, she offered up a prayer.
Fabiola led Brutus into the first bedroom and closed the door. The chamber was tastefully furnished with a wide bed and marble washbasin. Heavy fabric drapes hung from the walls. Small oil burners provided light and a thick smell of incense hung in the air. Tables laden with food and wine stood on one side.
'You never know. He might want to eat between courses,' Pompeia had joked as she explained what to do earlier. Her instructions had been quite clear. 'Make sure the customer's satisfied. That's all that matters!'
Fabiola turned to face Brutus, who was studying her closely.
'Would the master like me to wash him?'
'I've just been to the baths.'
Slightly relieved, Fabiola moved closer, running long fingertips down one muscled arm. Brutus was in good physical shape, making the task much easier. 'Let me undress you,' she said with a confidence that surprised her. She beckoned seductively and led him over to the bed. Rose petals covered the silk embroidered spread. Docilosa was proud of her job.
Fabiola tugged at the belt buckle, undoing it with difficulty. She found herself hurrying but remembered Pompeia's advice to take everything slowly. Soon the belt had opened and she 'd lowered it to the floor. Fabiola lifted Brutus' tunic off, pushing him gently backwards until he fell on to the covers.
The noble lay back, enjoying the experience.
She knelt to unlace the leather straps of his caligae. The sandals' soles were covered with metal studs – standard military issue, a sure sign Brutus was no reluctant soldier. 'You serve in the army, Master?'
'I am a senior staff officer of Caesar's,' Brutus said proudly. 'Home on leave from Gaul. Two months at least, thank the gods.' He rubbed a hand across his eyes. 'It's good to be back in civilisation.'
Fabiola clambered on to the bed and began caressing him from head to toe. He sighed with pleasure as tight muscles were kneaded and squeezed into relaxation.
'Close your eyes. Rest, Master.'
Brutus seemed glad to obey.
She changed tempo, moving both hands very slowly in gentle circles around his chest and belly and the tops of his thighs. According to Pompeia, this was one of the most important parts of the seduction. After a while, Fabiola strayed across his licium, the linen loincloth all nobles wore. Gradually this was included with every circuit as she continued to rub the officer all over. The ministrations succeeded and soon Brutus' excitement was evident through the licium. He moaned as Fabiola began to pay more attention to his stiff member. The young prostitute did not rush. Soon Brutus was writhing around, small sounds escaping his lips.