its ancient heart.’
Fabiola bent her head in respect. After all, legionaries were the men who fought and died for the Republic. Although she had little love for it, she could respect these veterans’ bravery and the sacrifices they had made in its name. One only had to see the stump of Secundus’ sword arm and the multitude of old scars on all the ex-soldiers to realise that. Flesh had been hacked off, blood lost and comrades slain, while the rich who dwelled around here had given little, if anything, for their state.
Working his way along a high, plain wall, Secundus came to a halt before a small door, its surface reinforced with protective iron studs. A simply forged knocker and a metal plate around the keyhole made it look the same as the back entrance to any other decent-sized house in the city. If they could afford it, Romans preferred to live in a well-built domus, a private, hollow square with an open air courtyard in the middle and rooms around the sides. The exterior of these dwellings was usually entirely ordinary, designed to avoid attention. Inside, they could be luxurious, like that of Brutus, or garish in the extreme, as Gemullus’ had been.
Checking there was no one in sight, Secundus rapped on the timbers with his knuckles.
Instantly a challenge issued from the other side.
Secundus leaned in close and muttered a few words.
His answer was sufficient. There was a short delay as bolts were thrown back and then the door swung inwards on silent, oiled hinges. Framed in the portal was a powerfully built figure in a russet-brown military tunic, carrying a drawn gladius. With close-cropped hair and a scar running from his right ear to his chin, this had to be another ex-soldier.
Recognising Secundus, he sheathed his sword and thumped his clenched right fist off his chest in salute.
Returning the gesture, Secundus led the way into the atrium.
Fabiola and Sextus were close behind, followed by the rest of the group. The guard’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the two strangers, one a woman, the other grievously wounded, but he said nothing. As the last man entered, the portal shut with a quiet click, blocking out the daylight. With the doors to the tablinum closed, the only illumination in the wide hallway running from left to right was from oil lamps in regularly placed wall brackets. Flickering yellow flames lit up a number of brightly painted statues, the most prominent of which was a cloaked deity crouched over a reclining bull. Shadows cast by his Phrygian cap prevented the god’s face from being seen, but the dagger in his right hand showed clear intent. Like all animals in shrines, the massive ox was about to be sacrificed.
‘Mithras,’ announced Secundus reverently. ‘The Father.’
As one, his men bowed their heads.
Feeling more than a little fear, Fabiola shivered. Although they had only entered the first chamber in the building, there was more power palpable here than in the cellae at the great temple on the Capitoline Hill. If she was lucky, and Mithras willing, some information about Romulus might be revealed. Unlike the falsehoods uttered by the soothsayers and the uncertainties found inside temples, a sign given in a place like this might carry divine authority. Fabiola snapped back to the present. Do not lose focus, she thought. There would be time to pray later. Bowing respectfully to the sculpture, she indicated Sextus’ gaping, ruined eye. ‘He needs treatment,’ she said.
Her slave had not uttered a single word of complaint thus far, but his teeth were gritted in pain. The adrenalin rush of combat had subsided and now waves of pain were radiating outwards, filling his skull with thousands of stabbing needles.
Secundus pointed to their left. ‘The valetudinarium is down here.’
‘Who owns the house?’ Fabiola asked. This was a far cry from the type of accommodation most citizens could afford.
‘Better than an army barracks, eh?’ laughed Secundus. ‘It belonged to a legate, lady. One of us.’
She frowned. ‘Belonged?’
‘Poor bastard was thrown from his horse two years ago,’ he answered. ‘Left no family either.’
‘And you seized his property?’ It was not unheard of for this to happen. In the current uncertain political climate, those who acted with confidence often got away with totally illegal acts. It was how Clodius and Milo had conducted their business for years.
He regarded her sternly. ‘We’re veterans, not thieves, lady.’
‘Of course,’ Fabiola muttered. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘The domus belongs to Mithras now,’ he said simply.
‘So you live here?’
‘We have that