The Road to Rome by Ben Kane Page A

to be consumed. Hence the need for the oven.
    Orcus, Fabiola thought, raising her eyes to the statue. Implacable, it stared right back. Mighty god of the underworld, hear me, she entreated. Once again, my life is in danger from Scaevola. He is an evil man and a murderer who will stop at nothing. I have no real means of stopping him without your help. Rid me of this whoreson, and I’ll be in your debt for ever. I will erect an altar to you, and there a goat will be sacrificed once a year for the rest of my days. As an extra incentive, Fabiola leaned forward and placed a stack of silver coins before the figurine. A sharp intake of breath from the priestess proved that the amount was impressive.
    There was a loud crackling sound and flames belched up inside the furnace. Startled, Fabiola craned her head to see. Neither Sextus nor the priestess had done anything, but the fire was now roaring as if a smith was working a pair of bellows on it. She looked around, expecting to spot a demon hard at work, but all she could see were the four crimson walls, pressing in on her like a tomb. Long yellow-orange flames licked at theoven’s opening, making it seem like the glowing maw of a ravening mythical beast. Terror overcame Fabiola at last and she froze.
    ‘This is a propitious moment,’ intoned the priestess. ‘Make your offering.’
    Her voice nearly made Fabiola jump out of her skin. She looked round at the grey-robed girl and nodded, jerkily. Did she seem vaguely familiar? There was no time to ponder. With the priestess urging her forwards, Fabiola opened her hand. There, on her palm, the three lead squares lay, inert and innocuous-looking. Like the hatred in her heart, though, they were far from that.
    ‘Throw them in as deep as you can,’ ordered the priestess.
    Stepping as close as she could bear, Fabiola drew back her arm and flung the pieces of metal into the fire. They were lost to sight in the blink of an eye. She sighed. It was almost done, but what remained was critically important. Fabiola had no wish to bring down divine retribution upon herself for this act. As other Romans did, she made her offering on specified conditions. She was so wound up about this that she began whispering out loud instead of praying silently. ‘Keep me safe from harm, great Orcus,’ she muttered, staring into the bright blaze. ‘And those who are important to me. Romulus. Brutus. Sextus. Benignus and Vettius. Docilosa.’
    There was a sharp intake of breath from behind her, and Fabiola realised that her request had not been internal after all. She glanced around at the priestess, whose face had gone white and pinched-looking.
    ‘Who is Docilosa?’
    ‘My servant,’ replied Fabiola, startled. ‘Why?’
    Visibly disappointed, the priestess answered with another question. ‘Not a slave?’
    ‘She used to be,’ admitted Fabiola, avoiding any mention of her own origins. She felt a little discomfited now. ‘But she has been a freedwoman for nearly six years now.’
    Hope filled the other’s face. ‘What age is she?’
    A tremor of suspicion tickled Fabiola’s memory. ‘I don’t know, exactly. Probably about forty.’
    The priestess’s composure cracked now, leaving the grief of a young girl in its place. ‘Who was her owner?’
    ‘Jovina,’ said Fabiola. ‘The owner of the Lupanar.’
    ‘Orcus be praised,’ gasped the priestess. ‘Mother is still alive!’
    It was Fabiola’s turn to be shocked. ‘Sabina?’
    The priestess stiffened. ‘You know my name?’
    ‘Docilosa has mentioned you many times,’ explained Fabiola, smiling. ‘She has grieved every day since your parting, and searched for you in countless temples. She never gave up hope of seeing you again.’
    There was a flicker of a smile. ‘Where is she?’
    ‘In my house,’ said Fabiola. ‘It’s not far.’
    Sabina’s expression softened for a heartbeat, and then grew hard once more. ‘Why are you her mistress? Is Jovina dead?’
    Fabiola bit back her