The Road To Rome

Chapter XXVII: The Ides of March

At first Romulus thought he would go straight to the Lupanar to have it out with Fabiola. After his initial shock had abated, a cold fury had swept his soul at her boldness. He had to admit that it was unsurprising that his sister had the courage to carry on with her plan. Their mother had to have been immensely strong to survive the life of torment she'd led, and her blood flowed in Fabiola's veins just as it did in his. Velvinna had been trying to do her best for them, and Romulus doubted that he could have endured what she had. Yet his twin had done so for years by constantly having sex with men against her will. Fabiola had eventually done well from prostitution, but that didn't mean that it hadn't caused her irreparable damage. Maybe that was where her ruthless streak came from. Plotting her revenge must have been the only way Fabiola had managed to survive, Romulus concluded.

In his mind, it still didn't excuse planning to murder the Republic's leader. Without Caesar admitting to Velvinna's rape, how could Fabiola really know? She couldn't, and Romulus simply wasn't prepared to murder a man on a hunch, especially when it was the person who had granted him manumission. If at all possible, he wasn't going to let his sister and a gang of disgruntled nobles do so either.

Romulus decided that it was too risky approaching Fabiola at this late stage. If she was prepared to take the final step of killing Caesar, then she wouldn't let him stop her. The heavies outside the Lupanar didn't give a damn who he was. He didn't want to end up with his throat slit. Damping down his anger, Romulus resolved to take Tarquinius' advice and visit Caesar's palatial domus early the next morning. He would make no mention of Fabiola. Romulus didn't want his twin executed. He would deal with her later himself.

Returning to the veterans' residence, he went looking for Secundus. The one-armed ex-soldier was the Pater of the Mithraeum, which meant that he was the leader of more than fifty hardbitten men who'd served in the legions for many years. In his brief time there, Romulus had come to like the pensive, middle-aged figure who often listened rather than spoke. When Secundus did open his mouth, his words were invariably wise, which reminded him of Tarquinius. Romulus had not been surprised to find that the two knew each other from the past. He found Secundus in the large courtyard, enjoying the watery spring sunshine.

'Well met.' Secundus smiled. 'Is Tarquinius with you?'

'No,' Romulus replied awkwardly. 'I left him at the temple on the Capitoline.'

Secundus raised an eyebrow.

Romulus let it all out. Seeing the hen's blood and feathers moving east, but learning little else from it. The kid he'd bought. Tarquinius' alarm at what he saw in its liver.

Secundus sat bolt upright. 'The danger to Caesar is real?'

'Tarquinius thinks so. It is to happen at the Senate tomorrow,' Romulus muttered. 'I'm not going to stand by and let it happen. Caesar has to be warned.'

'He needs protection too,' growled Secundus. 'What was he thinking to disband those Spanish bodyguards?'

'That's why I came to you,' said Romulus. 'I thought perhaps your men could help.'

'Of course.'

Greatly relieved, Romulus sat for some time, discussing with Secundus the best ways to deploy the ex-soldiers the next morning. Finally they decided that surrounding the dictator's litter the moment he arrived would be the safest option. Their mere presence and determination would unsettle, or even put off, the conspirators. If they attacked regardless, they would pay a bloody price with little chance of success. Politicians could not fight army veterans.

Tarquinius returned some time later, prompting Romulus to wonder if he'd seen anything else in the kid's organs. A monumental wave of shame struck him as he thought of Brennus, whom he'd forgotten during the drama. A muttered conversation with the haruspex revealed that he had discerned no more of interest. This did little to ease Romulus' guilt about neglecting to ask about the big Gaul, but he had to put it aside. What was going to happen tomorrow outweighed all else.

'Are you all right?' Tarquinius' scarred face was concerned.

Romulus didn't want to talk. 'I need a good night's sleep, that's all.'

'You're still going to warn Caesar?'

'Of course,' he snapped. 'Wouldn't you?'

Tarquinius shook his head. 'It is not for me to interfere with another's destiny. Besides, Rome did too many terrible things to my people for me to help it now.'

'That was hundreds of years ago.'

'I have a direct link with the past,' said Tarquinius sadly. 'It is thanks to the Romans that I am the last haruspex.'

'Of course. I apologise,' Romulus muttered, his understanding of his friend's hatred of Rome deepening. Yet, despite his strong feelings, the haruspex was making no effort to stop him warning Caesar, which proved he was staying true to his beliefs. In turn, this strengthened Romulus' desire to do the same. Thinking of Caesar, Fabiola and his relationship with them both, he was startled by Tarquinius' next words.

'You could use your own powers to divine the matter.'

'No,' said Romulus, hating the fact that his refusal would cause Tarquinius pain. 'I'm sorry. Predicting the future is not for me.'

Tarquinius smiled in acceptance. 'A man can only be what he is meant to be. Kind. Loyal and courageous. A true soldier. That is more than enough.'

Embarrassed but proud, Romulus threw him a grateful look. He would follow his heart then. Tomorrow he would warn Caesar, and prevent his murder. Then he would have it out with Fabiola. Despite her actions, Romulus did not want the bad blood between them to continue.

What if she's right, though, his inner voice asked. If Caesar raped your mother, does he not deserve to die?

He didn't do it, thought Romulus fiercely. He's not that type of man.

Keeping this uppermost in his mind, he took his leave of Tarquinius and Secundus. Finding Mattius outside the door of the domus like a faithful puppy, Romulus asked him to return at dawn the next day. The urchin clearly knew nothing of what the haruspex had seen, so Romulus glossed over the matter, saying that he had left because he was feeling unwell. The revelation needed to remain top secret, and while Mattius was loyal, he was still only a boy.

After a brief and uneventful visit to the Mithraeum, Romulus retired to his small room. Afternoon had passed, and night was falling. It was time to get what rest he could before the morning.

The Ides of March. Romulus' dreams were vivid and disquieting. Caesar, Fabiola and Tarquinius featured in a variety of violent and distorted sequences that had him tossing and turning all night. Drenched in sweat when he awoke, Romulus could not remember a single detail, just the identities of those he'd encountered. Normally, he would have asked Tarquinius about the nightmares, but not today. Thoroughly unsettled, he went outside to see what time it was. It was still dark, but the cobbled courtyard was already full of Secundus' men, readying themselves for combat. Wearing mail for protection under their cloaks, they had discarded their bronze-bowl crested helmets and heavy scuta in favour of remaining inconspicuous.

Taking heart from their determined faces, Romulus headed back to his room. He strapped on his gladius as well as his dagger, but chose not to wear armour or carry a shield. His weapons alone would arouse the suspicions of Caesar's guards, and he could not afford the risk of failure. Last of all, Romulus pinned his two gold phalerae to his tunic. These, his proudest possessions, would hopefully gain him an audience with the dictator, and also trigger his memory of their three meetings. If Caesar remembered him, he would be more likely to believe Romulus' warning. He was not surprised to find the haruspex waiting by the entrance, his battleaxe hanging from his back. Romulus was touched by this loyalty. Whatever his feelings about Caesar and Rome, Tarquinius would stand by his comrade.

'Good luck.'

'Thank you,' Romulus replied. 'Hopefully I won't need it.'

'Fabiola?' It was the first time the haruspex had mentioned his sister since the divination.

'I won't say a word about her. Who knows what will happen once the conspirators are arrested, though?' Romulus gave a resigned shrug. 'That's down to the gods. With luck, I'll get to settle things with her afterwards.'

Tarquinius' dark eyes were unreadable. 'See you at Pompey's complex.'

Quickly they gripped forearms and then Romulus drew wide the door. Stepping outside into the pre-dawn cool, he found Mattius waiting. They set off in silence, but it wasn't long before the boy's curiosity got the better of him.

'Where are we going?'

'Caesar's domus.'

Mattius' eyes widened. 'Why? Did Tarquinius see something important yesterday?'

'Yes.' Romulus didn't elaborate further.

He didn't need to. Rome was chock full of rumours and, while young, Mattius was streetwise. 'Someone wants to kill Caesar. That's it, isn't it?' he piped. 'Why else would you be going to his house at this hour, wearing a gladius?'

Despite his grim mood, Romulus grinned. 'No flies on you,' he admitted.

'I knew it!' Mattius crowed. There was a short pause. 'Is it just you and me?'

Romulus heard the tremor in his voice and looked down. Despite his obvious fear, Mattius was clutching a rusty kitchen knife, which must have been hidden under his tunic. His heart filled at the boy's courage. It did not matter to him who ruled Rome, or whether Caesar lived or died. He was here for one reason: to show solidarity with his friend. Romulus stopped in his tracks. 'You've got real guts, lad, but you won't have to do any fighting,' he said, patting Mattius' bony shoulder. 'The veterans are coming along. Tarquinius too.'

'Good,' Mattius replied, relieved. 'I'll be ready just in case.'

Thinking of himself as a youngster, Romulus hid his smile.

A short time later, they reached Caesar's current domus, a palatial affair on the Palatine Hill. The sun was rising now, revealing the construction of a new high-pointed exterior intended to make it resemble a temple. Building had only just started, so almost the entire front of the building was obscured by scaffolding, which concealed the pair until they had reached the entrance.

'Halt!' shouted one of four soldiers before the massive iron-studded doors. 'Declare yourselves.'

'Romulus, veteran legionary of the Twenty-Eighth, and Mattius, a boy from the Caelian Hill,' Romulus answered, stepping out of the shadows.

The sentry's lip curled. 'Your business?'

Romulus half turned, so his phalerae glittered in the torchlight. He was pleased to see the soldiers' eyes widen. Few men earned two gold medals. 'I seek an audience with Caesar,' he said.

'Now?' scoffed a second guard. 'It's not even hora prima.'

'It's very urgent.'

'I don't give a toss,' replied the first man. 'On your way. Come back this afternoon, and you might be lucky.'

'I can't wait that long.'

The sentries exchanged an incredulous look before the first lowered his pilum to point at Romulus' chest. 'I suggest you and your little friend fuck off,' he growled. 'Now.'

Romulus didn't move a step. 'Tell Caesar that it's the slave who killed the Ethiopian bull. The one he granted manumission to.'

Romulus' extraordinary calm and outlandish claim were off-putting, and more than ordinary soldiers were used to dealing with. Scowling, the first guard went inside to confer with his optio. The junior officer emerged a moment later, pulling on his helmet. Bleary-eyed and irritable, he listened to Romulus' request in silence. 'And your purpose?' he demanded.

'That's for Caesar's ears only, sir,' Romulus answered, careful to keep his voice neutral. If he didn't play this just right, his mission would fail, and he couldn't let that happen.

The optio looked at him long and hard. 'Where did you win those?' He pointed at Romulus' phalerae.

'One at Ruspina, the other at Thapsus, sir.'

'What for?'

Romulus briefly described his efforts, and the officer's face soon changed. 'Stay put,' he ordered, disappearing inside.

Ignoring the legionaries' glowers, Romulus leaned against the scaffolding. Mattius stayed close, more intimidated than his big friend. They waited for perhaps half an hour before the optio reappeared.

'Caesar will see you,' he said. 'Leave your weapons here.'

The guards goggled at this unexpected outcome.

Bending his head to conceal his grin, Romulus unbuckled his belt and handed it to Mattius. 'I'll be back shortly,' he said. 'Don't say a word to these fools,' he added under his breath.

The boy nodded, delighted with the responsibility.

Following the optio, Romulus entered the atrium. Few torches were burning, but there was sufficient light to see that the house was decorated in opulent fashion. Richly patterned, well-laid mosaic covered the floors, and the stuccoed walls were painted with striking scenes. Beautiful Greek statues filled every alcove, and through the open doors of the tablinum Romulus heard the patter of water from a fountain in the garden.

The optio led him to one of the many rooms around the central courtyard. Compared to the rest of the house, this was decorated in Spartan fashion. Apart from a striking bust of Caesar, the only other furniture was a crowded desk, a leather-backed chair and a pair of tables groaning under rolls of parchment and papyrus. A young slave was placing oil lamps here and there, lending the chamber a warm golden glow.

Indicating that Romulus should stand before the desk, the optio retreated to the door. They waited in silence for some moments, and Romulus began to wonder what Fabiola was doing at that exact instant. Making her last preparations, no doubt. Would she be present at the Senate later? Sudden panic overtook him at the thought of defending Caesar from his sister. Jupiter, don't let that happen, Romulus prayed. That would be too much to bear. How would you react? his inner voice asked.

'Legionary Romulus,' said a voice from behind him. 'You rise early.'

He spun around. Wearing a plain white toga, Caesar stood framed in the doorway. Beside him, the optio had snapped to rigid attention. Romulus did likewise. 'My apologies, sir,' he said.

Rubbing a hand through his thinning hair, Caesar walked to the desk and sat down. 'I hope your reason's good,' he said drily. 'Dawn is only just breaking.'

Romulus flushed, but did not apologise. 'It is, sir.' Studying the dictator with a new interest, he was startled by the strong resemblance Caesar's features bore to his own. Coincidence, Romulus told himself. It had to be coincidence.

'Well, get on with it, man,' said Caesar, staring at him. Lines of exhaustion had drawn grey bags under his eyes. Covering his mouth with his hand, he began to cough. 'This damn chest of mine. Tell me.'

Romulus looked pointedly at the optio, and the slave, who was now tidying the tables. 'I'd rather you were the only one to hear it, sir.'

'Would you, by Jupiter?' Caesar rubbed his chin, considering. 'Very well,' he said. 'Leave us.' He jerked his head.

The slave obeyed at once, but the optio started forward. 'Don't trust him, sir!'

Caesar laughed. 'My enemies are many, but I don't think they include this man. I freed him from slavery for killing an Ethiopian bull, optio, and have twice decorated him on the field of battle since. A more loyal soldier doesn't exist in the Republic. Go, and shut the door behind you.'

With a beetroot face, the officer did as he was told.

'He's steadfast, but suspicious,' said Caesar. 'I should be grateful, I suppose.'

'Sir.' Romulus didn't dare agree or disagree.

To his surprise, the dictator didn't launch straight into a barrage of questions about his reasons for being here. 'How's life treating you since your discharge?'

'Very well, thank you, sir.'

'Your farm satisfactory?'

'Yes, sir,' said Romulus with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.

Eagle-eyed, Caesar chuckled. 'Tilling the fields isn't quite so exciting as standing in a shield wall, is it?'

Romulus grinned. 'No, sir.'

'A healthier occupation, though, if you can stick it,' said Caesar.

'Funny you should say so, sir,' Romulus blurted. 'I was thinking of volunteering for your new campaign.'

'Soldiers like you are always welcome,' Caesar replied, clearly pleased. A thoughtful look crossed his long, thin face. 'Didn't you serve at Carrhae?'

'Yes, sir,' Romulus answered, vivid memories filling his brain. 'I wouldn't mind another lick at the Parthians either.'

'That's the spirit. Why don't you come along to the Senate this morning,' Caesar suggested brightly. 'The senators would benefit from hearing what it's like to face them in battle.'

'I'd be honoured, sir,' said Romulus. 'Except I'm here to ask you not to attend the debates today.'

'My wife has been unhappy too.' Caesar frowned. 'Why shouldn't I go?'

'It's too dangerous, sir,' Romulus cried. 'There's a plot to kill you!'

The dictator grew very calm. 'Where did you hear about this?'

'From a friend, sir.'

'Who is?'

Romulus paused, worried how the other would react. 'A haruspex, sir.'

'One of those?' Caesar scoffed. 'They're liars and cheats to a man. If I'd lived my life by what augurs say, I'd never have conquered Gaul, or the Republic. Anywhere, for that matter.'

'This man is no charlatan, sir,' Romulus protested. 'He served with me under Crassus, and predicted the defeat at Carrhae and many other things which came to pass. His abilities are second to none.'

'Hmm.' Caesar regarded him steadily. 'So what did he see?'

'A plot to kill you at the Senate House, sir. Scores of men are involved.'

'And they are to strike today?'

Romulus swallowed the lump in his throat. 'Yes, sir. Beware the Ides of March.'

'Has your friend ever been wrong in his prophecies? Are they sometimes of uncertain meaning?'

'Of course, sir. That's the nature of haruspicy.'

Caesar barked a contemptuous laugh. 'I love it! It's the same damn reason that soothsayers give to explain the fact that they make up every damn detail which comes out of their mouths. There has been talk of assassination for months, and it's all hot air. Why would anyone kill me? After decades of infighting, the Republic is at peace. Your friend is imagining things. Believe what you will, Romulus, but don't ask me to do the same. There are important matters which need to be discussed in the Senate today. I have to be there, and I see no reason not to attend.'

Undeterred, Romulus fell back on his reserve tactic. 'I've taken the liberty of rounding up some loyal veterans, sir. About fifty of them. They'll be at the Senate by now.'

'One of my ex-soldiers sees fit to gather a motley crew of bodyguards, eh?' Caesar shook his head in amazement.

Romulus realised his boldness. 'Sorry, sir,' he faltered. 'I didn't mean to act out of turn.'

'From the humblest origins spring the finest virtues,' murmured Caesar. He smiled. 'On the contrary, you did well, and I thank you.'

Relief flooded through Romulus. 'So the veterans can come into the Senate with you, sir?'

Caesar's eyes flashed with anger. 'No, they may not.'

'I don't understand, sir,' Romulus stammered.

'Your motives were noble,' said Caesar with a nod of gratitude. 'But do not forget who I am. As the best general in the history of the Republic, I cannot arrive at the Senate accompanied by a ragtag selection of retired soldiers. It's beneath my dignity.'

'Just this once, sir,' Romulus pleaded. 'If there's no danger, you can laugh it off as a spontaneous demonstration of your men's love for you. If trouble does occur, you'll be safe.'

Caesar considered his request for a moment, giving Romulus some hope. Then he shook his head. 'No. I will not live in fear when there is no need.'

Romulus' spirits plummeted, before he had a brainwave. Secundus and the veterans could wait outside the Senate regardless. At the first sign of trouble, they could rush inside. It was more risky for the dictator than if they accompanied him, but it was better than nothing. 'Very well, sir,' he said. 'May I still come?' One decent soldier is worth more than twenty fat senators, he thought. Perhaps I can hold them off until Secundus and the others storm in.

Romulus hadn't counted on Caesar's incisive mind. 'You can, but your comrades are to go home,' he ordered. 'No hanging around in case there's trouble. Clear?'

Romulus gave him a despairing glance. 'Yes, sir.'

'Give me your word that you'll tell them to disappear.' Caesar stuck out his right hand in the soldier's fashion.

'How do you know I'll keep it?' asked Romulus.

'Because you're a good man. I can see that,' Caesar replied. 'You're also a soldier of mine.'

'Very well, sir.' Cursing the dictator's perception, Romulus accepted the grip.

'Good,' Caesar muttered. 'I need some time now to prepare for the day ahead. Have a think about what to say regarding Carrhae. Get yourself to Pompey's complex for hora sexta. That's when I'll arrive.'

'Sir.' Helpless before Caesar's power, Romulus felt sick to his stomach. Tarquinius wouldn't make up something like an assassination. The dictator didn't know that of course, and was taking him for a loyal but superstitious soldier. He had to make one more attempt. 'I-'

'Not another word,' said Caesar firmly. 'I appreciate your concern.' He raised a hand to his mouth. 'Optio!'

To Romulus' dismay, the junior officer appeared at once. 'Sir?'

'Accompany this soldier to the door,' Caesar ordered. 'Tell the major-domo to count out twenty aurei for him.'

'That's not necessary, sir.' Romulus protested. 'I didn't do it for money.'

'Nonetheless, your fealty will be rewarded.' Caesar waved his dismissal. 'I'll see you later.'

'Sir!' Giving the dictator his best possible salute, Romulus marched to the door.

The bemused optio took him back to the entrance hall, and a few moments later, Romulus emerged into the street, clutching a heavy leather purse.

The sentries had changed, but Mattius was still there. He focused on the clinking pouch like a vulture on carrion. 'Caesar believed you then?' he cried.

'No,' Romulus replied grimly. 'He wouldn't listen. This is just for being loyal.'

Mattius' face fell. 'What are we going to do?'

Romulus thought for a moment. 'Go to the Lupanar,' he declared. If she was there, perhaps Fabiola could be persuaded to call off the assassination. He doubted it, and his fear that her men would knife him to death resurfaced. Romulus scowled and set out anyway. It was clutching at straws, but what else could he do?

He was somewhat consoled by the sight of Decimus Brutus peering from an approaching litter. As a man who had not been at any of the meetings in the Lupanar, Romulus hoped that Fabiola's lover was also a man of principle. Maybe Brutus' purpose was the same as his.

Romulus muttered a prayer to Jupiter that this was the case. Fabiola's final preparations began when Brutus left for Caesar's house. Her lover's resolve still seemed firm, which relieved and terrified her at the same time. Concerned that he would reconsider his position and back out of the conspiracy, she had not let him out of her sight since the meeting the previous evening. Fabiola had also made a concerted effort to divert Brutus' attention from the matter at hand. She had ordered the kitchen slaves to prepare a sumptuous feast, and ordered in the best entertainers available. Between courses of pork, fish and various types of fowl, they watched Greek athletes covered in oil wrestle naked on the floor and poets recite their latest satires. Actors had performed short comedy pieces, and acrobats amazed them with their skills. On the surface, Fabiola's ploy had appeared to be a success. Brutus had laughed and smiled, appearing to enjoy the performers' efforts, yet she knew him well enough to see that he was preoccupied. Naturally, the only thought in his mind had been Caesar's murder. Behind her vivacious exterior, Fabiola had been able to think of little else herself, but she hadn't dared to bring it up in conversation. For his part, Brutus had been content not to mention it either.

Although Fabiola did not like admitting it, Brutus' considerable qualms about joining their number had forced her to recognise the previously unacknowledged doubt that lurked in the furthest recesses of her own heart. Whether it had been present before Romulus' refusal to join her, she wasn't sure, but her brother's steadfast support for the dictator was hard to disregard completely. He had always been full of honourable ideas, such as wanting to free the Republic's slaves. Despite his traumatic experiences in the arena and Crassus' army, this quality seemed to have strengthened. Fabiola could see it in Romulus' upright bearing, and in the way Tarquinius spoke about him. Even the way he'd been able to walk away from Gemellus spoke volumes about his moral fibre.

What, on the other hand, had she become? The question had kept Fabiola awake all night long. She'd done her best to rise above the degradation of her former profession but now Fabiola had to face up to the fact that it had tainted her. The most obvious result was her total distrust of men. Her years in the Lupanar had taught her that they were not to be trusted in any shape or form. Brutus was the sole exception to the rule, his unswervingly honourable conduct earning him the exemption. Was it any surprise, therefore, Fabiola asked herself, that she presumed Caesar to be her father when he'd tried to rape her? Had she been overreacting?

No, her heart screamed. It hadn't just been the look in the dictator's eyes, but his voice, his words, which had convinced her of his guilt. But when Fabiola forced her mind to re-examine what had happened that winter's night, she came to a different conclusion. Caesar had admitted nothing. The fact that he had attacked her did not prove that he was the rapist. Romulus was right about that much. Her conscience stung by this idea, Fabiola had lain staring at the ceiling, knowing that the plans she had fostered could not be stopped now. Too many angry, powerful men were involved.

When Brutus woke, fresh-faced and still set on his course, Fabiola had put on her best mask to disguise her mixed feelings. Her lover must have sensed something was wrong. 'What we're going to do is the best thing, my love,' he'd murmured. 'For Rome. For all of us.'

Fabiola hadn't dared to talk about it. Part of her was exultant, and part terrified. Shoring up her belief that Brutus was right, she had wished him luck and kissed him goodbye. Now, sitting alone by her dressing table, she was again plagued by doubt. If only she could verify, or discount, Caesar's guilt, and discover whether his actions really signified the death of the Republic. A thought struck her. Tarquinius might be able to answer these questions.

Would he do it, though?

Harsh reality sank in at once. It was far too late for such measures. Even if Tarquinius were to discover that Caesar was innocent of all charges, the conspirators would not be swayed from their course. Too many of them stood to profit from the dictator's death, not least Marcus Brutus. Her role in the assassination might have been influential, but Fabiola realised that it would probably have happened eventually anyway.

Telling herself that her gut reaction to Caesar had been correct, Fabiola headed to the Lupanar. Best to keep to her ordinary daily routine for as long as possible. While she intended to be at the Forum when Caesar arrived, she did not want to attract any attention to herself either. What she needed was to take her mind off it, Fabiola decided, and the best way to do that was to relax in a hot bath. Entering the brothel, she ordered Benignus to admit no one.

She had no idea of the impact that the casual order would have. Arriving outside the brothel a short time later, Romulus marched straight up to the entrance. A trio of men were on guard, led by a shaven-headed brute who was covered in recently healed scars. Romulus recognised him as Benignus, the doorman who'd nearly died after Scaevola's attack, but had survived thanks to Tarquinius. He nodded at him in a friendly manner. 'I'd like to speak to Fabiola.'

'She's not receiving visitors,' said Benignus civilly enough.

Romulus laughed. 'I'm her brother!'

'I know who you are,' Benignus replied, moving right in front of the door.

'Let me in, then!'

Benignus' voice hardened. 'No visitors, I said.'

Leering, his companions moved to stand by his side.

Romulus considered his options. He was a skilled professional soldier, but Benignus alone was as strong as an ox. The other two looked tough too. There was no guarantee that he'd emerge unscathed from a fight with them. Even if he did, would Fabiola listen to him?

'I don't want to fight you,' he said. There was too much at stake.

'Good,' said Benignus.

While his comrades sneered, Romulus was pleased to see a hint of relief flash across the doorman's eyes. Benignus was only doing his job. Cursing the luck that had pitted him against his own sister, Romulus beckoned to Mattius and together they headed for the Campus Martius. Situated on a plain to the northwest of the city, it was at least a quarter of an hour's walk away. It was some time until Caesar would arrive at Pompey's complex there, but Romulus didn't know where else to go. The time for prayers was past, he thought, taking comfort from the hard grip of his gladius. Another battle loomed. Even as a free citizen, in Rome, it could find him. Romulus set his jaw. Very well. It didn't matter whether five men attacked Caesar, or five hundred. He'd made his decision, and would stick to it.

Looking down at Mattius, Romulus was struck by a pang of conscience. It wasn't just about him any more. If I die defending Caesar, the boy will be back where he was within a week. Even though she worked in a fuller's workshop, Mattius' mother was incapable of providing for her two children, or seeing off her cruel second husband, who had only retreated thanks to Romulus' threats.

He'd have a word with Secundus, make the veteran aware of his wishes. That would have to suffice for now. Wanting to prepare the boy for the worst, Romulus decided to broach the subject. 'It's hard to understand, but there are some things in life that a man can't back away from,' he said. 'If there are men who want to kill Caesar at the Senate this morning, I will try to stop them. Whatever the cost.'

Mattius looked unhappy. 'You'll be all right, won't you?'

'Only the gods know the answer to that question.'

'I'll fight them too,' muttered Mattius.

'No, you won't,' replied Romulus seriously. 'I have a far more important job for you.' Secundus and his veterans were waiting for them outside the large temple to Venus in which the Senate occasionally met. Situated in the middle of a magnificent park full of exotic plants, the shrine was part of Pompey's immense complex which had been finished nine years before. Its most popular part was Rome's first stone-built theatre, the place where Romulus had faced the Ethiopian bull. Even though it was hours until midday, the day's entertainment had already started. Romulus shivered at the familiar bloodthirsty roar which went up at regular intervals. After his last experience, he never wanted to set foot in an arena again.

Secundus didn't seem that surprised when told of the dictator's order to disband his group. 'Caesar's a strong character,' he said. Devastating Romulus, he was also unprepared to remain in the nearby streets in case his men were needed. 'Each person's destiny is his own. You offered our assistance, and Caesar turned it down flat. That's his prerogative, and we should not interfere with it.'

'He might be killed, though!' cried Romulus.

'His choice,' replied Secundus sombrely, whistling an order.

'What are you doing?'

'Returning to the Mithraeum,' came the simple answer. 'We'll make an offering to Mithras for Caesar's safekeeping.'

There was nothing Romulus could do. After he'd muttered in Secundus' ear about looking after Mattius, Romulus watched, utterly disconsolate, as the veterans filed past him in neat ranks. Many nodded farewell in friendly fashion, but none offered to stay. Their belief in Secundus' authority was total, even stronger than that which Romulus had seen in the army. He found it impossible to be angry with them. Their philosophy of respecting a man's destiny came from the same belief system that Tarquinius subscribed to, and which he'd taught to Romulus. Today, though, he found it impossible to put into practice.

The realisation brought a sardonic smile to Romulus' face, and he glanced at the tattoo on his upper right arm. Maybe I'm not such a good follower of Mithras after all, he thought. Yet there was no way he was going to reconsider his decision. Backing out would feel too much like leaving Brennus to face an elephant alone.

For some time, Romulus watched senators arriving for the morning's session. Eager to know what his task would be, Mattius never left his side. Suspiciously, Romulus studied each toga-clad man in turn, trying to determine any glimmer of evil intent. To his frustration, he could see none. Clutching their long stylus boxes, the politicians alighted from their litters, calling greetings to those they knew. Romulus recognised few of them. Strolling to and fro, he did his best to listen to their conversations, but it was difficult to do so without being obvious. Most of what he heard was idle gossip or concerned Longinus' son, who was to assume the toga of a man that morning. Despite himself, Romulus relaxed a fraction.

It was interesting to see the man who had served Crassus once more. He had only seen Longinus from a distance on the Parthian campaign, but he'd been grilled by the grizzled former soldier just before he'd received his manumission from Caesar. He felt a degree of kinship with Longinus, and seeing him unsettled Romulus. Why would he keep being reminded of Parthia if it wasn't something to do with Caesar's upcoming campaign? This fuelled Romulus' slim hope that Tarquinius might be wrong about the assassination.

By late morning, Romulus was growing optimistic that Decimus Brutus had succeeded where he'd failed, convincing Caesar to stay away. Within the temple, the morning's proceedings had started. Despite the blustery weather, which threatened rain, there were still plenty of senators outside. None of that mattered if Caesar didn't turn up, thought Romulus.

His heart sank, therefore, when a richly decorated litter approached through the inevitable crowd of citizens, who gathered to see the rich and famous, or to plead for their intervention in a business deal gone wrong. Borne by four strapping slaves in loincloths, it was preceded by another bearing a long stick with which to clear the way. Romulus could see no sign of guards or soldiers. Hearing the lead slave crying Caesar's name, he jumped to his feet.

'It's time,' he muttered to Mattius. 'The lictores would never let me past, but you might be able to worm your way inside. Can you manage that?'

His face filled with childish determination, Mattius nodded. 'What should I do then?'

'Don't take your eyes off Caesar for a single moment,' Romulus warned. 'At the slightest sign of trouble, call me. I'll stay as near to the entrance as I can.'

'It might be too late by then,' said the boy solemnly. 'Especially if the lictores try to stop you entering.'

'What else can I do?' asked Romulus, raising his hands in a helpless gesture.

A moment later, the haruspex appeared from the crowd. 'Fabiola is here,' he said quietly.

'Where?' Romulus demanded, simultaneously shocked and unsurprised.

Tarquinius pointed to a hooded and cloaked figure standing half concealed by a pillar near the temple's entrance. It was slight enough to be a woman.

'You're sure?' Romulus didn't want to believe his eyes.

Tarquinius' smile was mirthless. 'Do you think she'd miss this?'

Romulus' mouth filled with a harsh, dry feeling. Tarquinius' divination was about to come true. Why else would Fabiola be here? A strong urge to confront his sister took hold, and his eyes darted from her to Caesar's litter, which had stopped by the bottom of the steps. A large party of senators was waiting for the dictator, and Romulus began to panic. He saw Longinus there, and Marcus Brutus. Although Marcus Antonius, Caesar's most loyal supporter, was also present, the assassins might still strike immediately.

He wouldn't have time to run up to Fabiola and then back down before Caesar alighted. Cursing, he shouldered his way through the eager crowd, towards the dictator's litter. Mattius made to follow him, but Romulus jerked his head and the boy remembered. With a grin, he darted up the huge carved staircase, coming to a halt right beside the entrance. The guards ignored him, just another excited spectator trying to get the best view. They were doing the same themselves. Acting with casual aplomb, Mattius sloped inside and out of sight. Romulus' lips twitched with satisfaction. At least one thing was going according to plan. It remained doubtful whether anything else would. Loosening his gladius in its sheath, he muttered maybe his last prayer to Jupiter and Mithras, asking for their protection and help.

There was a loud cheer as Caesar clambered down from his litter. Despite the unhappiness of some politicians, his popularity with the ordinary citizens was huge. The dictator's piercing gaze scanned the throng and, seeing no danger, he acknowledged the acclaim with nods and smiles. Behind him, a brown-haired man emerged. To Romulus' astonishment, it was Decimus Brutus. Did this mean that Fabiola's lover was also one of the conspirators? Or, like Romulus, had he failed to persuade Caesar to stay away? He couldn't be sure. Edging to the front of the crowd, Romulus saw that the waiting senators had formed up in two lines, offering Caesar a clear path up to the shrine. Effusive greetings filled the air. He could take the tension no longer, and darted forward to the dictator's side.

'Legionary Romulus. Good to see you again.' Caesar placed his foot on the first step. 'I'll call on you shortly.'

'Thank you, sir.' Romulus saluted, before muttering from the side of his mouth, 'Please let me accompany you inside.'

Caesar smiled. 'That won't be necessary.' Raising his arms, he indicated the senators. 'I have these good men to guide me in.'

'But, sir,' Romulus objected. 'My friend said-'

'That'll be all, soldier,' Caesar said curtly.

His protest dying in his throat, Romulus stood back. He was aware of the senators giving him disapproving looks, but he didn't care. A combination of terror and sheer adrenalin was in control. Seeing no immediate threat, Romulus came to the decision that the attack would take place inside. Working his way to the side of the gathering, he pounded up the steps to the entrance. To have any chance of saving Caesar, he had to be as close as possible. Behind him, he was vaguely aware of Decimus Brutus greeting Antonius in a jovial fashion. His suspicions aroused by this, Romulus glanced back. Fabiola had told him that the two men hated each other, yet here was Brutus throwing his arm over Antonius' shoulders. The former Master of the Horse looked annoyed at first, but as Brutus kept talking, a slow smile spread over his broad, handsome face.

Caesar began to climb the staircase, leaving Antonius and Brutus behind, deep in conversation. Realisation struck Romulus like a blow from Vulcan's hammer. It was all part of the plan. The conspirators only wanted to kill Caesar, so they would delay his greatest supporter outside. Romulus wanted to scream out loud. Could no one else see it? Stay calm, he thought. All was not lost — yet. How would they kill Caesar? Togas were not the kind of garment that facilitated the concealment of weapons. Was there a secret stash inside? He discounted that theory at once. Too many other people — priests, acolytes and devotees — had access to the temple.

Then Romulus' eyes were drawn to the stylus cases in each senator's hand, and his stomach lurched. The elegant wooden boxes were just the right size to hold a knife. His mind reeled at the simplicity, and the lethality, of it. Despairing, Romulus' gaze drifted up from the ascending group. There, across the width of the steps, at his level he saw Fabiola. They locked eyes, staring at each other with an unbearable intensity. After a moment that seemed to last for ever but in reality was probably no more than several heartbeats, Fabiola's mouth opened.

Before she could speak, though, Caesar had reached them. Surrounded by the mass of senators, he was talking about Longinus' son's great day. Assuming the toga of a man was one of life's most important events. Antonius was still at the bottom of the steps talking to Decimus Brutus. Romulus felt more weary than he had in his life. He was just a helpless observer.

'I am here,' said Tarquinius from behind him.

Romulus could have almost cried with relief. 'Will you come with me?'

'Of course. That's what comrades are for,' the haruspex replied, unslinging his double-headed battleaxe.

'We might be killed,' said Romulus, eyeing the six guards, all of whose attention was on Caesar.

'How many times have I heard that?' Tarquinius smiled. 'Still doesn't mean I can leave you to go in alone.'

Romulus turned away from the crowd and drew his gladius. He shot a glance at Fabiola, but she was too busy watching the dictator. A mixture of emotions twisted her beautiful face, and Romulus thought of their mother. What if his twin was correct? he asked himself again, despairingly. His gut instinct answered at once. Even if she was, Caesar did not deserve to be killed like a sheep surrounded by a pack of starving wolves. So he wasn't going to back away now.

Romulus watched tensely as the dictator passed out of view. To his delight, four of the guards also entered, leaving only two at the doors, which remained open.

Now it was down to Mattius.

He took a couple of steps towards the entrance, and Tarquinius followed suit. Talking to each other, with half an eye on the proceedings within, neither guard noticed for a moment. Romulus slid his caligae across the stone, getting a few paces nearer.

'Romulus!'

Fabiola's shout was like the crack of a whip in a confined space.

Romulus stared at her, aware that the guards had seen him.

'What are you going to do?' she screamed.

An image of Velvinna's suffering burned every part of Romulus' mind. It was followed by one of Caesar smiling as he granted him his manumission in the arena not three hundred paces away. Torn, he glanced at Tarquinius.

'Your path is your own,' whispered the haruspex. 'Only you can decide it.'

'You two!' yelled one of the guards. 'Drop your weapons!' Calling for help, he and his comrade advanced with lowered pila.

They were stopped by an animal cry of pain from inside the temple.

'Casca, you idiot, what are you doing?' Caesar demanded.

'Help me,' shouted a voice. 'Kill the tyrant!'

'Romulus!' screamed Mattius. 'Come quickly!'

A baying sound of anger rose and Romulus heard the muffled sound of blows landing. Fury consumed him. Raising his gladius, he leapt forward at the two guards.

The gods were smiling down at that moment. Distracted by the commotion inside, both their heads were half turned away. Romulus was grateful for this — he had no desire to hurt them unnecessarily. Reversing his gladius, he brought down the hilt hard on the back of the nearest man's skull. From the corner of his eye, he saw Tarquinius using the metal-tipped butt of his axe to do the same with the other sentry. Jumping over the falling men, they sprinted inside.

Fortunately, the remaining guards had been totally distracted by what was going on, so their path was clear. Romulus' eyes opened wide at the splendour of the long, high-roofed chamber, which was well lit thanks to the number of small glass-paned windows high on the walls. Of course his attention did not remain on the decor, or the ranks of toga-clad senators who were on their feet, shouting and pointing. Clearly most of the six hundred had known nothing about the attempted assassination. Romulus felt disgust that none had tried to intervene. On he ran, to the central area where the consuls' chairs and that of Caesar stood. He could make out a cluster of men there. All were carrying knives, and many already had bloody robes. Their faces had the empty, shocked look of those who have just grasped the enormity of what they've done.

I'm too late, Romulus thought, anguish tearing at him like the claws of a ravening beast. As I thought I would be. Screaming his fiercest battle cry, he charged straight at the assassins. Tarquinius loped alongside, lean and grey-haired but terrifying-looking with his raised axe. Romulus was dimly aware of Mattius pelting along to his rear, adding his childish voice to the clamour. To his surprise, their cries had the most dramatic effect. Scattering like a flock of birds attacked by a cat, the assassins broke and ran, stampeding up into the tiers of seating. Their fear was infectious, and within a few heartbeats, the entire body of senators was fleeing along the sides of the chamber and out of the doors. Their departure revealed the most bloody of scenes.

Beneath a large statue of Pompey, Caesar lay in an expanding pool of his own blood. His entire toga was covered in damning red stains, each one the mark of a knife's entry point. His chest, belly, groin and legs had all been wounded. The white woollen garment had been ripped off his left shoulder, and there too Romulus could see multiple stab and slash marks. Caesar resembled a badly butchered side of pork. No one could survive that many injuries. Skidding to a halt, Romulus dropped to his knees by the dictator's side. His eyelids were closed. Shallow, shuddering breaths shook his chest and his skin had already assumed the grey pallor of those near death.

'What have they done?' Romulus wailed. An all-consuming grief flooded him that Caesar's life should end like this.

Shocked by the bloodshed, Mattius hung back.

'Romulus?'

Startled, he looked down at Caesar, whose eyes had opened. 'Sir?'

'It is you…' Caesar's breath rattled in his chest.

Romulus found himself clutching one of the dictator's bloody hands. 'Don't say anything, sir,' he said frantically. 'We'll soon get a surgeon to fix you up.'

Caesar's lips turned upwards. 'You're a poor liar, legionary,' he whispered. 'I should have listened to you about coming here.'

Romulus hung his head, trying to hide his tears. All his efforts had been in vain. A moment later, he felt his hand being squeezed.

'You're a fine soldier, Romulus,' Caesar gasped. 'Remind me… of myself when I was younger.'

Romulus' instant feeling of pride at this enormous compliment lasted no longer than two heartbeats. Beads of clammy sweat broke out on his forehead, and he pulled away his hand. Raging doubt filled his mind.

Caesar looked confused. Trying to sit up, he started off a fresh bout of bleeding from his wounds. It was too much for him, and he sagged back on to the marble floor. His eyes took on the distant stare of those who can see Elysium, or Hades.

Romulus thought of Fabiola, and the reason she wanted Caesar dead. Stemming his grief, he took a deep breath. Only moments remained before it was too late. 'Twenty-six years ago, a pretty slave girl was raped by a noble one night near the Forum,' he whispered in Caesar's ear. Checking the dictator's expression, Romulus was satisfied that his words had been heard. He let them sink in for a moment, and then leaned in close for a second time. 'Was it you?' He watched closely to judge Caesar's reaction.

There was none. A moment later, Romulus had to place a dampened fingertip over Caesar's mouth and nostrils to feel any movement of air. The faintest chill on his wet skin told him that there was still some life in the slashed and blood-spattered body beside him. Jupiter, Romulus prayed with all his might. Don't let him die, leaving me ignorant of the truth. He bent over the dictator, willing him to look up once more. Nothing happened. 'Are you my father?' he said, forcing the words out.

Caesar's eyelids jerked open and his body went rigid.

Romulus gazed deep into the other's eyes, and saw the naked truth. 'By all the gods, you did rape my mother,' he breathed, feeling the weight of the revelation come crashing down on his shoulders. Fabiola had been right all along. Looking like Caesar was no coincidence — he was his son.

Where did that leave him? Had his love for Caesar been more than that of a devoted soldier? Romulus didn't know. In his mind, all was confusion. A moment later, he saw that the dictator was dead. Romulus felt an immediate sense of grief, which he tried to reject. How could he feel sad? The bastard had violated his mother. New tears flowed as this old wound was reopened.

'He was not all bad,' said Tarquinius suddenly. 'Granting your manumission proved that.'

Romulus felt the haruspex' hand on his shoulder. The human touch was most welcome. 'Did you know?' he asked.

'I suspected for a long time,' Tarquinius replied. 'More recently, my feelings grew stronger.'

'Why didn't you say?' Romulus cried.

Tarquinius sighed. 'I've harmed you too much before, and I couldn't see the benefit of telling you. Caesar's children will be in danger in the days to come too. In any case, would you have joined Fabiola if you'd known?'

Looking down at Caesar's supine form, Romulus considered his friend's question long and hard. Years of his life had been spent wondering what he'd do if he ever met his father. His ideas had usually involved long torture sessions like those he'd planned for Gemellus. Yet when he'd had the merchant at his mercy, things had seemed very different. 'No,' he said eventually.

'Why not?'

'Rape is a terrible crime, but it doesn't warrant this,' Romulus answered sorrowfully. He touched Caesar's mutilated corpse. 'Taking part in his killing wouldn't bring Mother back either.'

'Unfortunately,' said Fabiola.

He turned to find his sister beside him. They exchanged a wary glance, before Romulus took the plunge. He had to. 'You were right,' he admitted.

Fabiola's face lit up, and she touched his arm. 'He confessed to raping Mother?'

'I asked him,' Romulus revealed, 'and the look in his eyes when he heard the question… he was guilty. I'm sure of it.'

'I knew it,' Fabiola crowed. She looked down at Caesar's bloodied body and laughed. 'The whoreson has paid the price. Praise all the gods!'

Romulus hung his head, feeling guilt that his emotions didn't mirror Fabiola's.

It was as if she sensed his confusion. 'Aren't you glad?'

Romulus didn't know how to answer her. 'Partly,' he muttered at last.

'What more proof do you need?' Fabiola spat. 'Mother to rise from her grave and identify him for you?'

'Of course not,' answered Romulus defensively. 'But it's complicated, sister. He freed me from slavery. If you'd killed him a few years ago, I wouldn't be standing here now.' He imagined someone else as the editor of the games that day. Killing the rhinoceros would have merely delayed his death. 'I ended up as a noxius, you know. But for Caesar, my bones would be lying on the Esquiline Hill.'

Fabiola did not respond.

Mattius came hurtling back from the entrance. 'A crowd is starting to gather,' he announced.

Romulus came alive. 'They'll want blood when they see what's been done. Let's go.'

Leaving Caesar lying beneath the statue of his great rival, they made their way to the entrance. Romulus and Fabiola did not speak. Each was reeling from the enormity of what had happened and the gravity of what lay unsaid between them. Tarquinius' dark eyes were on them both, but he did not interfere. For his lot, Mattius was too young to notice the strained atmosphere.

The guards had also fled in the panic, leaving the unconscious bodies of their companions sprawled by the massive doors. No doubt they and the innocent senators had spread the word that Caesar had been murdered, thought Romulus. His hunch was correct. At the foot of the steps, a large rabble had already gathered. Still too fearful to climb the steps and see for themselves, they were shouting and wailing, egging each other on. Romulus had seen the frenzy of an uncontrolled mob before. It developed rapidly and was terrifying to behold. No one would stop to hear that he had been attempting to save Caesar's life, and even Mattius would not be spared.

'Walk right behind me. Do not look at anyone,' he ordered. 'Tarquinius, you take the rear.' Raising his sword menacingly, Romulus walked down the steps. The others followed.

Members of the crowd soon saw them. Angry shouts rose at once. 'Is it true?' shouted a bearded man in a workman's tunic. 'Has Caesar been murdered?'

'He has,' Romulus replied, still descending.

An inarticulate sound of anger rose from the gathered citizens, and Romulus sensed Fabiola flinch. 'Keep moving,' he hissed.

'Who did it?' shouted the workman.

'A group of senators,' answered Romulus. 'You'll have seen them running off with their clothes covered in blood.'

'I saw some,' yelled a voice.

'So did I!' howled another.

The workman's face twisted with fury. 'Which way did they go?'

'Down there,' came the answering cry.

In an instant, the rabble's attention had switched from Romulus and his companions to a side street which led off towards Pompey's exotic gardens and then the city. 'After them,' bellowed the workman. Responding to his shout, the mass of citizens moved off at speed, with a sea of fists and weapons waving above it.

'Gods help whoever they catch,' said Tarquinius.

Fabiola shuddered, remembering the mob that had swept her away after Clodius Pulcher's murder.

Romulus ignored her obvious distress. Now was not the time to settle their differences either. 'We'll head that way,' he said, pointing at the arena. 'Then we can enter the city by a different gate.'

They had only covered a short distance before a small group of figures emerged from a door in the wall of the amphitheatre. Squinting to make them out, Romulus stiffened. The men were gladiators. Instinctively he increased his pace to get away.

It was pointless. Seeing them, the party broke into a sprint, angling to cut them off from the street towards the city. 'Stop,' Romulus ordered. He and Tarquinius moved protectively in front of Fabiola and Mattius, and they waited. Soon they could make out four fighters: two murmillones and a pair of Thracians. All were helmeted and carrying swords and shields. Who the hell are they? Romulus wondered, wishing he had more than just a gladius. Behind the fighters trotted a man in a fine white toga. It was Decimus Brutus. Romulus shot a glance at Fabiola. She seemed delighted, which pleased him. Fighting four fully armed gladiators was not what he wanted to think about right now.

'I thought it was you, my love,' Brutus cried as he drew near. 'Thanks be to Jupiter you're safe. Where did you go?'

She looked surprised. 'Inside, to make sure Caesar was dead.'

Brutus winced. 'I've come with these fighters of mine to carry his body away. Treat it with the dignity it deserves.'

Romulus' blood began to boil. 'It's a bit late for that,' he growled. 'Might have been better if you'd stood by his side instead of keeping Antonius outside.'

'How dare you?' Brutus snapped. 'It's not that simple.'

Romulus was so angry that he forgot the difference in their status. 'Really? Perhaps you'd care to explain how it's possible to swear service to someone and then plan their murder.'

Brutus' lips pinched with fury. 'I answer you only because Fabiola is your sister. He'd become a tyrant who treated the Republic with contempt.'

'Caesar ended decades of strife and civil war,' Romulus retorted, contemptuous that the noble had succumbed to Fabiola's charms when he had had the strength not to. 'He was the best future for this country and you know it. Not forgetting that you were his sworn follower.'

'Romulus,' Fabiola said, stepping forward. 'Please.'

Uncaring, Romulus let all of his fury out. Subconsciously, he knew he was transferring some of his anger at Fabiola — and himself — but he didn't care. 'Call yourself a soldier? Fucking coward, more like.'

'Scum,' Brutus shouted. 'You're nothing but a freed slave!'

'Scum, eh?' screamed Romulus. 'At least I stood up for Caesar, while you didn't even have the balls to stick a knife in him.'

Apoplectic now, Brutus stabbed a finger towards Romulus. 'Kill that whoreson! And his friend.'

With malevolent grins, his gladiators shuffled forward. They didn't care who the young soldier and his companion were.

'He's my brother!' Fabiola cried.

'I don't care who he is,' Brutus replied, the veins on his neck bulging. 'No lowlife speaks to a nobleman in that way and lives to tell the tale.'

'Get out of the way, Fabiola,' said Romulus urgently. 'No.' Fabiola raised her hands in supplication towards Brutus. 'Please calm down, my love. The tyrant is dead. That's what matters. There's no need for further bloodshed.'

'Listen to you,' Romulus snarled, his rage boiling over at his sister now. 'The "tyrant", was he? What did you care about that? All you wanted was revenge on the man who raped our mother.'

Brutus' face went white. 'That was your motive?'

Fabiola lifted her shoulders proudly. 'It was. That's why I picked you rather than any of the other fools who visited the Lupanar.'

Brutus looked stunned. 'I chose you first.'

'Maybe so,' Fabiola replied. 'After that, though, it was all my making. You were my path to Caesar, and I did absolutely everything to make sure that you preferred me above all others.'

Brutus raised a hand, trying to push away the words. 'No,' he muttered. 'You're lying.'

'Why would I do that?' Fabiola spat. Spittle flecked her lips. 'Revenge is the only thing that kept me sane while I whored myself with you and a thousand others. I was right all along about the bastard too.'

Her distress pierced Romulus to the core.

Brutus reeled away, overcome by Fabiola's confession.

Things started to happen very fast.

The gladiators made a rush for Romulus and Tarquinius. Four against two, and better armed, they had an excellent chance of ending the fight before it had even begun. Drawn forward by her outburst, Fabiola was standing between the two sets of adversaries. Romulus darted in desperately, trying to shove her out of harm's way. He succeeded, but in doing so left himself open to attack. Tarquinius swept in alongside, wielding his axe in a blur of motion which slowed three of the fighters down. The last, however, saw a golden opportunity and struck Romulus in the chest with his metal shield boss. Delivered with the force of a running man, it knocked him in a heap to the ground. Winded, Romulus could do nothing more than look up dully at the murmillo.

With a satisfied growl, the gladiator swept back his right arm to deliver the death blow.

'NO!' Fabiola screamed, throwing herself into the blade's path.

To the end of his days, Romulus would remember the sight of his sister's body arcing through the air above him, and in slow motion, the sword tip come shoving through the side of her ribcage. Warm spatters of blood covered his face, and then Fabiola landed on him, a warm, immobile heap. For a moment, Romulus couldn't comprehend what had happened. Then the terrible truth hit him. He wrapped his arms around Fabiola, and an inchoate bellow of pain left his lips. It went on and on, until his throat was raw. Lost in a sea of grief, he was vaguely aware that the murmillo hadn't finished him off, and that people were shouting.

'Romulus.' Tarquinius' voice was very gentle. 'Let her go. Sit up.'

Like a sleepwalker, Romulus obeyed, feeling Fabiola being rolled off him. Pulling himself upright, he saw that his tunic was totally saturated in his sister's blood. She lay across his knees now, as beautiful as ever, but her mouth hung open slackly, and her piercing blue eyes had already gone dull. She was dead. 'Why?' Romulus whispered. 'Why did you do it?'

'You were her only family,' Tarquinius replied. 'Wouldn't you have done the same for her?'

'Of course,' Romulus sobbed.

'Well, then.' Tarquinius put his arm around his shoulders. 'She was a woman, but possessed the heart of a lion.'

'Fabiola?'

Romulus looked up to see Brutus standing over them. He took in the rest of the scene too: one Thracian was down, screaming, clutching at the stump of his right arm, which must have been removed by Tarquinius' axe. Two of the others were ministering to him, while the murmillo who'd killed Fabiola lay nearby with Brutus' dagger buried to the hilt in his back. Steadfast to the last, Mattius was beside him, his kitchen knife ready. 'She's dead,' Romulus snarled at Brutus. 'No thanks to you.'

This time, Brutus didn't react to his taunt. His face contorted with grief, he knelt down and lifted Fabiola's bloody corpse off Romulus' legs. Rocking her to and fro, he began to keen.

Romulus' anger faded when he saw the depth of Brutus' grief. Clearly he had loved Fabiola, which made him easy prey to her wiles. After all, manipulation had been her main weapon. Romulus' sorrow grew even greater. His sister had not been like that as a child. Before, he had not really appreciated what Fabiola had been forced to become, but her confession had brought it all home. To endure the Hades of men using her body day after day, she had focused all her energy on imagining revenge upon Caesar. It was all that had kept his twin sane.

While his life experience had also been brutal, Romulus knew that he'd made the right decision not to join Fabiola. He'd killed men in cold blood at the behest of others before, but would do it no more. Furthermore, while Caesar's crime had been great, his grant of manumission rivalled it as an act of kindness. Fabiola had not received such a gift, though — instead, the dictator had tried to rape her, his own daughter. Was it any surprise that she had become twisted and bitter?

Then Romulus remembered how Fabiola had freely given her life for his, which proved that she'd had another motive to survive the hell of prostitution. Him. At this example of simple family loyalty, he broke down and wept again. The thought of Fabiola was what had carried him through the horrors of Carrhae and beyond. How alike they had been without even knowing it.

Tarquinius stood over the two sobbing men and Fabiola's body for long moments. When he spoke, his voice was low and urgent. 'The crowd is coming back.'

Romulus lifted his head and listened. Sure enough, angry shouts could be heard approaching from the main way which led to the city. He looked down at himself, covered in blood. Brutus did likewise. 'They'll kill us for sure,' said the noble. He called over the two unhurt gladiators. 'Carry her back to the arena,' he ordered.

Romulus knew it was time to leave. In more ways than one. With Caesar dead, he owed the Republic nothing. Octavian was reputed to be the dictator's heir, but that didn't mean Romulus wanted to fight a civil war for him, or anyone else. Standing, he stared at Brutus.

The noble sensed his question. 'Her funeral will be in eight days.'

Romulus nodded once. Despite his earlier fury, he could tell that Brutus would tolerate his presence as Fabiola was buried. The noble owed him that much.

Brutus gathered his men and was gone. Having lost too much blood, the injured Thracian was left to die.

Without further ado, Romulus and his companions headed for the nearest alley. It would be easy enough to work their way past the crowd and back into the city. Tarquinius handed over his cloak. 'Best not to advertise where you've been.'

His mind spinning, Romulus donned the garment. Eight days afforded enough time to tidy up his affairs. What would he do after that? With Caesar dead, there would be no campaign to Dacia and Parthia. Yet the thought of going back to his farm was wholly unappealing. The bugle of an elephant in the nearby arena carried through the air, and suddenly Romulus knew that he could never be happy in Italy while the slightest chance of Brennus being alive remained. He caught Tarquinius' eye and saw that the haruspex had read his mind. What about Mattius, though? There was no need to break it to him immediately, thought Romulus.

'Mattius, I have another job for you.'

'What is it?'

'Go to the Mithraeum and tell Secundus what has happened,' said Romulus. 'Caesar's heir may need some muscle in the coming days.'

Mattius repeated his words perfectly; nodding determinedly, the boy turned and ran off.

Romulus watched Mattius until he was lost to sight. Great Mithras, watch over his path, he prayed. Jupiter, Optimus Maximus, keep him from harm. He'd need to see the lawyer whom Sabinus had recommended and have his will made out in favour of the boy and his mother. Romulus' heart ached that he would have to be left behind, but Parthia and Margiana were no places for a child. Here in Rome, under the guidance of Secundus, Mattius had a chance of a future — which was more than life had offered him and Fabiola.

The haruspex looked up at the banks of scudding cloud overhead. Within a few heartbeats, a smile worked its way across his scarred face. 'I am destined to travel east again,' he announced.

Romulus looked sadly at the gladiators carrying Fabiola, and then towards the temple where Caesar's body still lay. He had lost his sister and father in the space of an hour. It was a devastating blow, yet his mother had been avenged. What had happened turned Tarquinius, and Brennus, if he was still alive, into his only family. In a strange way, that set him completely free.

At a stroke, Rome had lost its position as the centre of his world.

It mattered less than Romulus thought.

'I'll come too,' he said.