And the haruspex had known what would happen to Brennus all along. What else did he know? ‘You played us both like a fish on a hook,’ Romulus hissed, wishing that he could turn back time. ‘Damn you to Hades.’

‘It may be my fate to go there,’ Tarquinius answered, moving to his side. ‘That remains to be seen.’

‘No man should die alone, facing insurmountable odds.’

Tarquinius thought of Olenus, and the manner of his death. ‘Why not, if he chooses it?’

Unaware of the haruspex’ past, Romulus bridled at his instant response. ‘It would have been better for Brennus to have died in the arena.’ Even as he said the words, he knew them to be untrue. The fate of gladiators rested with the fickle and bloodthirsty Roman mob. Instead, the Gaul had died as he had wished, under the bright sun with his sword in his hand. A free man, not a slave.

Romulus chewed a nail. How could he have forgotten the message that had burned so brightly in Brennus’ eyes? His friend had come to accept his fate, which was more than most men ever did. Who was he to deny that? Which meant that the anger he had felt against the haruspex since their flight was being fuelled entirely by the guilt and shame savaging him inside. It was a startling realisation. A great gust of sorrow left Romulus’ chest, emptying his lungs and leaving him with a feeling of total emptiness inside. Unbidden but welcome tears rolled down his cheeks at the memory of big, brave Brennus, who had died that he might live.

Tarquinius looked awkward for a moment, and then he put an arm around Romulus’ shoulders.

It was extremely rare for the haruspex to display such emotion and, sobbing like a boy, Romulus wept for what it meant. Tarquinius was grieving for their friend too. At last his tears dried, and he looked up.

Their eyes met. For long moments they stared at each other.

There was an openness in Tarquinius’ face that Romulus had never seen before. He was relieved to see no evil there.

Remarkably, it was Tarquinius who looked away first. ‘I did know that Brennus would meet his fate in India,’ he said in a low voice. ‘It was written in the stars on the very first night we met.’

‘Why didn’t you tell him?’

‘He did not want to know then, if at all,’ answered the haruspex, regarding him steadily. ‘You knew that too.’

Romulus flushed.

‘Advising you both to retreat with Longinus would have been interfering with your destiny,’ Tarquinius went on. ‘Would you have wanted me to do that?’

Romulus shook his head. Few things angered the gods more than trying to change the course of one’s life path.

‘And I was not the first to predict Brennus’ future. His druid had told him,’ said Tarquinius. ‘Believing that prophecy was what helped him survive for so long in the ludus. As well as Astoria and you, of course.’

The memory of Romulus’ first real meeting with the big Gaul was still vivid. After killing a murmillo who was holding Brennus’ lover Astoria hostage, Romulus had incurred the wrath of Memor, the brutal lanista. Facing a daunting single combat the next morning as punishment, and with nowhere to sleep, Romulus had begun to despair. Brennus was the only fighter to offer him refuge. Unsurprisingly, their friendship had grown from there.

‘Apart from wanting the best for you, Brennus wished for just one thing.’

Romulus knew what Tarquinius would say next.

‘It was to regain his honour while saving his friends.’

‘As he had been prevented from doing before,’ Romulus finished. ‘With his wife and baby.’

‘And his uncle and cousin.’

A surge of faith filled him. ‘So the gods granted his final wish.’

‘That is what I believe.’

Both men sat for a while, honouring Brennus’ memory.

Below them, a fish jumped high in the air, catching a fly. There was a loud splash as it re-entered the water.

Romulus wrinkled his nose at the unpleasant smell which arose. Bizarrely, it reminded him of his former owner. The cruel merchant had bathed little. Abruptly he decided to test Tarquinius’ honesty. ‘What about Gemellus?’

The haruspex looked surprised. ‘His recent business ventures have not gone well. More than that I do not know.’

Satisfied and pleased with this simple response, Romulus ventured another question. ‘Are my mother and Fabiola still alive?’

This was his most deeply held hope, the burning ember of which he guarded like the font of life itself. For fear of the haruspex’ possible answer, Romulus had never dared mention it before.

Tarquinius’ expression changed, becoming sombre.

Romulus steeled himself.

‘Fabiola is,’ Tarquinius said at length. ‘I am certain of it.’

Joy filled him, and he grinned. ‘And my mother?’

The haruspex shook his head once.

Romulus’ initial elation ebbed away, to be replaced by sadness. His mother’s death was not a complete surprise to him, however. While not particularly old at the time of his sale to the ludus, Velvinna had been small and slight of build. And her children’s sale would have finally broken her spirit. The incredibly harsh environment of the salt mines, into which Gemellus had promised to sell her, killed even the strongest of men within a few months. To expect that she would survive more than four years in such a living hell was unrealistic. Romulus had kept her alive in his imagination because it helped him with his own situation. Closing his eyes, he asked that the gods look after his mother in paradise.

‘Where is Fabiola now?’ Romulus nearly choked on his next words. ‘Still in the brothel?’

‘No.’

‘Where, then?’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Tarquinius. ‘If I see more, you’ll be the first to know.’

Romulus sighed, wondering why, in his vision, Fabiola had been at the Forum. He would have to wait for the answer.

Overhead, the harsh keening of the gulls reminded them of their proximity to the sea: their possible route home. Romulus’ heart sang with previously unthinkable ideas.

The timbers beneath them creaked as heavy footsteps approached their position.

The haruspex’ eyes narrowed, and Romulus’ fingers crept towards the handle of his gladius. In this exotic port, they had no friends – only potential enemies. The gravelly voice that butted in was a rude reminder of this fact.

Romulus did not understand the words, but the angry tone conveyed the speaker’s meaning very well.

‘He wants to know what we’re doing on his dock,’ whispered Tarquinius.

‘His dock?’ hissed Romulus incredulously.

The haruspex raised his eyebrows and he had to stifle a smile.

A brute of a man was standing over them, his hands on his hips. Dressed in a plain loincloth, his deeply tanned body was covered in scars. Thick cords of muscle stood out on his chest and arms; leather bands encircled both wrists. Greasy black hair fell in long braids on either side of the man’s broad, unshaven face. A badly broken nose twisted his features, which were lumpen and crude. He repeated his question.

Neither of the friends answered, but they both got to their feet. Facing the newcomer, they moved a couple of paces apart.

A sword with a deeply curved blade jutted from a wide belt around the man’s waist. Tiny brown discoloured pits in the iron revealed the newcomer was a sailor. Or a pirate. Only salt spray affected metal like that, thought Romulus. The fool didn’t know that oiling his weapon would prevent it from rusting. Or didn’t care.

Raising his hands in a peaceful gesture, Tarquinius spoke a few words.

The response was an angry growl.

‘I told him that we were merely resting,’ the haruspex said in an undertone.

‘That doesn’t seem to be enough,’ muttered Romulus, taking in the corsair’s body language.

‘No,’ Tarquinius replied archly. ‘He wants to fight.’

‘Tell him we don’t want trouble,’ said Romulus. Doubtless this brute had friends.