The Road To Rome

Chapter XXI: Danger

Since her attempt at reconciliation with Brutus and the follow-on confrontation with Antonius and the fugitivarius, Fabiola had hardly been sleeping. Over and over, she cursed her stupidity for taking up with the Master of the Horse. It had proved to be the worst decision she'd ever made. If only time could be turned back, she thought, but of course that was impossible. Now she had to live with the consequences of her actions. A bag of nerves compared to her normal calm self, Fabiola had been bad-tempered with everyone. Benignus and Vettius, now her most trusted confidants, could not shift her black mood. Their lessons on defending herself with a sword and knife — which built on the basics that Sextus had taught her — did not help much. Nothing was right. Days dragged by without event and Fabiola grew more irritable, snapping at potential customers and losing good business which the brothel sorely needed. Furious at herself, she then shouted at the prostitutes for not pleasing their few clients enough. Toughest of them all, even Jovina was tiptoeing around her warily.

Fabiola no longer cared. As far as she was concerned, her life was sliding into oblivion. She still had no potential allies for her plot to kill Caesar. The size and grandeur of the dictator's four triumphs had sent any enemies he might have even deeper into the woodwork. So where did owning a brothel get her? thought Fabiola in frustration. Without Brutus, nowhere. There had been no further contact from her former lover either, which meant that he probably believed the lies Antonius had told. For the moment, she dared not try to contact Brutus again. Let the dust settle, she thought. He might come around. The other silence she was enduring — from the Master of the Horse — was far more chilling. From visiting Fabiola on average more than once a day, Antonius had cut her off completely.

In contrast, Scaevola's presence had become altogether more threatening. After long months spent in the shadows, it was as if he wanted the pressure on Fabiola to build to an unbearable intensity. It was a clever, and successful, tactic. More of his heavies than ever before appeared to man the blockades around the Lupanar. If spotted, its known customers were beaten up, while ordinary passers-by were harassed and intimidated. A small group of Fabiola's men who had gone to buy food were set upon and killed, reducing her forces. The merchants who provided the brothel with food were threatened, and to prevent her supplies from completely running out, Fabiola was forced to pay them extortionate prices. This further depleted the money Brutus had given her, which was already going fast thanks to her extra guards. Benignus had managed to hire an additional four but Fabiola wanted to hire even more. Thanks to the huge numbers of fighters required for the celebratory games, though, few were available. In one way, it was just as well. While she might need them, she couldn't really afford more men. At her current rates of expenditure, Fabiola knew she'd have to sell the Lupanar in one to two years. Not that she cared about that. She'd be lucky to live that long.

It was the dull ache of expectation that kept Fabiola awake at night. Antonius had decided that she was expendable, but he was no fool. Even if he was not 'directly' responsible, it was common knowledge throughout the city that Scaevola was in his employ. A bloodbath during Caesar's riotous celebrations would not go down well with his master. No, she thought, any attack would come after the last of the triumphs had been held. This realisation provided only momentary relief. Fabiola did not care that much about herself any longer, but she felt a duty of care for those she owned and employed. Benignus, Vettius, the prostitutes and guards were all innocent victims of her rash behaviour. None of them deserved to be injured or killed because of it.

Night after night, Fabiola tossed about on her bed, worrying. Other than walking away from the Lupanar, what could she do? If she left, she would be homeless. In the brothel, at least she had a roof over her head. Gradually, Fabiola became aware that she had not quite given up hope. She could not just abandon her business and those who worked there, despite the grave danger she was placing them all in. She wondered if this was how a general might feel before a battle — worrying whether his cause was worth the price of his soldiers' lives. Naturally, her dilemma brought Romulus to mind. Fabiola couldn't imagine him backing away from a challenge this important. Or was she just being selfish, justifying an arrogant decision?

On the night of Caesar's last triumph, there were hardly any customers. Despite the massive numbers of citizens on the streets, Scaevola's blockade was tightening. Fabiola's terror became all-consuming. Although only the gods knew what would transpire, the waiting would soon be over. She could feel it in her bones. If she died during Scaevola's attack, then all her worries would vanish, in the process denying her both revenge upon Caesar and a meeting with Romulus. Fabiola thought this the most likely outcome. Since Scaevola's attack in Orcus' temple, all the deities she prayed to — Jupiter, Mithras and the god of the underworld — had shown her virtually no favour.

If by some divine chance she was spared, then her purpose would remain the same. She would make another attempt to approach Brutus. If that didn't work, she decided she would start taking on new clients of her own, using the wiles that had won her such adoration in the past. A mountainous and distasteful task, yet she did not baulk at it. To stoke her levels of anger, Fabiola flagellated herself mentally remembering her mother's story of how she'd been raped by a nobleman while on an evening errand for Gemellus.

The tactic had a dramatic effect. Fabiola found herself clutching the knife she kept under her pillow, imagining the pleasure of plunging it into Caesar's flesh herself while telling him her reason why. She wondered how Romulus might react to the knowledge of their parenthood. No doubt it would be with an even greater fury. How thrilling it would feel to have her twin join her cause, she thought. With Romulus by her side, things would be so much easier. He might even want to kill Caesar himself. With this happy notion, Fabiola fell asleep, slipping into a vivid world in which the dictator was dead, she and Romulus were reunited and Brutus cared for her again.

It was the best night's rest she had had in months.

She finally emerged into the reception area at midday the following day.

Jovina nodded cautiously at her. 'Sleep well?'

'Yes, thank you. Morpheus remembered me at last,' smiled Fabiola, remembering her dream. 'Any customers yet?'

'No,' the old madam replied. 'We won't see any until much later. They'll all have massive hangovers thanks to Caesar's munificence.'

Fabiola scowled. Word had swept through the city about the twenty-two thousand tables of food and wine that were to be supplied by Caesar on the night of his last triumph. His popularity continued to grow with each passing day. Curse him, she thought. The bastard can do no wrong.

'Don't worry,' Jovina chirped, misinterpreting her reaction. 'The amount of money he gave away will bring his soldiers through the doors in droves. After all those years on campaign, half of them probably look like Priapus.' Chortling, she indicated the painting on the wall. As always, the god of gardens, fields and fertility was depicted with a huge, erect penis. 'Scaevola's men won't dare try and stop them!'

Despite herself, Fabiola smiled. 'Who's outside?'

'Vettius,' Jovina replied. 'Been out there since dawn. Nothing doing, he said. Scaevola's lot probably joined in the festivities last night. No man likes to fight with a pounding head.'

'Hmm.' When he picked his moment, the fugitivarius would make sure his men were ready, free wine or no. Pursing her lips, Fabiola headed out to see for herself.

Vettius was leaning against the wall by the entrance, dozing in a patch of sunlight which reached down to the street. His club rested by his right hand. Eight or nine of the guards were also present, either playing knuckle-bones or watching the few passers-by. Hearing Fabiola emerge, Vettius opened his eyes. He jerked upright with a start. 'Mistress.'

'I've told you not to call me that,' chided Fabiola.

He bobbed his great shaven head, still awkward around her. 'Fabiola.'

'Any sign of Scaevola or his lot?'

'Not so much as a whisker.'

'Stay on your guard anyway.' She beckoned him closer and whispered. 'Make sure all the men are ready to fight. Now that Caesar's triumphs are over, I think the danger is even greater.'

Vettius picked up his club and slapped it across the palm of his left hand. 'If the bastard does arrive, he'd better be ready for a good fight.'

Fabiola took some reassurance from his confident manner.

As it turned out, Scaevola came prepared for a war.

Later that day.

Fabiola's first inkling that something was up came when she ventured out to check on the guards early in the afternoon. To her surprise, the lane was completely deserted. No noisy children playing; no housewives gossiping over their shopping or dirty washing. The few beggars who plied their trade near the brothel were nowhere to be seen. Even the shutters on the windows of the insulae in the block opposite were shut.

'How long's it been like this?' she asked Benignus, who had replaced Vettius.

He rubbed his jaw, thinking. 'About an hour or so. I didn't pass much comment, because the streets beyond aren't much busier.'

Her nostrils flaring, Fabiola stared at the nearest businesses: a bakery, a potter's workshop and an apothecary's. The bakery was shut, which wasn't surprising. It opened well before sunrise each day, baking the loaves which were a staple of most citizens' diet. The entire stock was usually gone by mid-morning, and the baker closed soon afterwards to catch up on his sleep. Unusually, the potter's was also boarded up, when in normal circumstances it would have been open until dark. Fabiola frowned as she saw the apothecary, a stout balding Greek, tidying away his display, a host of jars containing the treatment or cure for every disease and malady known to man. Her prostitutes frequented this shop on a daily basis, buying everything from tinctures and doses that prevented pregnancy and disease to love potions for their favourite clients. In fact, the Greek relied on the Lupanar for most of his business. Why then was he closing early?

Fabiola set off towards him at a brisk pace.

'Where are you going, Mistress?' Benignus called. 'Fabiola?'

She didn't answer, prompting the huge doorman to pelt after her, along with a trio of the others. The apothecary's was only twenty paces from the brothel, but Benignus was taking no risks.

As Fabiola reached the open-fronted shop, the proprietor emerged, rubbing his hands on his stained apron. Seeing her, he bowed. 'A pleasure to see you in person, lady. Need some more valerian to help you sleep?'

'No, thank you.' Fabiola indicated the nearly empty stands and tables. 'Shutting up shop already?'

'Yes,' he admitted, avoiding her gaze. 'My wife's not well,' he added hastily.

'How terrible,' Fabiola cried, the picture of solicitousness. Inside, the suspicion she'd felt at the other two shops' closure was increasing fast. 'Nothing serious, I hope?'

The apothecary looked awkward. 'She developed a fever during the night.'

'You must have given her something for it,' barked Fabiola.

'Of course,' he muttered.

'What?'

The apothecary faltered, and Fabiola knew that he was lying. The Greek was a family man, and if his wife had really been ill, he wouldn't have opened at all that day. 'What's going on?' she demanded, stepping closer. 'The potter's gone too, you know. The whole damn street's like a cemetery.'

He swallowed noisily.

'Come now,' Fabiola urged, taking his hand. 'You can tell me. We're all friends and neighbours here.'

He glanced up and down the street, seeming relieved that it was deserted. 'You're right. I should have warned you before, but he threatened my family.' His voice cracked with emotion. 'I'm sorry.'

'He?' Fabiola's stomach clenched, but she also felt a sense of relief. 'Scaevola, you mean?'

His eyes darted about with fear. 'Yes.'

'What's the dog planning?' Fabiola wanted her suspicion confirmed by someone independent.

'He didn't say. Nothing good, I'm sure,' the apothecary replied, wiping sweat from his forehead. 'All the shopkeepers have had the same warning — that it'd be best to disappear this afternoon.'

Fabiola nodded. The instruction to remove possible bystanders — and witnesses — from the street had probably originated from Antonius. Merciless beyond belief, Scaevola wouldn't care how many people he killed, but the Master of the Horse would want a clean job done. 'You'd best leave then,' she said briskly. 'Get home to your family.'

The apothecary looked embarrassed. Here he was, a man, running away while a woman stayed to fight. 'Can I do anything?' he asked.

Fabiola smiled warmly, easing his conscience. 'Leave us a few bottles of acetum and papaverum. They might come in handy later.'

'Of course.' Scurrying inside his shop, he emerged a few moments later with his arms full. 'This is all my stock,' he said.

Fabiola began to protest, but the apothecary would have none of it. 'It's the least I can do,' he insisted. 'May the gods protect you all.'

'Thank you.' Directing her men to carry the vital medicines, Fabiola headed back to the Lupanar.

They did not have long to wait. Sweating, Tarquinius finally reached the top of the Capitoline Hill and the great complex dedicated to Jupiter. His head was throbbing and there was a foul taste in his dry mouth. He'd partaken of Caesar's public feast the night before and was now heartily regretting it. What had been a good idea at the time seemed foolish, he thought, given his tardiness today. The best hour for visiting the great shrine was early in the morning before the crowds got there, or in the evening after they'd left. With the sun nearing its zenith, he would arrive to make a sacrifice just as half of Rome did. Hardly the ideal moment to expect a good divination.

The unfortunate truth was that since his return from the latifundium the haruspex had found sitting outside the Lupanar extremely dull. Little of interest happened from one day to the next, and his reasons for hurrying back now seemed unnecessary. Tarquinius could have introduced himself to Fabiola, but he still felt reticent about making such a move. Why would she welcome him — the man responsible for her brother's flight from Rome? If Romulus never returned, she would blame him even more. No, it was better to stay in the background, gather information and pray for guidance. Tarquinius' faith was being tested to the limit.

He'd learned some useful information from the soothsayer, though. Fabiola's former lover was Decimus Brutus, but she was currently involved with Marcus Antonius. This explained what Tarquinius had seen when he followed her to this very spot a few days previously. Despite the thronged streets, he had managed to stay close, watching Fabiola as she tried to speak to Brutus, only to be interrupted by Antonius and the leader of the thugs on the blockades. The two noblemen's hostile body language spoke volumes. He hadn't heard what was said, but Brutus' anger, Antonius' triumph and Fabiola's dejected expression told their own tale. At one stroke, she had been deprived of the men's favour, while the ruffian looked set on doing her harm. Things were not going well for Romulus' sister.

The haruspex felt quite helpless before Fabiola's problems. He had no wealth, political influence or power. Apart from watching over the Lupanar, what could he do? Tempted to walk into the brothel two days before, he had resisted the urge thanks to a flare-up of his gut instinct. It was not the time. Still nothing much happened, and by the final night of Caesar's triumphs, Tarquinius needed a break. Practically every street in the city had been lined with tables groaning under the weight of Caesar's generosity. Everyone was in festive mood, friendly to even the most taciturn and scarred of strangers like Tarquinius. Before he knew it, the haruspex had drunk half a dozen cups of wine pressed on him by other merrymakers. After that, he'd done well to find his miserable rented room in the attic of a rundown cenacula by the Tiber.

Tarquinius' intention of visiting the Capitoline Hill was forgotten until it came crashing back late the following morning when he woke in a cold sweat. Hence his hurry now. Although he felt guilty about it, taking a break to visit the huge temple was more appealing than sitting by the Lupanar for yet another day, pretending to be a simpleton.

An hour later, the haruspex felt differently. He'd bought a hen and sacrificed it in the proper manner, but seen nothing in its liver or entrails. Frustrated, Tarquinius had purchased another bird and repeated the process to no avail. Ignoring the curious stares of some worshippers, and the requests for divination from others, he had contemplated the results of his work for long, silent moments. Nothing came to him. Praying to Jupiter's statue and visiting the long, dark cella produced nothing more than another memory of his nightmare about a murder at the Lupanar. His senses dulled by his pounding head, the haruspex neglected to take note that this time more than one person had been killed.

He gave up and bought several beakers of fruit juice to quench his raging thirst. Glancing in annoyance at the enormous figure of Jupiter, he decided to return to his post at the Lupanar. There at least he could nurse away his hangover. Tarquinius had to negotiate the usual blockades on his journey. They appeared tighter than normal. It was then that he felt the first tickles of unease. His usual drooling idiot routine worked well, though, getting him past the thugs with just the usual insults and cruel laughter. His pace quickened as soon as he was out of their sight, and he reached the brothel without further event. Easing himself to the ground in his usual spot, he took a long swig from his water gourd. Perhaps now his thumping headache would ease.

A few moments later, the haruspex was alarmed to see a large party of heavies enter the other end of the street. He stiffened, noting the poorly hidden weapons under their cloaks. Striding past the other businesses on the lane, they made a beeline for the Lupanar. Tarquinius counted more than twenty, which was enough proof for him. At long last, his recurrent nightmare made sense. Why hadn't he realised at Jupiter's temple? Cursing his decision to drink the night before, he headed towards the Mithraeum as fast as his shuffling feet would take him. With luck, Secundus and his men could be persuaded to help.

Adrenalin surged through the haruspex when he saw the thugs' leader and another group carrying ladders. He broke into a run. The gods had finally decided to show their hand.

Tarquinius prayed that their revelation had not come too late for Fabiola. Scaevola's attack came about an hour after Fabiola had spoken to the apothecary. She felt an immediate sense of relief, which diluted her fear. Not knowing when it might happen had sapped her energy more than she knew. It was time to end this feud one way or another. She'd already prepared the brothel for a siege. There was enough food for more than a week, while a well supplied their water. Just inside the entrance were all the spare weapons her men possessed: axes, clubs, swords and a few spears. The front door's locking bar was to be augmented by large pieces of heavy furniture once they'd retreated inside, preventing entry by battering ram. Buckets of water had been placed throughout the building in case of fire. The prostitutes were safely in their rooms at the back, but Jovina remained at her post in the reception, a dagger clutched in her frail hands.

Half of her men were outside with Benignus, while Vettius and the others stood ready in the reception. Fabiola was determined to defend the street, at least for a while. Hiding away in the brothel would make Scaevola think she was scared, or already beaten, and she wasn't having that. This was her turf, not his, and it would be defended. Her forces weren't immense, though. Including Benignus and Vettius, she had eighteen men. Most of them were slaves or collegia toughs whose quality and courage was uncertain, but five were gladiators, professional fighters who, with the two doormen, would form the heart of her little army. Wearing a selection of armour according to their gladiator class, the quintet were being paid twice as much as any of the others. Although Catus and the kitchen slaves were untrained in the use of weapons, they had also been armed, which brought the potential number of defenders up to twenty-three. Twenty-four, Fabiola thought. Discarding convention, she had strapped on a belt and gladius herself. After all, she was a follower of Mithras, the warrior god, so she would fight like one.

Despite her bravado, there was a sinking feeling in Fabiola's gut.

Soon after, it began.

'Look lively, boys,' shouted Benignus from outside. 'Trouble!'

Fabiola rushed to the door, which was ajar. Sauntering up the street came a gang of at least twenty thugs. She could not see Scaevola, but her stomach still clenched into a knot. Wearing cloaks to conceal their weapons, the nonchalant newcomers were acting as if they were on a morning stroll. A short distance to their rear walked a solitary figure, a well-built black-haired man in a soldier's red tunic. Fabiola frowned. Their leader? No, she decided: he looked out of place. She had no time to study him further. Realising that their cover was blown, the heavies threw back their cloaks and produced a fearsome selection of axes, clubs and swords. Screaming blue murder, they charged straight for the Lupanar.

'You know what to do,' Fabiola shouted at Benignus.

'Kill as many of the bastards as possible, and then retreat inside,' came the answer.

'Mithras protect you all,' she called back, her heart thumping against her ribs in a combination of fear and excitement.

Benignus gave Fabiola a grim nod before joining his men, who had formed a tight defensive arc around the entrance. Preparing to take the brunt of the attack, he and the five gladiators formed the centre. Like a line of legionaries, they moved shoulder to shoulder. Neither side were using shields, which meant that casualties would come thick and fast.

First blood went to Fabiola's fighters. A burly man with a long-handled axe who fancied himself against Benignus came screaming in a few steps ahead of his companions with his weapon raised high. Fabiola flinched; the curved blade would fatally injure or remove a limb with ease. She needn't have worried. Holding his club by the ends, Benignus lifted his arms and used it to meet the swingeing blow full on. Sparks flew into the air as the iron axe struck the profusion of metal studs on the club's surface. Instead of cutting Benignus' head in two, it bit two fingers' depth into the wood. Frantic, the axeman tried in vain to pull his weapon loose. With an evil smile, Benignus used his club to yank his struggling opponent closer before delivering a huge kick to the groin. The screaming thug dropped to the ground in a heap, whereupon the doorman ripped the axe free. Grasping his club with both hands, he brought it down with all his strength.

Fabiola had seen joints of meat split open with a cleaver many times before. Until that moment, though, she'd never seen a man's skull opened so easily. When Charon came into the arena to check that all the fallen gladiators were dead, she always looked away. Now, she was rapt. With a sickening crunch, Benignus' club smashed his enemy's head apart. A fine red mist sprayed into the air and small lumps of gelatinous brain matter flew everywhere. A number splattered off the doorframe by Fabiola's head. She wished they had been from Scaevola.

The remainder of his heavies crashed into her defenders' line an instant later. The confined space of the laneway magnified the clash of weapons and screams to that of thunder. Swords bit deep into flesh and men tussled with each other, punching, wrestling and even biting if the opportunity presented itself. Fabiola danced from foot to foot, unconsciously mimicking her men's movements. She had already drawn her gladius, and only Vettius' restraining arm was preventing her from joining the fray. 'You're not to go out there,' he muttered firmly. 'That's our job.' Fabiola obeyed, knowing he was right.

To her horror, things started to go badly almost at once. First to go was the defensive arc around the doorway. Although Fabiola's men had cut down five more of their enemies, they had lost three of their own. No one was left to fill the gaps, and in a heartbeat a pair of thugs had wriggled inside the half circle, throwing themselves straight at the doorway. If that could be taken, the battle was won. Locked in their own struggles for survival, Benignus and his comrades could do nothing about it.

Vettius politely shoved Fabiola to one side. Leading three men outside, he despatched the first ruffian with a sword thrust to the chest. Unfortunately the second managed to badly hurt one of the doorman's companions before his head was severed from behind by a gladiator. The respite was momentary. Benignus was nursing a flesh wound to his chest, and a secutor was down. Roaring for more blood, the thugs pushed in even harder, their weapons licking out hungrily like so many snakes' tongues. Fabiola could see that if she didn't call her men back in, they'd all be killed.

'Pull back,' she screamed. 'Get inside.'

Fabiola's fighters were only a few steps away, but two more were slain before they could gain the safety of the brothel. Standing just inside the entrance, she watched in horror as, pleading for their lives, they were hacked apart. Benignus was last inside, managing somehow to smash a thug's shoulder into smithereens with his club before the door slammed shut. Panting heavily, the doorman slid home the bolts. Quickly the others shoved forward the heavy items of furniture as fists and weapons hammered futile blows on the other side. Colourful insults filled the air as both sides recovered their strength after the brutal encounter. Although brief, it had been energy-sapping.

Fabiola was confident that their enemies' efforts would come to nothing. Unless of course they'd brought a battering ram. Busying herself by attending to the wounded, she tried not to think of that eventuality. To her relief, Benignus was not badly hurt. Once she'd cleaned the gash with some acetum, one of the gladiators used a needle and some linen thread to stitch him up. Several of the others also had minor injuries. Only one man was critically hurt, suffering a deep slash on his right thigh which had cut down to the bone. A major blood vessel had been severed which pulsed out bright red blood all over the mosaic floor. Fabiola could not believe he was still alive. There was already a huge pool of it around the semi-conscious man. It was only after a tourniquet of rope and pieces of wood had been tied round the top of his leg that the bleeding stopped. Whether he survived was another matter.

By the time everyone had been attended to, the torrent of abuse from outside had almost stopped. Fabiola began to feel uneasy. Surely Scaevola's rabble wouldn't give up this easily? Opening the door would be far too dangerous, so she hurried to one of the bedrooms which had a window on to the street. Like most large houses, the brothel's exterior was almost featureless. Just a few windows — high up and thankfully too small to admit a man — were present in the front wall. While this feature facilitated privacy and security, it was extremely difficult to see what was going on outside.

Standing on a stool, Fabiola peered through the green pane of glass. An expensive luxury, the small pane distorted the world beyond. All she could see was a group of men talking and pointing at the Lupanar. Worryingly, there were now far more of them, so reinforcements had arrived. A central, stocky figure appeared to be ordering the rest about. Fabiola's pulse shot up. Was it Scaevola? She couldn't be sure. Holding her breath, she watched for some time.

There was no mistaking the ladders' shape when they came into view. Fabiola's spirits plunged. This was an eventuality she hadn't thought of. The men carrying them were directed to move up to the brothel's wall, and she cursed bitterly. By lifting the tiles, the thugs would gain access to the roof space and then the whole interior of the Lupanar. With more than twenty men, they could attack in multiple places. She would have to divide her forces among the network of rooms, in the hope of containing their enemies' ingress. Yet Fabiola panicked as she counted the ladders.

There were five.

She jumped to the floor, shouting for Vettius and Benignus.

One option remained. They would have to pull back to the central courtyard, which could only be accessed by two doors. There at least they could give a good account of themselves before they died. Fabiola knew that her fate and that of the prostitutes would not be that easy, though. The thugs would not be able to resist the temptation of so much flesh, and Scaevola wanted to finish what he'd begun years before. Fabiola's flesh crawled at the memory and the anticipation of so much horror, but she did not allow her resolve to waver. One of the doormen could be detailed with the job of killing her and the women before they were captured.

Clutching her gladius, Fabiola ran to the reception.

All her dreams and hopes had come to this.

To nothing.