‘We heard about that even here. Where’s the respect for proper order gone?’ muttered Brutus darkly. ‘Plebeian scum! They need the point of a sword shoved where it hurts.’

‘That’s probably already happened,’ said Fabiola, inclining her head towards the legionaries around them. ‘One of Pompey’s legions will have reached Rome by now.’

The optio grinned proudly.

Understanding, Brutus did not ask more. ‘Thank Mars that you weren’t there for that,’ he replied. ‘Go on.’

Without mentioning Scaevola’s powerful backer, Fabiola related the story of his street ambush and of what the fugitivarius had done to Corbulo and the others on the latifundium. Brutus’ eyes bulged with anger, but he let her continue without interrupting. Upon hearing of Fabiola’s near rape however, he swelled with outrage. ‘What’s his name again?’

‘Scaevola.’ To deliver the thunderbolt, Fabiola placed her lips by Brutus’ ear. ‘Apparently he’s on Pompey’s payroll. And we’re not the first supporters of Caesar to be targeted.’

Brutus went icy calm. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Well, he needs to be made an example of. Finding an arrogant son of a whore like that shouldn’t be much problem. Scaevola will pay for what he has done. Slowly, too.’

Relief filled Fabiola. Already the malevolent fugitivarius felt like less of a threat. To be sure though, she would have to stay by Brutus’ side. ‘Are you finished . . . ?’ she began.

‘Here?’ Brutus indicated the heaped bodies below them. ‘Perhaps. Vercingetorix is in chains and we have taken tens of thousands of his men as slaves.’ He frowned. ‘Many tribes may continue fighting though. But we will not stop until Gaul is truly part of the Republic. Until Caesar has won completely.’ He raised his voice. ‘Victory to Julius Caesar!’

The nearest of Caesar’s legionaries cheered when they heard, while the soldiers who had accompanied Fabiola north looked distinctly uneasy.

Brutus turned next to Docilosa, bestowing a broad smile on her. ‘Looking after your mistress well?’

‘She’s a godsend,’ interrupted Fabiola. ‘I’d have been lost without her.’

Docilosa’s face went beetroot with pride.

‘Your fealty will be rewarded,’ said Brutus kindly. ‘And who is this man here?’

‘Sextus, Master,’ the slave replied, bowing low. ‘The last of the mistress’ bodyguards.’

‘He has the heart of a lion,’ Fabiola declared. ‘And fights like one too.’

‘You have my thanks.’ Brutus clapped Sextus on the shoulder.

‘Master.’

‘And this is Secundus?’ asked Brutus.

‘I am, sir.’ Secundus clenched his fist and thumped it off his chest in salute. ‘A veteran of thirteen years’ service.’

‘He and his comrades saved us from Scaevola,’ said Fabiola. ‘They gave us shelter and then guided us on our journey.’

Sextus nodded emphatically.

Brutus threw a grateful look at Secundus. ‘Are these your men?’ he asked with some confusion.

Secundus’ face turned sad. ‘No, sir. My comrades were all killed by the fugitivarii. Two weeks or so north of Rome, they ambushed us again. Caught us napping like raw recruits.’

‘No,’ cried Fabiola. ‘With Mithras’ help, you got us out of there. No one else could have.’

Secundus dipped his head in acknowledgement.

‘Mithras, you say?’ asked Brutus sharply.

‘Yes,’ Fabiola answered. ‘Secundus and his men follow the path.’ For the moment, she said nothing about her own involvement.

At once Brutus leaned forward. With a laugh, Secundus did the same and they shook hands firmly.

It was Fabiola’s turn to be surprised. ‘You worship Mithras too?’

‘For the last few months. A senior centurion who served in Asia Minor introduced me to the religion,’ Brutus explained with glee. ‘And now, under Secundus’ protection, the god has brought you to me. This calls for a generous sacrifice!’

Fabiola was delighted.

‘So these legionaries . . .’ began Brutus. ‘Whose are they?’

‘We got them thanks to Mithras too, sir,’ said Secundus in a low voice. ‘The fugitivarii fled when we encountered a Pompeian legion on its way to Rome. It was under the command of Marcus Petreius, who turned out to be a believer too.’

Fabiola beamed at him, overjoyed that a plausible explanation had been provided. She had been troubled about bypassing her involvement with Petreius since leaving the legate’s camp.

Brutus’ eyebrows rose. ‘Mithras has truly blessed you, my love. Fortuna too, I think.’

If only you knew it all, Fabiola thought, thinking of her homa-induced vision. But that is best told in private. Except for what happened in Petreius’ bedchamber.

‘Fabiola has been safely delivered,’ Brutus said to the optio. ‘It was a job well done. Now you’ll need to be getting back to your unit, I expect. But all of you deserve a good rest before setting off.’ He whistled at the nearest of his men. ‘Take these soldiers down to the camp. Find them some hot food and a bed for the night. Quickly!’

There were pleased grins all round as the optio and his half-century were led away. Secundus accompanied them but Sextus stayed by Fabiola’s side.

‘Let’s walk to my tent,’ said Brutus, taking Fabiola by the arm. ‘You can relax there. Tonight, a feast to celebrate our victory is being held, and I’m sure Caesar would want you present. He’s heard all about you.’

The moment that Fabiola had desired for an age was nearly here – and it was almost too terrifying to contemplate. During all that she had endured, she had never actually dared to imagine it. But, thanks to Mithras, it would come to pass, in the unlikely setting of a battlefield in Gaul. ‘Wonderful,’ Fabiola, concealing her jangling nerves. ‘I will be honoured to meet your general at last.’

Helped by Docilosa, Fabiola was dressing for the evening. A table, mirrors, some jewellery and bottles of makeup and perfume had been produced from Alesia, as had a selection of dresses. Fabiola knew better than to ask where they came from. The clothing fitted her so well it could have been for her double, which felt poignant. Fabiola made a silent request of Mithras to protect the clothing’s owner, whoever she was.

‘You look stunning,’ said Brutus, regarding Fabiola admiringly. He moved closer, caressing her shoulders with the tips of his fingers. ‘Not trying to impress Caesar, are you?’

Docilosa pursed her lips with disapproval.

‘If I do, it’s for your benefit,’ Fabiola reproached. ‘You know that.’

‘Of course,’ Brutus replied, embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry.’

If only you knew what I really want.

‘Do you want me to change it?’

Brutus eyed her low cut silk stola, which exposed large amounts of creamy skin. ‘No,’ he said with a lustful grin. ‘It looks good.’

Mollified, Fabiola sat down in front of the small bronze mirror on her table. Docilosa fussed behind her, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind her ears while Fabiola applied the finishing touches to her makeup. A small amount of ochre on her cheeks and the faintest dusting of antimony did the trick. By religiously keeping out of the sun, Fabiola had so far avoided the need to whiten her complexion with lead. She had decided to feel pleased about meeting Caesar at the feast. No doubt his attention would be taken up by his officers, allowing Fabiola to study him at her leisure. The men she met would also be potential sources of information about the shrewd general. Once more, Fabiola determined to use all her wiles in her quest for her father.

She looked Brutus up and down with a practised eye. Her lover had shed his military dress and caligae for soft leather shoes and a brilliant white toga of the finest wool. Never happy, his vestiplicus, whose job it was to arrange the garment’s complex folds, fussed and bothered around him. Finally Brutus could take no more and dismissed the fawning slave.