The Road to Rome

  In the depths of despair, Fabiola sank down on to the bed.

  What had she done?

  Thankfully the information given Tarquinius about Caecilius, the owner of the latifundium, was correct. Posing as a merchant who’d grown up in the area, he was welcomed into the villa’s warm kitchen by the friendly major-domo, also a veteran. Over a plate of food and a cup of acetum, the haruspex was able to confirm that his father and mother were both dead – Sergius before Caecilius had even bought the place, and Fulvia two years later.

  ‘Relations of yours?’ asked the major-domo.

  Tarquinius made an indifferent gesture. ‘An aunt and uncle.’

  Draining his beaker, the other wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Fulvia wasn’t up to much by the end. Poor old creature. Some would throw such a person out on their ear, but Caecilius isn’t like that. “She’s worked here for long enough,” he said. “It’s not as if she eats much either.”’

  ‘He has my thanks,’ said Tarquinius, genuinely touched. ‘I would like to pay my respects.’

  ‘He should be back by this evening,’ said the major-domo. ‘You can tell him over dinner.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Tarquinius smiled. ‘Does anyone know where my relations are buried?’ he asked casually. ‘It would be good to visit their graves.’

  The major-domo thought for a moment. ‘The vilicus would be the best one to ask,’ he said. ‘He’s been here the best part of thirty years.’

  Tarquinius hid his surprise.

  ‘Dexter’s his name,’ said the other. ‘Another ex-soldier. Half the man he was, according to most, but still able to keep the slaves in line. You’ll find him in the yard or the fields around the house.’

  Murmuring his thanks, the haruspex went in search of Dexter: the man who’d warned him about Caelius’ plans for Olenus. He found the vilicus hobbling up and down the edge of a large field, shouting orders at the slaves who were picking weeds from the hand-high winter wheat. He was still an imposing figure. The injuries that he’d picked up in the legions were slowing him down, but his back was straight and his eyes were bright.

  Tarquinius could tell that he was being sized up from the instant he had come into view. He didn’t care. His only crime in vanishing had been to break the terms of his indentured labour. Scarcely something to be concerned about half a lifetime later. ‘Greetings,’ he said. ‘The major-domo said I’d find you out here.’

  Dexter grunted irritably. ‘You a friend of his?’

  ‘No,’ the haruspex replied. ‘I grew up in the area.’

  The vilicus stared at him, frowning.

  Tarquinius waited, interested to see if Dexter would recognise him.

  ‘I can’t place you,’ he admitted. ‘You’re about the same age as me though.’

  ‘Younger,’ the haruspex corrected. His greying hair and scars always made people think he was older than he was. ‘Tarquinius is my name.’

  Finally a look of recognition crossed Dexter’s face. ‘Mars above,’ he breathed. ‘I never thought to see you again. Owe me some fresh meat, don’t you?’

  Tarquinius had to smile at that. ‘You have a good memory.’

  ‘Some things are still working,’ the vilicus answered with a scowl. He eyed the slaves for a moment, checking their work was satisfactory. ‘Why did you run and leave the old man after I warned you?’

  Tarquinius sighed. ‘He wouldn’t have it any other way.’

  Dexter looked unsurprised. ‘I didn’t have you down as a coward.’ His expression turned crafty. ‘What did you do with his valuables?’

  Tarquinius had prepared himself for this exact question and kept his face blank. As Caelius’ strongman, the vilicus had often been party to his plans. The whole point of selling Olenus out had been to steal the sword of Tarquin, the last Etruscan king of Rome, and the bronze liver, a model for soothsayers to learn their art. ‘Was Crassus unhappy?’ he asked by way of answer. ‘Turns out he could have done with their help.’

  ‘Damn your eyes,’ Dexter snarled. ‘What happened to them?’

  ‘They were already missing when I got up there,’ Tarquinius said regretfully. ‘Olenus wouldn’t tell me where.’

  They stared at each other without speaking.

  It was the vilicus who looked away first, perturbed by the dark, bottomless pits that were Tarquinius’ eyes. ‘It’s of no matter now,’ he muttered uneasily. ‘Both Caelius and Crassus are long gone.’

  ‘They are,’ the haruspex replied. ‘To whatever place they deserve.’

  They exchanged another long look.

  Dexter broke the silence. ‘What brings you back?’

  ‘I’d like to visit my parents’ graves. The major-domo told me to ask you where they were.’

  Dexter gave an awkward cough. ‘Workers only get a wooden marker. This long after, there’s usually nothing left.’

  ‘Nonetheless, I thought you might remember where they were buried,’ said Tarquinius, his voice turning silky.

  ‘Perhaps.’

  Tarquinius stood aside, leaving the track back to the villa and the graveyard beyond open.

  Unsettled, Dexter barked an order at the slaves and then led the way up the hill. Reaching the rough quadrangle that served as the burial ground for slaves and indentured workers, Tarquinius was pleasantly surprised when the vilicus led him straight to a spot which looked up towards Falerii. It wouldn’t have been a deliberate choice on the part of those charged with digging the graves, but it pleased him all the same.

  ‘Here.’ Dexter pointed with the toe of one of his worn out caligae. ‘They were buried in the same hole.’

  It would have been done to save space, but Tarquinius was still gratified by what felt like a small gesture on the part of the gods. Looking down at the unmarked sod, he remembered his mother and father as they had been in his youth on the family farm. Smiling, vital and proud. It was how they would want to live on in his memory. Sadness filled him as he thought of the manner of their parting, and that he had never seen them living again. Closing his eyes, he let their images fill his mind for long moments.

  Dexter shifted from foot to foot, unhappy but no longer sure what to say.

  Doubtless he would feel the same grief when he climbed up to the cave and visited Olenus’ burial place, thought Tarquinius. What had it all been for? he wondered wearily. After all his wanderings, he was still the last haruspex. He’d discovered little about the Etruscans. Some of the knowledge Olenus had drummed into him had been passed on to Romulus, but if the gods didn’t clear the way for them to meet again and be reconciled, it would all have been for nothing.

  No, not for nothing, Tarquinius thought, dragging together the shreds of his belief. Tinia and Mithras know best, and their will is divine. It is not for me to question them, and they have not forgotten me. I am needed in Rome. Why else would I have been drawn back to the Lupanar? Fabiola appears to be safe, but the unspecified danger and the storm over the city must signify something. With luck, I will be granted a sign at the cave.

  Keeping this to the front of his mind, the haruspex looked up the mountain slope. If he hurried, there was time to visit it and return safely before dark. Then, after dinner with Caecilius, he could creep out to check that the sword and liver were still undisturbed in the olive grove where he’d buried them.

  It was as if Dexter had read his mind. ‘You know damn well where the artefacts are,’ he suddenly growled.

  Tarquinius’ fingers caressed the hilt of his gladius. ‘Even if I did, who would you tell?’

  They eyed each other in silence. Dexter had been the scourge of every slave on the estate for decades, and had beaten men to death on many occasions. The last time he’d seen Tarquinius, he would easily have done the same. Now, there was an air of deadly confidence about the long-haired Etruscan. It was more than that, though, thought the vilicus. There was something in the other’s eyes which put the fear of Hades into him. It was as if Tarquinius was looking into his soul, and passing jud
gement on it.

  Suddenly Dexter felt old and beaten. ‘Nobody at all,’ he whispered.

  With a brief smile of satisfaction, the haruspex brushed past.

  It was time to honour Olenus and, for the thousandth time, to ask for guidance.

  Chapter XVIII: Father and Son

  ‘Romulus!’

  He turned his head, searching for Sabinus’ voice. Incredibly, his comrade was on the back of a horse beyond the nearest Numidians. How Sabinus had got there, Romulus had no idea, but he’d never been more pleased. Slashing at another rider, he managed to barge around one mount and then another. Sabinus’ last spear took down a further warrior, creating terror in the enemy ranks. There were so many angry Numidians trying to get at Romulus that all was chaos, but within four or five heartbeats, he was by Sabinus’ side. Spurred on by pure adrenalin, he took the legionary’s outstretched arm and leapt up behind him.

  Urging the horse on with his knees, Sabinus directed it around the side of the milling Numidians. They headed straight for the Twenty-Eighth. Most of the enemy cavalrymen had yet to realise what had gone on. However, four of Petreius’ party gave chase, and Romulus’ hopes, which had soared, fell again. A horse carrying two could never outrun those with single riders. The dun-coloured beast labouring beneath them was worthy enough, but it wasn’t Pegasus. Sabinus cursed and drummed his heels against its ribs – to no avail.

  The chasing Numidians drew closer and closer, shouting insults as they came. A spear flew lazily through the air, landing just behind them. It was followed by another, which shot past to impale itself in the sand ten steps in front. Romulus glanced back, and his mouth opened in horror as a third javelin scudded in, striking their mount in the rump. Its head went up in shock, and its gait altered, slowing almost to a walk.

  Sabinus knew instantly what had happened. Throwing his right leg over, he dismounted. ‘Come on!’ he shouted.

  Romulus didn’t need any prompting. Half climbing, half falling, he got down. The horse stumbled off, the javelin still protruding from its hip. Romulus had no time to pity it. The Numidians were closing in fast, throwing spears at the ready. Perhaps fifty paces separated them.

  The pair looked at each other. ‘Run for it, or fight?’ Romulus asked.

  ‘They’d ride us down like dogs,’ snarled Sabinus. ‘We fight!’

  Pleased by his comrade’s reaction, Romulus nodded.

  They moved to stand side by side, and prepared to die.

  Two spears whistled by, but missed. That left four Numidians, each of whom had one or two shafts left. The enemy riders were expert shots from close range, and Romulus knew that, without shields, the chances of not being injured or killed in the next few moments were slim to none.

  That was until he heard the strident clamour of bucinae ring out behind him.

  The Numidians saw what was happening before Romulus did. Their faces creased with anger, and they pulled up. One threw a spear in a last futile gesture, and then the four horsemen turned and fled.

  Romulus looked around and saw a wedge of legionaries charging towards them, their shields raised high. In their midst was Atilius. He gasped with delight. The senior centurion must have been watching to see how they got on. There could be no other explanation for their rescue. Followed by Sabinus, Romulus trotted over.

  ‘Didn’t know you could ride,’ he muttered.

  ‘I grew up on a farm,’ explained Sabinus. ‘We always had a few nags about the place.’

  Romulus clapped him on the shoulder. ‘I owe you one.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ Sabinus grinned, and Romulus knew he’d made a comrade for life.

  Atilius halted his men as the two pounded in. ‘Get inside,’ he ordered, shoving legionaries aside. ‘There’s no time to waste.’

  Gratefully they obeyed, and the wedge did a swift about-turn. Romulus glanced at the Numidian lines. To his surprise, the enemy cavalrymen were not trying to attack. Instead, they were milling around, shouting at each other. A few had even galloped off to the south. It didn’t take much for fear to spread, thought Romulus. It was like watching the ripples in a pool after a stone went in. Riders looked at the ones who’d gone, and then followed. Then a few more did the same. Before the wedge had rejoined their comrades, the entire mounted force had disappeared in a great cloud of dust.

  ‘You killed Petreius then?’ asked Atilius.

  Romulus flushed. ‘No, sir, just wounded him.’

  ‘It was a good enough effort. He must have fled the field,’ the senior centurion said with a satisfied grin. ‘Look! The whoresons have lost their taste for a fight.’

  Romulus stared at the Numidian infantry, who were fleeing en masse from the centre. The cavalry on the far flank wouldn’t stay and fight now, when all their companions were running away. With daylight fading, it meant that they had won the vital respite Caesar’s cohorts needed to retreat safely. Romulus let out a gusty sigh, realising that he was exhausted. Yet his satisfaction over what he and his comrades had managed was far stronger than his aching muscles.

  ‘It was well done.’

  Romulus looked up to find Atilius’ gaze upon him. ‘A joint effort, sir. I couldn’t have done it without Sabinus here, and Paullus too.’

  ‘Is Paullus dead?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Many good legionaries have fallen today,’ said Atilius sadly. After a moment, though, his face cleared. ‘Thanks to you both, many will live to fight again. Caesar will hear of this.’

  Romulus thought his heart would burst with pride.

  The Pompeian forces soon called it a day and pulled back to their camp. With night fast approaching, the battle could no longer be conducted effectively. Labienus had failed to annihilate the foraging party, and missed a golden chance to capture or kill the Pompeians’ greatest enemy: Caesar.

  As a result, the journey back to Ruspina was uneventful. In good order, Caesar’s men marched and sang, aware that they’d had a lucky escape. Romulus couldn’t get over Caesar’s tactics, which had been both stubborn and courageous. Few leaders would have had the self-belief to continue fighting in such a desperate situation with fearful, inexperienced troops. Making his cohorts face different ways had been improvisation of the finest quality, as had the decision to launch a last ditch counter-attack. Crassus, the only other Roman whom Romulus had served under, had possessed little of the ability which shone from practically every action of Caesar’s.

  The next day, he and Sabinus were ordered to Caesar’s headquarters and Romulus’ excitement reached fever pitch. Atilius had been as good as his word, commending them both for bravery, and Romulus a second time for his initiative and effort in wounding Petreius. The senior centurion told them both about it just before they’d turned in, which meant that neither man slept well. They rose long before dawn, cleaning and polishing the kit they’d stripped from dead legionaries the previous evening. The battlefield had been littered with corpses, so it hadn’t been hard to find mail shirts and helmets which fitted.

  ‘What do you think he’ll say to us?’ asked Sabinus, combing out the horsehair crest on his helmet.

  ‘How should I know?’ Romulus retorted with a grin.

  ‘You’ve met him before.’

  Romulus didn’t talk about receiving his manumission, but, like everyone else, Sabinus would have heard the story. All the same, his comrade’s awe came as a slight shock to him. It wasn’t that surprising, though, he supposed. Very few ordinary soldiers ever met Caesar directly. It wasn’t as if the general went about the camp every night, swapping stories over a few cups of acetum. Caesar held a status not far short of divine among the ordinary rank and file, so to have held a conversation with him was unusual. Romulus felt a surge of pride at this. ‘Caesar’s a soldier,’ he said. ‘So he appreciates courage. I imagine he’ll say that and give us each a phalera.’

  Sabinus looked pleased. ‘Some extra cash would come in handy too. My wife’s always bitching about how little I send her.’

  ?
??You’re married?’

  Sabinus grinned. ‘Chained to, more like. Have been for ten years or more. Three kids living, last time I was home. She keeps the farm going with the help of a few slaves. It’s only a little place, about halfway between Rome and Capua.’ He caught Romulus’ wistful look. ‘You’ll have to come and stay when we’re demobbed. Help me take in the crops, roll a slave girl or two in the hay.’ He winked. ‘If we survive that long, of course.’

  ‘I’d like that,’ said Romulus. The idea of having a wife, a family, a place to go back to was immensely appealing. As a former slave, he’d never really thought about such things, but it was easy to see how much it meant to Sabinus, despite the deprecating remarks. What have I to look forward to? Romulus wondered. Other than finding Fabiola and killing Gemellus, precious little. Where would I live? What could I do? Greatly disquieted by these thoughts, he was grateful for the arrival of Atilius. They both scrambled up and stood to attention.

  The senior centurion studied them with a practised eye. ‘Not bad,’ he said. ‘You almost look like soldiers now.’

  This was the nearest Atilius got to praise, and they both grinned self-consciously.

  ‘Come on then,’ he ordered. ‘Can’t keep the general waiting, can we?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  The other members of their contubernium muttered their good wishes as the pair scurried after Atilius like eager puppies.

  It wasn’t a long walk to the principia, the headquarters, which was situated at the intersection of the Via Praetoria with the Via Principia. These, the two main roads in the massive camp, ran north–south and east–west respectively. The area in front of the huge pavilion which operated as Caesar’s office and command centre was already filled with hundreds of legionaries, come to witness the awards ceremony. There was no sign of the general yet, but his senior staff officers were grouped by the tent’s entrance. Resplendent in their polished cuirasses, gilded greaves and feathered helmets, they looked magnificent. Twenty hand-picked soldiers from Caesar’s party of Spanish bodyguards stood along the pavilion’s wall, their irregular dress and weapons at odds with the rest of those present. Every legion’s eagle was present, held proudly upright by its aquilifer. The general’s own standard, the red vexillum, was also on prominent display. A quartet of trumpeters watched keenly to see when Caesar would emerge.