The inebriated merchants made their selection quickly and were led off to various bedrooms. Again Fabiola moved towards the corridor, but a pair of wide-eyed figures in working men's tunics were next through the entrance. She wondered why Benignus had let them in until she saw the money clutched in their fists. Ordinary citizens, they had won a small fortune at the day's games by making an outside bet on an ageing retiarius, the underdog in a gladiator duel. As they told Fabiola, it was a gamble which had paid off richly when the favourite, a murmillo from Apulia, slipped on a patch of bloody sand, allowing the fisherman to stab him in the belly with his trident and end the fight at a stroke. Unhappy at the unexpected result, the bookmaker tried to renege on the wager, but the angry crowd had swarmed in around the two friends and forced him to pay up. Now they were here in the Lupanar to spend their winnings.

Caesar's games were certainly helping business, thought Fabiola as she watched the goggle-eyed pair disappear with their choice of girls. Maybe she should have gone to see them for herself?

No. Fabiola's reaction was instant. Her pretence to Brutus that morning had not been entirely selfish. Her gorge rose at the thought of seeing men die for little more than the crowd's pleasure. She would never be able to watch such spectacles without seeing Romulus on the circle of sand. Just imagining her brother made her heart ache. Where was he? How she wished to see him again! Although they'd both grown into adults since their last meeting, Fabiola had no doubt that they would get on famously. Twins, they'd been inseparable as children. What could be different now? Their bond was unbreakable. Feeling happier, Fabiola thought of Docilosa. Shame filled her. Her servant was almost as close as family. It was time to kiss and make up.

Ordering Jovina to cover the reception, Fabiola went in search of Docilosa. Outside, Tarquinius was considering how much longer he would wait before calling it a day. Little of interest had happened since Antonius' hurried departure and brief conversation with his fellow noble. He noted the middle-aged woman from the checkpoint enter the brothel, and marked her down for a servant or slave. She was too old and plain to be a prostitute in a place like the Lupanar, that was for sure. Tarquinius was surprised to feel a surge of energy as the woman disappeared through the arched doorway. The insight he got was so brief that he almost missed it. An old sadness had recently been washed away, to be replaced by a deep joy. Anger was also present, a resentment at someone who had ideas above her station. Irritated, Tarquinius did not try to see more. The emotions of a servant were not what he wanted to know about.

Still, it was a start.

He scanned the patch of sky that was visible in the narrow gap between the buildings for a clue. It had a typical autumn appearance: heavy cloud cover, with the promise of rain before nightfall. Little else. The haruspex looked away, and a gust of chill wind swept down, carrying with it the threat of bloodshed. Tarquinius stiffened; fingers of fear clutched at him. He focused his thoughts, trying to understand. A moment later, he felt certain. Danger was in the air. Here. Was this the threat he'd seen so many times?

At once the haruspex' fingers fumbled under his cloak to the hilt of his gladius. He'd left the great two-headed axe in the veterans' house. It was guaranteed to attract unwanted attention. Thankfully, the solid feel of the sword calmed his racing heart. Tarquinius glanced up and down the darkening street, seeing nothing of concern. Somewhat reassured, he sat back, wondering if anything was about to happen. Did he need to worry about Fabiola's safety? It was a shock to realise how important it already felt to watch over her.

Half an hour passed, and darkness fell. The brothel's doormen retreated to the arcs of light cast by the torches on either side of the front door. Tarquinius began to wonder if he'd been imagining the threat. He was growing stiff and cold, and his belly was grumbling. Yet experience had taught him not to rush things, so he gritted his teeth and stayed put.

Some time later, the tramp of feet on the rutted ground drew Tarquinius' attention. Waking himself from a half-doze, he sat up. Illuminated by their torches, a large party was approaching the brothel from the other end of the street. The time of day made the number of guards unremarkable. Unless they were mad, anyone who ventured out after dark travelled like this. What did surprise Tarquinius as the group drew nearer was the fact that they were gladiators. He saw Thracians, murmillones and secutores, as well as a number of archers. Usually only a lanista used men like that as protection.

Was this more than a visit in search of carnal pleasure?

Tarquinius leaned forward, all his senses on high alert.

The heavily armed party came to a halt by the entrance. Looking uneasily at each other, the Lupanar's doormen gripped their weapons. Sniggers of contempt rose from the gladiators, and a short, grizzled figure in a wool cloak pushed his way to the front. 'Is this the way you greet all your customers?' he demanded.

An enormous slave with a wooden club shuffled forward. 'My apologies, sir. We're having some trouble at the moment. Got to be prepared at all times.'

The lanista sniffed. 'Something to do with that rabble at the crossroads, no doubt. The bastards didn't want to let us through until I had my archers draw a bead on them. Then they opened up quicker than a whore's legs!'

His men laughed dutifully.

So he's not allied to that lot, thought Tarquinius with relief.

'No one stops the lanista of the Ludus Magnus from going where he pleases,' Memor declared. 'Tonight, I want the best-looking whore in the Lupanar.'

With a respectful bow, the big slave indicated that Memor should enter.

'This visit is well overdue,' declared the lanista, swaggering inside. 'My balls are bursting.'

More forced laughter from his gladiators.

An afterthought struck Memor, and he looked around. 'Piss off back to the ludus,' he ordered. 'Come back tomorrow morning. I might have finished by then.'

With relieved looks, his fighters did as they were told.

On the other side of the street, excitement and dread filled Tarquinius. Romulus had fought for the Ludus Magnus, which made Memor his former owner. Had the lanista any idea who Fabiola was? Was that the real purpose of his visit? Of course not, he told himself. Memor will have forgotten Romulus long ago. He probably doesn't even know that Fabiola's running the place.

Still gripped by uncertainty, Tarquinius prayed. Guide me, great Mithras. Should I go inside? In the night sky above, the stars were almost completely obscured. The glimpses he was granted through momentary breaks in the clouds were far too short to ascertain anything. The presence of danger which had been so strong was gone. Tarquinius felt the gods were mocking him, and forced himself to relax. Yet he also felt compelled to stay where he was. Docilosa wasn't in the baths or the kitchen. Fabiola found her in the courtyard at the back of the brothel, washing bedclothes. Hardly a task to fulfil by torchlight; her servant was obviously avoiding her. They had time to exchange frosty looks before Catus, the main cook, distracted Fabiola with a query about the amount of food and drink that the extra doormen were going through. Leading her to the storerooms off the kitchen, he pointed in outrage at the empty shelves. 'I'm using over a modius of grain a day making bread, Mistress,' he whinged. 'Then there's the cheese and vegetables. And the wine! Even watered down, the dogs are finishing an amphora every few days.'

Catus' list of complaints was long, but Fabiola had been putting off talking to him about it for some time. The balding slave was a hard worker, so she stood and listened, deciding what was to be done about each and directing him accordingly. While this was happening, she was aware of Docilosa creeping past her into the corridor that led to the front of the brothel. Damn it, she's acting like a child, thought Fabiola. As I was earlier. That's not like her. I wonder if Sabina's planting ideas in her mind? It was hard to concentrate. Warming to his theme now, Catus was droning on about the price of vegetables in the Forum Olitorium compared to what local farmers charged if bought from directly. 'I tell you, it's a complete rip-off,' he moaned. 'The price in the Forum is three or even four times what the stuff costs wholesale.'