At last the centurions at the back ordered the soldiers there to turn about and face the enemy. If only we had some of the long spears which the Forgotten Legion used, thought Romulus. Those weapons had been able to stop any cavalry. Instead they had just their scuta, swords and a pair of javelins each. In less than twenty heartbeats, the chariots would hit their lines. Then they would be hit from the rear by hundreds of cavalry, before the enemy foot soldiers finished the job. Romulus spat on the ground. He hoped that their deaths bought enough time for Caesar and the other legions to emerge fully prepared.

Less than a hundred paces remained between the tightly packed chariots and the Roman front ranks. They left nowhere to go. It was a case of being run down by fast-moving armoured horses, or cut apart by the blades they pulled. The grinning charioteers knew it too, and urged their teams to greater speeds.

'Ready pila!' bellowed the centurions. The fearful soldiers obeyed, cocking back their right arms and preparing to release.

Now the legionaries could see the steeds' nostrils flaring with effort, their heads bobbing up and down. Their hooves pounded on the hard ground, and their harness jingled. Romulus fancied he could almost hear the scythed blades whirr as they spun round on the wheels.

Fifty paces until they struck. Time began to move in a blur. A wheel on one chariot struck a rock, sending it up at a crazy angle and throwing its driver free. It overturned, dragging its horses into those of another team. Both chariots careered crazily to a halt and a hoarse cheer went up from the legionaries. But the rest were still closing in fast. Behind Romulus, a man cursed their bad luck, Caesar and all the gods. Another began to wail with fear. Anxious to release his javelin, Petronius shifted from foot to foot beside Romulus.

Twenty-five paces, thought Romulus. He could clearly see the stubble on the face of the charioteer heading for them. Good killing distance for their pila, and their only chance to make some dent in the enemy numbers. He looked to the centurion, whose mouth was opening to give the order. Before he could give it, a piece of lead took the officer in the centre of the forehead. Released by a slinger as a parting shot, it was as clean a kill as Romulus had ever seen. The crack with which the small piece of metal struck left no doubt as to its lethality. The centurion dropped soundlessly, without giving the order to release.

Romulus' head spun frantically, searching for the optio, but he was at the rear with the tesserarius, ensuring that no one tried to flee.

All around them, the other centuries were throwing their javelins. Tall as a man, their long wooden shafts were topped by a pyramidal iron tip which could punch through shields and armour to kill. In graceful clouds, they climbed into the air, falling among the charioteers in a shower of lethal points. Many enemy warriors were struck down, losing control of their teams of horses, which panicked and collided with one another. The three which would reach Romulus and his comrades were unaffected, though, and the charioteers grinned with satisfaction.

Behind them ran thousands of peltasts and infantry.

Of Caesar there was no sign.

Chapter IV: The Temple of Orcus

The Lupanar, Rome Jovina did not hear what Scaevola said to Fabiola. Sensing an opportunity, though, the madam darted forward to her side. 'This is the new owner,' she declared with a flash of real malice. 'We're to sign the deal later today.'

Old bitch, thought Fabiola in alarm. She had already made up her mind to sell.

Scaevola's eyebrows rose sharply. 'It's this whore I should be talking to then, eh?'

Confusion mixed with the triumph on Jovina's face. 'You know Fabiola?'

'Let's say that we have a certain amount of… shared history.' He sniggered. 'Don't we, gorgeous?'

His men leered, all unshaven jaws, rotten teeth and broken noses.

Jovina took the opportunity to fade into the background.

Fabiola's cheeks flushed with impotent rage while Sextus and Vettius bristled in front of her. Laying restraining hands on their arms, she considered her options. It was six to two, or six to three if she threw herself into the fray as well. The odds were not insurmountable, but it didn't feel like the right time to have it out with Scaevola. She had bigger fish to fry than this malevolent bastard, which was also the reason she wouldn't walk away.

Fabiola found the fugitivarius studying her face for signs of fear.

She would give him nothing. Go on the offensive, Fabiola thought. Get him on the back foot. 'You piece of filth,' she hissed. 'Get off my property. Now.'

Scaevola didn't move a step. 'Don't have forty slaves backing you up now, eh?' he chuckled. 'Jovina's not telling stories then. Good. Ruining your whorehouse instead of hers will be even more satisfying.'

'We'll see about that,' Fabiola replied boldly, ignoring her pounding heart. She remembered Scaevola's previous leanings, one of the reasons he had pursued her so hard. 'Proven followers of Pompey are liable to be executed.'

'Pompey?' The fugitivarius looked shocked. 'I'm no supporter of his.' Smiling at Fabiola's surprise, he winked. 'In fact, me and my lads do some work for the Master of the Horse. Discreet stuff, you understand.'

Fabiola's hopes sank. An expert at deception, of course Scaevola would have changed sides. She could imagine what type of jobs Marcus Antonius had him doing. Murdering innocent men in alleyways sprang to mind.

'I've thought about you plenty since we last met,' said Scaevola, licking his lips. 'Asking the gods that our paths might cross one day. Now my prayers have been answered! I'm going to enjoy hearing you scream.' He rubbed at his crotch and his men laughed.

Fabiola felt sick, and her courage frayed. Nearly being raped by the fugitivarius was one of her most terrible memories.

The provocation got to Sextus at last, and he pulled out his sword. Vettius raised his club in support, but their actions were mimicked at once by Scaevola's five men. With a sudden burst of energy, Jovina darted to safety, peering around the corner of the hallway like a wizened, frightened child.

'Wait,' Fabiola ordered her men. 'Not yet.' Help me Mithras, she thought. What can we do?

The two sides glared at each other, the room seeming much smaller with so many drawn weapons. It was an impasse. Positioned by the doorway, Vettius and Sextus were preventing the fugitivarius and his thugs from leaving, but attacking them would result in fatalities on both sides.

Scaevola grinned. 'We can wait here all day. Or would you rather fight now?'

'Vettius? I'm coming in.'

Fabiola had never been so glad to hear Benignus' voice in her life.

Ducking his head to enter, Benignus eased his bulk through the arched entrance. His eyes narrowed, and he immediately moved to stand beside Sextus and Vettius. In one hand he gripped a metal-studded club like Vettius', in the other a broad-bladed dagger. Fabiola felt a surge of relief. The two doormen dwarfed their opponents, and despite his disability, Sextus was a skilled fighter.

'We can take them if we have to,' Fabiola muttered. Scaevola and his heavies looked much less confident now. At least half of them would die if a fight started, an outcome which only a fool would look forward to. 'Give the dogs a chance to leave and they will. Make towards Jovina, but stay together.'

Fabiola's men obeyed, keeping her safely to their rear as they moved around the side of the room. The others' instinctive response was to shuffle nearer the door. The manoeuvres took place in silence, yet the atmosphere could be cut with a knife.

Scaevola muttered an order and his gang retreated outside. He waited until they were gone, showing Fabiola that he was not scared to face her followers alone. 'We'll resume this matter later,' he purred, making the mocking bow that she hated. Bellowing at his men to hurry, the fugitivarius was gone.