The Road To Rome

Chapter XVII: Homecoming

At the junction, Tarquinius stopped. The northern Italian countryside had been growing more familiar since before dawn, but he knew this spot better than anywhere in the world. It was where, twenty-four years before, he had looked back one last time towards the latifundium he'd called home. It felt very strange to be standing here once more. How much had he seen and done since then? Suddenly Tarquinius felt old, and tired.

He was relieved a moment later to feel an unusual surge of happiness. He had had many good times in the area. His parents had farmed not ten miles away. High on the cloud-covered mountain above, he'd learned the skills of haruspicy from Olenus. The ruins of Falerii, an ancient Etruscan city, also lay nearby. Tarquinius had been drawn back by vivid memories of it, and a desire to visit the peak — the same which dominated the landscape for miles around — one more time. Perhaps in the sacred cave where he had completed his training the gods would reveal their purpose to him at last. Fabiola seemed to be safe with Antonius, and certainly wasn't scared of the priestess of Orcus. There was no sign of Romulus either. Given that he was still seeing storm clouds over the capital, the haruspex had decided to act on his impulse.

After a week's journey, here he was.

Lake Vadimon sat on one side of the road, and the low walls of an estate ran along the other. Through the empty fields and olive groves Tarquinius could make out the shape of a large villa. Behind it were the wretched slave quarters and the marginally better buildings which housed indentured workers. Although he had long reconciled himself to the inevitability of time, the haruspex couldn't help wondering if his father and mother might still live there. It was a comforting thought, but he knew it for a wishful fantasy. At the rate Sergius, his father, had been drinking, Tarquinius doubted he would have survived long after he'd left. Thanks to a lifetime of heavy labour, Fulvia, his mother, had been a virtual cripple. Almost certainly the pair lay in the unmarked graveyard situated on some rocky ground not far from the estate buildings. As pure-bred Etruscans, they would have preferred to have been interred in the streets of tombs outside the ruins of Falerii, but Tarquinius doubted anyone would have shown them that honour. Besides, few locals were prepared to climb the mountain and risk the evil spirits which were reputed to live there.

The haruspex had decided to disinter their bones and carry them up to the city of the dead himself — if he could find their graves. That necessitated approaching the villa and making some enquiries. Tarquinius knew that Rufus Caelius was dead — he could remember the exact moment that his knife slipped into the noble's chest — but a spasm of old anxiety still struck him as he took the road that led to the estate's entrance. As a young man, he'd been wary of the brutal redhead. Rightfully so, as it turned out. There was some justice in the world, though, the haruspex reflected. While Caelius might have been responsible for Olenus' death, the money he'd earned from his treachery had not saved him from losing his latifundium. Or his life. As ever, Tarquinius' guilt over Romulus being blamed for the killing was his first feeling, but he still felt a dark satisfaction over the deed. Because of it, he, Romulus and Brennus had all become comrades. Acknowledging his sentiment as selfish, the haruspex could console himself with the fact that his visions at that time had been accurate, which meant that the gods had laid out their paths. Therefore, and despite what Romulus might think, murdering Caelius had been the right thing to do.

That didn't stop Tarquinius' heart aching at the memory of the shock on Romulus' face as he'd told him.

According to neighbouring farmers and the fat proprietor of a hostelry five miles back down the road, Caelius' estate was now owned by a retired soldier, a centurion who'd served with Caesar in Gaul. 'A pleasant enough type,' the ruddy-cheeked innkeeper had muttered over a cup of wine bought by Tarquinius. 'All he wants to do is reminisce about the army. If you can listen to him drone on about that, he'll probably offer you a meal and a bed for the night.'

Tarquinius' lips twitched at the idea of enjoying the luxury of Caelius' former home while the man himself rotted in Hades. Fabiola shifted irritably under her bed covers. Several goblets of wine and a dose of valerian had made little difference to her agitated mental state. She'd pulled the heavy curtains on the windows fully closed and doused all the oil lamps, but sleep still evaded her. The reason for her restlessness was simple. Weeks before, Antonius had begun visiting the Lupanar whenever he pleased. He was no longer prepared to be discreet. Naturally, all Fabiola's pleasure in their coupling had vanished since the night of Docilosa's murder, yet she was too scared to do anything. The unspoken threat of Scaevola always hung in the air when Antonius was around. Regrettably, that wasn't the worst of it. Although Fabiola's slaves were under pain of death to speak to no one, news of her involvement with the arrogant Master of the Horse was commonplace in the city. Brutus must have heard the rumours by this stage. Why hadn't he confronted her? Fabiola's anxiety had been growing by the day. Now it was virtually all she could think about — a permanent knot of tension in her belly.

She was grateful therefore not to have seen much of Brutus recently; her days at the Lupanar and his long hours at the Senate didn't afford them much free time. On the rare occasions they were together, Brutus had given away nothing. His manner had changed imperceptibly, though, becoming more neutral than Fabiola had ever known. He'd made no physical advances for a while either, and had pleaded exhaustion if she dared to try. This made Fabiola even more nervous. Brutus wasn't one for playing games, yet she had the distinct impression that he was withholding something from her. Why else would he be acting so strangely? Terrified, she had said nothing for days, watching for any sign that he knew but too frightened to bring it up herself. She scuttled to bed first at night and pretended to be asleep when he joined her. On the rare occasions Brutus was home before Fabiola, she waited until the sound of his snoring filled the air before creeping under the sheets.

Tonight was not one of those last instances. Brutus had been gone for the whole day, with no sign of his returning thus far. Her mind awash with sad memories of Docilosa, Fabiola had retired early, hoping to find some relief in sleep. Even this was to be denied her, she thought bitterly. Her favourite methods of lying still, deep breathing and trying to keep her mind blank made no difference. Hours had passed and she was still wide awake.

The familiar thump of the postern gate shutting was therefore most unwelcome. This late, it could only be Brutus returning. Quickly Fabiola rolled on to her side and faced the wall, slowing her respirations to a convincingly slow rate. Some time went by before Brutus appeared, leading her to suppose that he might have work to finish. It wasn't uncommon for him to spend several hours poring over documents in his office. Good, she thought. He'll be too tired to talk.

The instant she heard him fumble with the door latch, Fabiola knew that her presumption was incorrect. A loud curse was followed by a belch, confirming her suspicions. Brutus had been drinking. That in itself was unusual, for he was a temperate man. Panic flooded Fabiola's every pore, forcing a cold sweat on to her forehead. She barely had time to wipe it away and resume her position before Brutus entered the room. Jupiter and Mithras above, she prayed silently. Just let him fall on the bed and pass out. Please.

She had no such luck. There was a prolonged pause during which Fabiola heard Brutus breathing heavily and muttering to himself. Then he came around to her side to see if she was awake. Fabiola kept her eyes firmly shut, and after a few heart-stopping moments, he weaved away again. Next he sat down on the bed with a groan. Making no attempt to remove his caligae and his clothes, he remained in the same position for an age. Fabiola dared do nothing other than continue her pretence of being dead to the world. Soon she judged that nearly a quarter of an hour had passed. He must have fallen asleep, she thought.

'Fabiola?'

Somehow Fabiola managed not to react. What's he been doing, she wondered in alarm. Sitting there watching me?

'Fabiola.' His voice was louder this time.

Let him want sex, Jupiter, Fabiola pleaded. I beg you.

He leaned over and grabbed her shoulder. 'Wake up.'

'Huh?' she mumbled. 'Brutus?' She rolled over and looked up at him in the sleepy kittenish manner she knew he loved. He didn't return her smile, and Fabiola's heart sank. She didn't give up, though. 'Come here,' she murmured, reaching out both her arms.

He pulled away. 'Why did you do it?'

It was possible that Brutus was talking of something else, Fabiola told herself. 'What, my love?' she asked, putting all her effort into sounding confused.

He scowled with fury. 'Don't play it coy with me.'

Shame filled Fabiola and she looked down, afraid to say a word.

'I could live with the infidelity,' he spat. 'You're only human after all, and I haven't been around much. But with that fucking creature? I can't abide Antonius. You know that.'

Although Fabiola's eyes had filled with tears, she dragged her gaze up to his. 'I'm sorry,' she whispered.

'So it's true?'

She nodded miserably. 'I didn't mean to hurt you, though.'

'Really?' His lip curled. 'Imagine how I felt when he boasted of your exploits together to my face then. In front of a dozen others!' His wine-flushed face twisted with embarrassment and pain. 'I've ignored the street gossip as malicious rumour until now, but there's not much to say when the Master of the Horse reveals in public that he's cuckolding you.'

Finally a sob escaped Fabiola's lips. 'I'm so sorry, Brutus,' she cried. 'Please forgive me.'

He gave her a contemptuous look. 'So you can do it again the instant my back is turned?'

'Of course not,' she protested. 'I wouldn't do that.'

His response was instant. 'Once a whore, always a whore.'

Fabiola flushed and hung her head. Inside, she cursed her reckless behaviour with Antonius. All her plans for the future were about to be washed away. Without Brutus' backing, she was a complete nobody. If he wanted, he could easily wrest the ownership of the Lupanar from her, and reclaim what was left of his money.

Brutus read her fear and scorn filled his eyes. 'You can keep the damn brothel. The cash too. I don't want it.'

Fabiola gave him a grateful look. 'I'll gather my things. Leave at dawn,' she said.

'Fine. Do not return. I don't ever want to see you again.' Climbing unsteadily to his feet, Brutus lurched from the room. He didn't look back.

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 judgement 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.