The Racing Factions

by Robert Fabbri

  ‘That’s very foolish of him.’

  ‘Very.’ Magnus stood. ‘Come on, lads, we don’t want to be late for our senator.’

  ‘Magnus, my friend, I trust you’ve had luck?’ Senator Gaius Vespasius Pollo boomed, waddling down the steps from the senators’ enclosure in a flurry of wobbling belly, jowls and chins.

  ‘Quite the opposite, senator.’ Magnus took up his position in front of his patron, the man to whom he owed his life, with his brothers at either shoulder, ready to beat a path for him through the departing race-goers disgorging into the urine-scented, cavernous belly of the Circus Maximus.

  ‘That’s what comes of just betting on your beloved Greens without paying any attention to form.’

  ‘Once a Green, always a Green, sir.’

  Gaius’ full, moist lips broke into a grin as he pushed away a carefully tonged curl of hair from his eye. ‘I find it much better to have no such affiliations; it gives me far more room for manoeuvre and a better chance of backing the winning team. That, of course, goes for politics as well as racing.’

  ‘I admire your lack of loyalty, sir.’ Magnus shoved a slow-moving, old man out of the way as they emerged through an arch into the Forum Boarium where the four Racing Factions had their race-day camps; horses and wagonloads of chariots trailed out, heading back to their permanent bases on the Campus Martius, north of the city. The fading, late-afternoon light washed the grand marble buildings on the Palatine above them with a warm glow, despite the dropping temperature.

  ‘I reserve my loyalty for family, patrons and my clients, such as yourself; it’s generally wasted elsewhere.’

  ‘Except on the Greens.’

  Gaius laughed. ‘Have it your own way, Magnus. If it makes you happy to lose your money needlessly, who am I to dissuade you? In the meantime, I have a favour to ask.’

  Magnus stopped for a few moments, giving way to a party of higher status. ‘Of course, patronus.’

  Gaius nodded at the passing senator, one of this year’s praetors, preceded by his fasces-bearing lictors. ‘As you know, my eldest nephew, Sabinus, has failed for the last two years to get elected as a quaestor; obviously I can’t allow that state of affairs to continue.’

  ‘Indeed not.’

  ‘I have to make sure that he gets in this time because next year his younger brother, your friend Vespasian, will be old enough to stand and I certainly won’t be able to afford two sets of bribes; not to mention the friction it’ll cause in their already strained relationship.’

  ‘Surely your patron, the Lady Antonia, could help; the support of the Emperor Tiberius’ sister-in-law for Sabinus would be invaluable.’

  ‘I’m nervous about asking her to involve herself in matters, like quaestor elections, so far beneath her.’

  ‘She involves herself with some matters way beneath her.’

  Gaius chuckled. ‘She’s always loved a boxer; is she still demanding your services?’

  Magnus grunted. ‘Yeah, well, now and again I get a summons.’

  ‘I’ve made an appointment to see her tomorrow morning concerning another issue and I wouldn’t want to make two requests of her at the same time; you know how demanding her reciprocal favours can be.’

  ‘I do – at first hand, as it were.’

  ‘So I have to look elsewhere for support for Sabinus and that’s where I’ll need your particular skills.’

  ‘I assume, therefore, that pressure needs to be applied or an incentive offered, if you take my meaning?’

  ‘I do indeed; but in this case pressure would be risky.’

  ‘So you have someone in mind?’

  ‘I think it would help if the Senior Consul publically supported Sabinus.’

  ‘Gnaeus Domitius Ahenobarbus?’ Magnus turned in horror to Gaius. ‘You must be mad, begging your pardon, to think about influencing him, sir, he’s a monster.’

  ‘He is.’

  ‘He pulled an eques’ eye out in the forum just because he criticised him.’

  ‘And only last month he purposely ran over, with his quadriga, a small boy playing on the Via Appia. What better person to support Sabinus? If Ahenobarbus backs him a lot of other people will vote for him too, to keep on the right side of the monster.’

  Magnus looked dubious as Marius and Sextus, either side of him, used their strong arms to ease their way through the crush. ‘Why don’t you just bribe him?’

  ‘I will, and handsomely so; but everyone else is too. He’s taking money from all the candidates and will end up supporting the one who pays him most. The trouble is I don’t know whether my bribe will be enough and I can’t afford to increase it; somehow it needs to be supplemented.’

  ‘So you want me to ease him in the right direction.’

  ‘Exactly, but without him realising that I’m behind it as I fully intend to have both my eyes still in place once Sabinus is elected quaestor.’

  ‘And how do you think I can manage that?’

  ‘I’ve no wish to know, Magnus my loyal friend; but you’ve served me well before and I’ve complete trust in your ability to solve even the most delicate of problems.’

  The ceaseless night-time clatter and rumble of delivery carts – banished from Rome’s packed streets during the day – had begun in earnest by the time Magnus and his companions reached the tavern, at the junction of the Vicus Longus and the Alta Semita, that served as the headquarters of the South Quirinal Crossroads Brotherhood. Magnus checked the flame on the altar of the Crossroads Lares – the deities of the neighbourhood – the upkeep of which was the original purpose of the formation of the many such brotherhoods in Rome; satisfied with it, he patted the brother guarding it on the shoulder and stepped through the door into the fug of the crowded tavern.

  ‘A legionary back on leave called in to see you,’ an old man with gnarled hands informed him, looking up from a scroll on the wine-stained table before him.

  ‘Did he leave a name, Servius?’

  ‘Just the one: Lucius. He said that you’d remember him from Thracia and Moesia a couple of years ago; he’s serving with the Fourth Scythica.’

  Magnus looked at his aged counsellor and second in command, recalling the name for a couple of moments, and then smiled. ‘Lucius? Yeah, I remember him; Vespasian saved him from execution in Thracia; he owes him big. He used to work as a stable lad for the Greens before he joined up; he’s still got contacts there, promised me a few tips.’

  ‘He’s going to be at the Greens’ stables on the Campus Martius from noon tomorrow; he said you should drop by, he’d give you the tour that he promised when he last saw you.’

  ‘Did he now? I may well take him up on that, it’d take my mind off a couple of problems we’ve got; come through to the back room, we need to talk.’

  ‘Gnaeus Domitius Ahenobarbus!’ Servius exclaimed as Magnus finished talking; his gaunt, lined face appeared waxen in the light of a single oil lamp. ‘He’s a monster; no one in their right mind would meddle in his affairs.’

  Magnus poured them both a cup of wine from the jug on the table between them. ‘That’s what I said, but the senator needs him to back Sabinus.’

  ‘I suppose Sabinus getting elected and taking a seat in the senate could be useful for us.’

  ‘Possibly; and then his younger brother, Vespasian, will follow him and we’ll have three tame senators to call upon should we run into difficulties with the authorities; but Sabinus first.’

  ‘If we can get Ahenobarbus to support him.’

  ‘Which is a big “if”, brother. So what do you know about him?’

  ‘Apart from the fact that, just like all his ancestors, he’s violent, cruel and arrogant?’

  Magnus waved a dismissive hand. ‘I know all that.’

  ‘He’s very greedy; he hoards money and hates giving it away. When he was a praetor he used to refuse to hand over the prize money to charioteers in the games he sponsored; he found it bad enough being forced to put on the games without having the extra expense of re
warding the winners. It’s ironic really because he loves chariot-racing; he attends every race and is a fanatical supporter of the Reds. All his family are because their beards grow that colour.’

  ‘I fucking loathe the Reds almost as much as I do the Blues.’

  ‘I know, don’t we all? But the Whites loathe them even more than we do.’

  ‘I ain’t that keen on the Whites either. What else?’

  ‘He’s married but doesn’t have children.’

  ‘Likes it rough the other way?’

  ‘Likes it rough any way. He married his wife four years ago when she was just thirteen; apparently every time she’s been seen in public since she’s had bruises all over her face and arms.’

  ‘He sounds lovely.’

  ‘Oh, he is, believe me.’

  ‘So how do we get to him?’

  ‘We’ve got time to think; the elections aren’t for another few months. What was the other problem? You said there were two.’

  ‘Ah, yes; Ignatius.’ Magnus downed his wine and related the events of the afternoon.

  ‘What are you thinking of doing?’ Servius asked, having heard the story without a flicker of emotion.

  ‘We could kill him but he’s well protected and anyway that’s too clean and quick for what he did. I can’t allow people to humiliate me in front of a couple of the brothers; that sort of thing gets around and before you know it there’re mutterings about a change of leadership. I want to see him suffer and I want the brothers to be reminded about what happens to men who cross me.’

  ‘Ruin him, then; but the problem is how to place a bet with him big enough to do that and certain enough to win.’

  Magnus thought for a few moments and then smiled; his dark eyes twinkled in the lamplight. ‘We need to fix a race.’

  Servius pulled at the loose, wrinkled skin of his throat. ‘Of course we do.’

  ‘You can get odds of forty or fifty to one for all three chariots of one team to come in first, second and third.’

  ‘Yes, but he’s got to be worth at least a million denarii; you’d still have to bet at least twenty-five thousand denarii to have a chance of ruining him. That’s a thousand aurei. We don’t have that sort of money; and, even if we did, how would we make him pay up?’

  ‘No, we don’t have that sort of money, nor would Ignatius be terrified enough of us to honour the bet even if we did, but . . .’ Magnus paused and winked at Servius.

  The old man broke into a brown-toothed grin. ‘I take your meaning: there is someone who would frighten Ignatius into parting with his last sestertius, and he certainly does have that sort of cash. But how could you make Ahenobarbus place such a bet with him?’

  ‘That’s where Ignatius’ greed will be his downfall. I think, brother, that, despite how much the idea repulses me, we’re going to organise a Red one-two-three.’

  Magnus pushed his way through the drinkers in the tavern, past the amphorae-lined bar and on to his table in the far corner, which had a good view of the door; the regulars knew better than to occupy it and passing customers, who lacked the benefit of such knowledge, were soon made aware of their transgression.

  A Greek with a nasty scar along his jaw, which reduced his beard to clumps, brought a jug of wine and a cup and set it on the table.

  ‘Thanks, Cassandros,’ Magnus grunted. ‘Sit down a moment.’

  Cassandros complied whilst pouring Magnus’ wine.

  ‘I need you to do what for you should be a pleasant job.’

  Cassandros grinned lopsidedly. ‘So I’ll be mixing business with pleasure.’

  ‘Very much so. Tomorrow I want you to go down to the Campus Martius and hang around the Red stables.’

  Cassandros’ face fell. ‘But tomorrow is the Lupercalia.’

  ‘And you’re going to miss it. I know you enjoy watching patrician youths running naked through the streets whipping women with thongs of goatskin but, let’s face it, the ceremony is to help women conceive and therefore completely irrelevant to a man of your tastes. Instead you’re going to find yourself a nice attractive Red stable lad or whatever and show him a good time; Servius will give you some cash to cover your expenses. Take him home, give him a serious going-over and leave him panting for more, if you take my meaning?’

  ‘I do indeed, brother. How long do you want me to keep him desirous of my services?’

  ‘Shouldn’t be more than a month I’d guess; and then I’ll be wanting some information from him.’

  Cassandros frowned. ‘You’re not thinking of betting on the Reds, are you?’

  ‘Why would a lifelong Green do a thing like that? Don’t you worry about what I’m thinking of doing; you just concern yourself with making a nice young lad very friendly.’

  ‘Only the aedile in charge of the games can do that,’ Gaius informed Magnus as they made their way up the Palatine, rife with crowds, the following morning. ‘Only four bookmakers are licensed to operate in the senators’ enclosure: Albus, Fabricius, Blasius and Glaucio; and all of them have paid very hefty bribes for the privilege, as I’m sure you can imagine. It’s a very lucrative position.’

  ‘Do you know the aedile?’ Magnus asked as a group of women came running, laughing and screeching in excitement, towards them.

  ‘I do.’

  The women dashed past, their laughter and footsteps echoing off the grand buildings of the Palatine, pursued by a group of naked youths, in varying states of arousal, lashing at them with freshly cut, bloody strips of goatskin. The crowds on the pavements cheered them on; young girls held out their hands to be whipped, giggling as the youths obliged them.

  ‘And?’ Magnus asked as Gaius eyed the youths in appreciation, turning his head as they passed.

  ‘And it makes no difference. There’re already four book-makers with the senatorial-enclosure licence.’

  ‘What would happen if there were suddenly three?’

  ‘Ah! That would be a different matter altogether; then there would be a vacancy which the aedile would be duty-bound to fill.’

  ‘Do you know him well enough to make a recommendation?’

  Gaius tore his eyes from the retreating youths’ buttocks and gave Magnus a sly look. ‘And whom should I be recommending?’

  ‘Ignatius.’

  ‘A friend of yours?’

  ‘Quite the opposite.’

  ‘Then why help him?’

  ‘It’s partly to do with Sabinus.’

  ‘In which case I’ll be only too pleased to help – but it’ll be expensive.’

  ‘Don’t worry, senator, you’ll be able to recoup that money and a lot more besides.’

  They stopped outside a single-storey house that, although tall and grand in structure, was not ostentatious compared to other buildings on the Palatine. Its windowless walls were painted a plain white, and it lacked any extraneous decoration.

  Gaius slapped Magnus on the shoulder. ‘Thank you, Magnus. If you wouldn’t mind waiting for me whilst I have my interview with Antonia, I shouldn’t be long.’

  ‘Of course, senator. One thing before you go in: does Antonia have anything to do with Ahenobarbus?’

  ‘He’s her nephew, the son of her late elder sister, another Antonia. And he’s married to her granddaughter, Agrippina.’

  ‘Is he now? Does Antonia have any influence over him?’

  Gaius rapped on the bronze-studded oaken door. ‘A little, but not enough to make him forgo all the bribes from the other candidates.’ A viewing slat slipped back and after a brief pause the doors were opened. Gaius walked in leaving Magnus deep in thought.

  ‘I thought the offer of a tour would be of interest to you.’ A broad-shouldered young man with military-style cropped hair and a tanned face greeted Magnus at the entrance of the Greens’ stables in the shadow of the Flaminian Circus.

  ‘More than you would know, Lucius, my friend.’ Magnus grasped the proffered forearm. ‘It’s good of you to remember your promise. When did you get back from Moesia?’

&nb
sp; ‘A couple of days ago; I’ve got a month’s leave in the city. Let’s go in.’

  Lucius led Magnus through the arched gate, acknowledging two guards who made Ignatius’ protectors look like boy-players in the theatre.

  ‘How come they let you in?’ Magnus asked, eying the two colossi.

  ‘All my family work for the Greens; my uncle’s the stable-master now, I can come and go as I please.’

  They walked into a busy, rectangular yard, two hundred paces long and half that across. The two long sides consisted of solely of stables, hundreds of them; whilst the shorter sides housed a mixture of workshops, forges, warehouses and offices. The air was scented with the sweet, animal smell of horses and filled with the sound of their hooves clattering on the paved ground as they were exercised in groups of four or in pairs. At one end, teams of carpenters were repairing those chariots only mildly damaged in yesterday’s racing, replacing broken struts in the light frames and restretching green linen over them. Next to them blacksmiths fitted glowing-red iron tyres on the eight-spoked wheels and dipped them, steaming and hissing, into tubs of water, contracting the metal so it fitted tightly around the rim. Everywhere there was activity: hunched leather-workers stitching harnesses and traces, dusty grooms currying horses, sweating slaves unloading bags of feed from a covered wagon, boys running errands, axles being greased; hammering, joking, neighing, sawing, shouting and whickering – all the business of a faction’s stables on the day after a race.

  ‘Were you there yesterday?’ Magnus asked as they wove their way through the plethora of pursuits.

  ‘Of course, I was helping my uncle in the Forum Boarium; we had a hundred and forty-four horses in the teams yesterday, plus all the hortatores’ mounts and the spares. Busy day.’

  ‘And only one winner.’

  ‘Yeah, shit, weren’t it? We haven’t had a day like it for years even through it was only a half-day’s racing. The faction-master was livid; although judging by the size of his purse at the end of the day he wasn’t just betting on his own team.’

  ‘Bastard.’

  ‘Yeah. Especially as it’s not allowed for anyone who works in the faction’s stables; one rule for them and one rule for us – you know how it is, my friend. If we get caught betting on another team we get expelled from the stables.’