Senator Pollo swallowed his honeyed cake in evident confusion. ‘But why would you want to organise the Vigiles raiding your own establishment, my dear Magnus?’ Crumbs sprayed from his mouth, scattering across the desk in his tablinum. ‘It’s rather like a hound volunteering for the Punishment of the Dogs parade.’
‘Yeah, well, let’s just say that it will be of benefit to all of us: you, me, Caenis and the aedile.’
Pollo helped himself to another cake as a flaxen-haired youth, wearing a tunic a thumb’s breadth too short for complete modesty, brought in a jug of wine and two cups.
Pollo paused, admiring the lad’s half-concealed buttocks as he poured the wine, striking a pose that was not altogether natural but evidently insisted upon by his master so as to facilitate the view. ‘Hmmm,’ Pollo rumbled as the slave left, the glasses filled. ‘Where were we? Ah, yes: of a benefit to us all. If you say so, Magnus. When do you want it done?’
Magnus took a healthy slug of wine before answering. ‘Firstly, it must never be known that I ordered it, so you’ll have to get the tip-off to the aedile by a third party.’
‘Someone not connected to either you or me? Do you have any suggestions?’
‘You might like to ask your steward to have a quiet chat, incognito of course, with a Vigiles optio by the name of Cordus. He’s not that bright, but bright enough to appreciate the value of a few denarii.’
‘I shall send him down to the Quirinal depot forthwith.’
‘Not just yet, senator; there’re a couple of things that I need to put in place first. I’ll send one of the lads round when I’m ready.’
‘Master?’ the flaxen-haired slave said, standing in the entrance.
‘What is it, my dear?’ Senator Pollo smiled at the lad with obvious affection.
‘A message for me?’ Magnus asked.
The lad nodded, his long locks swaying to and fro.
Magnus stood and downed the rest of his wine. ‘I’d better be going, senator. You’ll hear from me soon.’
‘I didn’t, Magnus, I swear I didn’t.’ Tacita knelt, grasping Magnus’ knees in supplication. Cassandros and Sextus stood over her.
The blood remained congealed on the floor but the body of her husband had been removed; the infestation of flies, however, persisted.
Magnus gestured with his head to Cassandros; he pulled Tacita up to her feet. She howled and lashed out at Magnus. With a blurred-motion hand movement, he caught her wrist just before the nails made contact with his good eye. ‘Stop lying to me, Tacita. I had you followed to the West Viminal and back again. Now sit down and tell me the truth and you might just get out of this in one piece. Did you get Sempronius to order the death of your husband?’
Cassandros and Sextus manhandled Tacita down onto a chair. Sextus kept his ham-like fists clamped onto her shoulders, keeping her there.
‘Well?’
Tacita looked up at Magnus, tears welling. ‘You wouldn’t help me.’
‘It was domestic; we can’t have men living in fear of their wives ordering their deaths just because they might get a bit cross with them now and again. What did you offer Sempronius?’
Tacita cast her eyes down to stare at her hands folded in her lap. Tears were now flowing. ‘I offered him money.’
Magnus was surprised. ‘Money? How much?’
‘Not much; all I could afford. It doesn’t matter anyway because he wasn’t interested in money; he was interested in something else.’
‘So he asked for your husband’s secret copies of his charts; you didn’t offer them.’
Tacita looked up. It was her turn to be surprised. ‘How do you know about them?’
‘I’m the patronus of the local brotherhood and I talk with the aedile. So?’
‘Yes, he said he would do it for the horoscopes.’
‘Did he say how he knew about them? He must have been the only person other than you and Tuscus who did before they were taken.’
Tacita shook her head. ‘No. I was shocked when he asked for them.’
Magnus thought for a few moments. ‘All right, I believe you. So how did it happen?’
‘I didn’t want to hand them over before Tuscus was dead, for obvious reasons, so I made a deal that I would bring them once I had seen the body. I took them from their hiding place, hid them in my room and then went out and waited for the killers to strike. It was two men; they knocked on the door, Tuscus opened it, they went in and then, not long after, came out again and disappeared into the night. I waited until morning and then made the cupboard door seem as if it had been forced before taking the horoscopes to Sempronius’ house.’
‘Sempronius’ house? Not the West Viminal headquarters?’
‘No, his house, near the Viminal Gate; he made sure that I clearly understood that point. Only I didn’t take them to his house after all; they seemed too valuable to give away just like that. I thought that I would be able to make a lot of money from them and then live in luxury somewhere outside Rome.’
Magnus was unsurprised by her greed. ‘You double-crossed Sempronius? That was a foolish move.’
Tacita looked down, her eyes full of tears. ‘I thought that I could get away with it if I got the Vigiles to keep me in their depot. So I decided to tell them that Tuscus and I had interrupted a robbery, the thieves killed Tuscus but I managed to get out of the house, having clearly seen the two men and that they had the charts, thus taking suspicion away from me. You see, I thought that, as a lot of influential people consulted my husband in secret, no one would want to look too deeply into how and why he was murdered because all the attention would be on finding the charts. I figured that I’d be quietly forgotten and could slip out of Rome.’
‘And did you think that Sempronius would let you get away with that?’
Tacita shrugged. ‘Sempronius couldn’t go to the Vigiles and say that he had organised Tuscus’ death at my request but I had refused to pay him afterwards; nor could I betray him because then he would implicate me in the murder. Either way we would be appearing in the arena together. I judged that his best policy was to remain quiet about the whole affair and let it go, as there was nothing to connect the two of us so no one would think to investigate him.’
‘Nothing to connect you except for a misguided word yesterday afternoon. You should not have mentioned Sempronius’ name to me, but I’m very glad that you did. Go on.’
‘So I hid the charts again.’
‘Where?’
Tacita hesitated and then thought better of it as the grip on her shoulders tightened. ‘Back under the floorboards in the bedroom.’
‘Whereabouts in the room?’
‘Under the foot of the bed.’
Magnus gestured to Cassandros. ‘Go and have a look, brother.’ He looked back down at Tacita. ‘And then?’
‘And then I went and reported the body to the Vigiles, saying that it was a robbery and that all my husband’s duplicate horoscopes had been stolen by men whom I could identify.’
‘Hoping that the Vigiles would keep you safe to prevent the murderers from killing you so that you wouldn’t be able to identify them?’
‘Something like that, Magnus.’
‘But that didn’t work because the aedile decided to use you as bait. And he still believes that there are mysterious killers out there looking for you. But we know different, don’t we? Now that you’re out, it’s Sempronius who you fear.’
Tacita gave a sullen nod.
‘And so you found yourself unprotected and decided that the only safe course of action was to give up the charts to Sempronius but the aedile had sealed off your house and you couldn’t get them. So you panicked and decided to tell Sempronius that you would bring them as soon as you could get back into your house?’
Tacita hung her head. ‘Yes.’
Magnus slapped his hand onto his forehead and groaned. ‘Thereby telling Sempronius where the charts were.’
Tacita put her hand to her mouth in shocked realisation. ‘Bu
t I’d been so careful.’ She blinked back the tears as Cassandros came back in.
‘Well?’ Magnus asked.
‘They weren’t there, brother.’
‘What a surprise.’ Magnus’ tone implied the exact opposite.
‘I found the loose floorboard and could see where they would have been but they weren’t.’
‘You stupid woman!’ Magnus turned on Tacita, his fist raised; and then he paused, controlling himself. ‘How long did you stay at the West Viminal headquarters after you’d told Sempronius that you couldn’t retrieve the charts just yet?’
‘I don’t know. He sent a runner up here to check whether I was telling the truth and the Vigiles really had got the place sealed off. He told me that if the Vigiles found the charts and I couldn’t complete my part of the bargain then I could buy my life with my husband’s business and savings.’
‘And the runner came back saying that you had told the truth and the house was still sealed off and so Sempronius said you could go, rather than just killing you there and then, because he was now going to fleece you of everything you owned, having already stolen the charts.’ Magnus shook his head in disbelief as he turned his attention to Cassandros and Sextus. ‘Stay here with her and bring her back to the tavern as soon as it’s dark and then lock her up where we like to keep our guests. And if she makes a sound or struggles in any way, kill her.’ He looked down at Tacita to make sure she had understood; her eyes left little doubt that she had.
‘It will be tomorrow,’ Magnus said in response to Tigran’s question, ‘during the procession punishing the dogs; Sempronius won’t be at home.’
Tigran glanced across the street at a two-storey house as dusk descended upon the city. ‘How do you plan to get in there? And if you do, where will you look for whatever it is you’re looking for?’
Magnus pulled his straw hat further down to obscure as much of his face as he could, while Tigran was dressed in a plain tunic, Roman style to blend in. They walked at a slow pace past Sempronius’ house, on a quiet side street off the Vicus Patricius, just before the Viminal Gate.
‘How to get in is what we’re here to think about. It’s the tablinum that I want to get into so as to have a look in Sempronius’ desk.’ From beneath the wide brim of his hat, Magnus studied the front of the house: it had no windows onto the street in its ochre-painted facade other than the open-fronted shop to the right of the heavily constructed wooden door reinforced by iron strips. The shop, selling statuettes of gods and heroes as well as other decorative knickknacks, Magnus knew to be nothing more than a subtle way to have guards outside the house without seeming to do so; indeed, the two burly shopkeepers lighting their lamps looked about as likely to be interested in decorative knick-knacks as Magnus was in fruit juice.
They carried on walking past. ‘No alleys to either side,’ Magnus observed. ‘It’s attached onto both its neighbours. Let’s have a look around the back.’
They turned left into a narrow lane, three doors up from Sempronius’ house, expecting to find an alley dividing the houses from those onto which they backed.
‘Mars’ arse! He’s chosen this place well. The only ways in are through the front door or over the roof.’
‘Or through the walls,’ Tigran reminded him.
Magnus shook his head. ‘Too noisy and we haven’t got the time.’
‘Then we either fight our way in or trick our way in.’
Magnus slapped Tigran on the shoulder. ‘I like that thinking, brother. You see, Tigran, there is a fun side to being the second. Have you got any suggestions?’
‘It would help if I knew why you want to get in there and have a look in Sempronius’ desk, Magnus.’
‘Ahh, I’m afraid that I can’t tell you that as there are quite a few important gentlemen who would rather that the fewer people who knew about it, the better.’
‘Careful gentlemen, are they?’
‘You can never be too careful; one slip and—’ Magnus stopped as if he had hit an invisible brick wall.
‘What is it, brother?’ Tigran asked.
‘Nothing; just something someone said. Or, rather, implied.’ Magnus drew himself back to the present. ‘What I can say is that there will be quite a reward for what I’m planning and you will share in it if you can get me into Sempronius’ house.’
Tigran pondered the issue as they walked back to the Vicus Patricius and mingled with the crowds frequenting the brothels, catering for all tastes, that the street was renowned for. ‘Well,’ Tigran mused eventually, ‘the only people likely to get past the guards and be allowed in by the doorkeeper would be known West Viminal brothers.’
‘Yeah, I thought of that but dismissed it as I couldn’t see how we would induce one to co-operate.’
Tigran grinned. ‘He wouldn’t need any inducement if he were dead.’
Magnus again stopped still and slapped his forehead. ‘Now that is thinking worthy of a patronus. I’ll get a few lads together and go to find one.’
‘That’s the closest one to our territory that’s frequented by the West Viminal bastards,’ Magnus said as he, Cassandros, Sextus and Lupus surveyed a crowded tavern nearly halfway down the Vicus Longus in the disputed area between the West Viminal and the South Quirinal brotherhoods.
The open-fronted establishment was much the same as any tavern in Rome: big pots of food embedded in the bars, amphorae upright in racks or in boxes of sand, a cooking fire beneath a grill filled with strips of chicken or pork, a lot of rowdy, drunken men and a decent sprinkling of whores to lighten their purses and see to their needs.
Magnus handed Lupus a few bronze coins. ‘They won’t know you, brother; get yourself in there and buy anyone who looks to have had a few a few more and then make your excuses and get out and come back to us.’ Magnus pointed to a similar-looking tavern further up the hill. ‘We’ll be in there.’ He gave the young brother an encouraging pat on the cheek. ‘Take your time; we’ll be fine.’
‘Now I’ve got you both alone, this is what I need you to do,’ Magnus said as he, Cassandros and Sextus hunched over a table in the corner of the tavern, each with a cup in his fist, an empty plate in front of them and a belly full of grilled pork. ‘Tomorrow, our headquarters is going to be raided by the Vigiles.’
Cassandros looked shocked. ‘How do you know that, brother?’
‘Never mind how I know it; I just do. And I also know what they’ll be looking for.’
Sextus shook his head in wonder. ‘I don’t know how you do it, Magnus. When I’m looking for something I often forget what it was before I’ve found it. But you even know what other people are looking for.’
‘Don’t you worry your head about it, brother; you concentrate on what I want you to do first thing tomorrow morning. You remember that trader we were at today in the Saepta Julia?’
Sextus cast his mind back a few hours; it took some time but Magnus did not rush the process. ‘Yes, Magnus; where you bought that knife.’
‘Well done, brother.’ Magnus passed four denarii over the table. ‘Go back there and pick up the scroll waiting for me; give him this money and no more. Then give it to Cassandros. Got that?’
Sextus slowly digested his orders. ‘Pick up the scroll; give the man four denarii; give the item to Cassandros. Right you are, Magnus.’
‘What is it, Magnus?’ Cassandros asked.
‘Never you mind; you just take it and keep it for me.’
‘Where are you going to be?’
‘Busy.’
Any more questions were forestalled by the arrival of Lupus, looking as if he had thoroughly enjoyed his mission.
‘Here he comes,’ Lupus whispered to Magnus as they peered out of a dark alleyway near the first tavern.
‘Who’s that holding him up?’
‘A mate of his who turned up just before I left; I was pleased as it gave me a good excuse to leave. Anyway, our man, Pansa is his name, is well in hock to Bacchus.’
‘Pansa? Good lad; he’s perfect.
He’s a particularly nasty piece of work who has an unpleasant way with pincers when he wants to encourage someone to talk. I hope he’s enjoyed his last commune with the god.’ He signalled across the street to where Cassandros and Sextus were concealed in a doorway that Pansa and his mate were approaching, albeit by a ponderous route. ‘Come on, Lupus.’ Looking left and right, Magnus stepped out onto the Vicus Longus.
Ahead of them the staggering Pansa was having a little difficulty negotiating a set of raised stones set across the street, spaced so that cartwheels and draught animals could pass between them, used as a crossing point. Eventually his mate guided him through, having paused halfway to urinate over his sandals.
It was a mighty blow from Sextus’ right fist that was the last thing that Pansa’s mate saw that night, if, indeed, he saw it at all. Arching back, his nose crushed and his arms flying up, he collapsed with a dull thud onto the street, his head bouncing up once to crack back down and then loll to one side, to become just another victim of the feral night, ignored by all who passed.
Pansa swayed as he looked down at his erstwhile support, his eyes blinking as he tried to focus. The effort proved too much for him and he fell to his hands and knees, and then deposited a copious amount of vomit onto his mate’s tunic.
‘Come on, Pansa, my old friend,’ Magnus said, hauling him up once his stomach had been emptied. ‘You’re coming with us. I’ve finally found a purpose for your miserable life.’
The morning of the second day after the calends of August dawned golden over the city, and was soon blanketed in the baking heat that had become the norm over the past few days. But the people of Rome were not to be put off by soaring temperatures from punishing the beasts who had failed so grievously in their duty almost four hundred and fifty years previously. And it was with a carnival atmosphere that they tied stray dogs by their front paws to Y-shaped sticks, their heads lodged in the fork, and paraded the struggling, howling animals through the city to the Capitoline Hill and then on to the Aventine in order to teach them the meaning of their duty.
The Succession Page 4
