The Forgotten Legion - Kane Ben - Страница 47

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Despite its impressive range of clients, nothing had explained why his divinations kept revealing that the Lupanar was important. Every few days, Tarquinius sacrificed a hen at the temple of Jupiter on the Capitoline Hill. And each time the reading was the same: the brothel was crucial to his past. And his future. The Etruscan could see that Rufus Caelius, his former master, had something to do with it. Logically that meant that the redhead would turn up at the Lupanar sooner or later. What he could not interpret was why an expensive whorehouse should impact on his future once he had taken revenge on Caelius.

Unless it had something to do with Fabiola.

'Got any female customers?'

Running a finger across his thick lips, the moneylender eyed Tarquinius speculatively. 'Maybe,' he replied. Short, fat and arrogant, the Greek was obviously amused at the question. 'Anyone in particular?'

'A girl by the name of Fabiola,' the haruspex answered. 'Black-haired. Slim. Very pretty.'

There was another smirk and the Greek leaned back on his stool, glancing at his two bodyguards, a pair of heavily muscled ex-gladiators. 'Do we know anyone like that?'

'I'd remember one like her,' one answered, making an obscene gesture.

The second sniggered.

Tarquinius had been expecting this. 'A man might pay well for such information,' he said quietly.

The Greek's eyes narrowed and he gazed at the haruspex, trying to gauge his reasons for asking. And the depth of his purse.

Around them rose the clamour of business as another day went by for the inhabitants of the huge covered markets in the Forum. Few gave Tarquinius a second glance; just another citizen down on his luck and in need of a loan.

The Etruscan waited. Silence was a powerful weapon.

The moneylender made his play. 'A hundred sestertii might jog my memory.'

Tarquinius laughed and turned to go.

'Wait!' He had overestimated. 'Fifty.'

Twelve denarii dropped on to the low table between them. It was two sestertii less than he had demanded, but the Greek wasn't about to quibble.

The silver coins were swept from sight. 'She 's a whore,' he sneered.

'Belongs to that old bitch who runs the Lupanar. Know it?'

Tarquinius nodded. 'What else?'

'Comes here once a month to deposit her tips. Brings along a brainless fool like this pair.' He jerked his head contemptuously at the men behind him.

The two fighters shuffled their feet angrily but did not dare speak. Work like theirs was well paid and hard to come by.

'Ever mention family?' asked the haruspex. 'Friends?'

The Greek's lip curled. 'She 's a fucking slave. Who cares?'

Tarquinius leaned in close, his eyes boring into the other's. 'I do.'

The moneylender felt his palms grow sweaty.

'Well?'

The Greek swallowed hard. His men could easily get rid of this troublesome stranger. Break a few bones if he ordered them to. But for reasons he could not explain, it felt like a bad idea.

'She mentioned something once about saving to buy her brother's freedom,' the moneylender admitted grudgingly. 'He got sold to the Ludus Magnus.'

Tarquinius had heard of the largest gladiator school in Rome. He smiled. The link with the Lupanar was not a false trail after all.

Fabiola's brother was a gladiator.

He gave the three men a long, hard stare and was gone.

The Greek threw a muttered curse after the haruspex, and shoved the incident from his mind. He had no wish to remember the brief encounter. There had been a glimpse of Hades in the stranger's eyes.

Tarquinius strode away, his spirits soaring as he remembered Olenus' words. Everything was starting to make sense.

Two gladiators become your friends.

The gods continued to smile on Tarquinius.

A day later, dusk was falling and Secundus was preparing to go in search of some food. Most evenings he would spend his takings on a chunk of roast pork and a few cups of vinegary wine in one of the rough taverns which dotted the city's streets.

'Come with me,' he urged, tapping the only memento of his army career: a bronze phalera that always hung from his tunic. 'Still haven't told you the full story of how I won this.'

Tarquinius smiled. The warm breeze was telling him to stay put. 'Where are you going?' he asked.

'The fleapit on the corner one street over. You know the one.' Secundus scowled. 'As long as there aren't too many collegia thugs throwing their weight around. Otherwise it'll be the place beside the Forum Olitorium.'

'Keep a seat for me,' the Etruscan said. 'I won't be long.'

The one-armed veteran knew better than to ask why his friend wanted to linger outside the Lupanar. All his tactful enquiries had been met with complete silence. And since the blond trader was still paying him ten sestertii a day, Secundus had long since decided that prudence, rather than curiosity, was called for. He nodded, expertly rolling up his blanket with one hand. 'See you later.'

The ex-soldier was quickly gone into the falling light, a hand gripping the sheathed knife that was slung from a strap over his left shoulder. Already the streets were emptying of decent folk, to be replaced by the unsavoury types who favoured the hours of darkness.

Tarquinius was not scared of being on his own. And the local lowlife knew better than to tackle the slightly built stranger. When four of them had jumped him a week previously, there had been a flurry of blows so rapid that afterwards neither of the survivors could explain it. One thug had gone down instantly, blood bubbling from a gaping slash in his throat. While his companions gaped in dismay, the haruspex had opened another's chest with his gladius. Then a third had sustained a nasty wound to his left thigh, leaving only one man to escape unscathed. Tarquinius had not even suffered a scratch and now thieves gave him a wide berth when they met him on the street.

The Etruscan leaned back against the wall, pulling closer his lacerna, a lightweight open-sided cloak with a hood. He loosened his gladius in its scabbard, keeping it close to his right hand. His waiting was nearly over. Tarquinius could feel it.

It was not long before the flicker of torches could be made out through the gloom, followed closely by the noise of drunken voices. Preceded by large slaves armed with clubs and knives, five toga-clad nobles weaved unsteadily towards the Lupanar. It was a common sight. After a day spent in the stuffy atmosphere of the Senate, politicians liked to relax with some wine. And after that, a whore.

Tarquinius pulled up his hood. This was not just another group of senators – Olenus' murderer was amongst them. Old, unfulfilled rage bubbled up from deep inside but the haruspex breathed deeply, keeping himself calm. Now was not the time to lose control. He glanced up occasionally as the party neared his position. The poor light meant that he would not be able to recognise anyone until they were virtually on top of him.

'Come on, you drunkards!' cried one of the nobles. 'I've been wanting to get here all day.'

'This place better be worth it,' growled another.

Recognising the voice, Tarquinius stiffened. Lifting his head carefully, he peered at the figures now only a few feet away. But none of the equestrians was facing in his direction: they were staring lustfully in through the open door of the Lupanar.

'Take a look, Caelius,' said the nearest. 'You won't be disappointed.'

The Etruscan watched as a stocky man, his greying hair still tinged with red, shoved forward to take in the prostitutes who were visible in the brothel's reception area. It was Caelius. Older and slightly fuller at the waist, but the same bastard who had changed the haruspex' life for ever fifteen years before. An involuntary sigh escaped Tarquinius' lips.

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