Tarquinius could vividly remember the first time he had walked into the Agora. It hadn't been that long after he'd run from the legions, when fear of discovery had been his constant companion. He'd deserted after facing up to the fact that joining the Roman army had been no more than a futile attempt to forget Olenus and his teaching. He'd realised that was no way to live his life. Thus, after a search of Lydia in Asia Minor had revealed little evidence of the Etruscans' origins, he had come here, to Rhodes. The Stoic school in the city had been a centre of learning for centuries, the home of scholars such as Apollonius, and Posidonius, whom the haruspex had heard speak on a number of occasions. This was where rich young Romans came to learn rhetoric, philosophy and to hone their oratorical skills for the cut and thrust of the Senate. Sulla had been a pupil here; so too had Pompey and Caesar.

Tarquinius' first visit had gleaned him little insight into the Etruscans' past, or his own future. He frowned, hoping that this occasion would be different. That his persistent dream would be explained. To have reached Rhodes for the second time, especially when he hadn't expected it, felt most promising. Winded and desperate when he'd reached the merchants' harbour in Alexandria, the haruspex had leapt on the first ship which would take a paying passenger. Fortunately he'd had enough money to pay the captain, a hard-nosed Phoenician. Yet once on board, despairing that he would never discover what to do next, Tarquinius had sunk into a depression that had lasted for days as the merchant vessel hogged the coast of Judaea and Asia Minor. However, then it had sailed in to Rhodes. Was it just a coincidence? Tarquinius wasn't sure. As so often before, his attempts at divining had revealed little or nothing of use. Perhaps his coming here was a big joke on the part of the gods, to show him the futility of his life? He hoped it was not so. Surely his visions of Rome and of the Lupanar meant something?

Since the trauma of his parting from Romulus had been added to by his flight from Alexandria, Tarquinius had been ravaged by self-doubt. This was unsurprising. Despite making a journey as remarkable as that of the Lion of Macedon, the haruspex hadn't managed to discover where his mysterious people had come from. While his companions, two of the bravest men possible, had fallen by the wayside or disappeared, he had come full circle, unscathed except for his scars. He railed against the injustice of it. Brennus had chosen a hero's death, fighting a berserk elephant so that his friends could escape. Romulus was alive, but he was a conscript in one of Caesar's legions: facing death on a daily basis in the civil war, he would be lucky to survive. To Tarquinius, there increasingly seemed little point in living.

Realising that his dark thoughts were dragging him into an abyss, the haruspex took control. It was not his fault that Brennus wasn't here. The Gaul's last stand had been fated to happen, predicted not just by Tarquinius, but by an Allobroge druid. In addition, the vision he'd had of Romulus entering Ostia, Rome's port, had been one of the most powerful of his life. His protege would return to the city of his birth one day. Tarquinius just hoped that Romulus' homecoming turned out to be all that he wished.

The haruspex had little desire to return to Italy. After all, he thought, what did it matter if, as his vision kept revealing, there was danger in Rome? It mattered if it affected someone dear to him, bit back his conscience. Despite himself, Tarquinius was beginning to wonder if the Republic's capital wasn't the best place for him to be. A visit to the brothel outside which he'd killed Caelius, and changed Romulus' life for ever, might trigger the release of more information.

The bark of shouted orders rang out behind him, and Tarquinius turned. Led by a centurion and a signifer, two files of legionaries came trotting up the street. They were at least a century strong, and dressed in full battle dress. Many of the locals looked unhappy at the sight. More than a century after their country's acquisition by Rome, the Greeks still resented their masters. Tarquinius didn't like seeing them in a place like this either.

No doubt the soldiers were from the half-dozen triremes he'd seen tied up in the harbour. What they were doing here, Tarquinius had no idea. A peaceful place, Rhodes had long been under the Republic's influence. There were no pirates left hiding in the coves along its coast – Pompey had seen to that. Nor were any of his supporters to be seen; the island's population was far too small to provide the numbers of recruits they needed to fight Caesar.

Eager to remain inconspicuous, Tarquinius stepped into a small open-fronted shop. Amphorae lay everywhere inside: on piles of straw, and stacked three and four high on top of each other. An old desk covered in rolls of parchment, inkpots and a marble abacus sat in the middle of the floor and a crude wooden bar ran partway along one wall. He could hear the proprietor moving around in the back.

The legionaries clattered past without as much as a sideways glance. A line of slaves and mules followed behind them. Tarquinius noted that all the beasts' saddlebags were empty. Suspicion flared in his mind, but his thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the shopkeeper, who emerged from his storeroom carrying a small, dusty amphora with a heavy wax seal.

The last of the passing soldiers got an angry glare. 'Dirty whoresons,' he muttered in Greek.

'They are,' agreed Tarquinius fluently. 'For the most part anyway.'

Startled by the scarred stranger's sharp hearing, the shopkeeper paled. 'I meant no offence,' he stammered. 'I'm a loyal subject.'

Tarquinius raised his hands peaceably. 'You have nothing to fear from me,' he said. 'Can I buy a cup of wine?'

'Of course, of course. Nikolaos refuses no man a drink.' Visibly relieved, the shopkeeper set down his load. Producing a red earthenware jug and a pair of beakers, he placed them on the bar. Filling both, he offered one to Tarquinius. 'Are you here to study?'

Tarquinius took a long swallow and gave an approving nod. The wine was good. 'Something like that,' he replied.

'Better hope that what you're looking for isn't gone by tomorrow then.' Nikolaos pointed. 'Those bastards were heading to the Stoic school.'

Tarquinius almost choked on his second mouthful. 'What are they doing?'

'Taking everything of value that isn't nailed down,' lamented the other. 'If the remnants of the Colossus itself weren't too big to transport, they'd probably take those too.'

Tarquinius grimaced. Like all visitors to Rhodes, he had walked the site where the largest statue in the world had once stood. Although it had been knocked off its marble pedestal by an earthquake nearly two centuries before, giant pieces of the god Helios were still strewn on the ground to one side of the harbour. Even these were an impressive sight. Great bronze plates shaped into body parts lay surrounded by iron bars, filler stones and thousands of rivets. All gave testament to the Herculean toil which must have gone into the figure's construction. Now, though, they were good for nothing except scrap. Unlike the treasures in the school, which might hold the key to revealing his future.

Tarquinius couldn't believe it. Even this was to be denied him.

'You're sure?' he demanded in a thin, strained voice.

A little scared of his new customer, the shopkeeper nodded. 'It started yesterday. They say that Caesar wants plenty of riches to display in his triumphs. Statues, paintings, books – they're taking it all.'

'What right has the arrogant dog? He was fighting damn Romans at Pharsalus, not Greeks,' shouted Tarquinius. 'This is an already conquered land!'

Hearing the noise, a number of passers-by glanced in curiously.