The Forgotten Legion

Memor was her only chance. After all, he ran the largest gladiator school in Rome.

Knowing Pompeia would not have the same personal reasons to obtain information, Fabiola finally asked if she could take on the lanista as a customer. The redhead refused. Friendship in the Lupanar only went so far.

'He gives good tips.' Pompeia's tone was whingeing. 'What do you need more clients for anyway?'

'You know why. This means a lot to me.'

Pompeia pouted, but did not answer.

She had tried almost everything. 'Will money help?' Fabiola asked desperately.

There was instant interest. 'How much?'

She threw caution to the wind. 'Twenty-five thousand sestertii.'

Pompeia's eyes widened. It was far more than she had imagined, half a lifetime's tips. Fabiola must be even better than she'd thought. 'Memor might know nothing,' she said with a twinge of guilt.

Fabiola closed her eyes. Jupiter guide me, she thought. It only took a moment. 'He does. I know it.'

Pompeia flushed. 'If you're sure. '

Fabiola smiled at the price, which was less than half of her savings. She did not care if finding Romulus used up every last coin she had.

But the lanista had proved a hard nut to crack. All the usual wiles to make a customer talk had failed miserably. Pompeia had not been exaggerating. Memor was easily irritated and Fabiola quickly learned not to ask too many questions. Coupling with the scarred old man was most unpleasant; something about his casual brutality left her cold. But the new client took to Fabiola with gusto. A month went by with a virtually wordless visit every single week. She began to think that her carefully saved money had been wasted. When Memor had not appeared for a while it had been a relief.

Then he had returned. Intense preparation for a big fight had left no time for relaxation. As soon as it was over, Memor had returned to his favourite girl.

It was now or never. She had made his pleasure last longer than ever before. Every time he thrust into her mouth, desperate to come, Fabiola had slowed down the rhythm, teasing him with tongue and fingers. She knew the lanista could not take much more.

'Master?'

Memor's eyes opened with a start. 'What's wrong?'

'Nothing, Master.' She held his penis tightly with one hand, prolonging the moment. 'Ever had a fighter called Romulus in your school?' She took him into her mouth again.

He gasped. 'Who?'

'Romulus. My cousin, Master.'

'Troublesome son of a whore!' Memor pushed her head down.

Hope flared inside. A short time later, Fabiola paused again.

'Is he still in the ludus?'

'Little bastard's long gone,' said Memor, momentarily distracted. 'He helped my best gladiator kill an important noble about two years back.'

Fabiola's pulse quickened.

'That Gaul was worth a fortune,' muttered Memor.

At the time, the comment passed her by.

She began stroking him up and down gently and the lanista moaned. 'What happened to them, Master?'

'Rumour was they joined Crassus' army.' He jerked upright and gripped Fabiola's hair. The look on his scarred face was terrifying. 'Unless you know something?'

Fabiola opened her eyes wide. 'I never liked him, Master. He was a bully.' She bent her head to finish the job and Memor fell back, sighing with satisfaction.

Hope. There was still hope in Fabiola's heart.

Chapter XXIII: Ariamnes

Parthia, summer 53 BC

Next day came far too soon for the soldiers of Crassus' army. The dawn sky rapidly changed to a clear blue, and the temperature began to soar. It would be another scorching march. Crassus had risen before sunrise, woken by a troubling nightmare about the unhappy episode with the bull's heart. He knew that the story had spread like wildfire through the legions and a distinct feeling of unease had been palpable since among the men. This had been increased by equally fast moving reports that the eagle of the Sixth had reversed as it had left the Euphrates. Even senior officers now seemed to be affected. Only Publius and the Nabataean continued to show confidence in him.

But driven by his burning urge to become the leading force in Rome and to crush Pompey and Caesar, Crassus remained convinced he would be victorious. The previous day's losses had been minor and a few hundred horse archers were certainly nothing to worry about. After all, had he not conquered Spartacus and his army? The slaves had numbered more than eighty thousand. Today, all his veteran legions had to face were a few thousand savages. Crassus laughed out loud. In a few short weeks Seleucia would fall, proving his vision. His leadership.

Desiring more details of Parthia's wealth — soon to be his wealth — Crassus had summoned Ariamnes to his side. The chieftain found him eating dates on a couch under gently moving palm leaves fanned by slaves.

The Nabataean bowed deeply. 'Your Excellency wished to see me?'

'Repeat what you said about Seleucia's riches.' Crassus was never bored by the story.

Again Ariamnes bowed low. 'Most is found in the palaces of King Orodes, the wealthiest man in Parthia. Many chambers have walls covered with beaten silver or huge silk banners. The fountains are filled with precious stones and there are countless gold statues with opals and rubies for eyes.' He paused for effect. 'The treasure store alone is said to fill a dozen rooms.'

Crassus smiled. 'Rome will never forget the triumphal parade from this campaign!'

Ariamnes was about to reply when the pair saw Longinus approaching. The legate was followed closely by a swarthy figure in leather armour. A curved sword hung from the man's belt and a small round shield from one arm. The fine layer of dust covering him from head to toe could not conceal the grey sheen of exhaustion on his skin.

Obviously agitated, Longinus came to a halt and saluted.

Crassus curled his lip with distaste, Ariamnes swiftly copying the gesture.

'One of our patrols has just brought him in, sir. A messenger from Artavasdes,' said Longinus, looking daggers at the Nabataean. 'He 's ridden day and night to reach us.'

Crassus frowned. 'Not an impostor then?'

'He carries a document stamped with the royal seal.'

'What does the Armenian want now?' snapped Crassus.

'The king has been attacked by a large Parthian force north of here. Even if Artavasdes wished to join us now, he could not.'

Ariamnes' eyes darted to Crassus.

'Continue.' The general's voice was ice cold.

'Artavasdes calls on us for aid.' Wary of continuing, Longinus paused.

'There is more?'

'He still wants us to march on Parthia through Armenia, sir.'

'That dog wants me to retreat? And help him?' roared Crassus. 'When Seleucia's riches lie at my feet?'

'It's a safer route, sir,' tried the legate, but it was obvious his commander had no intention of helping the client king.

Crassus' face darkened.

'May I offer my humble opinion?' interjected Ariamnes smoothly.

Bodies stiff with tension, both men turned to him.

'Excellency, Orodes must have assumed that you would march through the mountains. He has sent his army north, but they have encountered Artavasdes instead.'

'That would explain the small numbers of Parthians yesterday,' beamed Crassus.

'A delaying tactic and nothing more,' Ariamnes continued. 'And all that stands between us and the capital.'

Longinus was unconvinced. 'What proof have you?'

'Patience, Legate,' Crassus said calmly. 'Let him speak.'

The Nabataean threw a sidelong glance at Longinus. 'Yesterday my scouts outflanked the horse archers and reconnoitred for miles to the southeast. There was no evidence of more Parthian forces. Orodes must have taken his men north.'