Caesar's soldiers and supporters had not been forgotten either. At last his veterans were receiving the plots of land that they had been promised for so long. His tribunes and centurions were particularly well looked after. Nothing made a general more popular than these two gestures, as Caesar knew well. Pompey's enormous popularity with his legions had been in no small part due to his generous retirement settlements for his old soldiers. While Romulus and his comrades in the honour guard had not all served for the minimum period required to earn an allocation of land, Caesar still chose to include them with those who had. Furthermore, he'd granted them properties in Italy, naturally the most sought-after location.
Romulus was now the owner of a small farm near Capua, and he'd made a number of visits to it, each time calling in on Sabinus. Naturally, Mattius accompanied him on every trip. Even Tarquinius came along occasionally. Romulus' former comrade was a mine of information about how to run an agricultural enterprise. A pattern soon evolved: they would lie around, talking and drinking too much while Octavia, Sabinus' wife, muttered in the background and Mattius ran wild with the veteran's children. Once they'd had enough, the men would travel by mule to Romulus' property, which was situated on a south-facing slope fifteen miles from Capua. Mattius would stay behind with Octavia, usually at his request. To him, life on a farm, with playmates and regular meals thrown in, was like heaven on earth.
With Sabinus' help, Romulus employed six local peasants as well as an overseer. Paying wages greatly increased his costs, but it went against everything in his nature to become the owner of servile labour. Next he bought mules and agricultural tools – a plough, scythes, axes, spades and rakes. The men were set to work restoring the half-collapsed farmhouse and sheds, and to ripping up the weeds that filled the disused fields. It was too early in the season to expect a crop, but the seeds could be sown. Later in the year, there would be wheat and barley. The vines, however, would take many months longer before they produced a yield. Sabinus stood with his hands on his hips, explaining the intricacies of growing, tending and harvesting. Romulus listened with half an ear, but his mind constantly wandered, making him wonder if he was really suited to being a farmer.
As a boy, he'd dreamed of becoming a new Spartacus, of rising up against the Republic and freeing the countless multitudes whose unpaid toil built its buildings and tended its farms. Returning to Italy had killed that idea, because Romulus now saw the task for what it was: an impossible dream. Slavery was too integral a part of the Republic, and the opposition to any uprising – Caesar's battle-hardened legions – were a far cry from the conscript troops which Spartacus had defeated. They would have little difficulty in defeating whatever motley force of slaves he might muster.
Worrying about the change in his stance, Romulus assuaged his conscience by remembering two things. The first was his favourite of all Caesar's new statutes: that at least one-third of the workforce on every latifundium in the south of Italy should be made up of citizens. While this law had been passed to increase employment, it also reduced the need for servile labour. The second was that while he might sympathise with the plight of slaves, he wasn't responsible for their situation. He owed them nothing. His former comrades were a totally different proposition. If one of these needed help, Romulus would move heaven and earth to do so.
Unsurprisingly, the most prominent candidate in his mind was Brennus. Reminded of his friend at regular intervals – by the Pompeians' elephants at Thapsus, his own battle with one, Caesar's use of them in his last triumph and finally their depiction on the mosaic in Brutus' garden – Romulus frequently wondered if the Gaul was still alive. Hearing that Caesar might be taking an army to Parthia was thrilling beyond belief. A hunger to revisit the land where he'd fought and been taken prisoner now gnawed daily at Romulus' belly. Italy had not proved to be all that he'd hoped for. This was his second problem. He didn't want to fight in the arena again, yet farming seemed positively pedestrian. Without the roots that men like Sabinus possessed, Romulus knew he could walk away from it all with ease. Discussing it with Tarquinius made things worse, for he could see the same desire to travel east in the haruspex' eyes. Fabiola was his only reason not to leave.
Tarquinius wasn't sure what his reason was but, anxious not to move prematurely, he stayed put.
To Romulus' frustration, he'd heard nothing further about the proposed Parthian campaign since. All the news was of Caesar's struggle in Hispania, where he was attempting to put down the rebellion against Cassius Longinus, his unpopular governor there. In a shrewd move, two of Pompey's sons had used the opportunity to call on the tribes' historic loyalty to their father. Raising a huge army, they were giving Caesar a real run for his money.
Nonetheless, Romulus kept his ear to the ground, keeping in touch with all the veterans he could. The dictator's daring plan to avenge Crassus' defeat was another reason to oppose Fabiola's plan. If Caesar was killed, the invasion would not go ahead, and a huge chance to find out more about Brennus' fate would be lost. Troubled that he was being selfish, Romulus was always brought back to his feud with Fabiola. Somehow he doubted if her position had budged.
Cursing, Romulus walked away from the Lupanar – again. It was infuriating. During his years of exile, he had always imagined that a return to Rome would mean a happy ending – namely a joyful reunion with Fabiola.
Instead, fate kept putting obstacles in his way. Spring moved into early summer, and news arrived in Rome of Caesar's stunning victory at Munda. In a desperate struggle during which his legions had fought uphill against superior numbers, the dictator had prevailed yet again. At one stage in the battle, when his lines had been in real danger of collapsing, Caesar rushed to the spot and rallied his panicking men. Knowing that an heroic gesture was needed, he had charged alone at the enemy, ducking the pila and arrows which were being fired in his direction. Stirred by his courage, the nearby officers had joined him, followed by the legionaries, and in one moment of madness, the tide of battle was turned. In the ensuing slaughter, more than thirty thousand Pompeian troops were said to have been slain, for the loss of only a thousand Caesarean soldiers.
The announcements of victory were made for days from every crossroads in Rome. Furious, Fabiola busied herself with running the Lupanar and looking forward to Brutus' return home. As the accolades poured in, a grateful Senate bestowed upon Caesar the extraordinary number of fifty days of thanksgiving. He was also given the title of 'Liberator', and the construction of a temple of Liberty was ordered. The honour of being called 'Imperator' permanently was also bestowed on the dictator – prior to this it had only been used to hail a victorious general in the aftermath of a triumph. So far Caesar had not returned to receive his awards, occupying himself in Hispania with mopping-up operations, and resettling the province.
Fabiola was bitterly disappointed that Caesar had not been killed or defeated at Munda. She wanted the pleasure of seeing him die a lingering death, but after so long without any success, she would look no gift horse in the mouth. Caesar's victory denied her revenge yet again. To make matters worse, he was now the undisputed ruler of the Republic. There was no one left to fight. From Greece to Asia Minor, Egypt to Africa and Spain, any meaningful resistance had been crushed.
However, as Fabiola found out soon afterwards, reward comes from the most unpromising places. Whether it was because the civil war was now truly over, or because Caesar was still away, she would never know. To her absolute joy, murmurs of discontent about the dictator began to surface. First it was the number of thanksgiving days, the greatest amount ever awarded in Rome's history. Then it was the title 'Liberator' – after all, who had he liberated? Lastly, it was the permanent designation of 'Imperator'. As Fabiola heard on the street and from rich clients in the Lupanar, this would give Caesar ideas above his station. Was he not just an excellent general? Why did he need such grandiose titles? Nodding sagely, Fabiola said little, instead noting each person's identity for future reference. The time was not ripe yet. By late autumn, Fabiola's rift with Romulus had been going on for nearly a year. They had met on a number of occasions, and been quite civil to each other, even taking a trip to Pompeii to visit her latifundium. In many ways, the twins were the same as they had been as children and their old easy relationship was revived when they spent time in one another's company. However, the unresolved row over Caesar's role in their parentage was always lurking beneath their genuine pleasure in seeing one another, and regularly flared up. They had a second argument, worse than the first, when Caesar returned to Rome from Hispania. Once again, Romulus refused to have any part in Fabiola's plan to murder the dictator. Torn by guilt, he began for the first time to wonder if he should tell anyone. However, the result of that – Fabiola's likely execution – was too awful to contemplate. Convincing himself that she would never have the courage or the ability to actually carry out the threat, Romulus tried to bury his concerns in the recesses of his mind. He wanted to tell Tarquinius, but his worries about what the haruspex might divine in the light of such knowledge kept his lips sealed.