Magnus was outraged and dropped the dagger back onto the table. ‘A legionary’s monthly wage for that. You must have been out in the sun for far too long in your life. The most I’ll give you is four and that’s my last word.’
Warming to the task, the stall-holder picked up the dagger, feigning horror. ‘Four! Four? How can I expect to feed myself if I let it go for that when it cost me four times that amount? Sixteen is as low as I can go and that is special price for the noble sir.’
Magnus turned to Sextus. ‘We’re wasting our time here. Come on.’
‘I meant fourteen.’
Magnus put a hand to his ear. ‘Did you hear something just then, Sextus?’
The bovinesque brother frowned and cupped his ear with a look of deep concentration.
‘Twelve is my final offer.’
Sextus’ face brightened. ‘I think someone said: “Twelve is my final offer”, Magnus.’
‘Did they now?’ He turned back to the trader. ‘Six and that’s that.’
‘Eleven and I get no profit.’
‘Seven is as high as I’ll go.’
‘Ten and I’ve robbed myself.’
‘Eight it is.’
‘We meet at nine.’
Magnus turned back to Sextus. ‘You know what we’re looking for now, brother. Go around the stalls and see if you can find something like it and don’t pay more than seven for it; I’ve had enough of this.’
The stall-holder held up his hands. ‘Eight shall be the price, noble sir, although please don’t tell my wives.’
Magnus grunted, having no intention of meeting the good ladies in question, and pulled out a purse hanging around his neck. Taking eight silver coins he handed them to the Eastern trader, who examined every one.
Once satisfied, he handed the dagger to Magnus. ‘It was a pleasure selling to you, noble sir. Please, I hope to see you again soon.’
‘That depends.’
‘On what, noble sir?’
Magnus leant in close. ‘On whether you can get hold of a horoscope chart.’
‘Babylonian? Egyptian?’
‘Anything that looks like it could have been cast here in Rome. And bear in mind that I won’t be paying more than three denarii for it.’
The stall-holder nodded. ‘Come and see me tomorrow, noble sir. It shall be here and the price will be six.’
‘Four it is then. I’ll probably send one of the lads.’ Magnus turned to go.
‘It shall be a pleasure. Until then. And please forgive my assertion that you were knowledgeable and a man of good taste, noble sir; it was very rude of me and I shall never make that mistake again.’
Magnus looked over his shoulder to see the stall-holder bowing deeply. He frowned to himself and pulled at one of his cauliflower ears, wondering whether he had been insulted.
‘So what’s it for, Magnus?’ Sextus asked, pointing at the purchase as Magnus slipped it into his satchel.
‘That, brother, is my insurance policy.’
Sextus looked none the wiser.
‘Never you mind, brother. You get back to Red Horse Street and tell Cassandros that I’ll be longer than I thought I would; he’s to act on his own initiative.’
Sextus did not move.
Magnus tried again. ‘He’s to do what he thinks is best.’
Antonia Caenis dismissed the slave girl once she had filled three pale-green glass beakers, all of them decorated with various wild fowl, from a matching pitcher filled with pomegranate juice. The courtyard garden, with its cooling fountain pattering at the centre, the soft breeze slipping over the tiled roof of the colonnaded walkway and the gentle rustle of crickets, was an oasis of calm compared to the relentless hustle of Rome’s streets. Magnus’ pleasure at being seated in the shade of a mature walnut tree made up for the disappointment that there was nothing stronger than fruit juice on offer. Despite the cooler temperature of the garden, Senator Pollo still sweated profusely; his ringleted hair clung in lank clumps to his head and the kohl outlining his eyes left grey streaks down his cheeks.
Caenis served her guests, passing each a drink across the round, marble table in the middle of which lay the scroll. ‘Are we wise to be getting involved with this, Gaius?’
The senator shrugged as he took a sip of juice. ‘I don’t see how we have any option, Caenis. We’ve both consulted Tuscus, along with most people of rank on the Quirinal and probably the neighbouring Viminal as well. It’s pretty sure that copies of the charts he cast for us are amongst those missing.’
Caenis pointed at the scroll. ‘And you think that this was the real object of the theft, Magnus? Assuming this woman is telling the truth and it was a robbery.’
Magnus stopped eyeing his fruit juice as if it was about to attack him. ‘It was well hidden.’
‘Or it could be just a coincidence.’
‘I don’t believe in coincidence.’
Caenis smiled. ‘Very wise, Magnus; neither do I. In a case like this, facts have meaningful connections. Let me have a look.’
Magnus leant over and pushed the scroll across to Caenis. She set her glass down and unrolled the chart flat on the table.
Magnus closed his eyes, enjoying the peace, and began to daydream about the sort of place he would buy himself with his not inconsiderable savings once he finally retired from the brotherhood.
‘Well?’ Senator Pollo asked eventually, dragging Magnus from a world of cool gardens, populated by generously built water-nymphs, where fruit juice was banned.
Caenis looked up from the chart; her normal composure, for which Magnus had always admired her, was not quite so apparent. ‘This is a death sentence for anyone who has seen it.’
Senator Pollo’s jowls wobbled in consternation. ‘Then we had better destroy it.’
‘Destroy it, Gaius? That would be rather a hasty action, I think. Why would you want to destroy the horoscope of someone who could become our next emperor?’
‘Emperor!’ Magnus and Senator Pollo exclaimed in unison.
‘Yes. This is the horoscope of Claudius’ natural son, Britannicus; at least I assume it is as it’s forecasting the life of someone born two days before the ides of February, ten years ago, at the third hour of the day. But far more interesting is the date that it was done.’ She pointed to the bottom right-hand corner of the scroll. ‘Look at that very small writing; this was drawn up last month. And then this.’ She moved her finger along. ‘This is the initials of the person who paid for it to be done: JAA. Since last year Claudius has allowed her to use the title. This stands for Julia Augusta Agrippina.’
‘The Empress! We should definitely destroy it.’ Senator Pollo drained his drink, forgetting that it was not restorative wine.
Magnus smiled as he realised why Caenis was reluctant to destroy the horoscope. ‘That is a powerful weapon to have.’
Caenis agreed and, rolling up the scroll, handed it back to Magnus. ‘Yes, the Empress enquiring into the future of her step-son, the only serious rival to her own natural son, Nero. She’s very ambitious for him and has already started manoeuvring for the succession; it was her who got Sextus Afranius Burrus appointed as one of the Praetorian prefects.’
Senator Pollo winced at the thought. ‘So that’s why Burrus was enquiring after astrologers. It was not for another purge; it was so that Agrippina could get this chart done discreetly. And since she managed to get Lucius Annaeus Seneca recalled from exile to be Nero’s tutor, it’s rumoured that he’s preparing the young brute for the Purple. But we all know that Agrippina will be the real power. It is the height of folly to come between an ambitious, megalomaniacal woman and her objective.’
‘I quite agree, Gaius; or at least don’t be seen to come between an ambitious, megalomaniacal woman and her objective,’ Caenis said. ‘Use it well.’
Magnus could not hide his surprise. ‘You don’t want it?’
‘No, Magnus, you found it, you keep it. Besides, I would have trouble trying to use it against anyone other than Agri
ppina, which, as Gaius says, would be very dangerous. Whereas you—’
‘Could use it against anyone I wanted; I just have to let the relevant authorities know.’
‘Precisely. And that way it could come to the attention of someone who perhaps has fewer scruples than Gaius or myself and thereby find its way to the Emperor, who might be very interested as to the plans his wife has for the succession.’
‘She came out of the Vigiles’ depot about an hour ago and came straight here,’ Cassandros reported to Magnus as they stood in the entrance of Red Horse Street not long after. ‘I got the distinct impression that she didn’t want to leave the depot; they practically had to throw her out and then she all but ran home. Cordus’ men wouldn’t allow her back in as it’s still sealed off until the aedile has time to inspect the scene of the murder himself.’
‘Does Cordus have any idea when that might be?’
Cassandros shook his head. ‘He doesn’t know.’ He looked at Magnus with a furrowed brow. ‘Just what is all this about, brother? Why is the aedile getting himself all upset about one little murder?’
‘It’s not the murder that has got the quality so upset; it’s the possible motive and the end result.’ Magnus looked back down the street to Tuscus’ house. ‘So, where is she now?’
‘In her neighbour’s place. I’ve got Lupus covering the back entrance with a boy to run a message should she leave by that method; Sextus is up the other end of the street.’
‘Good lad. I’ll wait with you until either she moves or Barbatus comes along.’
Barbatus arrived first, soon after the beginning of the ninth hour. ‘Well?’ he asked Magnus, without bothering to stop. ‘Did anyone try anything?’
Magnus fell into step next to him. ‘No. She’s in the house next door. She spoke to no one on her way.’
Barbatus grunted and walked on up the street. Magnus kept pace with him.
‘Where are you going?’ the aedile asked.
‘I was coming with you to have a look at the body.’
‘Why would you want to do that?’
‘We might learn something.’
‘Only that he’s dead with his throat cut, I should think.’
‘I just thought that if you want me to help clear up this rather delicate matter, I should take every opportunity I get.’
Barbatus grunted again but did not gainsay Magnus as they walked up to Tuscus’ house, past a guard of two Vigiles.
‘No one has been in since Magnus left, aedile,’ Cordus replied to Barbatus’ question.
Barbatus turned in surprise to Magnus. ‘You’ve been here already?’
‘This morning when Cordus arrived. I came as the concerned patronus of the local brotherhood.’
‘Why didn’t you say?’
‘I didn’t think it was important.’
‘Magnus found Tuscus’ price list,’ Cordus said in an attempt to be helpful.
‘A price list?’ Barbatus stared at Magnus. ‘What sort of price list?’
‘Oh, just for his candles; nothing of interest.’
With another grunt Barbatus walked over to the body. It was exactly how Magnus remembered it, only the blood had congealed even more and word had got around the local flies of a feast to hand. Barbatus knelt down and looked closely at the wound. ‘A single slash, cleanly done; I don’t think a woman could have done this.’
‘Professional?’ Magnus asked.
‘That wouldn’t narrow it down much; I expect more than half of Rome could neatly slit a throat. Still, this looks to have been done from behind as he’s lying on his back as if he has been laid down, rather than crumpled to the floor if he’d been slashed from the front.’
‘Fair point,’ Magnus said, not really understanding or caring what the aedile meant but very pleased that he had said it. ‘In which case, shall we turn him over to see if there are any wounds to the back?’
‘Good idea. Give me a hand.’
Magnus rummaged in his satchel as Barbatus turned his back for a moment to get up to the head end. With a deft movement, Magnus pulled out the curved blade and, bending down to grab the corpse’s thighs, slipped it beneath them, taking care that it was smeared with blood.
‘Ready?’ Barbatus asked. Without waiting for a response he lifted the shoulders and twisted the body.
Magnus did the same with the legs and over the corpse went, its partially severed head lolling.
‘What’s that?’ Barbatus said, his eyes widening.
Magnus did his best shocked and amazed face. ‘A knife, aedile!’
‘Let me see.’ Barbatus reached forward and picked it up by the sticky handle. He examined the blade and then wiped the blood off on Tuscus’ tunic. ‘That is unquestionably the murder weapon. It looks Eastern to me. What do you think, Magnus?’
‘I think you’re right, sir. That has to be the murder weapon. There’re no signs of any other wounds on his back so this must have killed him with a single slash to the throat and then one of the murderers must have dropped the knife in his eagerness to get what they had really come for, there in that cupboard.’
Barbatus looked at the empty cupboard with the forced lock and stroked his chin. ‘Yes, I think you’re right. Which means that the murderers definitely took the scrolls, which puts Tacita in the clear: she couldn’t have done the murder, and whoever did dropped the knife getting the cupboard open, so the horoscopes would have been gone by the time she found the body.’
Magnus looked solemn and shook his head slowly. ‘So she’s telling the truth.’
‘It would seem so. Keep watching her; the murderers are bound to try and silence her at some point. Tell me as soon as they do.’
Magnus stood. ‘Of course, sir.’ He walked to the door, giving Cordus a cheery smile, and stepped out into the street. Looking about, he could see no sign of Cassandros. He walked towards the junction with the Alta Semita.
‘Magnus! Magnus!’ a high-pitched voice called.
Magnus looked up to see a small boy running towards him.
‘What is it?’
The boy, nothing more than an urchin, paused to draw a few quick breaths. ‘Cassandros sent me. He said to say: she’s moving.’
‘Which way did she go?’
The urchin pointed south, along Red Horse Street. ‘That way, Magnus, towards the Viminal.’
‘Did she now? Well, that is very interesting.’ Magnus took a sestertius from his purse and put it on the boy’s hand. ‘Try to catch up with Cassandros and then run back to me at the tavern when we know where she ends up. Although something tells me I already know the answer.’
‘So you’ll delegate the organisation of the brotherhood’s participation in tomorrow’s festival, Tigran,’ Magnus said as his new counsellor finished studying the list of contributions from all the local traders and residents.
Tigran looked up at Magnus, seated across the desk in the back room. ‘What?’
‘You heard.’
‘But that’s far below me.’
‘That’s why you’re delegating it, not doing it yourself.’
‘But—’
‘Tigran, the brotherhood is not just about collecting money in return for protection, as you should well know having been with us for twenty-five years. We’re also a religious organisation. First and foremost we tend the altar to the crossroads lares in order to ensure their blessing upon the whole neighbourhood. And then we have to represent the area in all the other festivals, religious or otherwise. Tomorrow is the festival punishing the dogs for failing to warn the defenders of the Capitoline Hill that the Gauls were climbing it. If it hadn’t been for the geese, well … Anyway, that isn’t important. What is important, though, is that you delegate someone, and I don’t give a fuck who, to organise a group of the brothers to be a part of the procession up the Capitoline tomorrow with a half a dozen live dogs tied to forked poles.’
Tigran went to say something but Magnus raised his palm. ‘Just do it. Servius used to. You need to know eve
rything about the brotherhood if you’re to make a good patronus. What’s more, the brethren expect it of you; they want to know that someone is thinking of everything. You know how superstitious they are; we all are. Just imagine what they would think if we fucked up a festival or forgot one? That’s the sort of thing that leads to discontent, and discontent leads to weakness, and weakness is what Sempronius and the West Viminal bastards want to see in us so that they can push their influence into our territory.’
Tigran relaxed, slowly nodding, his eyes, hard, holding Magnus’ remaining one. ‘All right, Magnus, have it your way; I’ll do your running around but I won’t do it for long, is that clear?’
‘It’s not running around, it’s managing the brotherhood, and you’ll do it for as long as I say.’
‘Make me.’
‘Do you really want me to?’
Tigran stood, still holding Magnus’ eye, and then turned and walked out of the room, slamming the door.
Magnus watched him go with the exasperated look of a parent dealing with a troublesome but promising child. ‘You leave me no choice, brother.’
‘I’ve left Lupus and the boy watching her,’ Cassandros said as he sat down opposite Magnus at his table in the tavern, facing the door.
Magnus wiped a piece of bread around his bowl, soaking up the gravy from the remains of his pork, chickpea and lovage stew, and popped it into his mouth, chewing it at leisure.
‘Well, don’t you want to know where she went?’ Cassandros asked, pouring himself a cup of wine. ‘You don’t seem very interested.’
‘That’s because I can guess.’
‘Go on, then.’
‘She’s at the West Viminal headquarters.’
Cassandros looked in amazement across the table at Magnus as he concentrated on wiping his bowl clean. ‘How the fuck—’
‘Did I know? Easy: Sempronius is an unscrupulous piece of shit who’s willing to involve himself in the domestic disputes of people not of his area if he can see the slightest bit of gain in doing so. So, as soon as Tacita comes back to our territory, let me know; she’ll be able to go home now that the aedile has seen the body. I think we’ll pop round for a nice chat and ask her how our mate Sempronius is, if you take my meaning? I’ll be at Senator Pollo’s house – send a message there.’
The Succession Page 3
