‘Exactly. That’s the point,’ replied Tarquinius, who was wearing one as well. He pulled out a silver chain which always hung round his neck. On it was a small gold ring, which was finely decorated with a scarab beetle. For the first time that Romulus could remember, the haruspex put it on.

‘What’s that for?’

Tarquinius smiled. ‘It will bring us good luck.’

‘We need plenty of that,’ said Romulus, casting his eyes at the heavens. Now prepared to interpret what he saw, Romulus could read nothing, and his friend would answer no questions at all. Once again, he had to trust in the gods. It was a completely helpless feeling, but Romulus gritted his teeth and readied himself. There was no other way.

Calling down the blessings of his own deities, Hiero also provided them with a good description of the city layout. This would be invaluable. ‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ the old bestiarius counselled. ‘Find out what you can and come back here safely.’

‘We will,’ replied Tarquinius, his face impassive.

They all gripped forearms in the Roman manner.

It felt as if they would never see Hiero again, and Romulus could bear it no longer.

‘Have you ever had dealings with Roman merchants?’

The bestiarius looked surprised. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I’ve done business with them all. Noblemen, merchants, lanistae.’

‘Anyone called Gemellus?’

Hiero scratched his head. ‘My memory is not what it was.’

‘It’s important,’ said Romulus, leaning closer.

Curious, Hiero decided not to ask why. There was a fierce, intimidating look in the other’s eyes. He thought for a moment. ‘Gemellus . . .’

Romulus waited.

‘I remember,’ the bestiarius said at last. ‘From the Aventine?’

A pulse hammered in Romulus’ throat. ‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘Like me.’

Tarquinius frowned.

‘A friend of yours?’ demanded Hiero.

‘Not exactly,’ Romulus replied, keeping his tone neutral. ‘Merely an old acquaintance.’

The bestiarius did not react to the obvious lie. It was nothing to him. ‘Gemellus, yes. He invested a third share in a venture of mine nearly ten years ago.’

‘That’s about right,’ agreed Romulus, feeling a pang of deep sadness. Fabiola had been there too, eavesdropping on Gemellus while he planned his involvement.

‘The whole affair was cursed from start to finish.’ Hiero scowled at the memory. ‘Many animals seemed to know where the traps were, and those we did catch were poor specimens. I lost dozens of men to strange fevers and afflictions. Then the Nile flooded on the way back, so it took twice the normal time to reach Alexandria.’ He paused for effect.

Romulus nodded in apparent sympathy. Inside, though, he was fuming. Even a few wild beasts would make a man’s fortune. No doubt Gemellus was still enjoying the proceeds.

‘That’s not all,’ sighed the old man. ‘Often I sell the animals on the dock at Alexandria, but Gemellus wrote demanding that we take them to Italy.’

Tarquinius sucked in a breath, feeling rather stupid. How could he have not realised before? A winter afternoon in Rome, eight years earlier. Gemellus, a merchant from the Aventine, desperately wanting a prophecy. The bad omens that resulted from it. Ships with their holds full of wild beasts, crossing the sea.

Romulus was so caught up in the bestiarius’ tale that he did not notice. ‘That makes perfect sense. You’d get a far better price there.’

Hiero nodded. ‘For that reason, I foolishly agreed to his request. Thank the gods that I travelled on a lightly laden liburnian, not one of the cargo vessels.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘There were freak storms on the voyage across,’ revealed the bestiarius gloomily. ‘Every last transport sank and all the animals drowned. I lost an absolute fortune.’

Tarquinius brought back every possible detail of the merchant whom he had met outside Jupiter’s temple on the Capitoline Hill. Ill-tempered, fat and depressed, Gemellus had been crushed by his revelations. The last of these had been the most powerful. One day there will be a knock on your door. At the time, there had been far more important things on the haruspex’ mind, and he had not really pondered the significance of what he had seen. An unknown stranger’s worries were of little concern to him. Now though, it made perfect sense. Gemellus had been Romulus’ owner.

Oblivious to Tarquinius, Romulus could barely conceal his exultation. ‘And Gemellus?’

Hiero shrugged. ‘The same. His investment of one hundred and twenty thousand sestertii is still lying on the bottom of the Mediterranean.’

‘Gemellus is ruined?’ Laughing aloud, Romulus clapped the bestiarius on the shoulder. ‘That’s the best news I’ve had in years!’

‘Why?’ Hiero looked confused. ‘What’s it to you?’

Guilt suffused Tarquinius that he had not made the connection before, and told Romulus. It was a failing of his to focus entirely on grand issues when smaller ones, like this, could make such a difference. Yet he rarely told his protege anything. I have become too secretive, he thought sadly. And I love him like a son. More remorse washed over Tarquinius. Deep down, the haruspex knew that his fear of revealing why he had fled Italy was the cause of his reticence. Wary of letting this information slip, he had deprived Romulus of a possible source of hope.

I have to tell him. Before it’s too late.

Hiero’s eyes narrowed. ‘Did Gemellus owe you money?’

‘Something like that,’ said Romulus evasively.

The old man waited to see if any more information would be forthcoming.

It was not, and the two friends prepared to leave.

The last piece of news had altered Romulus’ black mood for the better. Tarquinius was pleased by this. Whatever the night held in store would be better faced in good humour. Ill fortune and the gods’ displeasure were sometimes directed at those who entered dangerous situations fearing the worst. Chance and destiny favoured the bold, thought the haruspex.

Given what he had seen in the sky, it was the only way to think. More than twenty years after Olenus had done so, Tarquinius had read his own fate. If he was correct, the next few hours would reveal all.

And somehow he would find the right time to tell Romulus.

Night had finally fallen, and the temperature was dropping. Overhead, a clear sky promised at least some visibility in the dark streets. Wall-mounted torches illuminated the large, colonnaded courtyard, which was packed with four strengthened cohorts of legionaries. Caesar was committing almost half of his forces in Alexandria to this manoeuvre. The general had lost none of his daring.

Wrapped in a warm, hooded cloak, Fabiola stared at the silver eagle. She had rarely been so close to one before, and was deeply stirred by it. Since her homa-induced vision, the metal bird had come to represent not just Rome, but the last of her hopes that Romulus was still alive. Tears pricked the corners of Fabiola’s eyes, but she wiped them away. This was her private grief and she had no wish to share it again with Brutus. Thankfully, her lover was out of earshot, conferring with Caesar and another staff officer.

It was not long until they were ready. To light their way, every fourth man had been issued with a pitch-soaked torch. Marching in darkness might have attracted less attention, but soldiers needed to see enemies to kill them. Seeing each other’s faces also helped to keep up morale. Caesar was well aware that the setbacks of the previous weeks had dented his legionaries’ usual confidence. He gave a short but stirring speech, invoking Mars and Jupiter, and reminding his men how they had defeated far greater armies than faced them here.

A cheer rose into the air, but was instantly quelled by the centurions.

Without further ado, the gates were opened, and two cohorts marched out to clear the barricades on each side of the entrance. Following the blast from an officer’s whistle to sound the all-clear, the third unit emerged, led by the aquilifer carrying the eagle. This was followed by Caesar, Brutus and Fabiola, the senior officers and a hand-picked century of veterans. Also in their midst were Docilosa and the faithful Sextus. The fourth cohort was last to exit. At once the doors slammed shut behind them.