by Robert Fabbi
‘And what would you consider that price to be?’ Sempronius asked slowly, one side of his face curled up in a sneer.
‘Death. And not a quick one.’
Sempronius smiled mirthlessly. ‘That would be grievous mistake.’
‘No Brother, that would be justice, but I’m not naive enough to think that we both have the same sense of justice so, in order to maintain the peace between us, I offer this compromise.’ Magnus put two fingers in his mouth a whistled shrilly. A couple of his lads led two small figures out of one of the entrance tunnels in the rows of seating; knives were held across their throats.
Sempronius regarded them for a few moments and then shrugged. ‘More whore-boys; what are they to me?’
‘They’re nothing to you, but they’re worth quite a bit to their Albanian owners — in the condition that they’re in at the moment, that is. Unfortunately their condition is worsening.’ Magnus raised a hand and brought it down quickly. A knife flashed golden in the evening sun; there was a screech and blood started to flow down the face of one of the boys. ‘That was just a small cut across the top of his forehead; nothing too disfiguring so it won’t reduce his value that much.’
‘What do you want?’
‘The two boys that your Albanian friends took from my client. If they are returned tonight, unharmed, then I will return those two with their fingers, tongues and cocks still in place and without sharp knives rammed up their arses. In other words, in perfect working order to carry on their trade. My client will also forgo his revenge for the two other boys that were cut up in the attack and that will be an end to the matter.’
‘And if they’re not returned tonight?’
‘It will be their tongues first, then we’ll have our vengeance on the Albanians and all our businesses will suffer as we fight out a blood-feud.’
‘That can’t be allowed to happen, Sempronius,’ the Patronus to Magnus’ left stated. ‘My area, the North Viminal, is right between you two, we would suffer badly. Magnus’ deal is fair and you should accept it; if not and you take us to war, then we will be against you.’
There were murmurs of agreement from the other three Crossroads leaders.
Magnus kept his expression neutral but smiled inwardly as anger briefly flashed across Sempronius’ face; he would have to back down and lose face or find himself ranged against all of the Brotherhoods on the Viminal and Quirinal.
‘Give him something to take away from the meeting as a sop,’ Servius whispered into Magnus’ ear. ‘Otherwise his pride may prevent him from accepting.’
Magnus nodded. ‘To show our goodwill, Sempronius, I’ll give you one of the boys to take with you now, on account as it were.’
Sempronius turned to his counsellor who inclined his head indicating his agreement. ‘Very well, Magnus, I’ll take the boy. The Albanian’s will return the two that they’ve got this evening and pick up the second one then. After that we’re square, yes?’
‘Square, Sempronius, and these brothers are our witnesses. Tell your Albanians to have the boys at my tavern by midnight, I’ll guarantee their safe conduct. After that they’re to keep out of my area if they value their lives.’
It was dark by the time Magnus and his comrades got back to the Crossroads; the tavern was filling up and business was brisk.
‘Take him into the back, clean him up and keep watch over him, Cassandros,’ Magnus ordered one of the two brothers accompanying the visibly terrified remaining whore-boy. Dried blood matted his hair and covered his face.
‘A pleasure Magnus,’ Cassandros replied with a grin.
‘And keep your filthy Greek hands off him, and any other part of your body for that matter: he’s not to be interfered with.’
Looking disappointed, Cassandros led his charge off as Magnus and Servius took a corner table. A jug of wine and two cups were quickly set before them by a plump, grey-haired woman.
‘Business looks good this evening, Jovita,’ Magnus commented as she filled his cup.
Jovita indicated with her head to the far corner where Aquilina was perched on the lap of a busy-handed freedman. ‘That new one who started today seems to be very popular; seems to be pulling a crowd. That’s number six so far.’
‘Busy girl,’ Servius commented, to the old woman’s back.
Magnus looked away from the girl, taking a slug of wine. ‘So Brother, they seemed to believe us.’
‘Yes. So now we wait.’
‘Just a few days, let things settle.’
‘Have you worked out how we’re going to do it?’
‘Almost, there’re a couple of things that I ain’t sure of yet but I’ll go and see an old comrade from the Cohort discretely tomorrow; he’ll be able to help me.’
Servius looked over Magnus’ shoulder. ‘Not another whore-boy?’
Magnus turned to see a beautiful youth in his early teens swathed in a hooded cloak and sighed. ‘Does he want to see me Arminius?’
‘Yes, master, can you come at once?’ the youth replied with a guttural Germanic accent, pulling back his hood to reveal luxuriant, flaxen hair.
Magnus nodded and downed his wine. ‘Deal with the exchange if I’m not back when the Albanians arrive, Brother.’ He got to his feet and, indicating to Marius and Sextus that they should follow him, stepped out into the night after the young German.
‘MAGNUS, MY FRIEND, thank you for coming so quickly,’ Gaius Vespasius Pollo boomed, turning his huge bulk in his chair as Magnus and his companions were shown into the atrium by a very decrepit and ancient doorkeeper. ‘Arminius, take Magnus’ friends to the kitchen and find them some refreshment.’
‘Good evening, Senator,’ Magnus replied as his erstwhile guide led Marius and Sextus from the room.
‘Come and sit down, it’s a chill night.’ Gaius indicated with a full wine-cup to a chair across the table from him, in front of a blazing log fire, set in the hearth.
‘How can I be of assistance at this time of night?’ Magnus asked sitting and adjusting his toga.
Gaius handed him the cup. ‘Yes indeed, not really the business time of day is it?’
‘It is for my sort of business.’ Magnus took a long draught of wine, ignoring Gaius’ disapproving frown at the rough treatment of such a fine vintage. ‘That’s a nice drop of wine that is, sir.’
‘I’m glad that you appreciate it.’ Gaius reluctantly topped up Magnus’ proffered cup. ‘What do you know about the Lady Antonia?’
Magnus shifted uneasily in his chair and took another slug of wine. ‘She’s the Emperor’s sister-in-law, grandmother to the children of the late Germanicus and a very formidable woman. I believe that you are in her favour.’
‘I am.’
‘When I was a boxer I attended a few of her dinners as a part of the entertainment.’
‘Yes, I’m aware of that, although I’ve never understood why a citizen would choose to become a boxer.’
‘The money mainly but also the notoriety — look at all them young gentlemen who choose to fight a bout or two in the arena for wagers or just to get their names heard.’
‘Rather excessive to my mind.’
‘Yeah well, it helped me become the patronus of my Crossroads — you don’t do that by just asking nicely, if you take my meaning?’
Gaius’ eyes twinkled with amusement in the glow of the fire. ‘No, you did that by murder for which you would have paid with your life — had it not been for me, if you take mine?’
‘I do, Senator and I will always be in your debt.’
‘Enough to commit another murder?’
Magnus shrugged and held out his cup for another refill. ‘If you require it.’
‘I don’t,’ Gaius emphasised, pouring more wine, ‘but Antonia does. This evening she asked — or rather ordered — me to organise one for her. She’s not a woman that one can say no to.’
Magnus looked away and tried to keep his face neutral. ‘I can imagine.’
Gaius chuckled causing his tonged ringlet
s to sway gently over his ears; he took another sip of wine.
‘Who does she want done and why doesn’t she organise it herself?’ Magnus asked.
‘There’s absolutely no reason why she couldn’t organise it herself, so I’ve a hunch that the answer to the second question is that it’s a test to see how far she can trust me. If I succeed then I will have a place in her inner circle of friends.’
‘And be one step closer to the consulship.’
‘Quite. So you can see how important it is for me. As to the first question, that’s simple: a Praetorian Guardsman.’
Magnus banged his cup down onto the table in alarm. ‘A Praetorian? Is she serious?’
‘Oh yes, quite literally deadly serious. And it’s not just any Praetorian either, it’s Nonus Celsus Blandinus.’
‘Blandinus? One of the tribunes?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘What’s she got against him?’
‘Nothing that I know of; it’s rather unfortunate for him really.’
‘Then why?’
‘Earlier this year, Antonia managed to persuade the Emperor to forbid the Praetorian Prefect Sejanus to marry her widowed daughter, Livilla. Now she wants to send a message to Sejanus that in making that request he went too far; and what better way to do that than to have one of his deputies killed?’
‘I can think of a lot of better ways. When does she want it done?’
‘Within the next couple of days. But she wants it done in a way that Sejanus will know that she’s behind it but be unable to accuse her of organising the murder.’
‘So we can’t just slit his throat in a dark alley.’
‘Absolutely not, this demands subtlety.’ Gaius leaned forward and put his hand on Magnus’ forearm. ‘I’m relying on you, my friend. If you do this well for me then Antonia will owe me a favour. My sister and brother-in-law are bringing their two boys to Rome. I may be able to use this to have her further their careers as well as my own.’
Magnus raised an eyebrow at his patron. ‘And the higher you and your family rise the more you can do for me, eh Senator?’
‘Naturally.’ Gaius smiled and patted Magnus’ arm. ‘We could all come out of this very well.’
‘You might, but I could come out of this very dead.’
‘If I thought that for one instant then I wouldn’t have entrusted you with one of the most important favours of my career,’ Gaius asserted raising his cup to Magnus who smiled mirthlessly, raised his in reply and then downed it in one.
The night was cold and clear; Magnus’ breath steamed as he walked, deep in thought, down the quiet streets of the Quirinal followed by Marius and Sextus. Turning left onto the wider and busier Alta Semita, jammed with the delivery wagons and carts that were only allowed into the city at night, the pavement became more crowded but people stepped aside in deference as they recognised the leader of the area’s Brotherhood. Those who were not local and failed to move were roughly shoved out of the way by Marius and Sextus.
Magnus accepted a charcoal-grilled chicken leg from the owner of one of the many open-fronted shops, occupying the ground floor of the three or four storey insulae that lined both sides the street. The walls to either side of the shop were covered in graffiti, both sexual and political.
‘Thank you Gnaeus, one for each of the lads as well.’
‘My pleasure, Magnus,’ the sweaty store-holder replied, retrieving, with a pair of tongs, two more legs off of the red-glowing grill.
‘Business been good?’ Magnus asked biting into the dripping flesh.
‘We had a very good Saturnalia, however it’s trailed off a bit in the last few days since but I’m sure that it will pick up for the New Year. The trouble is that the price of fresh chicken has gone up considerably in the last couple of months and it’s eating into my profit.’
‘And you’ve raised your prices as much as you can?’ Magnus asked, realising why Gnaeus had offered him some of his wares.
‘As much as I dare without pricing myself out of the market.’
‘Where do you buy your chicken?’
‘Ah, that’s the big problem: the small market at the Campus Sceleratus, just inside the Porta Collina; the prices are usually better there than in the main Forum markets, and it’s in our area. However, I’m sure that the traders have started fixing their prices and the market aedile is colluding with them.’
‘I see.’ Magnus gnawed thoughtfully on his chicken leg. ‘That sounds less than legal to me. I’ll send a couple of the lads up there tomorrow. They can offer anyone I suspect of price-fixing the opportunity of joining the Vestals who were buried alive beneath that Campus for breaking their vows.’
Gnaeus inclined his head in gratitude. ‘I’m sure that’s an offer they would be happy to refuse, thank you, Patronus.’
Magnus threw his cleaned bone into the gutter. ‘How’s that daughter of yours? Have you found her a husband yet?’
Gnaeus raised his eyes to the heavens. ‘The gods preserve me from wilful women. I…’
A loud series of shouts from a nearby shop interrupted the store-holder’s catalogue of domestic woes. A bearded young man came pelting along the pavement towards them, clutching two loaves of bread to his chest.
‘Marius? Sextus?’ Magnus said stepping aside and nodding at the fast approaching thief.
Seeing his path blocked by two burly men in togas, he tried to sidestep to his left, into the road. Sextus thrust out his massive, right fist and caught him a stunning blow to the side of his head, sending him crashing into a mule-cart and startling the beast pulling it. With a speed that belied his size and quickness of thought, Sextus was down on the stunned man, hauling him up by his ragged tunic, semi-conscious, to his feet; the loaves of bread were left in the road to be trampled by the spooked animal.
A tubby little baker in a grease-specked tunic puffed, pushing his way through the gathering crowd of onlookers. ‘That man stole from my shop, Magnus. I want payment for that bread.’
Magnus walked over to the still-dazed thief held upright in Sextus’ powerful grip. He lifted his chin roughly in his hand, squinting at his face. ‘I don’t recognise him, he ain’t from round here.’ Letting his chin go he gave him an abrupt slap across the cheek. ‘Where’re you from, petty thief?’ The man’s head lolled on his chest, a trickle of blood worked its way through his beard; he said nothing.
Magnus grasped the captive’s right hand, folding his fingers in a firm grip, crushing them, causing a groan of pain as he recovered his senses. ‘What are you doing stealing from this area?’
The man opened his eyes and tried to focus on Magnus, his face grimacing with agony as the pressure increased on his crushed fingers. ‘He cheated me couple of days ago,’ he managed to whisper, in thickly accented Latin, ‘He gave me a counterfeit as in change.’
Magnus eased his grip. ‘Can you prove that?’
The man reached for his belt and pulled a small copper coin from a leather pocket sown into the reverse side. Magnus looked at it; the surface had been scratched revealing the dull-metallic hue of iron. He took the coin and brandished it at the baker. ‘Did you give him this, Vitus?’
The baker reddened and held up his hands. ‘Of course not, Magnus I wouldn’t be so stupid; I’m well aware of the punishment for passing dud coinage.’
‘I think that I had better have a look in your shop. Marius, ask this gentleman nicely to escort us to it.’
‘My pleasure, Magnus,’ Marius said stepping forward and placing a firm hand on the reluctant Vitus’ shoulder, slowly turning him around; he pushed his stump into the small of the baker’s back and propelled him forward the few paces to his open-front shop.
Sextus followed, hauling the thief after him.
‘Where do you keep your money, Vitus?’ Magnus asked, looking around the shelf-lined premises and enjoying the smell of freshly baked bread.
Vitus glanced sidelong at his accuser, still secure in Sextus’ grip. ‘There, under the oven.’ He po
inted to a recess below a sturdy iron door. Next to it two elderly female slaves were kneading dough on a wooden table. They continued with their work, ignoring the intrusion.
‘Show me.’
Vitus retrieved a wooden box from behind a couple of full, small sacks and opened it; it was a quarter filled with low denomination coins.
‘That’s not where he got my change from,’ the thief exclaimed. ‘One of the slaves got it from a bag in a draw in the table.’
The two women stopped the work and looked at their master who paled.
Magnus smiled grimly at the baker and held out his hand. Vitus nodded at one of the women who opened a draw and pulled out a small leather bag and threw it to Magnus.
‘Well, well, Vitus,’ Magnus said as he tipped a dozen or so coins into his hand, ‘evidently you are stupid; lucky that it was me that caught you and not an aedile.’
Vitus fell to his knees and clutched at the hem of Magnus’ toga. ‘Please Magnus, don’t report me to the aedile; I’ll lose a hand. I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.’
‘Too fucking right you won’t do it again; I won’t have it in my area, it will give us all a bad name.’ He turned to the thief. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Tigran, master.’
‘Where’re you from?’
‘Armenia, master.’
‘No, I meant: where are you from in Rome?’
‘Oh, I live in the shanty town amongst the tombs on the Via Salaria.’
‘You’re not a citizen are you?’
‘No master. I arrived here a few months ago.’
‘Then I’ll give you a warning: you don’t steal here. Next time you’re cheated in my area come and see me, I won’t have people taking the law into their own hands. Explain that to him, Sextus.’
With a sharp jab, Sextus rammed his right fist into Tigran’s stomach, doubling him over with a loud exhalation of breath.
Magnus put the counterfeit coins back into their bag and tucked it into the fold of his toga. ‘Get me two loaves of bread, Vitus.’ As the baker rose to his feet and scuttled to a shelf Magnus removed four asses, the equivalent of one sesterce, from the money box and gave them to Tigran, who still struggled for breath. ‘Give him the bread as well, Vitus.’
