The Road To Rome

Chapter X: Caesar's Games

Two days later… Scowling, Fabiola totted up the figures on her parchment again. It made no difference: they were as depressing as the first time she'd calculated them. Time had passed since her takeover of the Lupanar, and business was still not improving. It wasn't as if she hadn't been busy, she thought angrily. The brothel had been redecorated from top to bottom and the baths refilled. Fifteen heavies recruited by Vettius lounged around the entrance and the street, ready to fight at a moment's notice. Unless one had a very large force, attacking the premises now would be tantamount to suicide. Thanks to some well-placed bribes at the slave market, Fabiola was the owner of a bevy of new prostitutes: dark-eyed, brown-skinned Judaeans, Illyrians with raven tresses and pitch-black Nubians. There was even a girl from Britannia with red hair and a cream complexion that Fabiola could have wished for herself.

Posters advertising the Lupanar's revamp had been put up all over Rome too, aimed at attracting both new custom and old. A common method of raising public awareness, this should have resulted in a flood of men through the door. Instead, it had been a mere trickle. Fabiola sighed. She had underestimated Scaevola's ability to affect her business. There could be no doubt that the brothel's failure to take off was thanks to the fugitivarius, whose blockade of the Lupanar had begun the day after Antonius' visit. Her hopes that Scaevola would find out about her affair with the Master of the Horse and just disappear had proved fruitless. While Fabiola didn't think Antonius knew of her feud, she hadn't dared mention it to him yet either. Any time she ever thought about it, her new lover seemed to mention the fugitivarius — in glowing terms.

Scaevola's initial tactics had been blatant: open intimidation of potential customers by his thugs right outside the brothel. Incensed, Fabiola had sent Vettius and his men out to deal with them. After a pitched battle and a handful of casualties, the fugitivarius had withdrawn his forces to the surrounding streets. The situation had then settled into an uneasy peace, broken by the occasional bloody skirmish. While the fighting was bad for business, the damage done by Scaevola's ever-present heavies was even worse. It was impossible to stop them too. Fabiola's guards could not protect the Lupanar and also stand on every street corner day and night.

It was all rather depressing, thought Fabiola morosely. Brutus' funds weren't limitless, and the place wasn't making any money. While she didn't mind spending most of her time in the brothel, the poor trade meant that she was having little luck in discovering anyone of senior rank who was prepared to join a conspiracy against Caesar. Every one of her prostitutes had been drilled to repeat the smallest detail let slip by a client about the political situation. Thus armed, Fabiola planned to focus her attention on those who spoke badly of Caesar in any way. Information, though, like customers, was proving to be thin on the ground. She could only suppose that, eager to avoid trouble, most people were keeping their lips sealed.

For weeks Fabiola sat in the Lupanar, brooding. Even Brutus, who was working from dawn till dusk on official matters, had noticed her ill humour. 'Buying the damn fleapit was a bad idea from the start,' he cried during one of their now regular arguments. Alarmed by the volatility of Brutus' reaction, she had turned on a charm offensive to allay his concerns. It had worked — for the moment. Now Fabiola was careful to be at home before he was, ready to pay him the attention he was used to. She could not afford to upset Brutus too much, especially now that Marcus Antonius had become a regular lover.

That impulsive move had made her life far more complicated, and dangerous. By this stage, however, Fabiola could not help herself. It had all begun with a simple plan: that in the Master of the Horse she would have a safety net in case Brutus ever abandoned her, or that Antonius would prove to be another possible ally against Caesar. Of course it was all an exercise in self-deception. Antonius was known throughout Rome for philandering with senators' wives, so he wasn't about to lose his heart to Fabiola, or to favour her above all others. He was also Caesar's most ardent supporter, threatening bloody murder to anyone he thought harboured the smallest disloyal thought about the Republic's dictator. If he learned of Fabiola's plans for Caesar, she might as well write her own death warrant. The best thing she could have done was to end the affair after the first occasion.

Fabiola had known all this within a few days of encountering Antonius, and yet here she was, still meeting him whenever he demanded it. Guilt about her infidelity to Brutus ravaged her, but it wasn't enough to stop her. The fact that Brutus did not deserve it wasn't adequate either. Fabiola hated her weakness, but did nothing about it. Deep down, she knew why. The reason she was involved with Antonius was that she was enthralled by his animal magnetism, his brooding presence, and his confident manner. The Master of the Horse was an alpha male from his head to his toes, while Brutus, a decent man through and through, was not. In Antonius' presence, Fabiola wasn't always the one in charge. It was a most unusual situation for her and, after so many years of controlling men, she liked it. She relished too how Antonius undressed her with his eyes, the way he ran his hands over her naked body and the feeling when he was deep inside her.

Fabiola dreaded Brutus' reaction if he discovered her illicit relationship. He didn't like the Master of the Horse at the best of times and, when aroused, his temper was ferocious. So Fabiola took the most elaborate precautions when meeting Antonius. Smuggling herself out of the brothel with only Vettius or Benignus as protection, she would meet him in discreet inns just outside Rome, or at one of his private residences in the city. Jovina suspected something was going on, but knew better than to ask. Now that she was no longer in charge, none of the slaves or whores would tell her a thing, which cut off her eyes and ears at a stroke. Fabiola was aware how easy it would be for one slave to gossip with another, or a customer. Scandal like her affair would spread faster than the plague, hence the meetings off the brothel's premises. Docilosa and the two doormen were the only ones who knew the truth. Benignus and Vettius adored Fabiola so much that they did not care what she did, and while Docilosa disapproved, her mind was wholly taken up by Sabina, with whom she had been reunited after her fever abated.

Although Antonius did not talk much about official business during their trysts, inevitably he let the occasional snippet fall. Fabiola pounced on these gems like a magpie and now knew of more than half a dozen men who were suspected of plotting against Caesar. Many, like Marcus Brutus and Cassius Longinus, were former Republicans who had been pardoned by Caesar after Pharsalus. Their names filled Fabiola's mind day and night, frustrating her hugely. How could she meet them in private and win them over? By virtue of her sex and former status, Fabiola did not socialise with the nobility that much. Of course Brutus took her to plays, and to feasts, but these were hardly the places for her to foment high treason. What she needed was for those who hated Caesar to walk through the brothel's door. She scowled. There was little chance of that happening with Scaevola's blockade in place. It was endlessly frustrating — a vicious circle which had gone on for months. To break it, she would have to broach the subject of the fugitivarius with Antonius.

Sudden shouts from the street made Fabiola's face brighten. Rather than Scaevola or his thugs, it was the sound of excited, drunk citizens. Drawn by the prospect of Caesar's games, thousands of people were already flooding the capital's streets. To celebrate his recent victory over Pharnaces in Asia Minor, several weeks of entertainment had been laid on, beginning a couple of days prior. Brutus had been raving about the quality of gladiators who would be fighting. The resulting influx of visitors into the city had seemingly diluted the fugitivarius' ability to affect Fabiola's business, and in turn that was bringing in more customers. She glanced at the little altar in the corner. Perhaps Mithras or Fortuna might send her some of the nobles Antonius had mentioned.

What about Romulus? she thought guiltily. How could I forget him? Her resolute refusal to believe that her twin was dead had carried her through for years, culminating miraculously with a sight of him in Alexandria. Yet there had been no news of Romulus since. With a civil war in full flow, Caesar's legions were constantly on the move, and it was proving hard to get any meaningful information from them. The quartermasters and senior officers whom Fabiola's messengers had contacted were less than cooperative. Busy obtaining supplies and equipment, recruiting new men to replace their losses, and preparing for Caesar's new campaigns, they had more on their plates than finding one ordinary soldier among thousands. It was not as if Romulus was an unusual name, one centurion had apparently scoffed.

Stuck in Rome, Fabiola had resigned herself to not seeing her brother again until the war was over and Caesar's troops returned home. If he survived, of course. There was no guarantee that he would. A fresh wave of guilt washed over her. To Fabiola's shame, resentment followed in its wake. Wasn't she doing all she could? She still prayed daily for Romulus. Couriers armed with information had been dispatched to every legion in the army. She couldn't help it if they found nothing. Was it so wrong for her to have some pleasure in the meantime? After all, she wasn't a Vestal Virgin.

'Mistress?'

The sound of Docilosa's voice cut through Fabiola's reverie. 'You know not to call me that,' she said for the thousandth time.

'Sorry,' Docilosa replied. 'Old habits.' Wearing a hooded cloak, she looked ready to go out.

'Off to see Sabina?' Fabiola enquired.

There was a shy grin. 'Is that all right?'

'Of course,' Fabiola replied warmly. 'Whenever you like.' Docilosa's joy over her reunion with Sabina warmed her heart. Pangs of sadness always gripped her at the same time, though. What might it have been like to see her own mother once more after so many years? She would never know. 'Be careful. Keep your eyes peeled for Scaevola.'

Docilosa lifted her hood. 'Don't worry. Vettius won't let me out until the street's clear.' Like all the brothel's residents, she had grown used to blending into the crowd at once.

Fabiola nodded, her guilt about Romulus and desire to see Antonius returning with a vengeance. She was unaware of her grim expression.

Docilosa didn't move from her position. 'What's wrong?' she asked. 'You've not been yourself in recent days.'

Fabiola forced an unconvincing smile. What was sparking Docilosa's sudden interest? 'It's nothing,' she muttered.

Her servant raised one eyebrow. 'Expect me to believe that?'

'There's a lot on my mind,' Fabiola offered. 'Scaevola's still about. Business isn't increasing like it should. My coffers aren't bottomless.'

'We're doing everything that can be done in those departments,' Docilosa answered stolidly. She studied Fabiola's face. 'There's more than that going on — I can see it in your eyes.'

Fabiola looked down, wishing that her servant would just leave. She was poor at concealing her emotions from Docilosa, and still wasn't ready to reveal her plan to kill Caesar. Now she had two more dirty secrets — her pleasure in having an affair with Antonius, and her shameful resentment of Romulus. Suddenly these private thoughts seemed too much to bear on her own. Fabiola glanced at Docilosa. 'I…' she faltered.

'Tell me,' Docilosa urged. 'I'm listening.'

I should explain, thought Fabiola. Every little detail. She'll understand. She did when I couldn't cope with the idea of Carrhae any longer. Fabiola's memory of her meltdown on the very day Brutus had appeared with her manumissio was strong. It was Docilosa who had listened and calmed her, before sending Fabiola out to face her lover in what had proved to be the most important meeting of her life. 'It's about Caesar,' she began. 'And Romulus. And…' Her voice dried up.

Docilosa finished Fabiola's sentence for her. 'Marcus Antonius?'

She nodded, unable to miss the stern disapproval in Docilosa's tone.

There was no time to continue the conversation. A customer had arrived. Speaking a few words to Vettius over his shoulder, he entered. A big, burly man in a plain cloak and tunic, he had a sheathed gladius hanging from a belt. It was the mark of a soldier, thought Fabiola. Then he turned towards her, and her stomach turned over. There was no mistaking the determined blue eyes, the long straight nose and the mop of curly brown hair. It was Marcus Antonius.

'Surprise!' He half bowed, sending a strong whiff of wine in her direction.

'Antonius. What are you doing here?' Fabiola hissed. Her nerves were unravelling fast. Jovina was in the kitchen, but could venture up the corridor at any moment. If the old madam saw him, she would put two and two together in the blink of an eye. 'You're drunk,' she chided, taking his arm and trying to usher him towards the door.

Antonius wouldn't budge. 'Might have had a little wine,' he admitted with a grin. 'Nothing wrong with that.'

Fabiola hid her impatience. By now, she knew all about his excessive drinking. Antonius was a wild-living soldier who cared nothing for what others thought. He commonly attended political meetings while under the influence, and had even vomited in front of the entire Senate once. Now his bravado had brought him here, in broad daylight. 'Are you alone?' she demanded.

'Of course.' He sounded hurt. 'No lictores, no guards. I even left my chariot at home.' He tugged at his working man's tunic. 'Look. Just for you.'

Impressed, she touched his cheek. Antonius' British war chariot was his pride and joy. So was his fondness for wearing military dress. 'No one saw you coming in?'

'I hid my face all the way here,' he declared, lifting a fold of his cloak dramatically. 'Only the doorman knows.'

'Good,' replied Fabiola, but her worries remained. Even without his coterie of followers, Antonius was recognisable to all. Despite his protestations, he would have been noticed. On the other hand, it was excellent that Scaevola and his men would have seen him enter the Lupanar. They might think twice before attacking it again. But Antonius' visit was still a double-edged sword. Fabiola couldn't afford for him to stay longer than the time it would take to be entertained by a prostitute. He'd also have to leave discreetly, or Brutus would hear that the Master of the Horse, his enemy, was frequenting the Lupanar.

Antonius eyed her cleavage, and Fabiola felt a surge of desire. 'I have to have you,' he muttered. 'Now.'

Fabiola wanted him too. Badly. She glanced at Docilosa, who took the hint.

'I'll go and find Jovina,' she declared. 'There's something I need to ask her.'

Bless her, thought Fabiola, knowing that the madam would be kept out of the way. Despite what I do, Docilosa remains loyal. There'll be no problem when I tell her about Caesar. Romulus will return one day too. My actions won't interfere with that. She lost track of any further coherent thought as Antonius dragged her into a lingering kiss. At length, Fabiola managed to pull away from his roaming hands. 'Not here,' she scolded. 'We're practically in public view.'

'All the better,' Antonius growled. 'I'd fuck you in front of all Rome.'

Pouting, Fabiola led him to the first bedroom, which she knew was empty. Quickly they stripped off their clothes, squeezing and caressing each other's flesh in a tide of lust. Goose bumps rose on Fabiola's skin as Antonius kissed her neck and ran his fingertips slowly down her back and on to her buttocks. His hand paused for a moment before moving around to the front, and cupping Fabiola's moist sex. She moved her thighs apart to allow him to insert a finger. He moved it in and out, bending to suck on her nipples at the same time. It wasn't enough. Moaning, Fabiola pulled away and climbed on to the bed. On all fours, she looked back at him.

'Well?'

Growling, Antonius leapt up to join her. With a great shove, he thrust his erect member deep inside her. 'Gods above, you feel good,' he cried, moving his hips. Fabiola encouraged him, reaching back with one hand to pull him further in. Driven by their lust, they moved faster and faster, losing all awareness of anything else. All that mattered was their overwhelming pleasure. Fabiola surrendered herself to her feelings. Sex had never felt like this before. As a prostitute, she had enjoyed it on a rare handful of occasions with young, attentive clients. With Brutus, it was nice; familiar even. Not once though had it been the same as this earth-moving sensation, which threatened to overcome her. Unconsciously, Fabiola's right hand slipped between her legs, searching. Her fingers slipped on to the nub of flesh she used to tease herself and began to rub. She pushed back against Antonius even harder.

A moment later, there was a quiet knock on the door. Fabiola barely heard it.

Antonius certainly didn't. Holding on to Fabiola's waist, he was driving into her, oblivious.

The second rap was louder. A low voice joined it. 'Mistress?'

Fabiola stopped moving. 'Vettius?' she said, astonished at the doorman's gall.

'Yes, Mistress.'

Even from the other side of the door, Fabiola could sense his embarrassment. Her annoyance subsided. It had to be serious for the doorman to interrupt her at a time like this. 'Is something wrong?'

Vettius coughed awkwardly. 'Brutus is coming down the street. He's no more than a hundred paces away.'

'You're sure?' cried Fabiola, her lustful thoughts vanishing into the ether. Brutus almost never visited the brothel. What did he want?

'Yes, Mistress,' came the reply. 'I can delay him at the door, but not for long.'

'Do it,' she hissed, already turning to Antonius. 'Stop!'

He was too far gone. With his face flushed a deep red, he came inside her.

Fabiola pulled away and rounded on him. 'Didn't you hear? Brutus will be here in a few moments.'

Antonius' lip curled. 'What do I care? You're mine, not his. Let the dog in and I'll soon put him right.'

'No,' Fabiola cried, seeing all her plans turning to dust. 'He won't stand for it.'

Antonius laughed and pointed at his gladius. 'Will he not?'

Panic constricted Fabiola's throat. Even naked, Antonius' arrogance knew no bounds. Pulling on her dress, she racked her brains for a way to budge him. 'What would Caesar say to all this?' she finally demanded. 'This is hardly fitting behaviour for his deputy.'

At once Antonius' expression became surly.

Fabiola knew she had him. He looked like a boy called to book by his father. 'Do you want to bring disgrace down on Caesar? He's barely returned from Asia Minor, and you're bringing his name into disrepute.' She shoved Antonius' tunic at him, and was relieved when he shrugged it over his shoulders. His licium followed, and then his belt. A few heartbeats later, Fabiola was pushing Antonius out into the reception area. 'Go on,' she said urgently. 'Send a messenger next time.'

He pulled her in for a last kiss. 'What'll I say if Brutus sees me?' he asked, all innocence now.

'Tell him you'd been out drinking and heard about the new whores here. You wanted to try one out.'

He liked that. 'I'll say they're well worth the money!'

Fabiola smiled. 'Leave,' she pleaded. 'Or my life won't be worth living.'

'Can't have that now, can we?' Pinching her backside, Antonius bowed and was gone.

Fabiola took a couple of deep breaths. Calm down, she thought. On the narrow street Brutus could not miss Antonius; naturally, he would engage him in conversation. She had a little time. Darting into her office, Fabiola looked into the small bronze mirror on her desk. Her face was red and sweaty, and her normally immaculate hair had come undone. She looked dishevelled — like someone who had just been having sex. That had to change — fast. Fabiola reached for one of the little clay vessels on the desktop, dabbing some white lead on her cheeks. An expert at applying makeup, she soon changed her appearance to a more sickly one. Leaving her hair down, she wiped away some of the sweat, but not all. She wanted to appear feverish.

It wasn't long before she heard Vettius talking to Brutus at the front door. True to his word, the huge doorman delayed him as long as possible. Fabiola panicked, suddenly unsure of her ability to deceive her lover yet again. Somehow, though, she had to.

'Fabiola?'

Her reflexes took over. 'Brutus?' she said in a weak voice. 'Is that you?'

'What are you doing in here?' He stood framed in the office doorway. 'Gods, you look terrible. Are you ill?'

With relief flooding through her, Fabiola nodded. 'I think I've got Docilosa's fever,' she said.

Moving to Fabiola's side, Brutus lifted her chin. Studying her pale complexion and the bags she had carefully painted under her eyes, he swore. 'Why are you even up?' he demanded in a worried voice. 'You need a surgeon.'

'I'm all right,' Fabiola protested. 'A day in bed and I'll be back to normal.'

'Jovina should be looking after the front of the shop,' he muttered.

'I know,' said Fabiola. 'I'm sorry.'

His face softened. 'No need to apologise, my love. But you're in no shape to be working.'

Fabiola sat down on the edge of the desk with a sigh. 'That's better,' she sighed. There would be no rest until she discovered his purpose. 'What brings you to the Lupanar so early in the morning?'

'I could say the same of Antonius,' Brutus answered with a flash of anger. 'What in the name of Hades did he want here?'

Careful, thought Fabiola. Remember what you told Antonius to say. 'You know what he's like. He'd been on an all-night drinking session, and came in on impulse. Our advertisements about the new whores must be working.' She smiled broadly.

Brutus scowled. 'The prick should go somewhere else.'

'He will,' murmured Fabiola. 'A man like him rarely ploughs the same furrow twice.' The truth of her own words shocked her. Why was she risking everything with such a rake?

Brutus grimaced. 'True enough.' Then he grinned, becoming the person Fabiola was so fond of. 'I came to see if you would accompany me to Caesar's games this morning, but with you being ill, it's out of the question, obviously.'

Fabiola's ears pricked up. Even though Romulus was no longer a gladiator, she thought of him every time the arena was mentioned. 'Is there something special on?'

'This morning, you mean?' Brutus looked pleased with himself. 'Yes. There's a beast appearing that they call the Ethiopian bull. It's half the size of an elephant, but with two horns and an armoured hide. Impossible to kill, apparently. I thought you'd like to see it.'

Fabiola knew the animal wouldn't just be walking around to be admired. 'Who's fighting it?'

Brutus shrugged. 'A pair of noxii. Deserters from one of Caesar's legions, I think. No loss, in other words.'

His casual manner made Fabiola feel nauseous. Who deserved to die like that? 'Thank you,' she whispered. 'But I couldn't.'