The Silver Eagle by Ben Kane Page B

could gather her thoughts and find ways of helping Brutus, and dealing with Scaevola. Perhaps there would even be time to begin the search for Romulus? Caught up in its own troubles, the Republic would not be sending an army to retaliate against Parthia in the foreseeable future. Yet merchants journeyed to the east regularly, attracted by the valuable goods they could resell in Rome. For the right price, one might be persuaded to ask questions on his travels.
    The idea was enough to make Fabiola forget her worries for a short time.
    Several days went by, and Fabiola was able to learn more about the dire situation in the capital. Enough shops were situated near Brutus’ house for her to venture out relatively safely and gather information. There was no sign of Scaevola, and Fabiola began to think he was still in the south, near Pompeii. She relaxed into the role of a country lady, ignorant of recent goings-on. After she had spent a decent sum buying food and other necessities, the grateful shopkeepers were happy to relate all the latest rumours. As Fabiola had suspected, the streets had been taken over by gangs loyal to Clodius and Milo.
    Once the closest of allies, Pompey and the brutal Milo had parted company on bad terms some years before. Now Milo was allied to Cato, one of the few politicians to oppose the shrunken triumvirate’s stranglehold on power. Crassus might be dead, but Caesar and Pompey still controlled the Republic, which was not to the liking of many. Desperate to prevent Pompey becoming consul as the new year began, Cato had put forward Milo as a candidate instead. This was too much for Clodius, and minor disturbances now occurred on a daily basis. Occasional larger pitched battles had claimed the lives of dozens of thugs. Caught in the middle, a number of unlucky residents had also died. The Senate was paralysed, unsure what to do. Most people, one trader told Fabiola, just wanted order restored. And the person to do it was Pompey.
    With his legions.
    ‘Soldiers on the streets of Rome?’ Fabiola cried. The very idea was anathema. To prevent any attempts at overthrowing the Republic, its laws banned all military personnel from entering the capital. ‘Sulla was the last man to do that.’
    ‘I remember it well,’ said a skinny old man who was buying lamp oil. He shivered. ‘Blood ran in the streets for days. No one was safe.’
    The shopkeeper shook his head heavily. ‘I know. But have we any choice?’ He gestured at his empty shelves. ‘If there is nothing to buy, people will starve. What then?’
    Fabiola could not argue with his words. If only Brutus and Caesar were able to intervene, she thought. But there was no chance of that. News had come that meant neither man would be back for many months. Braving snow that was higher than a man, Caesar had ridden through the mountains and successfully rejoined his legions in Gaul. Battle had already been joined against the tribes; Caesar had suffered initial setbacks before a stunning victory had forced Vercingetorix and his army to retreat to the north. Yet the intelligent Gaulish chieftain was unbeaten. Thousands of warriors were still flocking to his banner, so Caesar had no option but to stay put. The situation in Gaul was critical, and Fabiola’s worries about Brutus grew by the day.
    Loud shouts from the street drew her attention back to the present. Fabiola made to leave the shop, but her bodyguards blocked the doorway. Although Docilosa was in bed with an upset stomach, they had been browbeaten enough times. ‘Let me check it out, Mistress,’ said Tullius, the most senior. A short Sicilian with crooked teeth and a bad limp, he was deadly with a gladius .
    She frowned but obeyed. Danger lurked everywhere now.
    ‘Clodius Pulcher is dead!’ Sandals slapped loudly off the ground as the running person drew nearer. ‘Murdered on the Via Appia!’
    Placing his thumb between the forefinger and index finger of his right hand, the shopkeeper made the