Startled, Romulus was about to ask the optio more when Fabiola arrived. Clad in a silk and linen gown which clung to her figure, she had her long black hair tied back. Bracelets and rings adorned with precious stones decorated her wrists and fingers, accentuating the deep blue of her eyes. Around her neck was a string of large pearls, each one of which would feed a family for a year. She was the personification of poise, beauty and wealth. ‘Brother!’ she cried, sweeping towards him in a wave of rosewater perfume. ‘What took you so long?’
Romulus shuffled forward, acutely aware of his battle scars, his coarse tunic and heavy leather caligae. Compared to Fabiola, everything about him was rough and crude. ‘Sister,’ he said, pecking her on the cheek. ‘It’s good to see you.’ He looked pointedly at the optio.
Taking the hint, the junior officer bowed towards Fabiola and withdrew.
She indicated the chairs by the rosewood table. ‘Sit,’ she commanded. ‘Share my breakfast.’
Romulus waited until they were alone before speaking again. ‘You needed time to patch up things with Brutus. That’s why I delayed visiting until now.’ He picked up a ripe peach and held it to his nose, enjoying its rich aroma. There had been few luxuries like this in Margiana, he thought, trying to shove away the main reason he’d stayed away. Romulus sank his teeth into the fruit, and busied himself with catching the juice. Uneasily, he realised that he was playing a game with his own sister. Waiting to see what she’d say.
Fabiola bestowed him with a stunning smile. ‘You are observant. Thank you for giving me some space.’
‘Is all well now?’
Now she looked like a cat that had got the cream. ‘Better than that. We’re happier than ever. Brutus has also complained to Caesar about Antonius’ behaviour. He told him about what happened at the Lupanar.’
‘Really?’ Romulus leaned forward, all ears. ‘What did Antonius say?’
‘He denied everything, of course. Said that Scaevola was a rogue character, a lone wolf who acted without authorisation.’ Fabiola pouted. ‘While Caesar chose to believe Antonius, he decided not to renew his position as Master of the Horse. There has been too much talk of his drunken excesses.’
‘But nothing more will come of it. Typical.’
‘One good thing did,’ retorted Fabiola. ‘Brutus had a stand-up argument with Antonius, which nearly came to blows. Caesar had to intervene in the end.’
Romulus stared at her, not understanding. ‘So?’
‘Brutus is aggrieved that Caesar did not believe his account of what had gone on before the attack on the brothel. Basically, Antonius is being shown favouritism, even though he has committed an outrage.’ She smiled. ‘It’s helping to bring Brutus around.’
Romulus’ heart sank. There was to be no easy chat about their childhood or how they’d both survived until now. ‘To your way of thinking,’ he said heavily.
‘Yes.’ It was Fabiola’s turn to bend forward, her blue eyes dancing. ‘Brutus isn’t convinced yet, but I’ll win him over. He’ll be able to find all the senators and noblemen we need. There must be plenty who are discontented and unhappy. Caesar’s done nothing but ride roughshod over every law in the book since he got back.’
Uneasy, Romulus looked over his shoulder. This was treasonous talk.
‘Don’t worry,’ advised Fabiola. ‘Brutus has just left for the Senate, and everyone knows that I like to be left alone here. You can speak without fear.’
His sister’s blithe assumption that he would agree with her plan irritated Romulus intensely. ‘So you’re still planning to kill him?’ he whispered.
‘Of course.’ Seeing his reluctance, Fabiola pursed her lips. ‘Will you help?’
‘How can you be sure that he’s the one?’ Romulus cried. ‘That he’s our—’
‘Don’t even say the word,’ she spat. ‘Caesar is nothing but a monster who has to pay for what he’s done.’
‘Before you murder a man, you need real proof,’ Romulus countered. ‘Not just a hunch.’
‘He tried to rape me, Romulus.’
Romulus’ indecision crystallised. ‘That doesn’t mean he did the same to Mother.’
They glared at each other, both unwilling to give way.
‘Is that it?’ demanded Fabiola eventually. ‘You come back from the dead, and won’t even avenge the wrongs done to your own flesh and blood?’
Stung, Romulus got to his feet. ‘While you may have been upset by Caesar’s advances, you weren’t hurt. That’s hardly a reason to end his life. Find me evidence that he attacked Mother, and I’m all yours,’ he growled. ‘But I won’t slay someone who might be innocent. I’ve had to do that too many times before.’
‘So you think that you’re the only one who has suffered?’ Fabiola shouted. ‘Did I whore myself with every man in Rome for nothing? All I wanted was to discover where you might be, and who had raped Mother, and I hated every single moment of it. Knowing Caesar is the one, and having you by my side to kill him is surely my reward.’
Horrified by her words, Romulus looked away. What had happened to him bore no comparison to his sister’s ordeal. Yet his opinion remained the same. ‘Caesar wasn’t responsible for selling you into the Lupanar,’ he said at last. ‘Gemellus was, and he has paid the ultimate price. Let it go.’
‘It’s Caesar, Romulus, I know it,’ she said, pleading. ‘He has to pay.’
The raw emotion in Fabiola’s words drew Romulus’ eyes back. He was shocked to see that she was crying – sobbing, even. Instinctively he moved to reassure her, and she fell into his arms. ‘There, there,’ he said, awkwardly patting her back. ‘It will be all right.’
The tears stopped at once, arousing his suspicions.
‘Help me,’ she whispered.
Romulus’ jaw hardened and he pushed her away. ‘No. I can’t.’
Unshed tears glittered in Fabiola’s icy blue eyes. ‘Why not?’ she demanded.
‘I told you,’ Romulus replied, stunned by her ability to change mood like the wind. ‘You have no proof.’
Again they glowered at each other.
After a few moments, Romulus broke eye contact. ‘I want no part in it,’ he said. ‘I’m going.’
At once Fabiola looked distraught, like a lost little girl. ‘Don’t leave. Please.’
Romulus stepped away from the table and bowed formally. ‘If you need me for anything – apart from that – you know where I’m staying.’
‘Yes.’ Her voice was wobbly, but she didn’t try to stop him.
He had walked a dozen steps before Fabiola spoke again. ‘You won’t tell anyone, will you?’
Romulus spun around. ‘Is that what you think of me? That I’ll go running to Caesar?’
Her face went pale. ‘No, of course not.’
‘Why ask then?’ he shot back.
She did not answer.
Disgusted, Romulus stalked from the courtyard.
Chapter XXV: Conspiracy
More than five months pass . . .
The Lupanar, spring 45 BC
Fabiola sat in the reception area, fondly watching Benignus as he instructed a new doorman in his duties. Despite the horrific injuries he had sustained during the battle with Scaevola’s men, he had survived. With a host of new scars and a bad limp in one leg, he had insisted on returning to work a few weeks later. Benignus’ recovery was in no small part due to Tarquinius’ medical abilities, and the last remnants of dust from a little leather pouch, which the haruspex had scattered over the worst of his wounds. Mantar, he called it. Fabiola had no idea what was in the musty-smelling particles, but she would always be grateful to Tarquinius for its power. Without it, Benignus would have died. Without his intervention, so too would Romulus. Furthermore, if the haruspex hadn’t warned Secundus and Brutus of the danger she was in, they might never have come to the Lupanar. In turn, this meant that she and her lover might never have been reconciled, a prospect Fabiola dared not think about. For all these reasons, she retained a keen interest in Tarquini
us.
Initially, she’d thought that his close friendship with Romulus might provide her with a way of breaking the ice with her brother. After their argument in Brutus’ garden, the twins had not seen each other for some time. Fabiola had been so angered by Romulus’ refusal to join her that she was not prepared to make the first move. As she had discovered, neither was he. Yet Tarquinius’ visits to care for Benignus meant that Fabiola saw the haruspex daily. Long conversations followed, during which she heard much of Romulus’ story, which of course she hadn’t had the chance to hear from his own lips. While she’d been told about the torturous campaign into Parthia and the horrors of Carrhae, Fabiola had never heard it from someone who had stood by Romulus’ side. She wept at Tarquinius’ descriptions of the Parthian arrow storms, the arrow-riddled legionaries and of their defeat under the burning desert sun, and sat horror-struck by the details of Crassus’ execution, the Forgotten Legion’s march to Margiana, and their ordeals against the Sogdians, Scythians and Indians.
The haruspex’ account of that last battle was perhaps the most shocking revelation for Fabiola. Interrupting Tarquinius, she told him how she had crept into the underground Mithraeum and drunk a vial of an hallucinogenic liquid. Bizarrely, she had been transformed into a raven. Flying over a strange land, she’d been struck by powerful images of Romulus. Next she had seen an outnumbered Roman army facing a huge host with elephants in its midst. The notion that Mithras had revealed that her brother was alive only to show her the method of his destruction had been overwhelming, driving Fabiola to dive madly at one of the massive beasts.
When she mentioned this, Tarquinius’ mouth actually fell open.
‘A raven, you say?’
She nodded. ‘But Secundus woke me up before I could see what happened.’
‘I saw that bird,’ the haruspex muttered. ‘So did Romulus. It dropped like a stone from the sky, aiming straight for the lead elephant. I told the men that the raven was a sign from the gods!’
Goose bumps rose all over Fabiola’s body. ‘It was sent by Mithras himself,’ she whispered.
‘Like my vision in the Parthians’ Mithraeum,’ mused Tarquinius. ‘I’ve had perhaps six that clear in my whole life, and the last one was in Margiana. It feels as if I have lost my focus.’ He sighed.
Despite the haruspex’ pessimism, Fabiola’s interest was piqued. Unlike the charlatans she’d come across all her life, here was a soothsayer with real ability. If she could take Tarquinius into her confidence, he might be persuaded to divine for the success of her plot against Caesar. Yet it was not quite that simple. Before revealing her hand in such a bald manner, Fabiola wanted to know if she could trust Tarquinius. He might feel the same way about Caesar as her brother. She started by asking him to have a word with Romulus, but to her frustration, he wanted nothing to do with their feud. In fact, he turned her down flat. ‘I’ve done enough harm poking my nose in other people’s business,’ he said. ‘You and your brother have to sort it out yourselves, like adults.’ The haruspex’ refusal prevented Fabiola from taking him into her confidence.
Fabiola wasn’t ready to try mending her relationship with her twin either. Stubbornly, she wanted him to come to her first, and when he didn’t, she was even more aggrieved. Although Fabiola knew that he was probably feeling the same way, she felt unable to budge from her position. She was right about Caesar being their mother’s rapist. Romulus would come to see that one day, she knew it. Nor was Fabiola deterred from her planning by Tarquinius’ refusal to help. She would press on regardless, with or without evidence of divine approval. Or her brother’s assistance.
Fabiola’s first major advancement had been her reconciliation with Brutus. Overwrought by her ordeal and the manner of Romulus’ departure, she had still noted the speed of Brutus’ arrival in the Lupanar. Knowing that this was her great chance to win her lover back, Fabiola had used every weapon in her considerable armoury. Sobbing like a child, she had thanked Brutus for coming to her aid. After taking up with Antonius, she didn’t deserve anything other than contempt from him. Secretly delighted by his magnanimous response, Fabiola had gradually turned kitten-like, telling Brutus how proud she was of him, and how much she’d missed his kindness and attention. Light caresses of his chest had drawn an instant response, giving Fabiola much needed encouragement to continue. If he was good enough to take her back, she promised, she would lavish all her attention on him for the rest of her days.
Fabiola’s ploy was only partly an act. She was hugely relieved to be rid of Antonius and Scaevola, his malevolent sidekick and she had genuinely missed Brutus’ pleasant company. However, her main need was still to enrol him in her conspiracy. Naturally, Brutus had no knowledge of this, yet, won over by Fabiola’s abject penitence and smouldering sexuality, he had drawn her into a lingering embrace. That night she had used every trick in the book to drive Brutus wild with lust, and their coupling had been nothing short of animal.
She’d kept up the tactic, focusing entirely on him in the days and weeks that followed. In the aftermath of Caesar’s triumphs, and with no immediate prospect of fighting anywhere else, Brutus was happy to relax. Years of conflict in Gaul had been replaced by the civil war, and while he hadn’t fought in all of its campaigns, he had constantly been performing high-level duties for Caesar. Enjoying each other’s company like new lovers, they had holidayed on the coast, visited the theatre and circus, and entertained Brutus’ friends and allies. Fabiola took extreme care to say nothing but positive things about Caesar. Her rash behaviour with Antonius had nearly been the ruin of her, and she needed to be sure of Brutus’ complete devotion once more before mentioning such an inflammatory topic. When Brutus was ordered to Hispania, she kept up the pretence, knowing that the right moment would make itself known.
Until then, she would bide her time.
For a second time, Romulus walked by the turn-off that would lead him to the Lupanar. Mattius darted back and forth impatiently, but had the sense not to speak. It was not for him to question his sponsor’s actions. He knew it was something to do with Romulus’ sister, but nothing more. To the urchin, it didn’t really matter. Having someone so hero-like to follow and learn from was enough for him. After Romulus’ dire threats to his stepfather, Mattius no longer had to worry about spending all his time away from home. His sister was no longer selling her prepubescent body either; instead she sold bread for a local baker, a veteran whom Romulus had approached. Their mother, a scrawny ill-fed woman, was now installed in a clean two-room cenacula, along with Mattius and his sister. Her features, which had been pale and gaunt from giving most of her food to her children, were now a more healthy colour. Romulus had never seen himself as a sponsor of the poor – after all, he’d been a slave until recently – but once he’d started helping Mattius, it felt wrong not to extend the same gesture to his family. In many ways, they were no different to him a decade previously. It felt good being wealthy enough to help ease their misery, and it almost took his mind off his own predicament.
Romulus had been drawn back to this spot with monotonous regularity ever since his argument with Fabiola, but he never allowed himself to go any closer to the brothel. Today was no different. Damn her eyes, he thought. Can’t she reach out first? Why does it have to be me? By now, he knew that Tarquinius had told Fabiola much of what had happened to him since their parting, that she had wept at the worst parts of it and rejoiced at the best. She obviously cared for him. Just as I do for her, he reflected. Yet I can’t go along with her plan to murder the man who freed me from slavery.
Despite his reservations, Romulus still worried that Fabiola might be correct. Maybe Caesar had raped their mother. The idea revolted him. It was so at odds with all his regard for the dictator, and left him feeling guilty about his manumission, which in turn angered him. No matter how he tried, Romulus could not resolve the issue. All he knew was that killing Caesar – guilty or not – would make him as bad as Gemellus, and that was not what he wanted. Fabiola could make her
own decision, but he did not want to be part of it.
Romulus couldn’t ignore Caesar and his accomplishments either. After a decade of unrest and bloodshed, he had brought peace to the Republic. Without him, the spectre of civil war would undoubtedly raise its ugly head again. How many thousands of innocent people would die in that conflict?
The dictator’s abilities were proving to be far more than leadership on the battlefield. Rather than rest on his laurels in the new-found calm, Caesar had been very busy. Rafts of far-seeing legislation had been passed, most of which had been universally welcomed. Rome’s population of poor had been reduced by tens of thousands – mostly to found new colonies in Gaul, Africa and Hispania. Generous allocations of land there would allow them to provide for their families rather than rely on the state for everything. Large-scale works had been started in the capital too, both on the Campus Martius and on Caesar’s massive new Forum complex. These provided employment for a vast number of citizens, allowing the dictator to reduce the number of people who received free grain by more than a hundred thousand.
Caesar’s soldiers and supporters had not been forgotten either. At last his veterans were receiving the plots of land that they had been promised for so long. His tribunes and centurions were particularly well looked after. Nothing made a general more popular than these two gestures, as Caesar knew well. Pompey’s enormous popularity with his legions had been in no small part due to his generous retirement settlements for his old soldiers. While Romulus and his comrades in the honour guard had not all served for the minimum period required to earn an allocation of land, Caesar still chose to include them with those who had. Furthermore, he’d granted them properties in Italy, naturally the most sought-after location.