Ten steps away, one of the guards glanced uninterestedly at the trio. Then he frowned. Something wasn't right here. His gaze turned back and at once his mouth opened to shout an alarm. Before he could, Paullus' first spear took him in the chest. Without a word, the Numidian toppled backwards off his horse. Another looked around in surprise. In a heartbeat, he'd noticed the wooden shaft sticking from his comrade's chest and the trio of ragged-looking men just in front of him. A loud cry left his lips and he prepared to throw his javelin.

'Quickly!' cried Sabinus.

Things started to happen very fast.

Romulus threw his first spear just as one of Petreius' officers unintentionally moved his horse forward a step. The weapon flew through the air, punching into the Numidian's belly with a gentle soughing sound. With a loud scream of pain, the man fell sideways to the ground. Petreius looked around, and realised what was going on. His face twisted with fear and rage, and he pulled his horse's head around to ride away. Romulus spat a curse. The Pompeian general knew that his life was worth more than staying to fight these assassins.

As he prepared to throw his second shaft, Paullus gave a surprised cough. Romulus looked around in horror to see a javelin protruding from the right side of the thickset legionary's chest. With no mail to stop it, the shaft had slid past his ribs to puncture the lung. It was a death wound. As if to confirm this, a stream of bloody bubbles was already leaking from Paullus' lips.

Yet he still had the strength to point urgently at Petreius before he collapsed.

Romulus spun back. Petreius was riding away, taking two guards with him. A moving target, with men milling around between Romulus and it. He had to take a shot, though, or the whole mission would be a failure. Paullus would have died for nothing. Romulus took a deep breath and lobbed the spear up in a curving arc, over the officers and guards. Swift as an arrow, it turned and came back down, striking Petreius in the left shoulder. The impact threw him sideways in the saddle, but he did not fall. Immediately one of his men rode in alongside to lend him support and together they cantered off.

Romulus' spirits plunged. He'd failed. Petreius wouldn't die from an injury like that.

A sword swept through the air, held by a Numidian officer. 'Roman scum!'

Romulus ducked, narrowly missing losing his head. Moving back a step, he pulled his gladius from its scabbard. He parried the next blow, and the next, but his opponent was on horseback, which made defending himself much harder. The next time the Numidian slashed at him, Romulus took a different tack, darting round the other side of his mount to plunge his sword into the man's thigh. There was a muffled cry as the officer went down.

Romulus looked around. All he could see was snarling faces pressing in from all sides.

Where was Sabinus?

Chapter XVII: Homecoming

At the junction, Tarquinius stopped. The northern Italian countryside had been growing more familiar since before dawn, but he knew this spot better than anywhere in the world. It was where, twenty-four years before, he had looked back one last time towards the latifundium he'd called home. It felt very strange to be standing here once more. How much had he seen and done since then? Suddenly Tarquinius felt old, and tired.

He was relieved a moment later to feel an unusual surge of happiness. He had had many good times in the area. His parents had farmed not ten miles away. High on the cloud-covered mountain above, he'd learned the skills of haruspicy from Olenus. The ruins of Falerii, an ancient Etruscan city, also lay nearby. Tarquinius had been drawn back by vivid memories of it, and a desire to visit the peak – the same which dominated the landscape for miles around – one more time. Perhaps in the sacred cave where he had completed his training the gods would reveal their purpose to him at last. Fabiola seemed to be safe with Antonius, and certainly wasn't scared of the priestess of Orcus. There was no sign of Romulus either. Given that he was still seeing storm clouds over the capital, the haruspex had decided to act on his impulse.

After a week's journey, here he was.

Lake Vadimon sat on one side of the road, and the low walls of an estate ran along the other. Through the empty fields and olive groves Tarquinius could make out the shape of a large villa. Behind it were the wretched slave quarters and the marginally better buildings which housed indentured workers. Although he had long reconciled himself to the inevitability of time, the haruspex couldn't help wondering if his father and mother might still live there. It was a comforting thought, but he knew it for a wishful fantasy. At the rate Sergius, his father, had been drinking, Tarquinius doubted he would have survived long after he'd left. Thanks to a lifetime of heavy labour, Fulvia, his mother, had been a virtual cripple. Almost certainly the pair lay in the unmarked graveyard situated on some rocky ground not far from the estate buildings. As pure-bred Etruscans, they would have preferred to have been interred in the streets of tombs outside the ruins of Falerii, but Tarquinius doubted anyone would have shown them that honour. Besides, few locals were prepared to climb the mountain and risk the evil spirits which were reputed to live there.

The haruspex had decided to disinter their bones and carry them up to the city of the dead himself – if he could find their graves. That necessitated approaching the villa and making some enquiries. Tarquinius knew that Rufus Caelius was dead – he could remember the exact moment that his knife slipped into the noble's chest – but a spasm of old anxiety still struck him as he took the road that led to the estate's entrance. As a young man, he'd been wary of the brutal redhead. Rightfully so, as it turned out. There was some justice in the world, though, the haruspex reflected. While Caelius might have been responsible for Olenus' death, the money he'd earned from his treachery had not saved him from losing his latifundium. Or his life. As ever, Tarquinius' guilt over Romulus being blamed for the killing was his first feeling, but he still felt a dark satisfaction over the deed. Because of it, he, Romulus and Brennus had all become comrades. Acknowledging his sentiment as selfish, the haruspex could console himself with the fact that his visions at that time had been accurate, which meant that the gods had laid out their paths. Therefore, and despite what Romulus might think, murdering Caelius had been the right thing to do.

That didn't stop Tarquinius' heart aching at the memory of the shock on Romulus' face as he'd told him.

According to neighbouring farmers and the fat proprietor of a hostelry five miles back down the road, Caelius' estate was now owned by a retired soldier, a centurion who'd served with Caesar in Gaul. 'A pleasant enough type,' the ruddy-cheeked innkeeper had muttered over a cup of wine bought by Tarquinius. 'All he wants to do is reminisce about the army. If you can listen to him drone on about that, he'll probably offer you a meal and a bed for the night.'

Tarquinius' lips twitched at the idea of enjoying the luxury of Caelius' former home while the man himself rotted in Hades. Fabiola shifted irritably under her bed covers. Several goblets of wine and a dose of valerian had made little difference to her agitated mental state. She'd pulled the heavy curtains on the windows fully closed and doused all the oil lamps, but sleep still evaded her. The reason for her restlessness was simple. Weeks before, Antonius had begun visiting the Lupanar whenever he pleased. He was no longer prepared to be discreet. Naturally, all Fabiola's pleasure in their coupling had vanished since the night of Docilosa's murder, yet she was too scared to do anything. The unspoken threat of Scaevola always hung in the air when Antonius was around. Regrettably, that wasn't the worst of it. Although Fabiola's slaves were under pain of death to speak to no one, news of her involvement with the arrogant Master of the Horse was commonplace in the city. Brutus must have heard the rumours by this stage. Why hadn't he confronted her? Fabiola's anxiety had been growing by the day. Now it was virtually all she could think about – a permanent knot of tension in her belly.