Feeling calmer, Fabiola gazed down the alleyway. Like the Forum, it was now littered with bodies. A few thugs were still alive, but not for long. Secundus’ men moved expertly among them, slitting throats and checking for money pouches. It was not pleasant to witness, but they deserved no better, she thought.

Wary of the violence in the Forum, Secundus began calling the veterans back. ‘This is no place to linger, lady,’ he said, ushering her towards the alleyway. Like a faithful hound, Sextus followed.

‘Do you often intervene like this?’ she asked.

He shrugged. ‘From time to time.’

Fabiola was surprised. ‘But why?’

Secundus laughed. ‘It’s hard to give up army life after ten years or more, lady. About fifty or sixty of us keep in touch; we like to keep the area fairly peaceable. Can’t stop what’s going on in the Forum, but this, we can. It’s easy for us, being trained soldiers and all. And it pleases Mithras.’

Fabiola was confused by the reference. ‘Your god?’

He regarded her steadily. ‘Indeed, lady. The soldiers’ god.’

She and Sextus owed their lives not just to Jupiter, but to an unknown deity. Fabiola was intrigued. ‘I would like to offer my thanks,’ she said.

‘At the Mithraeum, lady?’ he asked. ‘Unfortunately not.’

Unused to being refused, Fabiola bridled. ‘Why?’

‘You’re a woman. Only men may enter our temple.’

‘I see.’

Secundus coughed awkwardly. ‘It’s not safe round here, though.’ The noise of fighting could still be heard from the Forum. ‘It would be permissible for you to wait in the anterooms. Tomorrow, when it is safer, we can escort you back to your domus.’

‘My slave comes too.’ She indicated Sextus.

‘Of course,’ he said sympathetically. ‘Our medical orderly can treat his wound.’

Some of the veterans looked less than happy at Secundus’ offer of shelter and treatment.

‘Why are you helping me?’ Fabiola asked.

There was another shy grin. ‘You gave me an aureus, remember?’

The best money I ever spent, thought Fabiola. ‘Strange that our paths should cross again so soon,’ she said.

‘The gods work in such ways, lady,’ Secundus replied.

‘They do,’ she agreed passionately.

Leaving the dead sprawled uncaring in the mud, Secundus led them off through a series of narrow yet empty thoroughfares. His companions split up, some walking protectively in front, some behind. Despite their reservations about Fabiola and her slave, all kept their swords drawn and eyes peeled for more trouble. But there was no one else about. All of Clodius’ and Milo’s men had descended on the Forum and the noise of the rioting alone was enough to make any ordinary citizens remaining indoors stay where they were. Doors were shut and shop windows barred. Street fountains splashed noisily, unattended. There were no plebeian women collecting water in clay vessels or washing their clothes. The public toilets were empty of gossiping neighbours and urchins selling vinegar-soaked sponges on sticks. Rickety wooden stalls that would typically be displaying bread, pottery, ironmongery and simple foodstuffs stood forlorn and bare. Even the begging lepers and the familiar scavenging mongrels were nowhere to be seen. An occasional scared face peered from half-open shuttered windows above, but these slammed shut if any of the party looked up. It was an eerie feeling to move through the city unimpeded by traffic or throngs of people. Rome was normally a hive of human activity from dawn till dusk.

Not today.

After they had been climbing for a little while, the sounds of violence gradually began to diminish.

‘This is the Palatine,’ Fabiola exclaimed in surprise.

Secundus threw her a crooked smile. ‘Expected us to be based on the Aventine or Caelian Hills, did you?’

Fabiola flushed at his accurate guess. Most of the Palatine’s residents were wealthy, unlike the ragged, unshaven figures surrounding her.

‘Soldiers are the true spirit of Rome,’ he said proudly. There was a growl of agreement from the others. ‘We belong here, at its ancient heart.’

Fabiola bent her head in respect. After all, legionaries were the men who fought and died for the Republic. Although she had little love for it, she could respect these veterans’ bravery and the sacrifices they had made in its name. One only had to see the stump of Secundus’ sword arm and the multitude of old scars on all the ex-soldiers to realise that. Flesh had been hacked off, blood lost and comrades slain, while the rich who dwelled around here had given little, if anything, for their state.

Working his way along a high, plain wall, Secundus came to a halt before a small door, its surface reinforced with protective iron studs. A simply forged knocker and a metal plate around the keyhole made it look the same as the back entrance to any other decent-sized house in the city. If they could afford it, Romans preferred to live in a well-built domus, a private, hollow square with an open air courtyard in the middle and rooms around the sides. The exterior of these dwellings was usually entirely ordinary, designed to avoid attention. Inside, they could be luxurious, like that of Brutus, or garish in the extreme, as Gemullus’ had been.

Checking there was no one in sight, Secundus rapped on the timbers with his knuckles.

Instantly a challenge issued from the other side.

Secundus leaned in close and muttered a few words.

His answer was sufficient. There was a short delay as bolts were thrown back and then the door swung inwards on silent, oiled hinges. Framed in the portal was a powerfully built figure in a russet-brown military tunic, carrying a drawn gladius. With close-cropped hair and a scar running from his right ear to his chin, this had to be another ex-soldier.

Recognising Secundus, he sheathed his sword and thumped his clenched right fist off his chest in salute.

Returning the gesture, Secundus led the way into the atrium.

Fabiola and Sextus were close behind, followed by the rest of the group. The guard’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the two strangers, one a woman, the other grievously wounded, but he said nothing. As the last man entered, the portal shut with a quiet click, blocking out the daylight. With the doors to the tablinum closed, the only illumination in the wide hallway running from left to right was from oil lamps in regularly placed wall brackets. Flickering yellow flames lit up a number of brightly painted statues, the most prominent of which was a cloaked deity crouched over a reclining bull. Shadows cast by his Phrygian cap prevented the god’s face from being seen, but the dagger in his right hand showed clear intent. Like all animals in shrines, the massive ox was about to be sacrificed.

‘Mithras,’ announced Secundus reverently. ‘The Father.’

As one, his men bowed their heads.

Feeling more than a little fear, Fabiola shivered. Although they had only entered the first chamber in the building, there was more power palpable here than in the cellae at the great temple on the Capitoline Hill. If she was lucky, and Mithras willing, some information about Romulus might be revealed. Unlike the falsehoods uttered by the soothsayers and the uncertainties found inside temples, a sign given in a place like this might carry divine authority. Fabiola snapped back to the present. Do not lose focus, she thought. There would be time to pray later. Bowing respectfully to the sculpture, she indicated Sextus’ gaping, ruined eye. ‘He needs treatment,’ she said.

Her slave had not uttered a single word of complaint thus far, but his teeth were gritted in pain. The adrenalin rush of combat had subsided and now waves of pain were radiating outwards, filling his skull with thousands of stabbing needles.

Secundus pointed to their left. ‘The valetudinarium is down here.’