In these plush premises, replete with fountains, Greek statues and urns, she also presented the parchment which Brutus had gifted her. It granted up to 175,000 denarii in credit. The teller's eyes nearly fell out of his head when he read the amount. This fortune, to a woman? Of course, he dared say nothing, instead checking with a superior that Brutus' seal was genuine before silently composing the document which the confident young beauty demanded.

When it was finished, Fabiola scanned the close-written text herself. It was made out to Jovina for seventy-five thousand denarii – half the money she'd agreed to pay the old hag. Even this was an absolute fortune, a sum which only a few years ago she would not have been able to comprehend. Yet it was only part of the money which Brutus had freely given her. He'd offered even more, but, keen to show him that she was not greedy, Fabiola had refused. There was plenty here for her to buy the services of gladiators, street toughs, members of the collegia – whoever Benignus and Vettius could round up to defend the Lupanar.

'I need cash as well,' she said to the clerk.

'How much, madam?' he asked.

'Twenty thousand denarii should do it,' Fabiola replied, thinking trips here were probably best left to a minimum. The sturdy legionaries outside wouldn't always be present, and it was a long journey back to the Lupanar. She might not be able to make it too often. 'Give me half of it in sestertii.'

The teller blinked. In this respectable establishment, it was more usual for customers to use credit notes like the one he'd just written. 'If madam doesn't mind waiting,' he said. 'It will take a few moments to count out such a large amount.'

'I'll be back for it in an hour,' Fabiola answered. Being so close to Jupiter's temple on the Capitoline Hill, a quick visit was called for. She needed help more than ever, and Rome's greatest god had helped her on many occasions before. So too had Mithras. After her bad fortune with Orcus, perhaps she could renew her loyalties to these two deities.

Fabiola had no idea whether the requests that she had made of the god of the underworld were void because of what had happened. She had little stomach to return to his shrine and find out either. It was hard not to believe that her visit there had been a big mistake. Stop it, Fabiola chided herself. You met Sabina there. Docilosa will be so pleased when she finds out. Her conscience bit back at once. Sextus is dead, and it's your fault.

To that, Fabiola had no answer. The next two days passed in a blur of activity, and Docilosa's fever raged on, obviating the need to tell her about her daughter. Keen to avoid possible trouble from Sabina, Fabiola made sure to send an explanatory note to Orcus' temple. Hopefully that would suffice. Despite the expense, Sextus was buried in a small plot on the Via Appia, and a carved stone tablet placed at the head of his grave. It read simply: 'Sextus: brave heart and faithful slave'. Fabiola did not attend the burial; she had too much on her plate. Scaevola was still lying low to avoid the lictores, but who knew how long that would last? She had to maximise the breathing space this granted her. Fabiola tried to bury her intense guilt about missing Sextus' funeral under the myriad of things she had to do. It didn't work.

She'd quickly realised that it wasn't just the competition that had dragged down the brothel's business. The place was run down and shabby, with cracks in the plaster and damp running down the walls in many rooms. The worn, dirty bedclothes were in need of replacing, the floors were covered in dust, and Fabiola's stomach turned when she saw the heated baths. Previously it had been her favourite room. Now mould was growing in the tiny cracks between the tiles, and the green-tinged water obviously hadn't been changed in months. Even the remaining girls didn't look attractive. Old, worn out, diseased or simply uncaring of their appearance, they had barely registered Fabiola's arrival until Benignus had announced who she was. After a brief pep talk in which she told them exactly how things were going to change, Fabiola left them to absorb her orders. Half of them would be sold as kitchen slaves. The remaining prostitutes would improve their act or the same would happen to them. It was tough, but Fabiola could see no other way to do it. There was no point worrying about the parlous state of the brothel either. The best thing to do was close it down for a week and refurbish it from top to bottom. Then, after recruiting some heavies, she would need a coterie of the best-looking women available in the slave market.

When Fabiola finished her initial tour she understood why Jovina had been so delighted at her reappearance with half the money. 'It just needs a lick of paint,' the old madam simpered as they went into her old office, which was just off the reception area. It was a large room with a desk, several battered chairs and an altar covered in candle stumps. In one corner sat the repository for the brothel's takings, a large iron-clad trunk with several padlocks.

'The place has gone to rack and ruin,' Fabiola replied drily.

'I haven't been well,' Jovina muttered, clutching her copy of the bill of sale tightly. 'Things got on top of me.'

'I can see that. You can cope with getting it cleaned, I presume?'

'Of course.' Jovina smiled, revealing her few remaining pegs.

'The girls won't have anything to do while the brothel is closed, so they can all pitch in. The domestic slaves too. I want it finished by tonight, because the builders will be arriving at dawn,' announced Fabiola, her face lighting up as she pictured the Lupanar restored to its former glory. 'Is that clear?'

Jovina didn't argue. Part of her was glad to see new blood in charge. 'It is,' she said, a grudging respect creeping into her voice.

I don't deserve that yet, thought Fabiola. Maybe when the customers return – if Scaevola hasn't burned the building down around our ears by then. But she wasn't going to let her worries ruin everything. She smiled at Jovina, pleased that someone who had ruled her life for years was acknowledging her ability. 'Good. Benignus!'

He came running from his position by the door. A broad grin had been permanently plastered on both the doormen's faces since Fabiola's arrival. She looked after them as Jovina never had. 'Mistress?'

Lifting a small leather pouch from the desk, Fabiola tossed it to him.

Surprised by its weight, his eyebrows rose.

'Find me men who can fight. Try the ludi. Go to the slave market too. If you have no luck there, then round up some citizens,' she ordered. 'Tough-looking ones.'

Benignus was delighted. 'How many?'

'At least a dozen, but more if you can find them. Big, small, old, young – I don't care. Just make sure that they can handle themselves. They are to live here and defend the Lupanar from that vile piece of work Scaevola. Offer them fifteen denarii a month.' Fabiola's jaw hardened. 'For that kind of money, I expect them to fight. And die, if necessary.'

Lifting his club in anticipation of bloodshed, Benignus nodded eagerly.

'You and Vettius will be in charge,' she went on. 'Feel free to knock heads together whenever you want. Make sure that they know not to touch any of the girls. Warn them that the first one who does will be killed.'

Benignus was beaming from ear to ear now. This was what he and his comrade had been wishing for.

'Off you go,' said Fabiola. 'It might take a while.'

Bobbing his head, the shaven-headed doorman hurried out of the door.

Fabiola followed him, tailed by Jovina, her new shadow. She was keen to decide how the reception area could be improved. Apart from the bedrooms where the prostitutes entertained the customers, this was the most important room in the building, the one which gave a good or bad first impression. Making it look elegant and classy once more would be an important part of the Lupanar's facelift.