What’s going on? Romulus wondered. Fabiola was lying through her teeth. The realisation hit him hard. Brutus was a loyal follower of Caesar. She didn’t want him to know because she wasn’t sure how he would react. I’m supposed to agree to murder him without batting an eyelid, though. This when Fabiola actually has no definite proof, just the fact that Caesar came on to her a bit forcefully and he and I both have aquiline noses. She had probably drunk too much wine that night. Romulus knew that he was inventing reasons not to believe Fabiola’s story, but couldn’t help himself. When he glanced back at his sister, she winked at him. Brutus missed the gesture.
Rather than being reassured, Romulus was infuriated. Fabiola was clearly used to manipulating men, and now she was treating him in the same way. A previously unthinkable idea popped into his mind. Could Fabiola be trusted?
Of course she can, he thought, she’s my sister. My twin. My own flesh and blood.
His response was instant: who’s trying to work me. Bridling now, Romulus started down the corridor. They would have to talk about this again: in private.
His happiness soured, Romulus went in search of Tarquinius.
Romulus’ reunion with the haruspex was all that he had hoped for, and more. Walking to the Mithraeum, which Tarquinius had suggested they do, seemed to take only a moment. The delighted urchin tagged along, awestruck by the twenty-five denarii that his expertise had earned him. To Romulus, the extra sum was a trifle for getting him to the Lupanar in time to save Fabiola. As he realised later, he had made a fan for life in the boy, whose name turned out to be Mattius.
Romulus told the haruspex about his experiences in the army, including his exposure as a slave in Asia Minor and Petronius’ courage in standing by him. About returning to the ludus. Not usually demonstrative, Tarquinius sighed at Petronius’ death and gasped to hear how Romulus had killed the rhinoceros. ‘Gods,’ he breathed. ‘After seeing that beast captured, I wouldn’t have given you a chance in Hades.’
Romulus shook his head, not quite believing it himself.
‘That was when you met Caesar.’
‘Yes.’ Romulus related the tale of how he had been freed.
There was a shocked gasp from Mattius at this point.
‘Slaves are no different than you or I,’ Romulus explained, aware that the urchin probably looked down on the only class lower than his own. ‘They can do anything, given the chance. As you could, if you want to.’
‘Really?’ Mattius whispered.
‘Look at me, and what I survived,’ Romulus replied. ‘Yet I was a slave once.’
Mattius nodded determinedly.
Tarquinius chuckled. ‘Yet rather than enjoying your freedom, you volunteered to fight in Caesar’s army?’
Romulus flushed. ‘He believed my story. It seemed the honourable thing to do.’
‘He would have appreciated the gesture,’ said the haruspex, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘You fought in the African campaign, then?’
‘Yes. Ruspina was like Carrhae,’ revealed Romulus. ‘We had almost no cavalry, while the Numidians had thousands. It should have been a massacre, but Caesar never lost his cool.’ He went on to describe his attack on Petreius, as well as the battle at Thapsus.
‘I’d heard that the Pompeians’ elephants hadn’t had the same success as the Indian ones did against the Forgotten Legion.’
Romulus’ guilt over Brennus resurfaced with a vengeance and he told the haruspex about how he’d saved Sabinus at Thapsus.
Tarquinius’ face grew sombre, and when Romulus was finished he did not say anything for a few moments. They walked on in silence until Romulus realised that the haruspex was studying the sky, the air and everything around him. Trying to see if anything would be revealed about Brennus. His heart rate shot up.
‘It’s too far away. I can see nothing,’ Tarquinius said at length. He sounded disappointed.
Romulus felt his shoulders slump. He jerked them back forcibly. ‘If I can drive off an elephant, what could Brennus do?’ he demanded. ‘He could still be alive!’
‘Indeed he could,’ the haruspex admitted.
Romulus grabbed his arm, hard. ‘Did you have any idea that this might happen?’
Tarquinius met Romulus’ gaze squarely. ‘No. I thought that Brennus would meet his death by the River Hydaspes, avenging his family. I saw nothing beyond that.’
Romulus nodded in acceptance. ‘Did you look further, though?’
‘No,’ Tarquinius replied with an apologetic glance. ‘Who’d imagine that one man could fight an elephant, and live?’
Romulus could not bear the idea of his beloved comrade and mentor facing torments and dangers without him by his side. Swallowing, he changed the subject. ‘What happened to you in Alexandria?’ he asked. ‘Why did you disappear?’
Tarquinius looked awkward. ‘I was ashamed,’ he said simply. ‘I thought you’d never forgive me for not telling you before, and that I deserved to die.’
The pain in his voice tore at Romulus’ heart, and again he thanked Mithras for bringing them together. ‘It didn’t warrant that,’ he said.
‘Well, I’m still here.’ Tarquinius’ lips twisted upwards in a wry smile. ‘The gods haven’t finished with me. Of course I never foresaw more than a return to Rome with you. Once we were parted, I was unsure what to do.’
‘Did you not sacrifice, or attempt to divine?’
‘Constantly.’ He frowned. ‘But I kept seeing the same confusing images. I could make no sense of them, so I went to study in the library, thinking that something might be revealed.’
Romulus was all ears. ‘Did it?’
‘Not really. I saw danger in Rome, but couldn’t be sure if it was to you, or Fabiola, or someone else entirely.’ The haruspex sighed. ‘I did see Cleopatra, though.’ He lowered his voice. ‘When she was pregnant with Caesar’s child.’
Startled, Romulus jerked around. The Egyptian queen and her son had recently been installed in one of Caesar’s residences in the city, provoking much talk among the population. Despite being married, the dictator was publicly honouring his mistress. Romulus hadn’t given it much thought before, but what Fabiola had just told him changed things completely. If she was right, they and Cleopatra’s child were half-siblings. His mind boggled.
To his alarm, Tarquinius’ dark eyes were studying him closely.
Romulus looked away. He wasn’t ready to share that information just yet, or Fabiola’s demand that they kill Caesar. What he needed was time to think about it all, and to decide what he should do.
The haruspex didn’t ask him anything. Instead, his story unfolded, leading right up to his drunken encounter with Fabricius, which had unexpectedly won him a passage back to Italy. ‘I never thought to return here,’ Tarquinius said. ‘Although it has taken this long to know why, it was the right thing to do. Being there to stop Gemellus was a true blessing.’
‘You also saved Fabiola’s life,’ Romulus added gratefully.
The haruspex smiled. ‘I should have guessed that both of you could have been in danger.’
‘You said that Gemellus was your owner once,’ Mattius piped up.
‘Yes,’ Romulus answered. ‘He mistreated my mother terribly, and beat us regularly for the most trivial reasons.’
‘Sounds like my stepfather,’ said the urchin darkly. ‘He deserved to die then, surely?’
Romulus’ face grew sombre. ‘Perhaps. I’m glad that I spared his life, though. Revenge should not be the only reason for living.’
Mattius fell silent, making Romulus wonder what his family situation was like. He’d have to find out. Falling into a reverie about the day’s events, he missed Tarquinius’ approving look. After all his travails, the gods had shown him their favour once more. His only worry was Fabiola’s shocking revelation, which still hadn’t fully sunk in. He couldn’t stop thinking about it either. After all he’d been through under Caesar – the marching, the fighting and killing – how could it be that the dictator had raped their mother? Damn
it all, Romulus thought. I love the man, as does every legionary in his entire army. But I hate the bastard who raped my mother.
Tarquinius’ hand on his arm startled him. ‘This is it.’
Romulus looked up. They were high on the Palatine Hill, a wealthy area, and although plain, the high wall of the house before them was an imposing sight. ‘The Mithraeum is here?’ he asked in surprise, remembering the veterans’ ragged look.
‘Left to them by a wealthy army officer who’d converted to the religion,’ Tarquinius disclosed. ‘It’s even more impressive inside.’ He rapped on the door in a staccato pattern.
‘Who goes there?’ came the challenge from within.
‘Tarquinius, and another friend.’
The portal partly opened and a stolid veteran peered out. Seeing Romulus behind the haruspex, his face split into a grin. ‘This must be Fabiola’s brother. Enter.’
Romulus bid farewell to Mattius, who promised to call by each morning. Following Tarquinius inside, he was bowled over by the first thing he saw: an immense, brightly painted statue of Mithras crouched over the bull, which dominated the atrium. The oil lamps that burned in alcoves all along the hallway gave the figure a most forbidding air. He made a deep bow, remaining in obeisance for several heartbeats to show his respect and awe.
The doorman was watching him when he straightened. ‘It has that effect on everyone. The atmosphere in the Mithraeum is even more intense.’
Self-conscious, Romulus grinned. Already he felt at home.
‘You’ll want a wash and a good meal first,’ Tarquinius butted in. ‘I can take you to the temple later.’
Looking down at Scaevola’s blood on his arms, Romulus nodded. With his headache and weariness combined, he felt utterly drained. It was a familiar feeling after combat. With luck, though, he was done fighting for a while. How good it would be to take up Sabinus’ invitation and visit him on his farm, Romulus thought.
After he’d sorted things out with Fabiola.
His stay in the domus proved to be a welcome break. Because Romulus was a devotee of Mithras, the veterans received him as another comrade. Knowing that Fabiola would need time to re-establish herself in Brutus’ good books, Romulus took the opportunity to catch up on lost sleep, and to think. Accompanied by the limpet-like Mattius, he made a brief visit to the honour guard’s camp, seeking out Sabinus and the rest of the unit to let them know he wasn’t dead. The legionaries’ bleary faces, wine-stained tunics and demands that he join them for more revelry were not hard to refuse. Making his excuses, and promising to visit Sabinus, Romulus headed back to the veterans’ house. The previous period of riotous celebrations had left him exhausted. A contemplative life of regular meals, prayer and rest was like manna from heaven. Of course it was more than just a need to take it easy. As Romulus soon realised, what he was doing was trying to decide how he felt about Caesar raping his mother, being the dictator’s son, and Fabiola’s demand that they kill him.
After three days, Romulus had solved nothing. He was even more confused.
A huge part of him – influenced by the memories of his childhood – still hated the man who had violated his mother, and wanted to plunge a knife into his heart. Another part, having been freed by Caesar and then fighting under him for more than a year, held the general in the highest regard. Romulus could not deny to himself that this devoted feeling bordered on love – was love. Like his comrades, he had revelled in it before, but now it threw him into paroxysms of guilt. Could it even be the filial feelings of a son for his father? How could he regard Caesar like that, given the abominable way the dictator had treated his mother?
Yet he did.
Of course Fabiola could be wrong, he told himself. If Caesar hadn’t actually admitted to the rape, how could she be so sure? Their father might be any one of a thousand faceless nobles. The longer Romulus thought about it, the more convinced he became that this must be the case. Every time he tried to consider the other option – believing Fabiola, and then possibly agreeing to help her – he grew upset and angry. He also began to compare his decision not to kill Gemellus with his predicament over Caesar. Had the merchant not been a far worse man? After all, he had raped their mother on countless occasions, rather than just once. If he hadn’t wanted to end Gemellus’ miserable life, then how could he do the same to Caesar? Romulus was genuinely disturbed by the idea of murdering the general. Furious at Fabiola for trying to destroy his idolisation of Caesar, he also felt great anguish at not believing her word completely. He worried at the problem until his head spun, but no solution emerged.
Respecting Romulus’ obvious need for silence, Secundus and the other veterans let him be. Tarquinius did not interfere either. He was regularly there for short periods, checking if Romulus needed to talk – which he didn’t – but made himself scarce the rest of the time. The young soldier was not so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn’t recognise this. Tarquinius had seen that he was an adult now, who made his own decisions, which made his situation all the harder. Of course the haruspex had his own demons to face; despite his best efforts, he had still not managed to perform an interpretable divination. Rather than disappear, his visions of Rome under storm clouds were visiting him daily, obscuring all else. To his shame, Romulus was somewhat relieved by this. It meant that there was no point asking Tarquinius to seek the truth about his parentage. It was better that way. Romulus wanted to resolve the matter by himself.
On the fourth morning, he resolved to go and see Fabiola. She would be wondering what had happened to him, he told himself. It was difficult to brush away the fact that while his twin knew where he was staying, no messenger had come to find him. Perhaps this could be explained by Fabiola’s need to be with her lover, but Romulus felt piqued. Brutus’ house was not far.
‘Want me to come along?’ Tarquinius asked.
‘No, thank you.’ Washed and shaved, Romulus was clad in a brand-new russet military tunic. He’d polished his phalerae until they shone, and greased the leather of his belt and caligae. He might be a plain legionary, but he could present himself well. There was no question of leaving his decorations behind in case Fabiola was offended by them: they meant the world to Romulus. While Caesar had awarded him the phalerae, they stood for far more. ‘I need to do this on my own.’
Understanding, the haruspex nodded.
‘What are you planning?’
There was a shrug. ‘The usual. To try and see something of the future. Ask for information about Brennus.’
Pleased by this, Romulus took his leave. On the short walk to Brutus’ domus, he did not consider his dilemma at all, chatting instead to Mattius. Romulus just wanted a joyous reunion with Fabiola – like the one he’d spent years imagining. That was what would happen this morning, he thought excitedly. It wouldn’t take long for everything to be as it was in their childhood. Romulus revelled in the idea of properly seeing Fabiola again, of getting to know her a little. He wanted to learn all about his sister’s life over the previous ten years – how she had risen above the degradation of prostitution to become the lover of one of the Republic’s most prominent nobles; what she had done to find their mother. Doubtless she would want to hear of his experiences too.
Romulus’ pretence did not last any longer than it took to arrive at Brutus’ residence. Giving his name to the optio in charge of the legionaries outside, he was ushered inside. In the atrium, a military messenger was taking receipt of a rolled parchment from an imposing figure in full uniform. ‘Take this straight to Caesar,’ ordered the staff officer. ‘Wait for an answer.’ Saluting crisply, the soldier brushed past Romulus on his way out. He immediately felt irritated. Did he have to be reminded of the dictator’s existence straightaway?
‘Who is this man?’
The imperious demand shocked Romulus back to the present, and he found the officer regarding him with downright suspicion. Anger flared in his belly. Who does the prick think he is? Wary of the other’s rank, he waited for the optio to speak.
‘Fabiola’s brother, sir. A veteran legionary,’ answered the optio hastily. ‘He has come to visit.’
‘I see.’ The officer raised an eyebrow. The tiny gesture was more powerful than a thousand words, clearly conveying his contempt. ‘Carry on, then.’
Romulus was furious. Arrogant bastard, he thought as the optio guided him through the grand tablinum. Is that what Brutus will think of me too? Close on the heels of this idea was the uncomfortable fact that he might always face similar receptions from the company Fabiola now kept. Romulus was shocked by his inner voice’s instant response. Unless of course I am recognised as a son of Caesar. It was an incredible thought. If Fabiola was right, they were much closer relations of the dictator than Octavian, his grandnephew and reputed heir. I’m dreaming, Romulus told himself. We’re former slaves, not nobility.
Angered and disquieted, he still noticed the beauty and grandeur of the garden in the house’s courtyard. The sound of water was everywhere: flowing gently past him in little channels, pouring from the mouths of nymphs or splashing from delicate fountains. In between rows of vines, he saw fig and lemon trees. Well sculpted, painted statues of dryads and fauns peeped coyly from behind the lush vegetation. Like the richly decorated rooms Romulus had just passed through, the place oozed wealth.
Feeling even more uneasy, he followed the optio to a small open area with a table and chairs. Bread and fruit for breakfast was laid out on glazed red plates, but there was no sign of Fabiola. An amazing mosaic lay underfoot, depicting the exploits of a general on horseback. With an army of hoplites at his back, he faced an enormous host of dark-skinned soldiers, cavalry and elephants. Romulus studied it with complete fascination.
‘It’s Alexander of Macedon,’ muttered the optio.
‘I thought so,’ replied Romulus, remembering his interest in the Greek general as he and his comrades had marched east from Seleucia. His pleasure at that memory didn’t last. Looking at the massive war elephants made his guilt about Brennus surface all over again.
The other knew nothing of his inner turmoil. ‘What a leader Alexander was. Who knows where he might have got to if his men hadn’t refused to carry on?’ The optio grinned. ‘But we have our own Alexander in Caesar, and more, eh? Rumour has it that he wants to travel east once the civil war is over. That’d be an adventure worth going on!’