"The Road To Rome" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kane Ben)

Chapter II: Jovina

Near Rome, winter 48 BC 'Fabiola!' Brutus' voice broke the silence. 'We'll be there soon.' Docilosa lifted the fabric side so that her mistress could look out of the litter. Dawn was fast approaching, but the party had already been on the road for more than two hours. Neither woman had complained at having to rise so early. They were both keen to reach Rome, their destination. So was Decimus Brutus, Fabiola's lover. He was on an urgent mission from his master Julius Caesar to confer with Marcus Antonius, the Master of the Horse. More troops were required in Egypt, to lift the blockade from which Fabiola and Brutus had only recently broken free. The enemy barricade still held Caesar and his few thousand soldiers captive within Alexandria.

Between the tall cypress trees which lined the road, Fabiola could make out plentiful brick-built tombs. Her pulse quickened at the sight. Only those who could afford it built such cenotaphs on the approaches to Rome. They were prominent sites which could not be missed by passers-by, thereby preserving the otherwise fragile memory of the dead. Brutus was correct: they were very close. The Via Appia, the road to the south, had the most mausoleums, mile after mile of them, but all routes into the capital were dotted with them. This, the road from Ostia, Rome's port, was no different. Decorated with painted statues of the gods and the ancestors of the deceased, the tombs were the dwelling places of cut-throats and cheap whores. Few dared to pass them at night. Even the dim pre-dawn light did not reduce the threat from the whispering trees and looming structures. Fabiola was glad of their heavy escort: a half-century of crack legionaries, and Sextus, her faithful bodyguard.

'You'll be able to have that bath at last,' said Brutus, riding closer.

'Thank the gods,' replied Fabiola. Her travelling clothes felt sticky against her skin.

'The messenger I sent ahead yesterday will ensure that everything is ready in the domus.'

'You're so thoughtful, my love.' She bestowed a beaming smile on Brutus.

Looking suitably pleased, he urged his horse into a trot and headed to the front of the column. Like Caesar, Brutus was not a man to lead from the rear.

Fabiola recoiled as the unmistakable reek of human waste carried to her nostrils. Thick and unpleasant, it was as familiar, but far less appealing, than that of freshly baked bread. It was Rome's predominant aroma, though, one which she had grown up smelling, and it had reappeared the instant their party had come within a mile of the walls. It was because countless thousands of plebeians in this teeming metropolis had no access to sewerage. The contrast with the cleanliness of Alexandria could not be more stark. She had not missed this aspect of life in the capital. While the light morning breeze made the odour less objectionable than during the sultry days of summer, it was already omnipresent.

At first Fabiola had been delighted about returning. Four years away from the city of her birth was a long time. The most recent of her temporary homes – Egypt – was an alien place, whose people hated their Roman would-be masters. Her resentment had vanished at the unexpected sight of Romulus on the battle-torn docks the very night she had left Alexandria. Naturally, Fabiola had wanted to stay and help him. Her twin was alive, and in the Roman army! To her immense consternation, Brutus had refused to delay their departure. The situation had been too desperate. In the face of Fabiola's distress, he was apologetic but resolute. She had had little choice but to defer to his judgement. The gods had seen fit to preserve Romulus' life this far, and with their help, she would meet him again one day. If only she'd understood his shouted words. His cry had been lost in the pandemonium of the trireme's departure; she could only assume he had been trying to tell her which unit he was serving in. Despite this, the encounter had given Fabiola a powerful new zest for life.

Now, after more than a week of hard travel, their journey was nearly over and, despite the thick fabric covering the litter, the air inside already smelt of shit.

Fabiola's stomach churned at the memory of the filth-encrusted bucket she and the other slaves had had to use in Gemellus' house. Never again, she thought proudly. How far I have come since that day. Even the brothel into which the merchant had sold her had possessed reasonably clean toilets. Yet this small improvement hardly counted against the degradation of strangers using her body for sex. The harsh reality of life in the Lupanar broke most women's spirit, but not Fabiola's. I survived because I had to, she reflected. Bent on revenge against Gemellus, and discovering the identity of her and Romulus' father, she had determined to escape her new career – somehow.

The list of rich men who frequented the whorehouse had been its most redeeming feature. Advised by a friendly whore to win over a suitable noble, Fabiola had cast her net far and wide, using her considerable charms to ensnare a number of unsuspecting candidates.

She lifted the heavy fabric and peered surreptitiously at Brutus, who was riding alongside the litter once more. Sextus too was within arm's reach; it was virtually his permanent position during daylight hours. At night, he slept right outside her door. Fabiola inclined her head, glad as always to have her bodyguard nearby. Then Brutus noticed her; a broad grin immediately split his face. Fabiola blew him a kiss. A career soldier and loyal follower of Caesar, Brutus was courageous and likeable. After a number of visits to the Lupanar, he had fallen utterly into her thrall. Not that she had decided on him for that reason, of course.

It was Brutus' close links to Caesar which had helped Fabiola to make the final decision. Had it been her gut instinct? To this day, Fabiola was not sure. Thankfully, her gamble on Brutus as the best candidate had paid off richly. Five years before, he had bought her from the brothel, establishing her as the mistress of his new latifundium, or estate, near Pompeii.

The property's former owner had been no less than Gemellus! Fabiola's lips curved upwards in triumph. To this day, knowing he'd been ruined felt like sweet revenge. Not that she'd pass up an opportunity to kill the whoreson if she got a chance. Several attempts to locate him had failed miserably and, like much of Fabiola's past, Gemellus had faded into obscurity. She still had vivid memories of her short stay on his former latifundium, though. Fabiola's guts twisted with fear, and she looked up and down the road.

This close to the city, other travellers were plentiful, moving in both directions. Traders pulled along mules laden with goods; farmers headed for the busy markets. There were children herding goats and sheep to pasture, lepers hobbling on home-made crutches and demobbed veterans marching home together. An irritable-looking priest with a gaggle of shaven-headed acolytes in tow stalked past, lecturing on some religious point. A line of slaves in neck chains miserably followed a muscular figure wearing a leather jerkin and carrying a long-handled whip. Armed guards paced either side of the column, security against the captives' flight. The sight was unremarkable; after all, the need for slaves in Rome was huge. Nonetheless, Fabiola shrank back into the litter as it passed the shuffling, downcast men and women. Bile rose in her throat. More than four years later, the thought of Scaevola – a vicious slave catcher whom she had run afoul of – still terrified her.

She would not let it stop her, though.

Until she had seen Romulus in Alexandria, Fabiola's greatest discovery had been that Caesar was their father. Just once, she had been left alone with the general, who bore a striking resemblance to her brother. Seizing the opportunity, he had tried to rape her. It was not just the lustful look in Caesar's eyes that had convinced Fabiola of his guilt. His harsh words – 'Be quiet or I'll hurt you' – reverberated through her yet. Somehow, on hearing them, she had known he had used them before. With proof in her heart, she had waited and watched since. Her opportunity for revenge would come one day.

While Caesar might currently face the direst of threats in Alexandria, Fabiola did not want him to meet his end there. Dying at the hands of a foreign mob would frustrate her desire for an orchestrated revenge. Yet once Caesar was free to leave Egypt, more wars beckoned. In Africa and Hispania, Republican forces were still strong. Returning to Rome at this time provided Fabiola with the perfect opportunity to plot; to recruit the men who would kill Caesar if he returned. She would unearth plenty of conspirators by telling them, as she had told Brutus, how the general planned to become the new king of Rome.

The very idea of this was anathema to every living citizen. Brutus' domus was not the place to scheme, however; smiling, Fabiola trusted in the gods to help her find a better base.

Many weeks passed before Fabiola felt confident enough to venture out unaccompanied by Brutus. Entering Rome had brought back her fear of Scaevola with a vengeance. Sheer panic engulfed Fabiola if she went out alone. Consequently, she found herself content to stay in the domus. There was plenty to do: keeping the household in order; hosting feasts for Brutus' friends; and doing the lessons set her by the Greek tutor she had employed. Fabiola also learned to read and write, which boosted her confidence enormously. She devoured every manuscript she could lay her hands on. It was easy to understand why Jovina had kept her prostitutes illiterate, she realised. Ignorance kept them more malleable. Returning home exhausted every day, Brutus was impressed by her probing questions about politics, philosophy and history.

Since delivering the news of Caesar's predicament to Marcus Antonius, Caesar's official deputy, Brutus had been engaged in running the Republic with Antonius and other main supporters of the dictator. There was to be no let-up either: Rome was more troubled than ever. Unsettled by the lack of information about Caesar – until Brutus' reappearance, his whereabouts had been unknown for more than three months – the populace had been demonstrating. Encouraged by a few power-hungry politicians, unhappy nobles who were heavily in debt were demanding total recompense from Caesar, making a mockery of his earlier law to partially abolish their liabilities. Dissatisfied, some had even declared for the Republicans. To make matters even worse, hundreds of veterans from Caesar's favourite legion, the Tenth, had been sent back to Italy and were adding to the unrest. Infuriated by the delay in providing their retirement settlements of money and land, they were demonstrating on a regular basis.

Marcus Antonius' response had been typically heavy-handed: troops were brought in to disperse the first sets of troublemakers, and soon after blood had been spilled on the streets. The treatment was reminiscent of that meted out to rebellious Gauls rather than to Roman citizens, Brutus ranted to Fabiola. While the issue of rebellion by Pompeian supporters had subsided, Antonius had done little to reassure the veterans. His token attempt at placation had backfired badly. More diplomatic by nature than the fiery Master of the Horse, Brutus had been to meet the Tenth's ringleaders, and had appeased them for the time being. Yet much remained to be done before the situation was stabilised.

By early summer, Fabiola was content that Brutus was occupied with other matters, and that there had been no sign of Scaevola. An outrageous idea had come to mind and she finally decided to visit the Lupanar, the brothel that had been her home during her prostitution. Brutus was to be left in the dark, though. For the moment, the less her lover knew, the better. Unfortunately, keeping her destination secret meant that none of Brutus' legionaries could escort her. Fear bubbled in Fabiola's throat at the thought of walking the streets accompanied only by Sextus, but she managed to quell it. She could not remain confined behind the house's thick walls for ever, nor did she wish always to rely on squads of soldiers to go out in the world.

Secrecy was paramount.

So, ignoring her servant Docilosa's pursed lips and the muttered complaints of the optio in charge of Brutus' men, she and Sextus headed out into the Palatine. The suburb was mostly inhabited by the wealthy but, like all parts of Rome, there were plenty of insulae, the tall wooden blocks of tenement flats in which the vast majority of the population lived. With open-fronted shops occupying the ground floors, the insulae were three, four and even five storeys high. Poorly lit, rat-infested, without sanitation and heated only by braziers, they were death-traps. Disease lurked within them, flaring into frequent outbreaks of cholera, dysentery or smallpox. It was commonplace too for insulae to collapse, or to go up in flames, burning to death all the inhabitants. Their close proximity to each other meant that little light penetrated down to the narrow, crowded and muddy streets. Only the largest thoroughfares in the capital were surfaced; even fewer were more than ten steps wide. All were thronged daily by citizens, traders, slaves and thieves, adding to the claustrophobic atmosphere.

A city-dweller from birth, Fabiola had grown to love the open spaces around her latifundium. She had assumed that she was still used to crowds – until she and Sextus had left the domus a hundred paces behind them. Hemmed in on all sides, an image of Scaevola instantly came to mind. Try as she might, Fabiola could not throw it off. Her feet began to drag and she fell behind.

Seeing her pinched face, Sextus laid a hand to his gladius. 'What is it, Mistress?'

'I'm fine,' she said, pulling the hood of her cloak closer. 'It's just bad memories.'

He reached up to touch his empty eye socket, his own memento of Scaevola's ambush. 'I know, Mistress,' he growled. 'Best to keep moving, though. Avoid attention.'

Determined not to let dread rule her any longer, Fabiola followed him. It was mid-morning after all, the safest time of the day, when ordinary people got their business done. Women and slaves shopped for food among the bakers, butchers and vegetable merchants. Wine-sellers boasted and lied about the quality of their produce, offering a taste to anyone who would listen. Blacksmiths toiled over their anvils while neighbouring carpenters and potters exchanged idle banter over a cup of acetum. The stink from the nearby tanneries and fullers' workshops laced the air. Money-changers sat at low tables, glaring at the cripples who were greedily eyeing their neat piles of coins. Snot-nosed urchins ran through the crowds, chasing each other and stealing what they could. Nothing looked different to any other day in Rome.

Except for the plentiful numbers of Antonius' legionaries, of course, thought Fabiola. The old law denying entry to the city to soldiers had been set aside by Caesar himself. With the threat of rioting constant, there were more of them about than ever. The knowledge gave her strength. In addition to Sextus' presence, they would ensure nothing happened to her. Fabiola stuck out her chin. The Lupanar wasn't far. 'Come on,' she declared.

Sextus grinned, used to her determination.

A short while later, they had reached a street that Fabiola knew better than any in Rome. Close to the Forum, it was home to the Lupanar. Again her feet slowed, but this time her fear was under better control. Today, she was no terrified thirteen-year-old dragged here to be sold. Soon Fabiola's nervousness had been replaced by excitement. She began to outstrip Sextus.

'Mistress!'

She ignored his cry. The crowds finally parted a few steps from the entrance and Fabiola's mouth fell open. Nothing had changed. A brightly painted, erect stone penis still jutted forth on either side of the arched doorway, graphic evidence of the business's nature. Outside stood a shaven-headed hulk, clutching a metal-studded club. 'Vettius,' she said, her voice cracking with emotion.

The huge man did not react.

Throwing back the hood of her cloak, Fabiola moved closer. 'Vettius.' The doorman's brow wrinkled at being called by name and he glanced around.

'Don't you recognise me?' she asked. 'Have I changed that much?'

'Fabiola?' he stuttered. 'Is it you?'

With tears of happiness filling her eyes, she nodded. Here was one of the most loyal friends she had ever had. When Brutus had bought Fabiola's freedom, she had been desperate for him to free the two doormen also. Wily to the last, however, Jovina had refused all offers. The pair were simply too valuable to her business. Leaving them behind had torn a deep wound in Fabiola's heart.

Vettius rushed to give her a hug, but stopped short.

Sextus had shot in front of Fabiola. Dwarfed by the other, he nonetheless drew his sword. 'Stay back,' he snarled.

In a heartbeat, Vettius' face went from surprised to angry, but before he could respond Fabiola had laid a hand on Sextus' arm. 'He's a friend,' she explained, ignoring her bodyguard's confused expression. With a scowl, Sextus stood aside, allowing Fabiola and Vettius to gaze at each other. 'It's been too long,' she said warmly.

Conscious of his low status, the lantern-jawed doorman did not try to hug her again, instead making an awkward bow. 'Jupiter, it's good to see you, Fabiola,' he said, half choking. 'The gods must have answered my prayers.'

Fabiola picked out the concern in his voice at once. Sudden terror filled her. 'Is Benignus all right?'

'Of course!' A lop-sided smile split Vettius' unshaven face. 'The big fool is inside. Snoring his head off, no doubt. He was on the late shift last night.'

'Thank Mithras,' she breathed. 'What is it then?'

He looked around uneasily.

Jovina, thought Fabiola, remembering her own caution when she lived here. Nothing wrong with the old witch's hearing yet then.

Vettius stooped low to her ear. 'Morale has been terrible for months,' he whispered. 'We've lost most of our customers too.'

Fabiola was shocked. In her time, the Lupanar had been busy every day. 'Why?'

The doorman had no time to answer.

'Vettius!'

Fabiola felt an instant wave of nausea. For nearly four years, that shrewish voice had called her out to be inspected by prospective customers.

'Vettius!' This time Jovina sounded irritated. 'Get in here.'

With an apologetic grimace at Fabiola, the doorman obeyed.

She and Sextus were one step behind him.

The mosaic-floored reception area within was just as garish as Fabiola remembered it. Its walls were covered from top to bottom in richly coloured paintings of forests, rivers and mountains. Fat little cupids, satyrs and various deities were dotted throughout, peeking coyly at the viewer. The most prominent of the gods was Priapus, with his massive erect penis. One wall was covered with images of sexual positions; each was numbered so that clients could easily ask for their favourite. In the centre of the floor was a large painted statue of a naked girl entwined with a swan. The whole room had a faintly dishevelled air, as if it needed a good clean, and Vettius' words began to make some sense.

To one side stood a little sparrow of a woman in a low-cut stola. Fabiola's heart skipped a beat at her first sight of Jovina in five years. At first glance it seemed as if not much had changed. Plenty of the madam's sagging flesh was still on view; beady eyes flashed from a lined face covered in lead, ochre and antimony. Her lips were painted a gaudy red. Jewellery glittered around her neck, wrists and fingers – gold, silver and precious stones. Jovina was famed for her discretion, and these gifts from her rich clients proved it. 'Go and wake that fool Benignus,' she snapped at Vettius. 'I need him to go out for me.'

'Mistress,' Vettius muttered. He moved towards the passage which led to the back of the building.

Fabiola, who had been hidden behind him, was revealed. 'Jovina.'

For once, the crone was unable to conceal her amazement. A wrinkled hand rose to her gash of a mouth, and fell away. 'Fabiola…?'

Sextus' eyebrows rose in shock. Here was startling evidence of his mistress's previous life.

'I've come back,' Fabiola said simply.

'Welcome, welcome,' Jovina gushed, her public persona taking over again. 'Can I offer you a drink? Some food? A girl?' She cackled at her own joke, setting off a paroxysm of coughing.

'How kind. Some wine, thank you.' Fabiola smiled. Inwardly, she was shocked at Jovina's haggard appearance. The madam had already been old when Fabiola arrived in the Lupanar. Today she looked positively ancient, and ill. There had never been much to her, but now Jovina's bones jutted everywhere from under her wrinkled skin, turning her into a walking skeleton. Fabiola almost expected to see Orcus, the god of the underworld, waiting in the corner.

The madam scuttled to her desk, which was positioned by the corridor. A red and black clay jug sat there with four fine blue glasses, along with small dishes containing olives and bread. This was refreshment for those clients Jovina deemed suitable.

Returning with two filled goblets, Jovina stumbled and nearly fell. A brittle smile spread across her face. 'Excuse my clumsiness,' she muttered.

The crone is really sick, thought Fabiola.

'Here we are,' purred Jovina. 'Just like old times.'

'Not quite,' she replied archly. 'I'm a citizen now.'

'And the lover of no less a man than Decimus Brutus,' said Jovina, probing. 'He paid a lot of money for you.'

'Thank the gods,' Fabiola answered. 'I show him my appreciation of it every day.'

'That's wonderful,' said the madam, beaming falsely. 'A happy ending!'

Making polite small talk, they both sipped their wine. Each studied the other, Jovina wondering what her former slave's purpose was, and Fabiola trying to assess the situation in the brothel. Neither gained a single crumb of information. Inevitably perhaps, their conversation turned to the civil war and Caesar's accession to power. Whatever her opinion, Jovina was careful to shower praise on Brutus' general. 'Rumour has it that he is trapped in Alexandria,' she said at last. 'That cannot be true, surely?'

'It is. He and his men are badly outnumbered by the Egyptians,' Fabiola answered. 'Brutus and I escaped with great difficulty.'

Jovina gasped. 'Caesar is such a canny general. What has happened?'

Fabiola wasn't going to go into the details. Caesar's rapid pursuit of Pompey after the battle of Pharsalus, with only a small part of his army, was characteristic of the man. The tactic – moving so fast that an enemy was unprepared – normally worked well. This time, it hadn't. The Egyptians' reaction to his presence had been violent, causing him no end of problems. 'Help was already on the way from Pergamum and Judaea when we left,' she revealed. 'And Marcus Antonius despatched a legion from Ostia yesterday. The blockade will soon be lifted.'

'Jupiter be thanked,' said Jovina, raising her glass. 'Fortuna too.'

'Indeed,' replied Fabiola, dark thoughts of revenge filling her mind. When he has won the civil war, Caesar will return to Rome, where I'll be waiting.

The noise of sandals slapping down the corridor preceded the arrival of Vettius and Benignus. Both hulks were beaming. 'Fabiola!' cried Benignus. He rushed to clutch at the hem of her dress like a supplicant to a queen.

Jovina made a show of pleasure, but beneath it she was clearly displeased.

'Get up,' Fabiola ordered fondly, taking hold of Benignus' arms. 'It's wonderful to see you.' Noticing that the thick gold bands which had encircled his wrists were gone, she frowned. Only their outline remained, yet they had been Benignus' prize possessions. Jovina must indeed be in dire straits.

Oblivious, the madam was fussing and bothering over a document on her desk. Sealing it with wax, she handed it to Benignus. 'You know where to take this,' she said.

He looked a bit confused. 'The usual moneylenders? By the Forum?'

'Yes, of course,' snapped Jovina, waving her arms. 'Get moving.'

Bobbing his head, Benignus headed for the door. He threw a grin at Fabiola, which she returned, and was gone. Vettius followed him, resuming his post on the street. Sextus moved to stand just inside the entrance, from where he could keep a watchful eye on the goings-on.

Fabiola's mind was racing. Jovina clearly didn't like her hearing that Benignus was visiting a moneylender on her behalf. Her crazy idea suddenly seemed possible. 'How's business?' she enquired brightly.

At once Jovina's expression became cagey. 'Good as ever,' she replied. Another heavy bout of coughing shook her tiny frame, increasing Fabiola's suspicions. 'Why do you ask?' Jovina wheezed eventually.

Fabiola looked sympathetic. 'Running this place on your own must be such hard work,' she murmured. 'You look wrung out.'

The madam forced a smile, but the decaying teeth and reddened gums it revealed provided little in the way of reassurance. 'I'm fine,' she muttered. 'Although trade is a little slack.'

Sensing a chink in the other's armour, Fabiola stepped closer. 'Really?'

Jovina's face sagged. 'Very poor, in fact,' she admitted, allowing Fabiola to help her sit down. 'About a year ago, a new brothel opened up three streets over. The madam is young and beautiful. And her business partner is bad news.' Bitterness twisted Jovina's lined, painted face. 'They've got good contacts at the slave market too. Get the best-lookers before they even go on sale. I haven't been able to buy a decent replacement in months. How can anyone compete with that? It's a vicious circle; with the usual wear and tear, I'm down to twenty girls.'

Fabiola was all solicitousness. 'What about Benignus and Vettius? They're well capable of roughing someone up.'

A spark of life reappeared in Jovina's tired eyes. 'They are, but a dozen heavies with knives and swords is too much, even for them.'

It was Fabiola's turn to be surprised. Prostitution had turned even dirtier since she'd left it behind. 'Get them to buy more men then,' she advised, surprised at how angered she felt by the new business's effect on the Lupanar. 'Or hire some gladiators. That's not difficult.'

Another sigh. 'I'm tired, Fabiola. My health isn't what it was. The idea of a turf war now…' Jovina stopped, looking beaten.

With a struggle, Fabiola concealed her amazement. This was the woman who had for decades run the best whorehouse in Rome. The same person who had bought her from Gemellus, tested her virginal status in the most personal of ways, and then offered up her first sexual experience to the brothel's customers for a fortune. Sharp as a blade, Jovina had ruled the Lupanar with an iron fist. It was unsurprising that she should grow frail and weak eventually, Fabiola reflected, yet the sight of her, sick and shrunken, was still shocking. But this wasn't the time or place for sympathy, she told herself. She owed Jovina nothing.

There was silence for a moment, and Fabiola realised that not a single man had ventured inside since she had arrived. She would have expected a few by now. 'How bad is the trade exactly?'

Jovina had given up fighting. 'Fortuna is smiling on us if we see more than half a dozen clients a day,' she whispered.

Aghast at this paltry number, Fabiola again let her face reveal nothing. 'That few?'

'I've tried everything,' said the madam. 'Special offers, discounts, boys. I even forced the girls to offer more "specialised" services.'

Fabiola winced, but did not ask more.

'Nothing seems to work. All of them head to that bitch down the road.' Jovina pursed her lips in a brief revival of her former spirit. 'A lifetime of work, and it comes to this,' she exclaimed.

'Something else can be done, surely?' asked Fabiola.

'I've been to all the temples, made plenty of generous offerings. What else is there?' asked Jovina, weariness oozing from her again.

A surge of adrenalin hit Fabiola. Seize the moment, she thought. Take control of the situation. But still she hesitated, suddenly unsure. Whatever she said had to be phrased in just the right way, or Jovina would reject it. Her former owner was not completely on her knees. Equally, her plan must not just fall flat on its face. The Lupanar could prove vital to her preparations for Caesar's downfall. Inspired, Fabiola's lips gave the tiniest twitch. 'Have you ever thought of… retiring?' she asked delicately. 'Taking it easy?'

Jovina snorted; then her beady eyes fixed on Fabiola's, like an eagle on its prey. But this bird had no power left. 'Who would run the place? You, I suppose?'

'It's only a thought,' Fabiola answered smoothly. 'I'd pay a good price, of course. Ignore the state of the books right now and go on last year's figures.' She made an airy gesture. 'If you wished, you could stay on – to oversee the transition period.' Jovina's input would be useful until she got the hang of day-to-day affairs.

The madam looked shocked. 'What's this about?' she demanded. 'After all you went through here, why would you want to take it over?'

Fabiola studied her manicured fingernails. 'I'm bored,' she declared. It wasn't so far from the truth. 'I need something to occupy my time, and this is a job I know well.'

'What about Brutus?'

'He lets me do what I want. I've spent years on campaign with him already and now the damn civil war looks as if it might drag on for a while,' Fabiola complained. 'Greece and Egypt were bad enough. I'm not trailing round Africa and Spain after him as well.'

Jovina fiddled with a thick gold bracelet on one wrist. 'And the price?'

Fabiola had been doing mental arithmetic since the madam had revealed how few clients remained. 'I think a hundred and fifty thousand denarii would suffice.' She let the amount sink in for a moment. 'Five thousand for each girl, and fifty thousand for the building. Any outstanding debts would have to be honoured by you.'

Jovina's eyes nearly popped out of her head. The sum was more than generous. 'You have access to that kind of money?'

Fabiola's smile was serene. 'Brutus is wealthier than you can imagine. He'll pay anything to keep me happy.'

Jovina sat very still, considering her options.

There was a lengthy silence, during which Fabiola watched the madam from the corner of her eye. Jovina's wiliness was not all gone. When her expression suddenly became more calculating, it was time for the killer blow. 'I couldn't pay an as more,' Fabiola said, her tone no longer friendly. 'And I only make a good offer once.'

Jovina sank back in her seat. 'Give me some time,' she whispered. 'A few days.'

She had the old madam now, thought Fabiola jubilantly. 'I don't think so. Two hours should suffice.'

Jovina nodded reluctantly. 'Very well.'

Draining the last of her wine, Fabiola stalked to the door. 'I'll be back by hora sexta.' Triumph filled her. Finally everything is going my way. Romulus is in the army, so he will return to Rome one day and we will be reunited. Brutus might be one of Caesar's right-hand men, but he is utterly faithful to me. The Lupanar will be mine in two hours, and with the women here, I can win more of his comrades over to my cause. To kill Caesar. Fabiola was so absorbed in her thoughts that she did not react to Sextus' hiss of alarm. It was only when he prevented her from leaving that it sank in.

She could see his face was worried. 'What is it?'

'Trouble,' he muttered, pulling his gladius from the scabbard.

Fabiola tried to peer outside, but Sextus would not even let her do this.

Loud voices suddenly carried in from the street. One of them belonged to Vettius. 'Piss off,' he bellowed.

'We're coming in, whether you like it or not,' a man snarled in response. 'My master wants to talk to the old bitch right now.'

'Over my dead body,' Vettius answered.

A burst of laughter rang out, and Fabiola knew that the doorman must be badly outnumbered. Next she heard the distinctive sound of weapons being unsheathed. She cursed. They couldn't just stand by and let this happen. Where was Benignus? She looked at Jovina, who had gone grey under her makeup. 'Who are they?'

'Thugs from the new brothel,' Jovina managed.

'We'll give you one more chance, fool,' said Vettius' adversary. 'Stand aside.'

'Go fuck yourself,' came the loud response. 'I'll kill you all.'

Fabiola's heart swelled with pride. Part of Vettius' refusal to move would be because she was inside. Terror also filled her at what was about to happen.

Shouts of anger rang out and they heard men swarming forward.

'Vettius!' Somehow Jovina's voice carried over the commotion. 'Let them in.'

Silence fell outside.

With bated breath, they waited.

A shadow filled the doorway, and Fabiola found herself shrinking behind Sextus, who ushered her against the wall. A cloaked figure entered, followed by five muscle-bound men with drawn swords. Vettius bustled in next, his club raised. Seeing Fabiola unharmed, he also moved to stand in front of her. For the moment, none of the newcomers had seen her or Sextus. Beads of sweat ran down Fabiola's neck, but her feet were rooted to the spot.

The leader's gaze fell first on Jovina. The old madam visibly quailed. 'What do you want?' she asked in a shrill tone. 'Isn't it enough to take all my business?'

'Jovina,' said the man, acting hurt. 'We only wanted to ask after your health. Word has it that you're not well.'

'Damn your insolence,' snapped the madam. 'I'm fine.'

'Excellent.' There was a mocking bow, and Fabiola's heart hammered in her chest. The gesture was familiar to her. So were the man's thick silver wrist bands and powerful build. Before she could gather her thoughts, though, the stocky figure went on, 'We're worried about you nonetheless. It would be an excellent idea if you left the Lupanar. Took a holiday. Soon.'

Jovina's outburst had drained what little energy she had. 'It's my business,' she said in a low voice. 'What would happen to it? To my girls?'

'We'll look after everything. The building, the doormen, and especially the whores,' said the man, leering at his companions. 'Won't we, lads?'

They laughed unpleasantly.

Fabiola felt the bitter taste of bile in her mouth, and she struggled not to vomit. She knew exactly who this was. Scaevola, the fugitivarius. A choking cough left her throat.

At the sound, he spun round to face her. The fugitivarius took in Vettius and Sextus with a contemptuous glance, but his eyes widened at the sight of Fabiola. A cruel smile creased his face. 'By all the gods,' he breathed. 'Who would have believed it?'

Suddenly lightheaded, Fabiola had to place a hand on Sextus' shoulder. Otherwise she would have fallen.