She laughed dutifully at his macabre joke. Thousands of people had died under the dictator's rule.
'The augurs say that bad luck follows bad men. Or maybe it's because the merchant lived on the Aventine.' Brutus shrugged. 'He had to put the villa on the market two winters ago when there weren't many buyers about.' He smiled. 'I got it for a song.'
'A merchant?' said Fabiola, leaning forward with sudden interest. 'From the Aventine?'
He looked surprised. 'Yes. Old, smelly and fat. Why?'
'What was his name?'
Brutus ran a hand through his short brown hair, thinking.
Her heart raced as she waited.
'Gemellus?' He paused. 'Yes, it was Gemellus.'
Fabiola's composure slipped and she gasped with delight. The idea that she was the new mistress of her former owner's villa was a dream come true.
'You know him?' asked Brutus curiously.
She took his hand and squeezed it. 'He sold me to the Lupanar.'
'The bastard!' Sudden rage from Brutus was rare and shocking.
'I would never have met you otherwise,' she said coyly.
'True.' Calming down, he peered out of the litter. 'If it's any consolation, I've heard that his business has gone down the sewer completely now. He lost an absolute fortune when shiploads of beasts that he had bought for the circus sank on the way over from Egypt.'
A pang of sadness hit Fabiola. She could remember fantasising with Romulus about trapping wild animals with the bestiarius. It seemed a lifetime ago.
'The moneylenders were hounding him from dawn till dusk by the end,' Brutus added. 'Even had to sell his house on the Aventine.'
Relief began to replace the pain. And as the high wall surrounding her new home finally came into sight, Fabiola knew that Jupiter, in the inexplicable way of the gods, was taking care of her in some way.
Revenge had been granted: Gemellus had become one of the homeless who clogged Rome's streets, begging for alms from the rich. As someone who valued money above all else, the merchant's life had been ruined more completely than by a swift knife between the ribs down an alleyway. It was a suitable punishment, she thought, although it would have been even sweeter to have knocked on Gemellus' door and informed him that she, Fabiola, was to have his beloved villa. Her only regret was that Romulus and her mother were not present to share her joy. But they would be watching her from the other side.
Now, as the lover of a powerful noble, Fabiola could concentrate fully on discovering the identity of her father. Brutus, whether he knew it or not, was the key. He would happily facilitate her entry into Roman society at the highest level, an equal to those who had once sneered. The clues would be there somewhere. They could even be close to home.
It would take time, but Fabiola would not rest until her mother had been avenged.
Chapter XXIX: The March
East of Seleucia, autumn 53 BC
The desolate landscape stretched into infinity.
Behind the soldiers, an immense range of mountains ran from north to south, the snow-capped tops a stark contrast to the sandy plain far below. It had taken weeks to negotiate countless narrow passes, icy streams and winding paths along cliff edges. Hundreds of legionaries had perished in landslides or died of exposure. The bare slopes had provided little in the way of fuel and the occasional goat brought down by an arrow could not feed everyone. Dried meat, unleavened bread and sheer determination had carried the remaining prisoners over the jagged peaks.
That and the instant execution awaiting any man refusing to march. Parthian discipline was even harsher than Roman.
The column of over nine thousand soldiers had excitedly made its way down a winding track that morning. Just reaching flat ground had felt like success. Low dunes rose smoothly on either side as another desert prepared to welcome them. The sky was clear of clouds, its only inhabitants the ubiquitous vultures.
But the wilderness was not as intimidating as before Carrhae. These men had been through unbelievable suffering, seen unimaginable things. This was just another trial to be endured. Survived.
Romulus adjusted the cloth covering his head and wiped away sweat. Like that of everyone else, the young soldier's helmet dangled from the yoke over one shoulder. There was little need to wear it, with no enemies for hundreds of miles.
Brennus and Tarquinius marched confidently beside him. During the passage of the mountains, their survival skills had helped keep the remaining men of the Sixth alive. The pelts of the wolves Tarquinius had trapped served as blankets and Brennus had regularly brought down goats or antelope with a bow he had procured from a guard.
With all senior officers dead, a power vacuum had been left in the ranks. Soldiers needed someone in charge and with so many men from different legions, it had been difficult to organise the Roman prisoners. Sensibly the Parthian officers who had been placed in command banded together the men who had served in the same unit, but there had been an inevitable reluctance to obey more than basic orders since leaving the capital two months earlier.
Many legionaries now looked to Tarquinius as an unofficial leader. He had been treating the wounded for months, and his ability to predict the future was also well known throughout the column. The Etruscan's understanding of the Parthian language had naturally attracted their captors' attention. The mystical skills he showed also earned respect. In recognition, Tarquinius had been made the equivalent of a centurion, answering to the officer commanding one of the reformed cohorts. Although the haruspex was not a regular, taking orders from one of their own was easier to stomach.
So far, the Etruscan's cohort was the only one to have been re-armed, a source of real pride for Romulus and Brennus. But only Tarquinius knew why. The rest were relieved not to have to carry any more for a time. A train of mules behind carried the remaining weapons, food and water.
'When will we reach Margiana?' asked Romulus.
'Five to six weeks,' replied the Etruscan.
He groaned. Located on the northeast border of the Parthian empire, their destination never seemed to get any nearer.
'At least those bastards have to walk too.' Brennus indicated the warriors to either side of the column.
The prisoners might outnumber the Parthians twenty to one, but it meant little. They were now more than a thousand miles northeast of Seleucia and there was nowhere to go, no point in resisting. Only the dark-skinned natives knew the exact locations of the life-saving waterholes in the vast emptiness of sand and the Romans had no choice but to follow. Without water no one could survive.
'Why didn't they send cataphracts to guard us?' asked Romulus.
'Rome doesn't accept defeat easily,' said Brennus. 'Orodes is probably saving them in case of another attack.'
Tarquinius chuckled. 'The king might not know it, but nobody wants revenge. Caesar won't be too happy having lost his sponsor, but he 's far too busy with other matters. And Pompey will be delighted that Crassus is out of the equation. This will let him concentrate on Caesar.'
Romulus sighed. Italian politics meant little here. 'If Rome doesn't retaliate, how can there be any chance of returning home?' he muttered. 'We are in the middle of nowhere, heading for the ends of the earth.'
'We will make our own way back,' whispered Tarquinius.
The Gaul did not hear the comment. 'We are the Forgotten Legion!' he cried cynically, pointing forward.
All eyes followed his outstretched arm.
Pacorus, the Parthian officer in charge, had shrewdly obtained one silver eagle from the booty after Carrhae. While the others decorated Orodes' palace, his was constantly positioned at the head of the column.
Brennus stabbed a finger at the metal bird again, recognising its significance. The standard was vital to the Parthian's new command and had become the soldiers' most important possession. A growl of pride left men's throats. There had been little to cheer about since Carrhae – till now.
The guards listened curiously, but did not respond straight away. Discipline was less strict now than when they had left the city. Enough men had been executed to keep the rest in line. But until an enemy was in sight, their new-found trust only went so far.
Tarquinius smiled. 'A good name.'
'It has a certain ring to it,' Romulus admitted.