Ben Kane: The Road To Rome

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.