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.
Secundus didn't seem that surprised when told of the dictator's order to disband his group. 'Caesar's a strong character,' he said. Devastating Romulus, he was also unprepared to remain in the nearby streets in case his men were needed. 'Each person's destiny is his own. You offered our assistance, and Caesar turned it down flat. That's his prerogative, and we should not interfere with it.'
'He might be killed, though!' cried Romulus.
'His choice,' replied Secundus sombrely, whistling an order.
'What are you doing?'
'Returning to the Mithraeum,' came the simple answer. 'We'll make an offering to Mithras for Caesar's safekeeping.'
There was nothing Romulus could do. After he'd muttered in Secundus' ear about looking after Mattius, Romulus watched, utterly disconsolate, as the veterans filed past him in neat ranks. Many nodded farewell in friendly fashion, but none offered to stay. Their belief in Secundus' authority was total, even stronger than that which Romulus had seen in the army. He found it impossible to be angry with them. Their philosophy of respecting a man's destiny came from the same belief system that Tarquinius subscribed to, and which he'd taught to Romulus. Today, though, he found it impossible to put into practice.
The realisation brought a sardonic smile to Romulus' face, and he glanced at the tattoo on his upper right arm. Maybe I'm not such a good follower of Mithras after all, he thought. Yet there was no way he was going to reconsider his decision. Backing out would feel too much like leaving Brennus to face an elephant alone.
For some time, Romulus watched senators arriving for the morning's session. Eager to know what his task would be, Mattius never left his side. Suspiciously, Romulus studied each toga-clad man in turn, trying to determine any glimmer of evil intent. To his frustration, he could see none. Clutching their long stylus boxes, the politicians alighted from their litters, calling greetings to those they knew. Romulus recognised few of them. Strolling to and fro, he did his best to listen to their conversations, but it was difficult to do so without being obvious. Most of what he heard was idle gossip or concerned Longinus' son, who was to assume the toga of a man that morning. Despite himself, Romulus relaxed a fraction.
It was interesting to see the man who had served Crassus once more. He had only seen Longinus from a distance on the Parthian campaign, but he'd been grilled by the grizzled former soldier just before he'd received his manumission from Caesar. He felt a degree of kinship with Longinus, and seeing him unsettled Romulus. Why would he keep being reminded of Parthia if it wasn't something to do with Caesar's upcoming campaign? This fuelled Romulus' slim hope that Tarquinius might be wrong about the assassination.
By late morning, Romulus was growing optimistic that Decimus Brutus had succeeded where he'd failed, convincing Caesar to stay away. Within the temple, the morning's proceedings had started. Despite the blustery weather, which threatened rain, there were still plenty of senators outside. None of that mattered if Caesar didn't turn up, thought Romulus.
His heart sank, therefore, when a richly decorated litter approached through the inevitable crowd of citizens, who gathered to see the rich and famous, or to plead for their intervention in a business deal gone wrong. Borne by four strapping slaves in loincloths, it was preceded by another bearing a long stick with which to clear the way. Romulus could see no sign of guards or soldiers. Hearing the lead slave crying Caesar's name, he jumped to his feet.
'It's time,' he muttered to Mattius. 'The lictores would never let me past, but you might be able to worm your way inside. Can you manage that?'
His face filled with childish determination, Mattius nodded. 'What should I do then?'
'Don't take your eyes off Caesar for a single moment,' Romulus warned. 'At the slightest sign of trouble, call me. I'll stay as near to the entrance as I can.'
'It might be too late by then,' said the boy solemnly. 'Especially if the lictores try to stop you entering.'
'What else can I do?' asked Romulus, raising his hands in a helpless gesture.