The Road to Rome

  ‘Let’s say that we have a certain amount of . . . shared history.’ He sniggered. ‘Don’t we, gorgeous?’

  His men leered, all unshaven jaws, rotten teeth and broken noses.

  Jovina took the opportunity to fade into the background.

  Fabiola’s cheeks flushed with impotent rage while Sextus and Vettius bristled in front of her. Laying restraining hands on their arms, she considered her options. It was six to two, or six to three if she threw herself into the fray as well. The odds were not insurmountable, but it didn’t feel like the right time to have it out with Scaevola. She had bigger fish to fry than this malevolent bastard, which was also the reason she wouldn’t walk away.

  Fabiola found the fugitivarius studying her face for signs of fear.

  She would give him nothing. Go on the offensive, Fabiola thought. Get him on the back foot. ‘You piece of filth,’ she hissed. ‘Get off my property. Now.’

  Scaevola didn’t move a step. ‘Don’t have forty slaves backing you up now, eh?’ he chuckled. ‘Jovina’s not telling stories then. Good. Ruining your whorehouse instead of hers will be even more satisfying.’

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ Fabiola replied boldly, ignoring her pounding heart. She remembered Scaevola’s previous leanings, one of the reasons he had pursued her so hard. ‘Proven followers of Pompey are liable to be executed.’

  ‘Pompey?’ The fugitivarius looked shocked. ‘I’m no supporter of his.’ Smiling at Fabiola’s surprise, he winked. ‘In fact, me and my lads do some work for the Master of the Horse. Discreet stuff, you understand.’

  Fabiola’s hopes sank. An expert at deception, of course Scaevola would have changed sides. She could imagine what type of jobs Marcus Antonius had him doing. Murdering innocent men in alleyways sprang to mind.

  ‘I’ve thought about you plenty since we last met,’ said Scaevola, licking his lips. ‘Asking the gods that our paths might cross one day. Now my prayers have been answered! I’m going to enjoy hearing you scream.’ He rubbed at his crotch and his men laughed.

  Fabiola felt sick, and her courage frayed. Nearly being raped by the fugitivarius was one of her most terrible memories.

  The provocation got to Sextus at last, and he pulled out his sword. Vettius raised his club in support, but their actions were mimicked at once by Scaevola’s five men. With a sudden burst of energy, Jovina darted to safety, peering around the corner of the hallway like a wizened, frightened child.

  ‘Wait,’ Fabiola ordered her men. ‘Not yet.’ Help me Mithras, she thought. What can we do?

  The two sides glared at each other, the room seeming much smaller with so many drawn weapons. It was an impasse. Positioned by the doorway, Vettius and Sextus were preventing the fugitivarius and his thugs from leaving, but attacking them would result in fatalities on both sides.

  Scaevola grinned. ‘We can wait here all day. Or would you rather fight now?’

  ‘Vettius? I’m coming in.’

  Fabiola had never been so glad to hear Benignus’ voice in her life.

  Ducking his head to enter, Benignus eased his bulk through the arched entrance. His eyes narrowed, and he immediately moved to stand beside Sextus and Vettius. In one hand he gripped a metal-studded club like Vettius’, in the other a broad-bladed dagger. Fabiola felt a surge of relief. The two doormen dwarfed their opponents, and despite his disability, Sextus was a skilled fighter.

  ‘We can take them if we have to,’ Fabiola muttered. Scaevola and his heavies looked much less confident now. At least half of them would die if a fight started, an outcome which only a fool would look forward to. ‘Give the dogs a chance to leave and they will. Make towards Jovina, but stay together.’

  Fabiola’s men obeyed, keeping her safely to their rear as they moved around the side of the room. The others’ instinctive response was to shuffle nearer the door. The manoeuvres took place in silence, yet the atmosphere could be cut with a knife.

  Scaevola muttered an order and his gang retreated outside. He waited until they were gone, showing Fabiola that he was not scared to face her followers alone. ‘We’ll resume this matter later,’ he purred, making the mocking bow that she hated. Bellowing at his men to hurry, the fugitivarius was gone.

  Fabiola let herself sag back against the wall.

  ‘He’s a nasty piece of work,’ said Jovina from the hallway. She pursed her lips. ‘Dangerous.’

  ‘Damn you! Sextus and I have better reason to know that than anyone else here,’ Fabiola shouted. ‘You were quick enough to tell him that I was the new owner too. We haven’t even drawn up a bill of sale!’

  Jovina made a show of innocence which failed miserably.

  ‘I should just walk out,’ Fabiola cried. ‘Leave you in the shit as you deserve!’

  ‘No!’ Tears sprang to Jovina’s rheumy eyes, and she raised her joined hands in supplication. ‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘I am an old woman. He frightens me so much.’

  Fabiola bit down on her anger. The madam was completely untrustworthy, but there was no need to act prematurely. Jovina would be of use while she got to know her way around the Lupanar. After thirty years in charge, she was a mine of potential information. She just needed to be kept on a short leash. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ Fabiola said brightly. ‘Better to pay half the amount we agreed up front, and the rest in twelve months. Depending on how well business has picked up, of course.’

  Jovina looked unhappy, but she shrank before Fabiola’s stony gaze. There would be few – if any – offers to better her former slave’s one. ‘Very well,’ she simpered. ‘It doesn’t matter to me.’

  ‘Good. Write down what we’ve agreed then.’

  Meekly, the madam shuffled to her desk and found a strip of clean parchment. Dipping a stylus into a glass inkpot, she scrawled a few lines on it before adding a signature at the bottom. She waited in silence as Fabiola countersigned it. ‘Satisfied?’ she ventured.

  Scanning the completed document again, Fabiola slipped it into her purse. There was little doubt in her mind that Jovina had written all that she needed to take ownership of the brothel, but she was no expert in legal terminology. Everything had to be correct with this purchase. ‘I’ll have my lawyer check it over,’ she replied curtly. ‘If it meets with his approval, the money will be delivered by the following day.’

  Expecting nothing less, Jovina nodded.

  ‘I’ll take immediate possession,’ Fabiola announced. ‘Do you want to stay on?’

  The madam began to answer, but another heavy bout of coughing prevented her.

  ‘Will your health allow it?’

  Wiping sputum from her lips, Jovina composed herself. ‘The gods will decide,’ she said. ‘With your permission, I’ll stay. For a little while.’

  Fabiola could see that Jovina was trying to preserve her own dignity. She would allow her that. ‘Very well,’ she answered, all business now. Indicating that Sextus should check the situation outside, Fabiola stalked to the door. ‘I’ll be back in two days, the gods willing.’

  Jovina bobbed her head gratefully.

  ‘It’s safe, Mistress,’ called Sextus.

  With Vettius taking up the rear, Fabiola emerged on to the busy street. There was no sign of Scaevola or his men. She scanned the faces of all those in sight, but, to her relief, recognised none. Once more this was just another small thoroughfare in Rome. Why bother having me followed? Fabiola thought, weariness filling her. The bastard knows that I’ll be here every day in future. Old fear swamped her anew. How was she going to defend the Lupanar against Scaevola’s thugs, let alone turn the fortunes of the business around? That was before the fugitivarius tried to take his revenge on her. To Fabiola’s shame, her next inclination was to walk away from the brothel and never return. Jovina would be powerless to stop her, and Scaevola would never dare attack her at Brutus’ house. In a heartbeat, all her problems would disappear.

  At that prospect, Fabiola’s spirits plunged into the depths. This opportunity had seemed perfect – heave
n sent, even. She glanced at the sky, willing a sign to appear. Nothing did. Maybe new dealings with the Lupanar were just not meant to be. Contemplating the climb-down made Fabiola feel like a complete coward, but she was terrified of Scaevola. What else could she do?

  It was then that she stumbled on the uneven ground, and nearly fell.

  Solicitous as ever, Sextus caught her with a strong grip. Fabiola muttered her thanks and they exchanged a look. The slave saw her fear. ‘Don’t worry, Mistress,’ he muttered. ‘Think of all the dangers that we’ve survived since you first met that whoreson. The gods will not desert us now.’

  Fabiola managed a smile. Sextus was right, she thought. Their lives had been charmed. Taking strength from his words, she headed in the direction of her domus. The first thing to deal with would be Brutus’ reaction to her recent purchase. Even if he approved, Fabiola did not think that he would want his legionaries standing guard outside a brothel. Her lover was in the business of winning back popularity for Caesar, not losing it. Yet she had to have protection against Scaevola. Secundus, the veteran who’d repeatedly saved her life, came to mind, but Fabiola discarded that idea at once. With their pensions and land grants honoured, he and his men were now loyal to Caesar.

  Apart from Sextus and the doormen, Fabiola was on her own again. She made a snap decision. It was time to call on every possible means of help, and not just the aid of Jupiter and Mithras, her favourite deities. There were darker gods than those in Rome. I will make an offering to Orcus, Fabiola decided. Fear clutched her at the very idea. Despite all her past troubles, she had steered away from worshipping the god of the underworld.

  Now it was time.

  Brutus had not returned when they reached the domus, which pleased Fabiola. She had still not composed herself totally and didn’t want to have to try. Too much was going on in her mind. She could put up a blank façade for the servants and the legionaries on guard, but hadn’t banked on Docilosa’s ability to read her like a book. Since becoming friends in the Lupanar, they had been through much together. Short, plain and similar in age to Fabiola’s mother, the former domestic slave was now her closest confidante. Fabiola wasn’t that surprised therefore when Docilosa noticed her low mood.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she cried. Rather than greeting Vettius warmly, she glared at him. ‘What’s he doing here? Did that hag do something?’ Docilosa was the only one who knew where Fabiola and Sextus had gone.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Fabiola protested. ‘And Jovina’s ill. Close to Hades, I’d say.’

  Vettius nodded in pleased agreement.

  ‘Small loss she’ll be,’ shrugged Docilosa. She had as much reason as Fabiola, and more, to hate her former owner.

  ‘The old crone has no fight left in her,’ Fabiola went on, keen to relate her success. ‘I forced her to sell me the Lupanar – on my terms.’

  Docilosa’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Is that the best way to move forward? When you escaped that world, you never wanted to return to it.’

  ‘This is different,’ replied Fabiola, trying to sound convincing. ‘I’m the owner now, not a whore. No one will be picking me out from the line.’

  ‘The fools will try,’ responded Docilosa tartly. ‘You’ll be the best-looking woman there.’

  Fabiola smiled. ‘In that case, they’ll have Vettius and Benignus to deal with. And Sextus.’ An image of the fugitivarius popped into her mind and her face fell. Over-amorous politicians and merchants were going to be the least of her worries.

  ‘What’s wrong, then?’ Docilosa asked. ‘You look scared.’

  Fabiola’s chin trembled. ‘Somebody came into the brothel while I was there.’

  ‘Who?’ Docilosa demanded. ‘Memor?’

  Vettius growled low in his throat.

  Fabiola shuddered. ‘Not him.’ The cold, scarred lanista had enjoyed her company on frequent occasions near the end of her time in the Lupanar. Of course the feeling had not been mutual; Memor’s only purpose in her life had been as a source of information, a function he had ultimately fulfilled by revealing some of Romulus’ story since the twins’ traumatic parting. While coupling with the lanista had been unpleasant, it paled into insignificance beside what Scaevola would do to her. ‘Someone far worse,’ she whispered.

  Docilosa’s brow furrowed. Who could instil such fear in her normally indomitable mistress? She took her time, studying Fabiola’s miserable face. ‘Is it Scaevola?’ she finally ventured.

  Knowing nothing of what had gone on before, Vettius looked confused.

  Unable to stop tears from welling in her eyes, Fabiola nodded. ‘He knows I’m the Lupanar’s new owner too.’

  Scowling, Docilosa thought hard. ‘How many copies of the bill of sale are there?’

  ‘I’m no fool,’ replied Fabiola. ‘One, and I have it here.’

  ‘Is it notarised yet?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Tear it up,’ her servant crowed. ‘Burn the damn thing, or throw it in the sewer. Without proof, Jovina hasn’t a leg to stand on. The purchase will never have existed! Then you can stay here.’ She waved at the legionaries lounging around the courtyard. ‘Scaevola can’t harm you inside these walls.’

  Fabiola did not reply. She was stung by the abject misery in Vettius’ eyes. If she didn’t buy the brothel, his and Benignus’ fate would again be uncertain. Leaving the doormen after her manumission had felt disloyal. Of course it had been because Jovina wouldn’t sell them, but to do it a second time would feel like betrayal. It would also mean giving up her greatest desire – because of Scaevola. Fabiola’s jaw set.

  Docilosa read her emotions, and her face turned thunderous. ‘You want to press on regardless? Why?’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ answered Fabiola in a monotone. No one, not even Docilosa, could know of her plans to kill Caesar yet. ‘The Lupanar is part of my future.’

  Vettius was overjoyed, but Docilosa scowled. Fabiola’s tears had gone, though, leaving only cold resolution on her face. Experience had taught her not to argue with her mistress at times like this. ‘If you’re sure,’ she muttered.

  ‘I am,’ said Fabiola, squaring her shoulders. ‘Tomorrow I will make a vow to Orcus. In return, I’ll ask for Scaevola’s death.’

  Docilosa went a pale shade of grey. Such oaths were not lightly taken. Placing her thumb between the forefinger and index finger of her right hand, she made the sign against evil.

  ‘I do not ask you to follow me in this,’ said Fabiola, staring at her. ‘If you wish to leave my employ, I will release you without prejudice.’

  ‘No,’ Docilosa replied firmly. ‘If you’re this determined, the gods must be watching. I’m in too.’

  ‘Get me three pieces of lead then.’ Prayers and curses to gods were often written on small square sheets of the grey metal and then folded up. Accompanied by coins and other offerings, thousands were thrown daily into temple fountains all over Rome by citizens in need of divine aid. ‘You know where to go.’

  Docilosa left without another word.

  Fabiola dismissed Vettius a moment later, promising the delighted doorman that she would see him at the brothel soon. The moment she was alone, Fabiola fell into a deep reverie. Her curse on Scaevola would have to be carefully thought out. Malevolent deities such as Orcus were known for twisting vows and promises back on themselves. She had no wish to see the fugitivarius dead and then suffer some dreadful punishment as a result.

  A heavy covering of low-lying cloud the next dawn promised rain in plenty. The gods did not fail to deliver. By the time Fabiola was ready to leave, water was falling from the skies in torrents, drenching anyone foolish enough to venture outdoors. The open-air courtyard in the centre of the house soon resembled a swimming pool. Although it was early morning, the poor light made it feel like sunset. Thunder was grumbling overhead too, firing out occasional lightning bolts to illuminate the dull, grey streets. Summertime had vanished.

  ‘You’ll catch your death,’ Docilosa protested as she helped
Fabiola into a hooded military cloak commandeered from one of Brutus’ legionaries. ‘Or fall into the Tiber and drown.’

  ‘Stop fussing,’ said Fabiola, touched by her servant’s concern.

  Dressed similarly to Fabiola, Sextus was already set. Today he was armed to the teeth, wearing two daggers as well as his sword. Fabiola was not without protection herself. Under her cloak, a leather strap was slung over her left shoulder, and from it hung a plain but serviceable sheathed pugio. She was proficient in its use, having ordered Sextus to teach her long ago. Anyone who attacks me needs to be prepared to die in the attempt, thought Fabiola fiercely. I will choose my own fate, and being mistress of the Lupanar is part of that path. They were brave ideas, but her stomach still clenched with fear every time Scaevola came to mind. The optio in charge of Brutus’ men had offered her an escort, but like the day before, she had refused it. Her visit to Orcus’ temple was a private matter, and Fabiola wanted no gossip about why she was visiting such an ill-omened place. With Brutus absent on business, the optio had accepted her decision. Naturally enough, his soldiers looked relieved. Who went out in such weather unless ordered to do so?

  ‘I’m coming too,’ Docilosa declared, taking her own cloak from an iron hook on the wall.

  ‘No,’ said Fabiola firmly. ‘You’ll stay in the domus. This is for me to deal with. No one else.’ She saw the pain in Docilosa’s eyes, and her tone softened. ‘No harm will come to us out there. Neptune will protect us!’

  ‘The ocean has certainly come to Rome today,’ Docilosa conceded with a reluctant smile. She gave Fabiola a fierce hug, before pushing her awkwardly away. ‘Go on,’ she muttered, her voice catching. ‘The sooner you leave, the sooner you’ll be back.’

  ‘Yes.’ Swallowing the lump in her own throat, Fabiola followed Sextus to the entrance. The legionary on duty there peered out into the deluge before giving them the all-clear. The instant they had emerged, the postern gate slammed shut behind them. To Fabiola, it sounded like the doors of Hades closing. She clenched her fists, trying to shake her superstitious feelings.