The crossroads brotherhood (vespasian)

by Robert Fabbi

  ‘He’s down at the end,’ Terentius whispered.

  As they progressed down the corridor Magnus realised that the lit oil-lamps were a sign of occupancy.

  Terentius reached the last door and knocked three times. After a brief pause it was opened by the same scarred boy who had delivered the message earlier.

  ‘Is he still sleeping deeply, Bricius?’ Terentius asked, stepping into the room. Magnus followed him in.

  ‘Yes Master, I’ve poured a few more drops down his throat and he hasn’t stirred,’ Bricius replied, wincing in evident pain from his wound.

  Magnus walked in; the room was of a good size and decorated with homo-erotic frescoes depicting acts between men and youths. It was furnished sparsely but with taste and was dominated by a large, richly covered bed upon which lay the recumbent form of Tribune Blandinus, breathing deeply.

  ‘You’ve done well, Terentius,’ Magnus said approvingly, patting him on the back.

  Terentius looked down sadly at Blandinus and stroked his short-cropped black hair before running his hand over his tanned, high cheek-bones and then tracing the line of his straight jaw. ‘I won’t ask what’s going to happen to him but I imagine that I won’t see him again. A pity — he was always very good to me, never too gentle but never too bestial, I shall miss him.’

  ‘Yeah well, that’s one of them things,’ Magnus mumbled, ‘Fortuna wasn’t kind to him and he drew the long straw. Nothing you can do.’

  ‘No, I understand.’

  ‘Now, my lads are around the back with a cart, I need a couple of them in here to help move them.’

  ‘Yes of course,’ Terentius replied in a small voice, running his finger along the drugged man’s lips. ‘Bricius, go and fetch them.’

  The boy ran off leaving Magnus watching uncomfortably as the whore-boy master continued caressing Blandinus’ face, kohl-stained tears trickled from his eyes.

  Fortunately after a few moments the sound of footsteps came from the corridor. Marius and Sextus came through the door.

  ‘Right lads,’ Magnus said with relief, ‘an arm over each shoulder and drag him out to the cart.’

  ‘Drag him to the cart,’ Sextus repeated slowly pointing at Blandinus, anxious not to get anything wrong.

  ‘Yes Sextus, that’s right, the man on the bed.’

  ‘Right you are Magnus.’

  As his brothers lifted the sleeping Tribune, Magnus found himself putting an arm around Terentius. ‘I’m afraid that this comes from people far above us and there ain’t nothing that I can do unless I risk my standing with them; which I wouldn’t do for no one.’

  Terentius sobbed gently. ‘Nor would I Magnus, I understand how favours work, I’d be a fool not to. It’s just that he was a decent man, who knows what sort of bastard will take his place.’

  Magnus nodded and slapped Terentius jovially on the shoulder. ‘You’ll have good news in the morning, my friend.’

  ‘I hope so. Bricius will see you out.’

  As Magnus turned to follow the slave boy out he paused and looked back. ‘Get rid of that Praetorian cloak in the vestibule, just in case someone comes asking any questions.’

  Terentius raised his eyes and smiled. ‘I shall have it made into a blanket for my bed.’

  Magnus shook his head disbelievingly and left the room.

  Magnus walked briskly and with confidence up a narrow street ascending the northern slope of the Viminal. Moonlight and the occasional spill of dim lamp-light from an open window provided just enough illumination for him to keep up a quick pace without fear of losing his footing on the uneven, wet paving stones. Behind him Lucio, Cassandros and the two Armenians struggled with the hand cart containing their swords, helmets and the sleeping Tribune, who was covered with a leather sheet. Marius and Sextus brought up the rear, hands on the hilts of their daggers at their waists. Now and again a snatch of conversation or the harsh tones of an argument floated out from the dwellings on either side but otherwise their route was comparatively peaceful. The few figures that came into view melted into the shadows before they passed, unwilling to confront or be confronted by a relatively large group led by a man with such an air of authority and purpose.

  Upon reaching the top of the Viminal, Magnus turned east towards the looming bulk of the Servian Walls before turning back south and entering the Lamp-makers’ street at the end furthest from the Viminal Gate.

  Signalling to his brothers to stop he looked down its length. He could make out nothing to concern him unduly — a couple of stationary delivery carts off-loading their consignments of blocks of clay wrapped in damp cloth to various workshops on either side of the street.

  Servius appeared out of the shadows of a nearby doorway. ‘I’ve had a couple of the lads take a look at the place, there’s no one down the back alley but there was a group of four Vigiles chatting with the doormen at the front.’

  ‘With luck they should be called away very soon,’ Magnus replied looking west in the direction of the Tiber. ‘Where’re the rest of the lads?’

  ‘They all arrived here without mishap, they’re scattered around within earshot of a whistle.’

  ‘Good. Get a man up on the wall and tell him to keep a look out for a nice big orange glow from the banks of the Tiber. I’ll take eight men to get rid of those carts.’

  Servius nodded and gave a brief, shrill whistle and within a few moments the full complement of eighteen other brothers had assembled; all were wearing Urban Cohort tunics. Urban Cohort cloaks were quickly exchanged for their own, and helmets and swords were distributed from the carts. Cassandros scaled the wall by one of the many sets of steps constructed to allow defenders access.

  ‘Right lads,’ Magnus said quietly addressing the eight men gathered that were to accompany him. ‘Remember, we’re Cohort, so we’re smart, just like we used to be in the legions or the auxiliaries. You march in step and stop as one when I command. If I give any of you an order, you reply, “Yes sir” or “Yes optio”, is that clear? Now form up.’

  A few of the lads grinned, trying out Magnus’ new title quietly as they arranged themselves into two files of four. At Magnus’ signal they marched forward and turned right into the Lamp-makers’ street.

  Approaching the carts Magnus counted a dozen or so men unloading them. He brought his men to a smart halt ten paces away and walked forward with the strut of a man used to command. The work ceased at the sight of a unit of the Urban Cohort.

  ‘Whose carts are these?’ Magnus demanded looking around the faces in the gloom.

  A couple of men stepped forward, indistinct in the patchy light.

  ‘We’re the drivers,’ one of them replied nervously.

  ‘Then you had better drive them out of here now unless you want them to be impounded and find yourselves up before the aedile.’

  ‘But we’re got every right to be unloading at this time of night,’ the other man protested.

  ‘Not tonight you haven’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Magnus pulled back his cloak to reveal his sword. ‘Look son, I don’t make the rules, I’ve just been told to keep this and a couple of other streets clear until dawn. You can come back tomorrow. Why? I don’t know, nor do I give a fuck. I just do what I’m ordered because it’s easier that way. Now, I’m doing you a favour, I could just impound your carts and take you in but instead I’m giving you the opportunity to bugger off in good order. Which is it to be?’

  The two carters looked at each other and came to a mutual agreement. ‘We’ll come back tomorrow.’

  ‘Good choice lads.’ Magnus looked at the assembled lamp-makers and their slaves. ‘Inside, all of you and if you know what’s good for you keep your windows shuttered until after dawn.’

  With a deal of muttering, but no outright dissent, the tradesmen dispersed with their slaves and whatever clay they had managed to grab.

  The carters mounted their vehicles.

  ‘I’d turn them around if I were you, lads,’ Magnus suggest
ed helpfully. ‘If you go towards the Viminal Gate you might find a brother optio of mine who’s not nearly as good-natured as myself.’

  Muttering their thanks and looking nervously over their shoulders the carters turned their mules, brought the carts round and disappeared back down the street. With a barked order, Magnus turned his men about and they followed.

  A whistled double note came from the wall as Magnus reached the end of the street; he looked up to his right to make out the silhouetted figure of Cassandros waving at him. Leaving his men with Servius he jogged over to the steps and mounted them, two at a time, to arrive puffing onto the wide walkway at the top.

  ‘Over there.’ Cassandros pointed west.

  Magnus followed his gaze over the shadowy rooftops of the Subura below, past the white marble edifices of the Palatine and on to the warehouse district in the lee of the tree-lined Aventine. There, sure enough, was a faint orange glow outlining the group of Cypress trees surrounding a temple on the side of the hill. ‘Good man Aelianus,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Cassandros, go and tell Sextus to have the lads stand by, I’m just going to watch the fire for a few moments to make sure that it’s growing.’

  Cassandros nodded and then clattered down the steps, the hobnails of his Cohort sandals causing a few dull sparks on the damp stone. Magnus took in the view. Almost a million people resided in this city — most of them crammed into half of it whilst the lucky, elite minority enjoyed the rest. From where he stood it seemed almost peaceful, hardly a sound reached his ears and the only sure sign of habitation were the many trails of smoke climbing high into the air to form a hazy, moon-drenched ceiling over the Seven Hills. He glanced over his left shoulder towards the brooding presence of the Praetorian camp, just two hundred paces outside the Viminal Gate. Constructed like any other legionary camp its torch-strewn layout was very familiar to Magnus, even though he had never visited it. He offered a silent prayer to Jupiter and Fortuna that it would remain that way after the events of the next half-hour, then checked the progress of the fire. Satisfied that it was escalating, he made his way back down to his brothers who stood ready in a column three abreast. The Armenians stood to the rear with the hand-carts that held the ladders and the still recumbent tribune.

  Taking his position at the head, Magnus raised his right arm, brought it down swiftly and the column set off in step down the Lamp-makers’ street. As they progressed, Magnus saw a few shutters on either side of the street open and close quickly, the occupants wanting nothing to do with a unit of the Urban Cohort marching down their road. Magnus smiled to himself knowing that when questions were asked there would be more than a few witnesses able to swear that they saw the men of the Cohort.

  Bringing the column to a halt just before the alley, he turned to Servius. ‘Alright brother, get your boys into position. And remind the lads we need two people left alive: one of their whore-boys and that bearded bastard who raped the boy the other night.’

  Immediately the five ladders were unloaded, and the fourteen men who were to accompany Servius over the rear wall made their way up the alley.

  Once the ladders were set against the wall with three men waiting behind each one Magnus patted Servius on the shoulder. ‘Keep the boys quiet brother whilst I go and take a look at the front. I’ll come back and tell you once it’s clear.’

  Taking his four lads and the Armenians with the second cart, he made his way to the end of the street and cautiously peered around the corner. The Vigiles were still there with the doormen but their attention was on the orange glow in the sky to the west.

  Magnus waited for what seemed an age, praying that what he had counted upon would come to pass. After many a muttered entreaty to the whole pantheon of gods, a Vigiles optio eventually came pounding up the Via Patricius.

  ‘You men! Follow me at the double,’ he shouted to his subordinates.

  ‘But we’re meant to stay here for the night, optio,’ one of the Vigiles protested.

  ‘Fuck the whore-boys, that’s the Cohort’s depot on fire. The Urban Prefect will have our guts out if he hasn’t got anything to dress his toy-soldiers up in tomorrow. Macro’s ordered every available man down there.’

  With a shrug the four Vigiles jogged off towards the conflagration leaving the two doormen alone.

  Magnus ran back to the alley. ‘Now Servius,’ he hissed.

  Instantly five men scaled the ladders, then crouched and leant back down to help their comrades. Once all fifteen were on the roof, the ladders were pulled up after them and they split into three groups.

  As they disappeared from his vision Magnus went back to join his party. ‘Tigran and Vahram, get our guest ready.’

  The Armenian cousins pulled back the leather sheet and, with a degree of difficulty, hefted Blandinus out of the cart and supported him between them, an arm around each shoulder.

  Faint shouts and screams suddenly emanated from within the Albanians’ establishment. ‘Right, they’re in,’ Magnus whispered looking at the two Armenians. ‘When I give you the signal you run around the corner hollering in Albanian for all you’re worth that the place is under attack and you’ve brought a wounded man from round the back. We’ll be twenty paces behind you so you won’t have long to hold the door once you’ve killed the doormen. Don’t worry if you drop matey-boy here, he won’t feel a thing and we’ll pick him up.’

  Tigran and Vahram grinned and nodded.

  Good boys, Magnus thought as he peered around the corner, could be useful in the future. The doormen had now heard the fighting and were knocking violently on the door. Magnus heard the bolt slam back. ‘Now!’

  The Armenians leapt around the corner, dragging Blandinus between them, shouting in an incomprehensible language. The two doormen glanced up at them in alarm and then at each other. They pulled the cudgels from their belts and one stepped through the now open door whilst the other held his position, with a puzzled look on his face, keeping the door clear for his comrades approaching from the shadows shouting for help in his own language. By the time they were close enough for him to make out their features, it was too late. He died looking into a stranger’s eyes with an unforeseen blade in his heart.

  Magnus hurtled around the corner with his brothers in his wake as the doorman slumped to the ground. Within moments he made the door. Tigran held it open, the second doorman and the doorkeeper lay dead in a pool of blood at Vahram’s feet. Just inside the vestibule, Blandinus lay cast to the ground.

  Lucio and Cassandros dragged the dead doorman in from outside and Marius shut and bolted the door.

  Magnus looked through the curtains into the dimly lit atrium. Kurush and four or five of his men were struggling to hold back the Crossroads Brothers as they tried to force their way through from the courtyard garden. A gaggle of three frightened boys huddled in one corner. To his left the stairs leading up to the first floor were deserted. ‘Right Sextus, you stay here guarding the door and keep an eye out for anyone coming down them stairs. Kill anyone who isn’t wearing a Cohort tunic.’

  ‘Kill anyone not dressed like me,’ Sextus said, thoughtfully digesting his orders. ‘And look after Blandinus. If he starts to come round knock him on the head, but gentle like.’

  ‘Knock him on the head gently, right you are Magnus.’

  ‘Marius get those boys, one unconscious but alive. Alright lads, let’s do this.’

  Magnus sprang through the curtain with a savage roar and his sword held steady at his side. Marius, Lucio, Cassandros and the Armenians followed, each yelling at the tops of their voices.

  The sudden distraction from behind caused the Albanians to falter for an instant. Two went down immediately to the swords of their attackers in front whilst the rest gave ground.

  Magnus leapt over a couple of the sumptuously upholstered divans that littered the room and pounced on Kurush, locking his forearm around the whore-boy master’s throat. ‘I don’t take kindly to greasy foreigners fucking with my clients,’ he growled in his ear.


  ‘Magnus!’ Kurush managed to gurgle through his constricted windpipe, ‘I thought we were square.’

  ‘Now we’re square.’ With a brutal thrust he forced the finely honed blade of his sword into Kurush’s side, up under the ribcage, slicing through his liver and into a lung. Blood spurted from the Albanian’s mouth onto Magnus’ forearm as Kurush went rigid with pain. Around him his brothers despatched the remaining defenders in a welter of dismemberment and savagery. With a final upwards thrust that lifted Kurush off his feet, Magnus felt the man go limp. He let him fall to the floor with the sword still embedded, his eyes open in sightless shock and his beard redder than it had ever been in life.

  Magnus looked around breathing heavily, wiping the blood from his forearm on the side of his tunic. The only men left standing were his brethren and the Armenians, all also trying to catch their breath as they looked down at the Albanians sprawled at their feet. Magnus looked closely at the dead. None of them was the young rapist.

  Servius came in from the garden flanked by four brothers. ‘It’s all clear back in the rooms. As you predicted there were no customers at this time of night so no tricky questions will be asked. We’ve suffered two flesh wounds and Festus got a nasty gut wound. I’ve had him sent back with a couple of lads already.’

  ‘Good. Where’s the rapist?’ Magnus asked.

  ‘Not back there brother.’

  Magnus looked around the atrium. Marius stood over the bodies of two of the boys, a third lay unbloodied to one side. ‘He must be upstairs.’ He turned to walk back to the staircase but stopped in his tracks.

  Sextus was standing over the body of a young man looking pleased with himself. ‘One tried to sneak out Magnus,’ he said wiping his sword on the dead man’s trousers.

  Magnus closed his eyes and bit back his anger. Sextus had only done as he had been told and killed a man not in Cohort uniform. ‘Shit!’

  ‘What is it brother?’ Servius asked.

  ‘How can we get the rapist to fuck Blandinus if he’s dead?’

  ‘Ah yes, I see. We’ll have to improvise. Cassandros, this is your area of expertise I believe?’