The Road to Rome by Ben Kane

of someone, but was so wound up that she gave it no further thought. Pushing back the hood of her cloak, she crossed thethreshold with a mental prayer to Mithras for his protection. Fabiola felt no qualms about this; it was not unusual to ask things of many gods.
    The corridor within ran from side to side away from the doors and was even dimmer than the street. Occasional small oil lamps hung from brackets, casting long, flickering shadows on a bare, stone-flagged floor. Grotesque paintings of gods and demons covered the walls, their limbs cleverly moving in the guttering light cast by the lamps. The threatening atmosphere was a deliberate construct, Fabiola realised, generating anxiety in visitors’ hearts the instant they set foot inside. Yet this was the temple of Orcus, the god of the underworld. It was right to be scared here. Despite herself, Fabiola shivered. Do not forget your purpose, she thought, shoving down her rising dread. ‘I wish to make a request of the god. In private,’ she said, opening her clenched fingers. On her palm lay three neatly folded pieces of lead. She had spent hours composing the curses inscribed within them. With the threat from Scaevola more immediate, all referred to him, requesting his death in the most terrible of ways. For now, Caesar came second.
    The priestess was unsurprised. People came here for every reason under the sun: twisted with hatred, seeking retribution for wrongs done to them, asking for revenge on enemies, lovers and superiors. Extreme weather did not remove such needs, nor did it affect the desire of certain devotees not to be seen by others. ‘Follow me.’ She walked off, her bare feet slapping off the floor.
    Nervously, Fabiola and Sextus followed. In silence, they passed a succession of doors, all of which were closed. Fabiola wondered who might be in the chambers beyond. From one came the low sound of men chanting. She couldn’t make out the words, but the tune was slow and mournful and did little to calm her jangling nerves.
    The priestess came to a halt at last. Producing a key from within her robes, she unlocked the door before them, which opened noiselessly, adding to the air of pressure. Inside was a large windowless chamber, its plastered surfaces painted an ominous, dark red colour. As in the hallway, the only light came from a few oil-burning lamps on the walls. There was barely any furniture, apart from a plain cement furnace on a square platform of bricks, situated at the back of the room. Staring in, Fabiola felt a warm current of air bathing her cheeks. A strong smell of incense also carriedthrough the doorway. A deep red glow in the oven’s opening revealed the source of the intense heat. To one side of it lay a pile of fuel, and on the other sat a small altar decorated with a statue of Orcus.
    ‘You may make your offering here,’ said the young priestess. ‘Without interruption.’
    Fabiola’s grip on the lead squares grew so tight that she felt them begin to bend at the edges. She stopped, worried that any damage might affect her requests of the god. Nothing must go wrong. Her very life depended on it. Nodding firmly, Fabiola walked in, tailed by Sextus.
    The priestess also entered, shutting the door. Moving to the altar, she bent her head in prayer. Unsure what to do next, Fabiola did the same. Compared to the cool of the corridor and the rain-soaked streets, this room was like a caldarium , the hottest place in a bathing complex. Thanks to the incense which was burning, the atmosphere was heavy and intense. Despite her soaked clothing, Fabiola felt sweat break out all over her body. She was used to the fuggy warmth of a full Mithraeum, but this was different. Some temples had fires to throw small offerings on, but not this roaring furnace, which reminded Fabiola of what Hades might be like. Fresh fear gripped her, yet she forced herself to stay calm. Orcus was no ordinary god. Gifts to him were cast in their entirety into the flames, there