Robert Fabbi

The crossroads brotherhood

Rome

December AD 25

‘Marcus Salvius Magnus, I’ve come to you as my patron in the hope that you will right the wrong that is being done to me. In the three years that you have been the Patronus of the Crossroads Brotherhood, here in the South Quirinal district, you have seen that I’ve always paid the not inconsiderable dues owed for your continuing protection in full and on time. I have always provided you with information on my clients, when you have asked for it. I have always offered you free use of my establishment, although you have never availed yourself of that, as my goods are not, I believe, to your taste.’

Magnus sat — leaning back in his chair with his elbows resting on the arms, his hands steepled, his forefingers pressed to his lips — and looked intently at the slight, auburn-haired man standing on the other side of the table as he continued to list examples of his loyalty to the Crossroads Brotherhood, under whose protection lived every trader and resident on the southern slope of the Quirinal Hill. Wearing a tunic of fine linen, outrageously unbelted, and with long, abundant hair tied back in a ponytail, he was of outlandish appearance, but not unattractive — if you liked that sort of thing. Although in his late thirties, his skin was as smooth as a young woman’s, clinging tightly to his fine-boned cheeks and jaw. His sea-grey eyes, lined with traces of kohl, sparkled in the soft lamplight and watered slightly in reaction to the smoky fug produced by the charcoal brazier in the small, low-ceilinged room that Magnus used to transact business with the more important of his many clients. Through the closed door behind him came the muffled shouts and laughter of the well-fuelled drinkers in the tavern beyond.

Magnus had no need to hear of the man’s commitment to him and his brothers, he already knew him to be trustworthy. What interested him was the fact that he felt compelled to affirm it at such length. He was evidently, Magnus surmised, building up to ask a very large favour.

Next to Magnus, his counsellor and second-in-command, Servius, shifted impatiently in his chair and scratched his balding grey hair. Magnus shot him a displeased glance and he settled, stroking the wrinkled skin sagging at his throat with a gnarled hand. Servius knew full well that a supplicant had the right to fully state his claim — however long-winded — to the protection of the only organization in Rome that would look after the interests of his class.

‘And finally, I am always at your disposal to help repel incursions from the neighbouring Brotherhoods,’ the man eventually concluded, causing Magnus to smile inwardly at the thought of such an effeminate in a street fight, ‘should they try to take what is rightfully ours — as they did, not one hour ago.’

Magnus raised his eyebrows, concern seeping onto his battered, ex-boxer’s face — this was unwelcome news. ‘You’ve been robbed, Terentius? By whom?’

Terentius pursed his lips and almost spat on the floor before remembering where he was. ‘Rivals from the Vicus Patricius on the Viminal.’

‘What did they take?’

‘Two boys, and they cut up two others; one very, very badly.’ Terentius looked down and indicated to his groin. ‘You understand?’

Magnus winced and then nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yeah, I take your meaning. You did right to come to me. Who are these rivals?’

‘They aren’t citizens — they came from the East a few years back.’

Magnus looked at Servius in the hope that his counsellor’s long lifetime’s supply of knowledge of the Roman underworld would extend to these Easterners.

‘They’re Albanii,’ Servius informed them, ‘from the kingdom of Albania in the south-east Caucasus between Armenia and Parthia on the shores of the Caspian Sea. Like a lot of eastern barbarians they’re inordinately fond of boys.’

Magnus grinned. ‘Well, there’s a big market for them here as well. I can understand why they’ve set themselves up in competition to you, Terentius. Have you lost much business to them?’

Terentius looked at the chair in front of him and then back at Magnus who nodded. With a grateful sigh he sat down — not used to being upright for so long, Magnus mused with a hint of a smile.

‘It was fine for the first couple of years,’ Terentius said, taking the cup of wine that Servius offered. ‘They were no threat to me: cheap with substandard, dirty boys who took no pride in their appearance. And besides, the house was more than half a mile away. But what it lacked in class and service it made up for with turnover.’

‘A quick in and out, as it were?’

‘What? Oh yes, I see. Well, they worked their boys hard, day and night and soon were making good money but still they didn’t trouble me as their clients were from the lowest part of society. I kept my elite clientele: senators, equestrians and officers of the Praetorian Guard, some of whom still occasionally ask for me.’ Terentius smiled modestly and smoothed his hair with the palm of his hand.

‘I’m sure that a professional with your experience is a sound investment for an evening,’ Servius commented diplomatically; his hooded eyes betraying no irony.

Terentius inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the compliment. ‘I do not disappoint and neither do my boys.’ He took a delicate sip of wine. ‘However, at the beginning of this year these Albanians decided to move upmarket, competing directly with me; and by this time they could afford to. They bought a more lavish place, close to the Vinimal Gate, and began to stock it with the best boys that they could find.

As a result of Tacfarinas’ revolt being crushed last year, the slave markets had started to fill up with the most delicious boys from Africa and, naturally, I wanted my pick of these brown-skinned beauties.’

‘Naturally,’ Magnus agreed.

‘Unfortunately so did my rivals and, regrettably, they too have good taste. I suggested an agreement with them whereby we wouldn’t always bid against each other, but they refused. Even on the very young ones that we train up so they are able to do most things with finesse by the time they’re starting puberty; you can charge a premium for them. I couldn’t let all the best ones go: my stock would have deteriorated over the next few years whilst theirs went up — I would lose my standing. So, I bid over the odds for the best.’

‘Which must have pissed off our Albanian friends no end,’ Magnus observed.

‘Yes, but they still ended up with a goodly amount of beautiful, if over-priced, young flesh, and because the Praetorian Guard’s camp is just outside the Viminal Gate, I started to lose some trade. I had little choice but to lower my prices and do deals: two for the price of one, eat and drink for free on your second consecutive evening, and that sort of thing. But they responded with similar policies and now, because of the huge outlay that we’ve both made this year we’re slowly driving each other out of business and, what’s more, our clients all know it so they bargain even harder when they walk through the door.’

Magnus shook his head, he could see the problem: if Terentius’ business went under then the South Quirinal Brotherhood would lose quite a chunk of its income. ‘And so this evening the Albanians decided to up the stakes and try and force you out.’

‘My men beat them off but the damage to my reputation is done; there were quite a few clients in the house when we were attacked.’

‘So you want me to negotiate a financial settlement with Sempronius, Patronus of the West Viminal?’

Terentius’ pale eyes hardened. ‘No Magnus, this is beyond that now. I want you to get my two boys back and then I want you to destroy these Albanians. Kill them all and their boys. The money that I’ve paid over the years to this Brotherhood entitles me to that.’

Magnus looked at Servius and shrugged. ‘He’s got a point Brother; and besides, we can’t let an attack like that in our area go unpunished — but how do we do it without starting a war?’

The counsellor thought for a few moments looking at Terentius. ‘How well protected are these Albanians?’

‘They have the best protection: the Vigiles. One of their Tribunes has been using the Albanians as a way to ingratiate himself with the Praetorian Guard. So the Vigiles ensure there’s never any trouble near the house and provide an escort for the boys to and from the Praetorian camp should an officer wish to enjoy them in the comfort of his own bed and suchlike services.’

Magnus stared hard at Terentius and sucked in his breath through his teeth. ‘This is a big favour. If we do it we’ll have the Vigiles and the Praetorians as well as the West Viminal Crossroads after us.’

Servius smirked coldly. ‘You’ve got it Brother: If we do it. We’ll just have to make sure that it looks like we didn’t.’

Magnus turned slowly to his counsellor; a trace of a smile cracked his lips. ‘You’re right. So first we need to get Terentius’ two boys back and bring the matter to an honourable conclusion so everyone can see that we have no more interest in it. Then we set someone else up.’

Terentius bowed his head in gratitude. ‘Thank you, Patronus.’

Servius looked thoughtfully at his fingernails. ‘And who will seem to be responsible for the Albanian’s demise, Brother?’

‘It has to be a group that’s untouchable but one that could logically have done it. People who hate both the Vigiles and the Guard as much as they’re hated by them in return.’

Servius raised his eyebrows. ‘Your old mates?’

‘Exactly; the Urban Cohort. I think that we should call a meeting of all the neighbouring Brotherhood chiefs for tomorrow.’

‘I think so too. And I think that we should take a gift to show our good intentions.’

‘I’ll leave you in charge of the arrangements, Brother.’

‘I’ll send the invitations out immediately. Usual time and place?’

‘Usual time and place.’

Magnus was woken by a knock on the door of the small room that he called home, above the tavern that was the headquarters of his Brotherhood.

‘Magnus?’ A voice called from beyond the door.

‘Yeah, what is it? It’s still dark,’ Magnus replied sleepily, feeling the warmth of a woman in the bed beside him and trying to recollect her name.

‘It’s Marius, Brother. Servius says that you should come down and take a look at what Sextus, me and some lads brought in just now.’

Magnus grunted and eased out a fart. ‘Alright, bring me a lamp.’

The door swung open and the silhouetted bulk of Marius filled its frame with a lamp in his right hand — his left hand was missing.

‘Leave it on the table, Marius,’ Magnus said sitting up.

As Marius walked across the room Magnus pointed to the sleeping form beside him and mouthed: ‘What’s her name?’

‘Dunno, she’s new, just turned up last night.’

‘Thanks Brother, very helpful. I’ll be down in a moment.’

Magnus slapped the woman’s arse and got out of bed as Marius left the room. ‘Up and at ’em, my girl. I’ve got to go. What do I owe you?’

The woman rolled over sleepily and peered at him through a tangle of well-ravaged black hair. ‘It was a free one, Magnus. Aquilina, remember? I said I’d do you for free if you’d let me work the tavern.’

‘Ah, that’s right, you’re new,’ Magnus replied, trying to remember the conversation through the haze of last night’s wine. ‘Well you’ve passed the test. See old Jovita later and tell her that I said it was fine for you to work here. She watches the girls; you report to her if you leave with a customer or if you’re just giving your favours in a dark corner. We take twenty percent of everything you earn from the tavern, payable in cash the following morning. If you try and cheat us, you’re out on your ear and you won’t find a cock willing to service you in this district ever again, not even for nothing, because you’d be too ugly, if you take my meaning?’

Aquilina smiled getting to her feet — a pretty smile Magnus thought, she should do well. ‘I won’t cheat you, Magnus, I just want to earn my keep,’ she said slipping on her tunic and picking up her discarded loincloth and sandals. She gave him a kiss on the cheek. ‘Any time you want me, I won’t charge.’ Giving him a playful squeeze, she left the room.

Magnus watched her go, frowning.

‘What’ve we got here then that’s so important?’ Magnus asked walking into the tavern’s main parlour that still stank of stale wine, vomit and sweat from the previous evening.

Servius looked up from a scroll of accounts that he was going through on a table in the centre of the room and nodded towards two small figures, bound with sacks over their heads, slumped under the amphorae-lined bar. Marius and Sextus watched over them.

‘Servius sent us fishing,’ Sextus said slowly, as if reciting, ‘and we caught a couple of slippery fish. They’re nice and greasy, especially in certain places.’ He broke into deep, shuddering laughs.

Marius smiled at Magnus, shaking his head in exasperation. ‘He’s been practicing that line for the last hour, Magnus; it ain’t even funny ’cos fish are slimy not greasy, but he can’t see the difference.’

‘Well he’d soon find out if he came across a slimy arse. Let’s have a look at them.’

With Sextus incapacitated by mirth, Marius pulled the sacks off, to reveal two very attractive, but slightly bruised, brown-skinned youths in their early teens. They looked at Magnus with dark, fearful eyes and huddled closer together.

‘The lads did well, Magnus,’ Servius observed.

Magnus was impressed. ‘A couple of the Albanians’ boys? How did you get them Marius?’

‘They was on their way back from a visit to the Praetorian Camp.’

‘But they have an escort of Vigiles.’

‘Yeah, but what do Vigiles do when they see a fire?’

Magnus grinned. ‘First they negotiate a fee with the owner for putting it out; then they put it out.’

‘So I had some of the lads start a fire when we knew they was on their way, and these poor little fish got forgotten about whilst their minders tried to make a profit out of some poor bastard’s misfortune. So Sextus and me decided to escort them home. We just took a few wrong turns, that’s all, and happened to end up here.’

‘Well done lads, such a pretty gift for the meeting later. Lock ’em them up safely until this afternoon and then get the altar ready for the morning sacrifice.’

Marius visibly swelled with pride at the praise and he and Sextus, who was still chuckling fiercely, hauled the terrified boys to their feet and dragged them away.

Magnus turned to Servius. ‘Have the invitations gone out?’

‘Yes Brother, and all the replies are back in. All five of the surrounding Patroniae will be there an hour before sunset.’

The sun was slipping behind the Aventine Hill throwing the raked-sand track of the Circus Maximus into shadow and bathing the stepped-stone seating and the colonnades that soared above in a warm evening glow.

Magnus stood, in a freshly chalk-dusted white toga, at the end of the spina, the central barrier that ran down the middle of the track, facing the massive wooden gates that opened out onto the Forum Boarium. Servius, flanked by Marius and Sextus, waited behind him — they too sported gleaming togas, worn with pride by the free and freed citizens of Rome, however lowly, and worn today as custom decreed at a meeting of Crossroads Patroniae. Four other similar groups of a Patronus, his counsellor and two bodyguards, stood around the edge of the track, two to Magnus’ left and two to the right, all keeping a good distance between each other as they awaited the final arrival. A light breeze, blowing along the length of the track of the eerily silent stadium, played with the folds of their togas.

‘Fucking typical of Sempronius to keep us waiting so that he can make a grand entrance,’ Magnus muttered over his shoulder to Servius.

‘A futile gesture, Brother; you will all be equal in the middle, no matter who arrived last.’

Magnus grunted. A moment later a small door to the left of the main gates swung open to reveal the missing party led by a tall, blond-haired, young man. As he started to walk forward, Magnus and the other four Patroniae, followed by their entourages, did the same, coming to a halt in a circle exactly halfway between the spina and the gates; one of the few public places in the crowded city of Rome where a private conversation could be held without fear of eavesdroppers.

‘Greetings Brothers,’ Magnus said looking each of his counterparts in the eye. ‘I, Marcus Salvius Magnus, of the South Quirinal called this meeting to deal with an issue that has arisen between us and the West Viminal Brotherhood.’

Sempronius pursed his lips, pulled his broad shoulders back and glared at Magnus with cold, piercing, sapphire-blue eyes; the jaw muscles beneath the tight flesh of his cheeks twitched rapidly. His counsellor, equally young and equally handsome but dark-haired, leaned forward and whispered in his ear. Sempronius nodded, never once taking his eyes off Magnus.

‘I wish to settle this issue now,’ Magnus continued, ‘in front of witnesses, in order to avoid it escalating into a war. None of us here would wish to see that, as we all know from past experience just how damaging for business that can be.’

Sempronius looked down at his left arm, held rigid across his stomach, supporting the folds of his toga, and stared at it for a few moments as if examining in fine detail the blond hairs on the back of his hand. His eyes suddenly flicked back up to Magnus. ‘We had nothing to do with the raid on the whore-boy house.’

‘I am not saying that you did; yet you know about it.’

‘I know of it,’ Sempronius corrected, ‘but not much about it. As I said: it was not done by us.’

‘No, but it was done by people from your area; Albanian clients of yours, who you would be honour-bound to avenge if we exacted the correct price for their actions.’

‘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 ringlets 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 pointed 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.’

Vitus quickly handed over the loaves.

‘Now get out of here and don’t come back unless you plan to behave honestly,’ Magnus said cuffing Tigran around the ear.

‘Thank you, Magnus.’ Tigran turned quickly to go, clutching the loaves to his chest with one hand and clasping his money in the other. He pushed through the crowd of onlookers and disappeared.

‘As for you,’ Magnus growled, pulling Vitus by the collar so that their faces were nose to nose, ‘I want a list of everyone that you can remember passing that shit on to, plus the name of the person who supplied it, with me by morning, or it will be your last, if you take my meaning?’ He brought his knee sharply up into Vitus’ testicles and then walked away leaving the baker to crumple to the floor, eyes bulging, unable to breathe and with both hands grasping his damaged genitals. The crowd parted for him voicing their approval having witnessed justice well done.

Magnus and Servius sat at a table in the shadowy, smoky confines of the small room behind the tavern that they used to conduct business. A jug of steaming hot, spiced and honeyed wine stood between them next to a single oil-lamp. ‘So we need to kill a Praetorian Tribune in a way that doesn’t look like an accident and doesn’t look like an obvious murder but is suspicious enough for Sejanus to recognise it as a warning from Antonia,’ Servius summarised.

Magnus looked gloomy. ‘That’s about it, Brother. How the fuck can we do that?’ He took a swig from the cup of that he held in both hands and scalded his tongue.

Servius looked on with amusement as his superior called on various gods to curse or strike down the obviously half-witted slave who had prepared the wine. ‘I think that was a good lesson,’ he observed once the tirade had subsided. ‘Drink the wine before it’s ready and it will hurt you; drink when it’s just right and it will please you. So let’s not rush into this…’

‘But we have to rush into this,’ Magnus interrupted — the burn had not helped his temper. ‘Antonia wants this done in the next couple days.’

Servius raised a calming hand. ‘Yes, and it shall be. All I’m saying is that at the moment we don’t know how to approach it. The difference between an accident, death in suspicious circumstances and murder is the situation in which the body is found. A man may die falling from a horse that he rides every day; he may genuinely have fallen off, in which case it is an accident; or the horse may have been spooked on purpose by someone in order to get it to throw the man off, in which case it’s murder. However, if a man is found dead having fallen from a horse but it’s known that he never goes riding, then that’s death in suspicious circumstances; it would be highly unlikely to be an accident because what is he doing on the horse in the first place? And yet you can’t prove that it’s not; nor can you prove that it was murder because people die all the time from falling off horses.’

Magnus’ face brightened; the pain from his burnt tongue forgotten. ‘Ah! So you’re saying that if we stage an “accident” whilst Blandinus is apparently doing something that he never normally does then Sejanus will suspect it was murder but be unable to prove it.’

‘Exactly.’

‘So we need to use the rest of tonight and tomorrow to find out all that we can about the unfortunate tribune.’

‘Precisely, and then we will have to somehow lure or force the poor man into that unusual circumstance in which he will be found dead.’

‘Tricky but not impossible. Get the lads onto it immediately.’

‘I will Brother,’ Servius confirmed as a knock sounded on the door.

‘Yes?’ Magnus called.

Marius stuck his head into the room. ‘Magnus, they’re here waiting outside, them Albanians, and a strange fucking sight they are too.’

‘I don’t care what they look like, so long as they’ve got the boys.’

‘Yeah, they got them all right.’

‘Good. Go and tell Cassandros to bring the boy into the tavern, I’ll send for him when I need him.’ Magnus rose to his feet. ‘Shall we go and do business, Brother?’

‘I think we should,’ his counsellor agreed following him out.

Magnus surveyed the four bizarrely attired easterners waiting in the moonlight by the tables outside the tavern. Two pretty youths in their early teens, one with blond hair and one dark, stood next to them, staring at Magnus with frightened eyes, knives held to their throats.

‘Who speaks for you?’

‘I do,’ a middle-aged man said stepping forward. He wore a long-sleeved, saffron tunic, belted at the waist, that came to just below his knees, half covering a pair of dark-blue baggy trousers bunched in at the ankle to expose delicate, red-leather slippers. His oiled hair was jet black and fell to his shoulders framing a lean, high-cheek boned face dominated by a sharp, straight nose. Two dark, mirthless eyes stared back at Magnus; his thin mouth was just visible beneath a hennaed red beard that came to an upwards-curling point.

‘And you are?’ Magnus asked, trying to keep the contempt that he felt for this outrageous-looking whore-boy master out of his voice. Behind him Sextus and Marius led half a dozen brothers, armed with knives and cudgels, out of the tavern

‘Kurush,’ the Albanian replied resting his right hand on the hilt of a curved dagger hanging at his waist. ‘And you must be Magnus?’ His Latin was precise and with little trace of an accent.

‘I am. Let’s get this over with; show me the two boys.’

‘They have not been harmed or even interfered with; I can assure you of that with my word.’

‘I’m sure you can but, nevertheless, I wish to see them closer.’

‘A man who won’t take another man’s word is not worthy of trust himself. Let me see my boy. His condition will determine the state of the other two.’

‘Sextus, tell Cassandros to bring him out,’ Magnus ordered, keeping his eyes locked on Kurush.

They waited in silence, staring at each other, for the few moments that it took Cassandros to appear with his charge.

‘Bring him here,’ Magnus said as the Greek dragged the struggling youth through the tavern door.

‘This man raped me,’ the whore-boy shrieked at Kurush, pointing an accusatory finger at Cassandros, ‘and paid nothing.’

Magnus spun round. One look at Cassandros’ face confirmed that the boy was telling the truth: he could not meet his eye.

‘It would seem that we have a problem,’ Kurush observed. ‘I don’t take kindly to people making free with my property.’

Magnus grabbed the youth from Cassandros’ grasp with his left hand and cracked his right fist into the Greek’s face, felling him. ‘I’ll take care of it once we’ve done the exchange; he’ll be punished, I give you my word.’

‘Why should I take your word when you wouldn’t take mine just now? But I’m not interested in him being punished, you can do what you like to him; I’m interested in a fair exchange.’

‘This is a fair exchange, more than fair, I’ve already given you one of your boys, let’s complete the transaction and then we need have nothing more to do with each other.’

Kurush smiled icily and turned to his three companions speaking to them in their own language. The blond-haired boy was brought forward. Kurush took him by the neck and propelled him towards Magnus. ‘There, an untouched boy in payment for the one you sent me earlier.’

The boy stumbled and fell at Magnus’ feet. Marius stepped forward, hauled him up and pulled him away.

Kurush looked back at Magnus. ‘Now that leaves us with another untouched boy to exchange for a soiled boy; I don’t consider that fair.’ He barked a command in his own language.

The dark-haired boy was forced down over a table. He started to shriek as two of the Albanians grabbed his arms, holding them firm, at the same time pressing their weight down on his back, pinning him. The third Albanian, a young, effeminate looking man with a wispy beard, barely out of his teens, pulled up the boy’s tunic and ripped off his loincloth, raised his own tunic and opened the flap in the groin of his trousers, his gaze never leaving the boy’s exposed buttocks. The boy screamed as the Albanian forced himself into him. The screaming stopped and the boy stared down at his white knuckled hands gripping the table’s edge as the Albanian took to his task with all the savagery of the abused that has become the abuser.

Magnus stood and watched in silence, indicating to his men that they should do so too, knowing that to interfere would jeopardise the deal; Kurush was not a man to lose face and besides, it was nothing to him whether the boy was raped or not, the important issue was to get him back to Terentius unmarked, his value intact if not his dignity.

‘Is this absolutely necessary, Kurush?’ Magnus asked as the Albanian quickened his pace and grunted to a climax.

‘Yes Magnus, for two reasons: firstly to show you that whatever is done to me or mine will be repaid in full, and secondly, to demonstrate that my men do as they’re told.’ He pointed down to Cassandros still lying prone on the ground. ‘Unlike yours.’

After a few moments collecting his breath the Albanian withdrew and wiped himself clean on the boy’s tunic, grinning at Magnus as he did so.

‘Very educational I’m sure, you’ve made your point. Now take your boy and give me mine.’

Kurush barked another order and the boy was immediately released, grimacing with pain and clutching his loincloth. Magnus pushed Kurush’s boy towards him and as the two passed each other they paused for a moment, sharing a look of mutual sympathy, before carrying on back to their enslaved lives over which they had no control or say and in which the best that they could both hope for was to get through each day with as little misery as possible.

‘Now get out of my area by the quickest route,’ Magnus growled at Kurush as the boy passed him. ‘The offer of safe conduct doesn’t extend to any sightseeing. If you ever go near Terentius’ house again you’ll be a dead man, no matter who protects you.’

‘I think Terentius understands, well enough to make a second visit unnecessary, that there is only room at the top end of the market for one of our establishments.’

‘I know he does,’ Magnus muttered under his breath as the Albanians turned and left. ‘And so do I.’

‘DO WE HAVE anything interesting on our Tribune yet?’ Magnus asked Servius. They were making their way in the crisp and clear dawn air up the Via Patricius, one of the main thoroughfares of the Viminal. Cloaked and deeply hooded to avoid being recognised, they had especially chosen this chill time of day so that their attire would not stand out as suspicious.

‘Nothing yet,’ Servius replied from within the depths of his hood, ‘but it’s only been one night; give the lads time. I’ve got quite a few of them going round and asking questions, one of them should come up with something soon enough.’

‘It needs to be today.’

‘Then I suggest that you help matters by going to see Senator Pollo after you’ve met with your mate from The Cohort. He may know something about him.’

Magnus muttered his agreement as the Viminal Gate came into sight.

‘It’s just up here on the left before the junction with the lamp-makers street,’ Servius informed him. ‘We should get onto the right-hand side of the road.’

They crossed at the next set of raised stepping-stones, designed to keep pedestrians’ feet free from ordure but also to allow the passage of wheeled vehicles, and disappeared into the throng of people opening shops, buying bread, firing up braziers, visiting patrons, clearing drowsy beggars from doorways. Pushing through the crowd, Servius led Magnus to a tavern with an outside bar.

‘Two cups of hot wine,’ he ordered, placing a small denomination coin on the wooden counter.

Once they had been served, Servius turned and nodded to a large two-storey, brick-built house. ‘That’s the Albanians’ place. As you can see it has no windows opening onto the street, no shops in its facade, it’s just a blank wall and a door.’

Magnus looked at the two huge, bearded doormen in eastern garb, armed with cudgels and knives, guarding the entrance. ‘Is that door the only way in and out?’

‘Fortunately not.’ Servius pointed to a small street that led off from the Via Patricius two houses up from the Albanians’ establishment. ‘That’s the Lamp-makers’ street. There’s an alley that runs from it along the rear of all the buildings opposite; I sent Cassandros to have a look at it last night after the swap; he says that the wall is only ten-feet high and we could easily scale it and get up onto the roof.’

‘He’s making up for his mistake.’

‘I gave him a dangerous assignment and he understood why.’

Magnus grunted approvingly. ‘We need to teach the randy sod a lesson; but that can wait. Do they keep a guard in the alley?’

‘Cassandros said that there was no one there last night, we’ll walk past in a moment and see if there’s one during the day.’

‘So, we get in and out over the roof, but we’ve still got those two brutes on the door to deal with. When they hear noise inside at least one of them will come in — that’ll make it easier.’ Magnus took a sip of his wine. ‘So if we have a group of our lads close by they could deal with the remaining one and then take the door; that sounds like a job for me and Marius, he’s not much good at shinning up walls in a hurry with just one hand.’

‘Yes, but you’d have to be quick to get the door before it’s bolted again on the inside.’

‘Unless we can make them think that some of their own are in danger out here in the street and are running for safety.’

‘How?’

‘I met an easterner last night and he owes me a favour. His name’s Tigran, he lives in the shantytown on the Via Salaria; find him and see if he speaks Albanian or knows anyone who does.’ A well-dressed figure striding up the street with two bodyguards and a woman in a hooded, dark-brown cloak caught Magnus’ attention. ‘Well, well, our friend Sempronius is paying the whore-boys a visit; I wouldn’t have thought that that was his sort of thing.’

‘He’s probably just come to check that the exchange went alright last night. But what’s really interesting is who he’s got with him; I think I recognise that cloak.’

Sempronius’ party approached the two doormen, one of whom immediately knocked rhythmically on the door; it opened and the doormen stepped aside to allow Sempronius in. As the woman followed him in she pulled down her hood.

Magnus’ eyes widened. ‘Minerva’s wrinkled arse, that’s the new girl, Aquilina! I thought that there was something wrong about her when she offered to let me have her for nothing; nobody does something for nothing.’

Servius downed the last of his wine. ‘Evidently someone else paid her. It seems that Sempronius has put a little spy in our midst.’

Magnus slapped his counsellor on the shoulder. ‘I’d say that was a piece of good fortune. I think that’s just solved my last problem.’

‘You’re late!’

Magnus chuckled looking down at the shadow cast by the seventy-feet high Egyptian obelisk on the Campus Martius; it was a couple of inches short of the third-hour line. ‘I didn’t think that anyone had the brains to read the sundial since I left the Urban Cohort, Aelianus.’

‘True enough, mate, I’m probably the only one who can, which is why they made me quartermaster,’ Aelianus replied grasping Magnus’ proffered forearm.

‘A moment of madness on their part but one that’s proved extremely lucrative for us, eh my friend?’

Aelianus’ florid, round face creased into a gap-toothed grin and he passed his hand through his thinning copper-coloured hair. ‘And how are we going to exploit their moment of madness this time?’

Magnus put an arm around the Aelianus’ shoulders and led him away from the tourists admiring the hundred-feet long, curved hour-lines emanating from the base of the obelisk sundial — set up by Augustus a generation before — and on towards the first emperor’s mausoleum on the bank of the Tiber, as it curved back northwards after a brief foray east. ‘Get me twenty Urban Cohort uniforms, minus the armour and shields.’

‘What for?’

‘To pay a visit to an establishment that has caused me some grief. Oh, and I’ll also need you to set fire to your depot.’

Aelianus raised his eyebrows. ‘Just like that?’

‘Yes my friend, just like that.’

‘And what’s in it for me?’

‘Half of what we find in the place, but with a guarantee of at least 225 denarii.’

Aelianus whistled softly. ‘A year’s pay for a common legionary. Well, the tunics, belts, boots and cloaks will be no problem — I can have those for you by this evening. The helmets, swords and scabbards are slightly harder because I’ll have to wait until all my staff have left for the day — but I could bring them round to you personally by the third hour of the night. When do you plan to do this thing?’

‘The day after tomorrow, an hour before dawn when there shouldn’t be any clients in the house; so tonight will be fine, you can bring it all then.’

‘Good. But as to the fire, that’s a different matter: I need to think that through very carefully.’

‘Well, don’t take too long about it, my friend. I need that warehouse doing its best imitation of a beacon an hour before dawn in two day’s time.’

‘Oh it will be, Magnus, don’t you worry.’

‘That’s why I’m paying you so well, Aelianus, to take away my worries.’

The ginger quartermaster grinned again. ‘If only you had more worries, I’d be a very wealthy man. I’ll see you later with the gear; can you send a few of your lads to escort me?’

‘Sure, they’ll be at your depot by the second hour of the night.’

‘Thanks, mate,’ Aelianus said turning to leave.

‘Before you go, Aelianus,’ Magnus said, stopping him. ‘There’s one more thing that I’ll need you to do when you come over tonight.’

‘It’s included in the price I suppose?’

‘Yes and it’s not negotiable.’

‘Go on.’

‘I need you to fuck one of my girls.’

Aelianus sighed melodramatically and shook his head slowly. ‘Magnus, you’re a hard taskmaster.’

The Forum Romanum was packed — three treason trials were being conducted simultaneously, part of a recent upsurge in the legal hounding of enemies of the emperor or the rivals of his praetorian prefect. To Magnus, how the equestrian or senatorial classes treated each other meant nothing, provided it did not affect the daily running of the city’s institutions that were close to his heart: the games and the grain dole.

Pushing his way through the mass of spectators, food vendors, beggars and jurists Magnus eventually came to the steps of the Curia, the Senate House. The doors were open and the senate was in session. Magnus peered into the gloomy interior and, once his eyes had adjusted to the light, soon made out the corpulent figure of Gaius Vespasius Pollo. Knowing that he had no right to enter the building he descended the steps, bought a grilled sausage and a hunk of bread from a street vendor and settled down to wait.

Prodded by a red-shoed foot, Magnus awoke to the booming voice of Gaius. ‘Sleeping on the senate house steps like some vagrant? Have your brethren finally kicked you out as you did your predecessor?’

‘Yeah, but less violently it would seem, seeing as I’m still alive.’ Magnus grinned and got to his feet, rubbing his numb behind. ‘Actually I was waiting for you, Senator.’

‘Is there a problem with our business? It’s meant to be done by tomorrow at the latest.’

‘Not as such. I have a question for you.’

‘Walk with me,’ Gaius requested, turning right along the front of the Curia, heading for the Quirinal.

Magnus fell in step and explained Servius’ plan.

‘I see,’ Gaius mused as they started to climb the hill. ‘That counsellor of yours is shrewd. Suspicious circumstances, very good.’

‘So what do you know about this Blandinus? What doesn’t he do?’

‘I’m afraid he does most things: goes to the games and the theatre, he drinks, he gambles, he goes whoring; in fact he frequents an establishment in your area, owned by Terentius.’

‘But that’s just boys; does he like women?’

‘I think so; he’s married and has children.’

Magnus looked disappointed. ‘There must be something that he wouldn’t be seen dead doing.’

Gaius’ flabby face, glistening with sweat from the exertion of the uphill walk, suddenly brightened. ‘Of course there is: men!’

‘Men?’

‘Yes, men. I can almost guarantee you that he has never even contemplated being buggered, let alone countenanced it.’

Magnus smiled. ‘Of course; so simple that it was too obvious. Thank you Senator, I’d best be going.’

‘Won’t you have some honeyed cakes and wine, we’re almost at my house?’

‘No time Senator, I’ve got a lot to organise; it seems that I can wash two tunics in one tub.’ He ran off leaving Gaius wondering just what he had been talking about.

‘BRING IT FORWARD to dawn tomorrow?’ Servius asked throwing a handful of kindling onto the small fire on the altar of the Crossroads’ lares next to the front door of the tavern.

Magnus sprinkled incense over the flame; it flared, giving off a pungent aroma. ‘Yes, provided Terentius, with the good help of our lares, can entice Blandinus to his place this evening. Send one of the lads to fetch him here immediately.’

The counsellor nodded and went over to Marius and a group of the brothers sitting playing dice on one of the tables outside the tavern. After a brief word from Servius one of them got up and left.

‘What about the gear?’ Servius asked returning to Magnus by the altar.

‘That’ll be here tonight but I want you to write a note to Aelianus telling him that I need his fire to happen one hour before dawn tomorrow, not the next day; ask him to acknowledge that in writing.’

‘I’ll do that now.’

‘What about Tigran, any luck?’

‘Yes, he’s waiting inside to see you; he’s very keen to repay the favour. He speaks a little Albanian but he’s brought his cousin, Vahram, who’s fluent.’

‘Thank you Brother,’ Magnus said looking up the Alta Semita towards the Porta Collina. A party of travellers caught his eye. ‘Marius, take one of the lads and do the honours with that lot,’ he said pointing at the group. ‘They look wealthy enough to be in need of our services.’

Marius grinned and got up from his game. ‘Right you are Magnus. Normal rate?’

‘Yeah, normal rate.’

Marius slapped his neighbour on the back. ‘Come on Lucio, let’s get busy.’

Magnus sat down at an empty table watching the two brothers waylay the travellers and offer their protection whilst mulling over the plan for the night in his head; he knew that it was risky bringing the raid on the Albanians forward but it was too good an opportunity to miss and he smiled to himself as he thought of how Blandinus was to be found. Poor bastard.

Eventually a cough brought him out of his reverie; he looked up. ‘Ah, Terentius; sit down my friend. How’s that boy?’

‘Still passing blood, so I’ve had to put him on lighter duties,’ the whore-boy master replied, elegantly placing himself on the bench opposite Magnus. Out in the street money was changing hands.

‘I’m sorry to hear it. Do you know the Praetorian Tribune Blandinus?’

‘Of course, he’s one of my regulars.’

‘Does he ever, how shall I put it, take his turn around?’

‘No never; some of our clients ask for that but never Blandinus. He only gives and he gives very well; I can personally vouch for that.’ A misty-look came into Terentius’ eyes that Magnus found disconcerting.

‘I’m pleased to hear it. Will he be coming this evening?’

‘I don’t know, he comes most evenings. Why?’

‘I need you to ensure that he comes this evening.’

‘I suppose I could send him a note saying that I’ve got a new boy that may be to his taste.’

‘And do you?’

‘Yes, I’ve had to replace the ones that were cut up.’

‘Then do that and when he comes I need you to drug him; can you do that too?’

Terentius looked uneasy and hesitated. ‘Of course,’ he answered after a few moments.

‘You seem reluctant?’

‘No Magnus, I’ll do it.’

‘Good. Send me a message when it’s done and keep him sedated until I pick him up.’

‘What’s this for?’

‘Terentius my friend, it’s part of something that will make you very happy.’

Out in the street Marius and a group of brothers led the now very well protected travellers off.

Night had fallen and the tavern was packed. Magnus sat in a corner watching Aquilina and her fellow whores plying their trade. Tigran and his cousin looked to be enjoying their wait for the night’s mission.

Servius slipped onto the bench next to Magnus. ‘The lads have left for the Cohort’s depot.’

‘They should be back in an hour then. Any news from Terentius?’

‘Nothing yet, but Aelianus sent a message saying that he can do the fire tonight.’

Magnus nodded. ‘Well that’s something. I suppose if Terentius fucks up then we could postpone it until tomorrow night, although the Senator won’t be happy about it.’

‘What are you going to do about her?’ Servius asked as Aquilina led another customer outside. The ever watchful Jovita made a mark in her ledger.

‘Use her to deliver a message and then… well we’ll see.’

‘I assume this message is for Sempronius.’

‘Exactly Brother. When my mate Aelianus comes with the gear tonight I’m going to make a big fuss about him and offer him a girl and the use of my room. He’s going to let a piece of pillow-talk drop.’

Servius smiled coldly. ‘And she’ll run straight to Sempronius with this titbit.’

Magnus grinned and watched a young slave come through the door. The boy would have been pretty, had it not been for an ugly, badly-stitched wound running from left corner of his mouth to his ear. He walked over to Jovita and after a brief conversation was directed over to Magnus’ corner.

‘Magnus?’ the youth asked, speaking with some difficulty. He held out a wax tablet.

Magnus inclined his head.

‘My master, Terentius, sent this.’

Magnus took the tablet and gave it to Servius to read.

The counsellor glanced at it briefly. ‘Our tribune is sleeping peacefully.’

A look of relief spread over Magnus’ face. ‘Excellent. Tell your master we’ll be along in three hours.’

The slave bowed and slipped out of the room.

‘Make sure all the lads are here within the hour, Brother,’ Magnus said getting to his feet.

‘They will be.’

‘And the first delivery?’

‘Already here.’

‘Pile them up over there in the corner, next to the ladders,’ Magnus ordered as Aelianus and four brothers pushed a couple of laden handcarts off the street and through the double doors of the storeroom at the very rear of the tavern.

Within moments the doors were shut and a pile of twenty Urban Cohort uniforms, minus the armour and shields, lay in a heap on the floor.

‘Right lads, sort it all out into twenty sets,’ Magnus said, putting his arm around Aelianus’ shoulders. ‘You, my friend, are coming with me to fuck the best-looking girl we have working here, and all for free.’

‘What’s the catch, mate?’

‘No catch, I just want you to tell her what the Cohort are planning to do in three nights’ time.’

‘I don’t know what we’re planning in three nights’ time.’

‘Of course you don’t, quite rightly you take no interest in the doings of your unit, but I shall enlighten you as we walk.’

‘Aquilina, come and meet my very good friend and one-time comrade, Aelianus,’ Magnus shouted as he led the quartermaster through the door into the fug of the tavern.

Aquilina disengaged herself from a disgruntled old man and walked through the crowded room. A plumper colleague took her place.

‘Aelianus has just done me a huge favour,’ Magnus informed her as she came up to them, smiling sweetly, ‘and I want you to be very, very nice to him. I’m paying so anything he wants, if you take my meaning?’

‘Oh I do Magnus,’ Aquilina ran her hand up the inside of Aelianus’ thigh. ‘Anything he likes, for as long as he likes.’ Aelinaus’ mouth fell open as he gawped at her with undisguised lust. ‘But there’s no need to pay me Magnus — any friend of yours is a friend of mine.’

‘If you insist.’

‘It’ll be a pleasure.’

‘In that case you can use my room.’

‘Thank you Magnus,’ Aquilina purred leading Aelianus off and flashing Magnus a sweet smile over her shoulder.

As they disappeared through the door, his eyes hardened. It was almost a shame that she was going to have to lose that pretty smile.

ALMOST AN HOUR later, Magnus was sitting in the back room when he heard footsteps on the bare wooden stairs coming down from the first floor. He put down the knife that he had been sharpening and looked at Servius. ‘Seems like Aelianus has had his fill of Aquilina.’

‘I would say that it is probably the other way around, Brother.’

‘Yeah, too true,’ Magnus laughed, getting up. ‘Let’s hope that he’s still got the energy for a bit of fire-starting.’ He opened the door and, stepping out into the dingy corridor, saw Aquilina appear at the bottom of the stairs.

‘Your friend has quite worn me out, Magnus,’ she said with a touch of exaggeration, ‘I’m going to call it a night, if that’s alright with you?’

‘Nothing to do with me, my girl — you work as and when you want to, so long as you pay your percentage.’

Aquilina smiled brightly. ‘Of course. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then.’ She disappeared into the tavern with a little wave.

Servius joined Magnus. ‘Do you want me to have her followed?’

‘No, she might notice, and it wouldn’t do for her to become suspicious. Anyway, we know where she’s going.’

Aelianus lumbered down the stairs looking conspicuously florid. What was left of his ginger hair stuck out at odd angles.

‘How did it go?’ Magnus asked.

‘Very well,’ Aelianus replied with a grin, ‘I surprised myself and, I like to think, the lovely Aquilina too. You heard her — she said that she wouldn’t be able to have another customer for the rest of the night after my performance.’

‘Yeah? Well don’t take it too hard but that was just her excuse to get out of here and go and tell a few tales to her real master. I meant how was the pillow-talk?’

Aelianus looked slightly downcast. ‘It was fine. I told her that I’d come to warn you, as an old mate from the Cohort, that the Urban Prefect was planning a raid on one of your clients’ establishments in a few days time, someone called Terentius. That’s why you wanted me to have her as a reward.’

‘What then?’

‘Well after that she started saying that I must be very important to have that sort of information and how much important men like me excited her…What she can do with her-’

‘I know mate,’ Magnus cut in, ‘I’ve had her too. Just tell me the part I need to know.’

‘Sorry. Well she carried on asking me about the Cohort and the raid… you know… now and again… until I told her that it wasn’t to be the first raid, there was going to be one in three days time on an establishment on the Viminal owned by easterners.’

‘And she swallowed it?’

Aelianus raised his eyebrows and nodded, grinning. ‘Yeah, all of it.’

Magnus slapped him on the shoulder. ‘You did well, my friend, I hope you’ll be as successful with the fire.’

‘It won’t be a problem Magnus but I’d appreciate a couple of your lads to help me spread some oil.’

‘Fine. Come over tomorrow and collect your money.’

‘I’m looking forward to it.’

‘Oh, and leave those handcarts here, mate.’

‘They’re no good to you — they’ve got Cohort insignia branded all over them.’

‘I know.’ Magnus turned to his counsellor. ‘Brother, we’ve got work to do. Get a couple of the lads for our good friend here and see him out, and then slowly get the rest moving up to the Lamp-makers’ street in twos and threes. I’ll meet you there in a couple of hours.’

THE TWO DOORMEN outside Terentius’ establishment were equally as large as those guarding the Albanians’ place. Magnus, however, had nothing to fear from them as he and his party approached the house awhile later.

‘Evening lads, your master’s expecting me,’ he said striding up the worn steps to the door of the elegant marble-fronted house. Torches attached to each of the two columns of the portico illuminated the well-crafted drawing of an erect phallus, above the door, succinctly advertising the business transacted within.

The doormen immediately stepped aside, one giving a coded knock on the door as he did so. The viewing slot slid back and a pair of eyes perused Magnus for a few moments before the door opened.

‘One of you show my boys around the back,’ Magnus ordered, pointing down the steps where Marius and his mates stood with the handcart. Behind them the inevitable night-time parade of carts and wagons rumbled past in both directions. The shouts of the drivers and the clatter of hooves and iron-rimmed wheels filled the cold air, and the moonlit darkness was given substance by wisps of smoke and the breath of both man and beast.

Once satisfied that his brothers were being taken care of, Magnus walked through the open door into a small vestibule lined with cloaks. He recognised one as that of a Praetorian. He stepped out into an atrium furnished with couches, some empty and some holding youths in various states of undress. Oil-lamps and the orange flicker of flaming sconces, gave the room a feeling of intimacy and homeliness. The sweet chords of a lyre blended with the gentle patter of a couple of fountains at either end of the impluvium and any conversation between the boys was conducted in a soft murmur.

A slave in his late twenties, evidently too old to be of interest to most of the clientele but strikingly good-looking nonetheless, proffered Magnus a tray holding cups of wines. He took one at random as Terentius appeared at the far end of the room.

‘You honour me with your presence,’ the whore-boy master said formally, walking elegantly through the room, one foot placed exactly before the other, dressed in a woman’s stola. His long auburn hair fell loose to below his shoulders, half-concealing two drop-pearl earrings. Kohl lined his sea-grey eyes, rouge delicately enhanced his cheeks and his lips were painted a soft pinkish-red.

Really not bad at all, Magnus found himself thinking as he downed his wine, if you like that sort of thing. ‘Thank you Terentius,’ he replied, placing his empty cup back on the tray and helping himself to another. ‘We have business to discuss.’

‘Come.’ Terentius beckoned with his left arm and inclining his head so that a few strands of hair fell across his face; with an unhurried brush of his right palm he eased them back into place as he turned and walked back the way he had come. His body swayed sensuously beneath the fine fabric of his stola.

Magnus followed, glancing left and right at the whore-boys languishing on their couches and realised that Terentius had not been exaggerating about his taste. They were all exquisite but each in a different way, whether it be skin, hair, or physical build; however, they all had one thing in common: they were undeniably beautiful. Each was immaculately turned out, clean and well-groomed and although the perfumes with which they adorned themselves were thicker and headier than those of women, they were still intoxicating.

Magnus raised his eyebrows and found himself wondering whether he might not take advantage of Terentius’ offer to sample the goods on display. He followed the whore-boy master into a corridor with a slanted ceiling. On one side lay moon-lit windows looking out onto a courtyard garden; on the other, six evenly-spaced doors on with oil-lamps set into a niche in the wall. Four of the lamps were burning.

‘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 suggested 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?’

Cassandros pursed the thumb and fingers of his right hand together and grinned. ‘I just need a bit of oil.’

Magnus raised his eyebrows. ‘Unbelievable. Well, if that’s our only option we better get to it, it’ll be dawn soon. Have some lads search upstairs to make sure it’s clear and get the rest of them looking for cash and jewellery. Sextus, bring the dead Albanian. Lucio and Marius, you get Blandinus. Cassandros get the oil.’

As Magnus led his brothers carrying the dead rapist down a corridor overlooking the garden, very similar in set-up to Terentius’ place, he stepped over the occasional body of a whore-boy or one of their masters.

‘In here lads,’ he said pushing the door to the last room open. It caught on the dead weight behind it but with a little additional effort he managed to slide it back far enough to slip inside. He pulled the body of its former occupant, lying face down on the floor in a bloody tunic, out of the way. ‘Strip Blandinus and put him kneeling on the bed, then get the Albanian behind him and this dead boy in front of him.’

As Marius and Lucio removed Blandinus’ tunic and loincloth Cassandros came in with a small jug.

Before long all the three bodies were lined up on the bed with the boy placed with his back to the wall. Blandinus knelt before him, a trail of saliva trickled from his mouth and he breathed shallowly.

‘Alright Cassandros,’ Magnus said pointing to the Albanian lying behind the tribune, ‘get it over with. Lucio, Sextus, hold Blandinus firm.’

Cassandros smiled and, evidently relishing the prospect, began pouring the oil.

Magnus turned his attention to other matters. ‘Marius run and tell Servius to get everyone out of here with whatever they’ve got and make sure that boy is still unconscious; give him a wound to the shoulder so it don’t look like he was left on purpose.’

Marius nodded and left as Blandinus groaned and abruptly tensed, his eyes flicked open as his arms twitched but remained useless. He turned his head groggily to stare unfocused at Magnus.

‘Sorry Tribune.’ Magnus crashed his right fist into Blandinus’ face.

He went limp and a few moments later Cassandros grunted deeply in satisfaction.

Magnus winced. ‘Good, now stab him then slit his throat and then we can get out of here.’

Cassandros expression of sexual gratification turned to one of uncertainty.

Magnus put his hand on his dagger’s hilt. ‘Just do it,’ he hissed as he heard the brothers run down the corridor to the ladders. ‘If you could keep yourself under control you wouldn’t get the shitty jobs.’

Cassandros took his knife from its sheath and, looking extremely unhappy at the prospect of such coldblooded murder, plunged it, after a slight hesitation, brutally into Blandinus’ naked back. Pulling the knife back out, releasing a flow of dark blood, he moved along the bed and as Lucio and Sextus held the shoulders firm placed the blade to the tribune’s throat and ripped it across. The wound began to gurgle and hiss as the innocent and hapless man started to drown in his own blood.

‘Well done brother,’ Magnus said approvingly. ‘That’s your debt paid.’

Cassandros looked at Magnus wide-eyed and nodded vacantly.

‘Let’s go.’

The brothers did not need to be told twice and immediately ran out of the room. Magnus paused for a final look at the tableau they had left and smiled grimly to himself, hoping that some good would come from this highly unpleasant deed. With a muttered prayer to Fortuna to keep him safe on the way home, he left the room without looking back and ran to the last of the ladders up against the roof in the garden as the first light of dawn stated to warm the eastern sky.

‘There you go my friend, that’s almost four hundred,’ Magnus said, slapping three heavy bags of coin down on the table in his back room.

Aelianus looked greedily at his share. ‘That’s almost double what you guaranteed.’

‘We were lucky, they must have had a busy few days. How did the fire go?’

Aelianus shrugged. ‘The Vigiles managed to save some of the stores because the depot was right next to the Tiber. They ran around for couple of hours pouring water on it until they finally got it under control. One of their tribunes was there putting the fear of death into them, marching up and down, shouting and kicking arses — nasty piece of work. I’m glad he’s not in the Cohort, we wouldn’t get a moment’s peace.’

‘But you’re in the clear, aren’t you?’

‘Yeah, mate. I was doing my best impression of a quartermaster who considers all the stores as his personal property — which of course they are — and even made a couple of heroic forays into the building to save a few things.’ He showed Magnus a burn on his right forearm to prove the point. ‘I was almost in tears over my loss.’

Magnus grinned. ‘I bet it was the loss of your ledgers that upset you the most.’

‘Too right,’ Aelianus replied solemnly, ‘if only I could have saved them. Now I’ve got no record of what was in there.’

‘Or not, eh?’

‘Yeah well, you bringing it forward a day meant that there was slightly more in the building than I intended there to be, but this will make up for it.’ Aelinaus patted the bags on the table in front of him as the door opened and Servius stuck his head into the room.

‘Senator Pollo has sent a slave to escort you to his house, Brother. Marius and Sextus are waiting for you in the tavern.’

‘I’ll be right there,’ Magnus replied, standing to show Aelianus out.

‘Give me a shout when you think that we can exploit their moment of madness again, mate,’ Aelianus said hefting his coin bags into a leather satchel.

‘Of course,’ Magnus confirmed, gripping his forearm, ‘it’s always good to have someone honest to do business with.’

Aelianus returned the grip and then, slinging his satchel over his shoulder, walked past Servius with a brief nod and out of the room.

‘A useful mate,’ Magnus commented.

‘Very,’ Servius agreed. ‘Trustworthy?’

‘As much as you or me. On that subject I’ve been thinking about what to do with Aquilina.’

‘Don’t trouble yourself Brother, it’s done.’

‘What is?’

‘I realised that we couldn’t risk her working here when Aelianus told us how persistent she was at asking questions. If Sempronius had any suspicions about what occurred she’d have got it out of one of the lads in no time. Just imagine what Sextus would say if she had him by the cock?’

‘That’s the conclusion I came to. Where is she?’

‘All over the place.’

‘Shame,’ Magnus said walking through to the tavern, ‘she had a pretty smile.’

The ancient doorkeeper showed Magnus into Gaius’ study. ‘Magnus, my friend, come and sit down. A cup of wine would slip down a treat, I’m sure.’

Magnus took a seat across the desk from Gaius as his host poured him a full cup of wine and passed it over, unwatered.

‘Thank you, Senator,’ Magnus said after taking a gulp. He smiled inwardly as he noticed that it was not the finest of vintages.

‘My friend, it’s me that should be thanking you. I had a visit this morning from the Lady Antonia’s steward, a Greek by the name of Pallas. A man of discretion and considerable influence with his mistress, despite his slave status.’

‘Yeah, I’ve come across him.’

Gaius’ moist lips pulled back into an appraising smile. ‘Yes, of course you have. He came to tell me how pleased his mistress is today. Very early this morning, apparently, one of Sejanus’ tribunes, by the name of Blandinus, was found dead after a raid on an establishment close to the Viminal Gate. You might know of it?’

Magnus shrugged noncommittally.

‘Well, the only survivor of the raid, one of the boys, swore that it was men in Urban Cohort uniform that had attacked them. A handcart, with Cohort insignia branded on it left outside and a Cohort sword embedded in the owner of the establishment confirmed to Sejanus that it was indeed the Cohort who were responsible. As you can imagine that caused rather a stir. Sejanus accused the Urban Prefect of heavy-handed tactics against premises frequented by his officers and the Urban Prefect accused the Praetorians of burning down his Cohort’s depot in mistaken revenge for an act that they didn’t commit.’

Magnus shook his head slowly. ‘Nasty business.’

‘Indeed, but what makes it nastier is that Sejanus did eventually believe the Urban Prefect’s word that they were not involved. He went immediately to the Lady Antonia and accused her of murder; something, Pallas informed me, that she vehemently denied.’

‘I can imagine.’

‘Yes, so can I. She asked him what grounds he had for such an accusation and the good prefect replied that it was the manner in which Blandinus was found. He said that the raid must have been set up as a screen to disguise the murder.’

‘That seems overly fanciful, Senator,’ Magnus observed proffering his cup for a refill.

Gaius obliged him. ‘According to Pallas, the Lady herself said something along those lines. She then asked Sejanus what was it about the way in which Blandinus was found that had led him to such a bizarre conclusion, at which point the prefect exploded in anger. He almost screamed at her that his tribune had been found with his head languishing in a dead, naked boy’s lap, his throat cut, a stab wound in his back and an easterner’s arm, with its bearded but deceased, trouser-wearing owner still attached to it, hanging out of his backside.’

‘What some people get up to, eh?’

‘I know. Shocking isn’t it? As you might well expect from a lady of Antonia’s breeding she was appalled by the image and suggested to Sejanus that in future he should spend more time looking to the moral standards of his officers and less time involving himself in the politics of her family.’

‘Good advice. Did he take it?’

‘Pallas didn’t know because Sejanus stormed out at that point, but he rather doubts it. Still, as the Lady Antonia said after he had taken his leave: “He can’t say that he hasn’t been warned.”’

‘Well, the machinations of the powerful are nothing to do with us, eh, Senator?’

‘Indeed not Magnus, but I thought that I’d tell you because now that establishment on the Viminal has been closed down I would assume that Terentius’ place will be making a lot more money, a goodly percentage of which will come your way I believe. That should please you tremendously.’

‘Yes but Sempronius, my counterpart on the Viminal, won’t be so thrilled.’

‘Oh I wouldn’t worry about him. I guessed that might be his reaction so I shared my worry, as your patron, with Pallas, without reference to your name of course.’

‘That’s very good of you Senator.’

Gaius waved his hand airily. ‘Don’t mention it. Pallas has promised that should Sempronius come to the mistaken conclusion that it was not the Cohort who was responsible for his loss of income, then the Lady Antonia will see to it that he is fully compensated. Until, of course, he has set up a new business — she doesn’t approve of whore-boys. The offer will naturally come with a warning to him not to look too deeply into her affairs.’

Magnus inclined his head acknowledging the favour. ‘That should do it. So no more whore-boys on the Viminal and Sempronius will think that it was either the Cohort or the Lady Antonia. That’s a very satisfactory conclusion, Senator.’

Gaius beamed. ‘Yes but what makes it even sweeter, from my point of view, is real the reason for Pallas’ visit this morning. It wasn’t just to share idle gossip.’

‘Of course not.’

‘Apparently the Lady Antonia has been put into such a good mood by all this that she will be inviting me to an intimate dinner in the very near future. Not one of those lavish affairs with scores of guests where one can never get a chance to speak privately to the hostess, just myself and a couple of close friends.’

‘A step closer to the consulship.’

‘Yes, and a chance to promote my nephews’ careers. They should be arriving any day now.’ Gaius took a self-congratulatory swig of wine and stood up to show that the interview was at an end. ‘Where would we be without patronage, eh Magnus?’

‘It makes you wonder, don’t it Senator,’ Magnus said getting up and heading towards the door.

‘Before you go, my friend,’ Gaius said, stopping Magnus as he opened it. ‘As I’m sure you’re aware, being a keen supporter of the Greens, there are races tomorrow. I’ll need you and some of your lads to be here soon after dawn to escort me and my clients down to the Circus Maximus.’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow then, Senator,’ Magnus said, stepping out into the atrium and closing the door behind him.

‘Having our very own tame senator so close to Antonia has to be a good thing surely?’ Servius said, shaking the dice cup vigorously.

‘I wouldn’t call him tame,’ Magnus replied, taking his eye off the street to watch the dice roll across the table. ‘Ah, two threes and a two. Eight. Double it, Brother.’ He slammed four sesterces down and scooped up the dice in his cup. ‘Like all rich men he just wants more power and more wealth.’

‘And poor men don’t?’

Magnus grunted, acknowledging the point, as he made his cast. ‘Pluto’s balls, four, three, one. Eight again. And anyway, being in Antonia’s favour may be lucrative but along with that comes some high expectations. He’ll have to work hard to maintain his position with her and that will mean some rough jobs for us.’

A raucous shout of satisfaction from the crowded table next to them indicated a large pot had been won. Lucio snapped his fingers under a glum-looking Cassandros’ nose and Sextus chortled, slapping his palm on the bench, as Jovita stepped out of the tavern carrying two plates of roasted pork and bread.

‘We can afford to take on a few new faces with what we got last night plus the extra income that’s sure to come from Terentius, that should help,’ Servius pointed out, taking his turn. ‘Twelve! Double it again.’

Jovita placed the food on the table as Magnus matched the bet. ‘Festus has slipped back into unconsciousness again,’ she said wiping the grease off her hands onto her tunic, ‘and the wound’s started to ooze. There’s nothing more I can do.’

‘Call for a proper doctor, then,’ Magnus said, shaking the dice cup. ‘We owe it to him and it ain’t as if we can’t afford it.’

Jovita nodded and walked off.

Magnus slammed the cup upside down on the table, keeping the dice hidden. ‘What about Tigran and his cousin? They did well last night and they’ve got nothing, so they’d be loyal if we give them a chance.’

‘They ain’t citizens.’

‘We’ll give them less of a percentage then, like auxiliaries, if you take my meaning?’ Magnus lifted the cup slightly towards him, peered under and cracked it back down. ‘Shit! Fortuna spent the last of my luck last night.’

Servius scraped his winnings towards him. ‘Then I can’t see a problem. I’ll send one of the lads to find them later.’

‘Marcus Salvius Magnus.’

Magnus looked up to see Terentius standing at the end of the table, holding a purse.

‘I’ve come to thank you for looking after my interests,’ he said placing the purse in front of Magnus, ‘and to assure you that I won’t tell anyone what I know about the events of last night.’

‘That would be wise, for both our sakes, Terentius.’ Magnus pushed the purse back. ‘There’s no need to pay me, it was covered by your percentage.’

‘This isn’t a payment, Magnus. This was Blandinus’ purse that he brought to spend with me yesterday. It would be wrong for me to keep it. I’ve heard how he was found and I’m sorry that I was, in a way, responsible.’

‘Yeah well, that’s the thing about patronage, it goes both ways and you never get something for nothing not even if you’re the emperor.’

Terentius nodded, smiling sadly. ‘Still, one good thing came out of Blandinus’ death: that bastard Macro has got his wish, he’s taken Blandinus’ position. I shan’t be missing that particular Tribune patrolling our streets. Keep the purse.’

Magnus picked it up and felt its weight. ‘Perhaps I’ll use it for what it was intended for and spend it in your house.’

‘You’ve no need to bring any money if you visit me. As I’ve always told you: you can have the run of my establishment for free.’

‘I know, Terentius my friend; but as we all know, no one gives something for nothing.’

Terentius inclined his head, turned gracefully and walked away.

‘Are you really thinking of giving that a try?’ Servius asked, taking a mouthful of pork.

‘Why not? Don’t judge it until you’ve tried it and besides, change pleases. And it would be on Blandinus.’ Magnus grinned and tipped out the coins onto the table. His eyes widened in surprise. ‘That’s forty Denarii or so.’

‘Blandinus must have been planning quite a night.’

‘Yeah. And Terentius must be feeling very bad about him to give up that amount of money.’

‘Strange morals for a whore-boy master.’

Magnus looked up and watched Terentius walking away along the Alta Semita. ‘Very strange,’ he agreed as a party of travellers on horseback followed by a litter, coming towards him, caught his eye. He picked up the dice and threw them. ‘Three sixes, Venus. Fortuna’s back with me.’ He looked over to his brothers still playing dice on the table next to him. ‘I’ll do this one lads, they’ve got guards and a litter; I’d say that they could well afford our services. Stay alert.’

He studied the party as they approached. Behind three mounted guards rode an equestrian in his mid-fifties flanked by what looked to be his two sons. He was talking animatedly with the youth riding on his right who had a look of awe on his round, sun-tanned face as he looked about.

Getting up off the bench, Magnus timed his walk so that he got between the party and their guards and stood, full-square, in front of the leading traveller’s horse, forcing it to stop. Magnus looked up at the man, his face set hard and menacing. ‘You’ll be needing protection, sir, if you’re thinking of going down that road.’

Content

Robert Fabbi
The crossroads brotherhood