inside the Republic’s most important structure: the Senate itself.
Tullius bobbed up and down unhappily, but Fabiola would not budge. And her guess was correct. Moments later, tendrils of smoke began billowing from inside the sacred chamber. No event in the city’s history had ever been more dramatic. Five hundred years of democracy were about to go up in flames.
Even Tullius paused when he realised what they were witnessing. Politics affected slaves little, but certain things in the Republic were permanent – or seemed so. The building that housed the seat of government was one of them. To see the Senate being burned was extraordinarily shocking. If it could be destroyed, then so could any other structure in Rome.
The Sicilian came to his senses at last. ‘We cannot stay, Mistress.’ His tone was firm.
Fabiola sighed in acceptance and meekly followed Tullius away. Jupiter had spared their lives thus far, but they should not tempt fate. It was time to leave, before things got even worse. Only military force could bring back peace now. The senators would have no choice but to ask Pompey, the new consul, to intervene, which would swing the balance of power firmly away from Caesar. Brutus’ position would also be weakened by this unrest. So, therefore, would hers. And what would happen in Gaul? If Vercingetorix’ rebellion succeeded, Caesar’s attempt to become the Republic’s leader would fail completely. A defeated general could never retain the fickle public’s approval. Fabiola steeled her resolve. Jupiter had shown her his favour by letting her escape the chaos. Only a short time earlier, she had been ready to die – well, no longer. No matter what happened, this would not be the end of her rise to power.
Fabiola did not even see the arrow strike. It was the gasp of pain which attracted her attention. She looked up to see Tullius toppling forward, looking faintly surprised. A feathered wooden shaft protruded from the middle of his chest, its iron point buried deep in his lungs. Mortally wounded, the Sicilian landed face down in the ankle-deep mud.
A heartbeat later, another guard followed him. Then a third.
Ducking down, Fabiola spat a bitter curse. How could I have been so stupid? she thought. Jupiter does not bother with the likes of me.
The way ahead had been blocked with piles of refuse, lengths of wood and broken pottery. Eager to get away from the Forum, Tullius had not seen it. Fabiola had not been paying attention either. On another day, she might have thought the waist-high rubbish just indicated a particularly poor street, a place where the inhabitants cared for neither health nor hygiene. Not today.
This was an ambush.
A fourth missile hissed through the air, taking the guard nearest to her through the neck.
They could not go forwards. Or back. Certain death awaited in the Forum. Eyes swivelling, Fabiola looked for the archer.
One of her five remaining followers pointed. Then he screamed, clutching at the arrow jutting from his left eye. Falling to his knees, he tugged frantically at the shaft, and Fabiola heard metal scrape off bone as the barbs pulled free of the socket. His face drenched in blood and aqueous fluid, the brave guard staggered upright, sobbing with pain. Now half-blind, he would be of little use in the impending fight.
From a side alley, ten ruffians emerged. Dressed in ragged, dull brown tunics, they were carrying an assortment of weapons: spears, clubs, knives, rusty swords. There was one bowman, an evil-looking type who smiled as he notched another arrow to his string. His companions were similarly unsavoury in appearance.
‘Look what we’ve got here, boys,’ said a spearman with a leer.
‘A noble lady!’ answered another. ‘Always wanted to try one of those.’
The archer licked his lips. ‘Let’s see what’s under that fine robe.’
The men moved in, their faces filling with lust. This would not just be robbery. Fabiola saw rape and death in their dark eyes. But instead of fear, anger boiled up inside her. These were the lowest of the low: the scum who waited to prey on the weak and unarmed fleeing the battle.
‘Mistress?’ asked her guards in unison. Without Tullius, they were unsure what to do.
She swallowed hard. None had shields, leaving them defenceless against missiles. If they did not act fast, they would all fall to the bowman. There was only one way to overcome their ambushers, who were most probably cowards. Producing the dagger Tullius had given her, Fabiola bared her teeth. ‘Run straight at them,’ she hissed.