'I'm sorry, Mistress,' Sextus muttered. 'Didn't see him coming.'

'Stop it,' she cried, feeling even worse. 'No one could have anticipated that Scaevola would be here. Rest now. I'll have the best surgeon in Rome sent for.'

Despite his pain, Sextus smiled, breaking her heart. 'Save your money, Mistress. Aesculapius himself would struggle to cure me.' A bout of shivering struck him as shock began to set in. After a moment, he managed to rally himself. 'I have a request to make of you.'

Fabiola hung her head, unable to meet his open, accepting gaze. 'What is it?' she whispered, knowing the answer. He had made it of her during Scaevola's first ambush, a lifetime ago.

'A simple grave will be enough,' he replied. 'Just don't leave my body out on the Esquiline Hill.'

'I swear it,' said Fabiola, leaning down to clasp his hand through her tears. 'There will be a fine memorial over it too. The most faithful slave in Rome deserves no less.'

'Thank you,' Sextus murmured, closing his eyes.

Trying to compose her maelstrom of emotions, Fabiola covered him with her cloak. Her loyal servant was about to die, and Scaevola was still at large. While the threat of the lictores might make him lie low for a few days, the cruel fugitivarius was not going to give up now. She only had to look at Sextus to know that every word of Scaevola's threat was real. Fabiola's skin crawled as her imagination ran away with the thought. With great effort, she forced the horrifying images from her mind. It could have all happened here, in this corridor, yet Orcus had seen fit to send a priestess out to stop it all. She could take some consolation from that. 'I owe you my life,' she said to Sabina. 'I am grateful.'

She received a brittle smile in response. 'What he did was an outrage. I would have done the same for anyone.'

The way she said it made Fabiola feel very small and unwelcome. Why Sabina was like this, she still had no idea. Yet the ice-cool priestess was the least of her worries right now. 'If you could send word to my domus for a litter,' asked Fabiola briskly, 'I can remove my slave from here.'

Sabina gestured at one of the priests, who hurried to her side. 'Tell him where to go,' she said. 'I have to prepare the cursing ceremony for the vile creature who attacked you. What is his name?'

'Scaevola,' Fabiola answered. Goose bumps rose on her arms as she imagined what the young priestess might demand of Orcus. 'Among other things, he's a fugitivarius.'

'I see.' Sabina did not seem surprised. She turned to go, then stopped. 'And my mother? When will she visit?'

'Tomorrow,' reassured Fabiola.

This produced a small, pleased smile. In the event, it was not possible for Docilosa to visit the temple the next day.

Accompanied by twenty legionaries, Fabiola arrived at Brutus' house with the unconscious Sextus carried alongside in her litter. Once she had settled him in a bedroom beside her own and deputised a number of slaves to care for their comrade, she went in search of Docilosa. Fabiola found her in bed, her broad cheeks flushed with fever. Her servant barely recognised her, and Fabiola decided not to mention Sabina. The time would be right when Docilosa was recovered, when she could immediately go to visit her long-lost daughter.

Upon his return, Brutus was shocked and incensed to hear what had happened. Fearing his reaction, Fabiola did not mention that the fugitivarius was responsible for Sextus' injury. Fabiola wanted to unburden her worries about Scaevola, but she worried that Brutus would forbid her from taking over the brothel. Then there would be no chance of continuing with her plans. She'd have to mention the fugitivarius at some point, but also dilute the threat he posed. So she told Brutus that their assailant had been a dangerous lunatic, who had been overpowered by some acolytes. As ever, he believed her story.

Brutus was even more surprised when Fabiola sprang the Lupanar's purchase on him, but in the throes of her expert all-over massage, soon came around. Fabiola's explanation of how the prostitutes could wheedle information from clients, in order to discover those who still sympathised with the Republican cause, pleased him immensely. 'Since Pharsalus, Caesar's taken too many of the boot-licking bastards to his bosom,' Brutus growled. 'I don't trust a single one of them.' Just the type of men I want, thought Fabiola. Naturally, she did not admit a thing. She had planted the seeds of doubt in Brutus' mind already, and would win him around in time.

It was time to mention Scaevola's involvement with the other brothel. Brutus was horrified to hear that the fugitivarius was back on the scene. 'I'll just have a few squads of soldiers take the bastard out and execute him,' he roared. Unsurprisingly, he calmed down when Fabiola told him of Scaevola's involvement with Marcus Antonius. 'Damn it,' he said, rubbing his tired eyes. 'That prick Antonius wouldn't be happy if one of his henchmen was killed by my legionaries. I'm sorry, my love. We'll have to think of another way.'

Fabiola had been expecting that response. It galled her immensely, but a different method to rid herself of Scaevola and his menaces would present itself at some stage. If she could stay alive that long. Fabiola's hunch that Brutus would not want legionaries standing guard outside a whorehouse was correct, but he gave her permission to recruit as many guards as she pleased. 'I don't want you spending too much time at the Lupanar, though. It's safest here,' he said, his brow furrowed. 'Street heavies aren't the same as my trained soldiers.' Fabiola gave her lover a lingering kiss and, lying through her teeth, assured him that she'd do as he said. After a brief visit to Sextus' bedside, Brutus retired, leaving Fabiola to brood over the dying slave by the flickering glow of an oil lamp.

She had dosed him with plenty of papaverum, so he was unconscious most of the time now. His face had taken on the waxy grey colour of those near death, and on the rare occasion that he opened his unfocused eyes, Fabiola did not think Sextus saw much. He was in no pain, so she could do no more. Holding his calloused hand as she had never done in life, Fabiola considered her situation. It felt more dangerous than ever.

To set out on the most perilous of paths without Brutus being fully on board felt downright foolish. He was right about paid guards not being of the same quality or reliability as legionaries. The only dependable men Fabiola had were Benignus and Vettius. With at least a dozen thugs of his own, Scaevola was a lethally dangerous enemy to have. Making the Lupanar impregnable was almost impossible, which meant that her life would be in constant danger there. Fabiola clenched her teeth. Her original refusal to walk away from the purchase of the brothel was not going to change now. Caesar had raped her mother, and tried to do the same to her. How else could she recruit nobles to murder him other than in the Lupanar?

Sextus died during the night, slipping away while Fabiola dozed alongside. When she opened her eyes in the cold light of dawn and saw his unmoving form, she felt enormous guilt at not being awake at the moment of his passing. Yet, she reflected wryly, it was Sextus' manner to die as he had lived: in the most unassuming of ways. Still, Fabiola's heart ached now that he was gone. Since the dark day they had fought side by side for their lives, the one-eyed slave had been a pillar of support to her. In the weeks ahead, Fabiola would sorely miss his skill with a sword. Picturing Scaevola's malevolent face as he attacked them in the temple, fresh fear filled her. Had buying the Lupanar been a good idea?

Then Fabiola looked down at Sextus' body.

To walk away now might mean she was safe – but the victory would be Scaevola's. Furthermore, her loyal slave's death would mean nothing. 'I will avenge you, Sextus,' she whispered. 'At any cost.' Once burial arrangements had been put in train for Sextus, Fabiola set about completing her purchase of the Lupanar. Accompanied by a squad of legionaries, she first made a quick journey to the basilicae, the covered markets in the Forum. Among the moneylenders, scribes and soothsayers there, she found a portly lawyer recommended by Brutus. Fabiola was delighted to hear from him that the bill of sale penned by Jovina was legally binding. After a greasy-haired scribe had penned two notarised copies – one for each of them – Fabiola deposited the original in a nearby bank.