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changed.
    Docilosa bowed and withdrew, leaving her mistress to brood.
    Visiting the temple would also afford Fabiola another opportunity to ask Jupiter who had raped their mother. Velvinna had only mentioned it in passing, but for obvious reasons, she had not forgotten. Discovering her father’s identity was Fabiola’s driving purpose in life. And once she knew, revenge would be hers.
    At any price.
    Taking charge of the rundown latifundium when Brutus left had greatly intimidated Fabiola. But it provided her with satisfaction too. Being mistress of the large estate surrounding the villa was tangible proof of her revenge on Gemellus, who had originally owned it. And so she had thrown herself into the job from the start. An initial tour of the house proved that, as in his residence in Rome, Gemellus’ tastes were crude and garish. It had given her great pleasure to have every single opulent bedroom, banqueting hall and office redecorated. The merchant’s many statues of Priapus had been smashed, their massive erect members reminding Fabiola too much of the suffering that she had witnessed Gemellus inflict on her mother. The thick layer of dust covering the mosaic floors was swept away; the fountains unclogged and cleared of dead leaves. Even the neglected plants in the courtyards had been replaced. Best of all, the walls of the heated bathing area had been repainted with bright images of the gods, mythological sea creatures and fish. One of Fabiola’s most powerful memories of her first day in the Lupanar was seeing such pictures in its baths. She had determined to have the same luxuriant surroundings herself one day. Now it was a reality.
    And yet it was hard not to feel guilty, she thought later that day. While she lacked for nothing, Romulus was probably dead. Tears pricked the corners of Fabiola’s eyes. While in the brothel, she had left no stone unturned in her efforts to find him. Incredibly, after more than a year, she had discovered that her twin was still alive. In the savagery of the gladiatorial arena, Jupiter had protected him. The further revelation that Romulus had enrolled in Crassus’ legions could not dampen Fabiola’s spirits, but then disaster struck. A few months before, the devastating news of Carrhae had reached Rome. At one stroke, Fabiola lost virtually all hope. To survive one horror only to end up in a doomed army seemed cruel beyond belief. Eager to help, Brutus had done his best to find out more, but the news was all bad. The defeat was one of the worst ever suffered by the Republic, with huge numbers of men lost. Certainly Romulus was not among the remnants of the legion that had escaped with the legate Cassius Longinus. Plenty of cash had been spread amongst the veterans of the Eighth, to no avail. Fabiola sighed. Her twin’s sun-bleached bones were probably still littering the sand where he had fallen. Either that or he was gone to the ends of the earth – to some god-forsaken place called Margiana, where the Parthians had sent their ten thousand prisoners.
    And no one had ever returned from there.
    Rare tears rolled down Fabiola’s cheeks. While the slightest chance remained of seeing Romulus again, she would not despair totally, but now stubbornness was taking over from faith. Jupiter Optimus Maximus , hear me, she thought miserably. Let my brother still be alive – somehow. Determined not to lose control of her emotions, Fabiola dried her eyes and went in search of Corbulo, the aged vilicus , or steward, of her latifundium . As usual, she found him busy supervising the workers. Never having lived in the countryside, Fabiola knew little about it, or agriculture, so she spent most days in Corbulo’s company. The news from Gaul would not change that. The latifundium was her responsibility now.
    Fabiola knew from Corbulo that the days of citizen farmers working their own fields were disappearing fast, as cheap grain from Sicily and Egypt put them out of business. For more than a