Docilosa’s next words brought her back to reality. ‘The Optimates threw a feast when the news of Vercingetorix’ rebellion reached Rome. Pompey Magnus was guest of honour.’

‘Gods above,’ muttered Fabiola. ‘Anything else?’ Caesar had enemies everywhere, and particularly in the capital. The triumvirate which ruled the Republic had been reduced by one with the death of Crassus, and since then Pompey had seemed unsure what to do about Caesar’s unsurpassed military successes. Which suited Caesar admirably. But now the Optimates, the group of politicians which opposed him, were openly courting Pompey, his sole rival. Caesar could still be the new ruler of Rome – but only if Vercingetorix’ uprising did not succeed and if he retained enough support in the Senate. Suddenly Fabiola felt very vulnerable. In the Lupanar, she had been a big fish in a small pond. Outside, in the real world, she was a nobody. If Caesar failed, so did Brutus. And without his backing, what chance had she of succeeding in life? Unless, of course, she prostituted herself with someone else. Fabiola’s stomach turned at that idea. Those years in the Lupanar had been enough to last a lifetime.

This called for dramatic measures.

‘I must visit the temple on the Capitoline Hill,’ Fabiola declared. ‘To make an offering and pray that Caesar crushes the rebellion quickly.’

Docilosa hid her surprise. ‘The voyage to Rome will take at least a week. More if the seas are rough.’

Fabiola’s face was serene. ‘In that case, we shall travel by road.’

Now the older woman was shocked. ‘We’ll end up raped and murdered! The countryside is full of bandits.’

‘No more so than the streets of Rome,’ Fabiola replied tartly. ‘Besides, we can take the three bodyguards that Brutus left. They’ll be enough protection.’ Not as good as Benignus or Vettius, she thought, fondly remembering the Lupanar’s huge doormen. Despite their devotion to Fabiola, they had been too valuable for Jovina to sell as well. Returning to the capital might allow her to investigate that possibility again. The tough pair would be very useful.

‘What will Brutus say when he finds out?’

‘He’ll understand,’ answered Fabiola brightly. ‘I’m doing it for him.’

Docilosa sighed. She would not win this argument. And with few diversions other than the baths or covered market in Pompeii, life had become very mundane in the almost empty villa. Rome would provide some excitement – it always did. ‘When do you wish to leave?’

‘Tomorrow. Send word to the port so that the captain can ready Ajax. He’ll know in the morning if the weather is good enough to sail.’ Upon his arrival in the north, Brutus had immediately sent back his treasured liburnian to lie at his lover’s disposal. Powered by one hundred slaves working a single bank of oars, the short, low-slung ship was the fastest type of vessel the Romans could build. Ajax had been lying idle at the dock in Pompeii and Fabiola had not foreseen needing its services until the following spring. Now, things had changed.

Docilosa bowed and withdrew, leaving her mistress to brood.

Visiting the temple would also afford Fabiola another opportunity to ask Jupiter who had raped their mother. Velvinna had only mentioned it in passing, but for obvious reasons, she had not forgotten. Discovering her father’s identity was Fabiola’s driving purpose in life. And once she knew, revenge would be hers.

At any price.

Taking charge of the rundown latifundium when Brutus left had greatly intimidated Fabiola. But it provided her with satisfaction too. Being mistress of the large estate surrounding the villa was tangible proof of her revenge on Gemellus, who had originally owned it. And so she had thrown herself into the job from the start. An initial tour of the house proved that, as in his residence in Rome, Gemellus’ tastes were crude and garish. It had given her great pleasure to have every single opulent bedroom, banqueting hall and office redecorated. The merchant’s many statues of Priapus had been smashed, their massive erect members reminding Fabiola too much of the suffering that she had witnessed Gemellus inflict on her mother. The thick layer of dust covering the mosaic floors was swept away; the fountains unclogged and cleared of dead leaves. Even the neglected plants in the courtyards had been replaced. Best of all, the walls of the heated bathing area had been repainted with bright images of the gods, mythological sea creatures and fish. One of Fabiola’s most powerful memories of her first day in the Lupanar was seeing such pictures in its baths. She had determined to have the same luxuriant surroundings herself one day. Now it was a reality.

And yet it was hard not to feel guilty, she thought later that day. While she lacked for nothing, Romulus was probably dead. Tears pricked the corners of Fabiola’s eyes. While in the brothel, she had left no stone unturned in her efforts to find him. Incredibly, after more than a year, she had discovered that her twin was still alive. In the savagery of the gladiatorial arena, Jupiter had protected him. The further revelation that Romulus had enrolled in Crassus’ legions could not dampen Fabiola’s spirits, but then disaster struck. A few months before, the devastating news of Carrhae had reached Rome. At one stroke, Fabiola lost virtually all hope. To survive one horror only to end up in a doomed army seemed cruel beyond belief. Eager to help, Brutus had done his best to find out more, but the news was all bad. The defeat was one of the worst ever suffered by the Republic, with huge numbers of men lost. Certainly Romulus was not among the remnants of the legion that had escaped with the legate Cassius Longinus. Plenty of cash had been spread amongst the veterans of the Eighth, to no avail. Fabiola sighed. Her twin’s sun-bleached bones were probably still littering the sand where he had fallen. Either that or he was gone to the ends of the earth – to some god-forsaken place called Margiana, where the Parthians had sent their ten thousand prisoners.

And no one had ever returned from there.

Rare tears rolled down Fabiola’s cheeks. While the slightest chance remained of seeing Romulus again, she would not despair totally, but now stubbornness was taking over from faith. Jupiter Optimus Maximus, hear me, she thought miserably. Let my brother still be alive – somehow. Determined not to lose control of her emotions, Fabiola dried her eyes and went in search of Corbulo, the aged vilicus, or steward, of her latifundium. As usual, she found him busy supervising the workers. Never having lived in the countryside, Fabiola knew little about it, or agriculture, so she spent most days in Corbulo’s company. The news from Gaul would not change that. The latifundium was her responsibility now.

Fabiola knew from Corbulo that the days of citizen farmers working their own fields were disappearing fast, as cheap grain from Sicily and Egypt put them out of business. For more than a generation, farming had been confined to those rich enough to buy up land and work it with slaves. Fortunately for such people, the Republic’s war-like tendencies had provided no end of unfortunate souls from all corners of the world to generate them wealth. Gemellus’ former estate was no different.

Recently freed, Fabiola hated slavery. At first, being the owner of several hundred people – men, women and children – troubled her. Practically, though, she could do nothing. Freeing the Greeks, Libyans, Gauls and Numidians would achieve little other than bankrupting her new property. She resolved instead to consolidate her position as Brutus’ lover, cultivate noble friends if possible and try to discover her father’s identity. Perhaps in the future, with help from Romulus, she would be able to do more. Fabiola remembered how her twin brother had idolised Spartacus, the Thracian gladiator whose slave rebellion had shaken Rome to its core only a generation before.