The Forgotten Legion - Kane Ben (читать книги онлайн полностью без сокращений txt) 📗

Immediately the noise of oxen pulling carts and traders touting for business seemed further away. The poor amount of light that had been on offer fell to a dim twilight that made it hard to see. Broken pottery and rotten vegetables covered the rough ground, mixed with human waste, dirty straw and spent charcoal from the braziers that kept the miserable insulae warm. A mangy dog that was nosing about for food barked once and ran off, startled by the intrusion.

Thinking Vettius wanted his way with her, Pompeia turned coy. 'Never knew you were interested, big man.' She flashed a practised smile. 'Here 's not the place, though. Come to my room tomorrow morning after I've finished work. You'll not regret it.'

The doorman did not reply. With a blank face, he pushed the redhead deeper into the alley. Always useful in street fights, a sheathed gladius hung from a strap over his right shoulder.

'Can't wait? Typical man.' Without protesting further, Pompeia came to a halt and began to shrug off her robe. 'Come on, then. It's cleaner here.'

Something flew through the air to land at her feet.

Even in the poor light, it was recognisable as a snake 's head. Pompeia screamed and jumped back, her mouth open wide with shock.

The look on her former friend's face told Fabiola all she needed to know. She stepped out of the shadows, raising Vettius' dagger threateningly.

Pompeia's features turned ashen. This was no easy coupling to keep the doorman sweet. She backed away, her feet unsteady on rubbish and shards of terracotta. 'Please,' she begged. 'Don't hurt me.'

'Why not?' Fabiola barked. 'You've tried to do the same to me. Three times. And I've done nothing to you.'

Fat tears of self-pity formed in the corners of Pompeia's eyes. 'You take all the best customers,' she whimpered.

'There are plenty to go around,' Fabiola hissed. 'And I'm only doing it for my brother.'

'He's long dead,' replied Pompeia viciously. 'The augur swore it.' Despite the magnitude of the situation, vitriol still filled her.

Knowing the remark could well be true, rage overwhelmed Fabiola. Without even thinking, her dagger whipped up and pricked the redhead's throat. It was very gratifying to see terror in Pompeia's eyes. Yet Fabiola was still loath to kill her. She breathed deeply, calming herself. There had to be another way.

Pompeia sensed a chance. 'Kill me and you'll be executed,' she spat. 'You know what Jovina's like.'

She did not realise it, but the comment was her death sentence.

The account of a prostitute who had tried to murder the old madam years before was well known. First she had been tortured with hot irons, and then blinded. Finally, the unfortunate woman had been crucified on the Campus Martius while everyone in the Lupanar had been forced to watch. The story kept all the slaves in line. Almost all.

Fabiola knew now that there was no other way. Pompeia was so twisted with malice that she could never be trusted. The whole plan would have to be followed. Looking down at the mangled snake 's head, she hardened her heart. There would have been no mercy for her.

'Fool,' Fabiola announced quietly. 'Jovina thinks I am in bed with an upset stomach.'

Pompeia's mouth opened and closed.

'And Vettius did his best to fight off the collegia thugs, but there 's only so much one man can do against eight others.'

Panic-stricken, the redhead's eyes turned to the doorman.

Drawing the gladius, Vettius shrugged eloquently, drawing its edge along his left forearm. Blood welled from the long cut and he smiled at the pain. 'The madam will need evidence that I was attacked,' he said mildly. 'I'll walk into a couple of pillars on the way back just to make sure.'

Realising that her fate was sealed, Pompeia screamed. It was a futile gesture. There was no chance that anyone would come to her aid. Few citizens were brave enough to intervene in street disputes, let alone venture into tiny alleys. She moved uncertainly a few steps forward, and then back.

There was no escape.

Vettius was blocking one end of the alleyway; Fabiola stood at the other. Both had set, determined stares.

The redhead opened her mouth to cry out again. It was the last thing she did.

Darting in, Fabiola slashed Pompeia's throat wide open with her dagger. She stepped back quickly as blood poured from the gaping wound. With a startled expression distorting her pale features, Pompeia slumped silently to the dirt and rolled to lie face down between Fabiola and the huge doorman. Red liquid pooled around her.

'My brother is alive.' Clinging to that hope, Fabiola spat on the corpse. This is how Romulus must have felt in the arena, she thought. Kill or be killed. It was as simple as that.

Vettius was filled with awe. He had always known that Fabiola was clever and beautiful, but here was graphic evidence of her ruthlessness. She was not just a helpless woman who needed his protection. Here was someone to follow: someone to lead him. He was brought back to reality by Fabiola's voice.

'Let me bind that before you lose too much blood.' Producing a piece of cloth, Fabiola wound it tightly around Vettius' arm.

He smiled his thanks as she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. There was an unspoken bond between them now.

'Wait here for a while. I need time to get back without being noticed.'

Vettius nodded.

'Make plenty of noise when you get inside,' ordered Fabiola. 'I'll be able to get up from my sickbed, hear you tell Jovina what happened to poor Pompeia.'

'Yes, Mistress.'

It was only later that Fabiola remembered how the doorman had addressed her.

He was her follower now, rather than Jovina's.

There had been little that Jovina could say when Vettius staggered into the brothel, covered in blood. His story had been most compelling and, wary of more trouble, the madam immediately banned all the prostitutes from leaving until further notice.

Fabiola's satisfaction at ridding herself of Pompeia and her threats did not last for long. The redhead's barbed comment about Romulus being dead had sunk deeper than she had realised and worry began to consume Fabiola day and night. Her prayers to Jupiter grew even more fervent. Thus far, the news from the east had been quite encouraging: the city was full of tales about minor skirmishes and the riches extorted from cities that Crassus' army had passed. Fabiola tried to use this to calm her fears for Romulus. With no large battles taking place, the risk of many men being killed was surely low. But everyone in Rome knew that Crassus would not rest with mere intimidation. He was bent on one thing: military success.

And it was common knowledge that his target was Parthia.

Fabiola felt sick when she thought about it.

Things got even worse when word reached Rome of the crushing defeat at Carrhae. Longinus had led the Eighth across the Euphrates to safety, his rank senior enough to mean that his account could be relied upon. Publius and twenty thousand soldiers had been slain, ten thousand taken prisoner and seven eagles lost. Adding insult to injury, Crassus was now a helpless captive in Seleucia. The triumvirate had been reduced to two.

While the news would have pleased Pompey and Caesar, it was devastating for Fabiola. Romulus was surely among the dead. Even if he wasn't, she would never see him again, lost to the savage east. Since entering the Lupanar, she had hidden all emotion from everyone, but the awful certainty of her brother's fate broke something inside Fabiola.

For weeks she managed to conceal the sadness from everyone, even Brutus. She laughed and smiled, entertaining clients with her customary panache while the grief inside her knew no bounds. Rather than diminishing as time passed, it grew: a deep inconsolable gloom. Their mother was long dead, a nameless victim of the salt mines, and now Romulus had joined her. It became harder and harder for Fabiola to remain composed. The clever young woman was losing the will to carry on.