Tarquinius was not merely a soothsayer.
But for the most part the Parthian attack had been successful. As the cataphracts smashed through the rear ranks, a great hole was left gaping in the Sixth Legion. Hundreds of casualties sprawled on the bloody sand, howling in agony. Lances and bent pila jutted from the dead of both sides. In the section where Romulus and his friends were positioned, all the regular centurions had been killed, leaving the soldiers leaderless and confused.
The sheer power of the charge had destroyed more than the Roman line. It was the final straw for legionaries whose confidence had been steadily eroded all day. Many were veterans who had fought against every enemy the Republic could find and tasted victory in many countries. But Crassus had presented them with a foe they could not fight on equal terms: horse archers who killed from a distance; heavy cavalry which trampled with impunity.
The cataphracts turned on the open ground behind the army. Cries of terror greeted them as they pounded the sand back towards the Romans. Driving through another part of the Sixth, the mailed riders hacked scores more infantry to pieces with their longswords, then disappeared into the clouds of dust.
Everyone knew they would be back.
Another assault by the archers followed. Shortly after that, the cataphracts hit the Tenth Legion alongside the Sixth. The charge had the same devastating effect. When it was over, the survivors stood reeling with shock, their heads turning involuntarily, hopefully, hopelessly to the rear.
It was only a matter of time before Crassus' army broke and ran.
Chapter XXV: Treachery
The Lupanar, Rome, summer 53 BC
Fabiola tapped a finger against her teeth, half wishing that she had not asked Docilosa to search another girl's room. It had felt wrong: yet another violation. Other than the tiny chambers granted them by Jovina, the prostitutes had little to call their own. She pushed away the troubling thought. Too many snide comments had been thrown in her direction recently. And the recent gossip in the bathing area was much more troubling than usual. Instead of the normal chatter about clients' requests, the tips that had been left or not left and whose prayers had been answered, the women were whispering in little groups, unsettled by the bad feeling in the brothel.
By now, Fabiola was used to the jealousy that occurred when a new, rich client asked for her by name, declining even a look at Jovina's selection of prostitutes. To minimise bad feeling over these fairly frequent occasions, Fabiola always made sure to pass on some of her larger tips in the direction of other women. She had long since discovered that nothing sweetened opinion like a bag of sestertii. But when Fabiola had actually overheard a muttered conversation through a half-open door two days before, it had been time to enlist Docilosa's help. There had been real vitriol in what had been said. Fear began to creep into Fabiola's heart for the first time since she had been dragged away from Gemellus' house. She had only just discovered that Romulus might still be alive, and life had suddenly become very precious.
So the older woman had gone in the previous night, when all the prostitutes were busy. No one would have passed much comment if they saw her entering a bedroom anyway. Docilosa cleaned and tidied for everyone in the Lupanar.
And Fabiola's decision to ask her had proved astute.
'You're sure?' she asked.
Docilosa scowled. 'What else would it be? A single tiny bottle, hidden under a loose tile in the floor,' she replied. 'But I couldn't risk taking it to show you.'
'Perhaps it was perfume?' Fabiola did not want to admit what was plain to both.
There was a derisive snort. 'I took out a drop of the liquid using a fine twig,' the older woman went on. 'Then dripped it on a piece of bread that was lying on the table.'
Fabiola's respect for Docilosa shot up.
'I left the crust by that little crack in the bottom of the garden wall. You know the one?'
'Where the mice come out,' she said dully, knowing now what Docilosa would say. Fabiola had often watched, quietly amused at the tiny creatures scurrying in and out through the hole, busily searching for food. The brothel's resident cats could only kill so many of the ubiquitous rodents, something that endlessly irritated Jovina.
There was a pause.
'I stepped back and waited. It wasn't long before one appeared. Ate the bread in a flash.' Docilosa stared at Fabiola grimly. 'The mouse took no more than two steps before it fell down dead.'
The black-haired girl's stomach constricted and she stepped to the door, opening it to check that there was nobody eavesdropping in the corridor. Relieved to see no one, she closed it quietly and turned to Docilosa. 'Poison.'
The word hung in the air like a black cloud.
'She 's not to be trusted,' spat Docilosa. 'I've said it from the beginning.'
It was impossible to argue. The proof was lying outside in the garden.
Fabiola sighed. Relations with Pompeia had been strained for some time, but she had not thought it would come to this. Despite her best efforts, the redhead had become a dangerous enemy. Jealousy had turned the woman who had made Fabiola most welcome on her first day in the Lupanar into someone who wanted her dead.
It had started off so well. Aware that she would need allies to survive her new life, Fabiola had been quick to replace Pompeia's lent perfume, and the two had become good friends. Claudia, the blonde Goth, had also proved to be essentially decent. Forming a little group, they soon spent all their free time together, Pompeia and Claudia freely dispensing advice that the young newcomer soaked up. Desperate to become the best, to win clients and influence over them so she could rescue Romulus and her mother, Fabiola was soon driving customers wild. As her popularity began to increase, Claudia had shrugged fatalistically. The blonde had a few devoted clients, nobles who liked being tied up and dominated. In a strange way, this seemed to satisfy Claudia.
But the highly-strung Pompeia had been less philosophical. She had been in the brothel for nearly five years, yet Fabiola had gained more regulars than Pompeia inside twelve months. One of her best tippers had even gone to Fabiola in preference to her. That was too much to bear. Their friendship began to sour, and soon it had reached the point where each barely acknowledged the other's presence. Trying to remain on good terms with both, Claudia did her best not to get involved. Of course Jovina had been quick to notice the bad feeling, and had taken Fabiola and Pompeia aside separately. The Lupanar was her domain and she guarded it jealously. 'I want no trouble,' the old crone had threatened. 'Men always notice when girls are bitchy with each other. They don't like it, and that's bad for business. It must end now.'
Fabiola had been happy to let matters lie.
Pompeia obviously had not.
Denarii chinked off each other as Fabiola handed over a small purse.
Docilosa judged its weight instantly. 'That's far too much,' she protested.
Fabiola laughed. 'For saving my life? I can never thank you enough.' She leaned forward and kissed Docilosa's cheek.
This produced a rare smile.
'I'll just have to spend more time in the kitchen,' said Fabiola brightly. 'Watch all my meals being prepared.' She didn't think it likely that Catus or the other slaves would be prepared to poison her. Pompeia would need to come into the cooking area on some pretext. Do the dirty work herself. Jovina allowed the prostitutes to order food whenever they were not working and so the kitchen was always a hive of activity. It would not be that difficult to come down the corridor and lace a plate waiting on the work surface by the door. Another girl looking for a morsel to eat would attract little attention.
Fabiola suddenly felt very uneasy. It was horrible knowing that Pompeia wanted her dead. While she did not like all of the other women, Fabiola did not actually want to harm any of them. Neither could she understand the degree of jealousy that would drive someone to kill another over such a trivial matter. Despite the shocking revelation, Fabiola had no wish to murder Pompeia in return. It was not that she was scared of doing so. After all, she desperately wanted a man to die.
Gemellus.
The fat merchant had done unspeakable things to her mother for years. He deserved a slow, painful death. And her own father also deserved a trip to Hades: a noble who had raped a slave just because he could. In comparison to the subjects of Fabiola's deep-rooted hate, Pompeia seemed pathetic. Laughable. She poked herself. There was real danger here. If the redhead was dangerous enough to make threats and buy poison, Fabiola had to assume that she was prepared to use the deadly liquid too.
Life in the brothel had become perilous and the task of monitoring her food being cooked would not pass unnoticed. Poisoning was a common method of killing an enemy in Rome and the cooks would understand why Fabiola was watching them work. Rumours would start and then Pompeia would find out she knew. She could not refuse to eat food from the kitchen either. Jovina would hear about that instantly. A frisson of fear snaked up Fabiola's spine.
Something had to be done. Soon.
Fabiola bit her lip, momentarily unsure how to respond. She would have to think about this. Offer extra prayers to Jupiter and hope for inspiration. For some reason, she felt sure that the most powerful Roman god would provide her with a sign.
Docilosa grinned infectiously. It was a rare sight. Fabiola looked enquiringly at the older woman, wondering what had pleased her so much.
'I poured every last drop down the sewer,' announced Docilosa triumphantly. 'Washed the bottle out thoroughly and filled it with fresh water from the well.'
Fabiola's heart soared at the unexpected revelation. 'The gods must have sent you to me!'
'The bitch will think that she was ripped off by whatever lowlife sold her the poison.'
'Or that I'm immortal.'
They both giggled.
Docilosa's face gradually turned serious again. 'What are you going to do, Fabiola? Pompeia's a vindictive one. She won't stop at this, you know.'