‘Shit!’ Magnus exclaimed, rushing to look over the edge. Menes was struggling with one hand to keep himself afloat, whilst still holding the sack with the other, as the river swept him away. He looked back up at Magnus, laughing, as he shouted in his own tongue. But in his triumph at escape he failed to see the danger that whistled in from the river steps. His face contorted into a grin more pronounced and rigid than he had ever concocted before as an arrowhead burst out of his right eye-socket, the eyeball skewered on the bodkin. The feathered shaft vibrated, embedded in his crown, and a few paces away Pallas, his expression passive, set down his bow and sent his oarsmen diving into the river as the dead Menes finally gave up his hold of the tablets.
‘It would seem that you’ve had a very successful morning, Pallas; keeping the tablets was an unexpected bonus,’ Antonia conceded, looking at the pile of moneybags and the wet sack of tablets on the mosaic floor of her private office at her residence on the Palatine. She looked at Magnus, her green eyes showing life in them that belied her seventy years but matched her high-cheekboned, fading beauty that still needed little cosmetic augmentation. ‘And I have much to thank you for too, Magnus. I will pay the blood money for your men. Pallas.’ She indicated to the bags.
Pallas picked one up and gave it to Magnus.
‘I think that should cover it.’
‘Thank you, domina,’ Magnus muttered.
‘What’s the matter? You don’t look overly thrilled.’
Magnus looked at the bag and then down to the tablets. ‘Well, begging your pardon, domina, but I was wondering what you intend to do with them.’
‘I shall inform the Urban Prefect that they’ve fallen into my hands and that I shall return them to their rightful owner, so he needn’t concern himself about them any more. Then I’ll restore them to Herod Agrippa for the pleasure of watching him control his expression as I demand a substantial finder’s fee. I think that’ll be the point when he realises I was behind the theft and that it might be a good idea to pay off the debt he owes me to avoid further inconvenience in the future.’ She smiled at the thought.
‘If that is the case, domina, could I swap the aurii for one of the tablets?’
Antonia looked at Magnus, frowning. ‘And why would you want to do that?’
‘Let’s just say I know a use they can be put to that is worth far more than two hundred in gold.’
‘How?’
‘Well, it … er … if you inhale the fumes when it burns, it takes you to a place where pleasure has no bounds if you share it with another, if you take my meaning?’
‘I think I do, Magnus.’ Antonia smiled again and looked at Pallas. ‘Leave us.’
Magnus tried but failed to hide his alarm as the steward left the room.
‘Show me.’
Magnus walked through the tavern door soon after dusk, clasping a tablet under his arm and fit to drop; it had been a long day, although much of it was now a blur. He looked across to his table in the corner and saw Servius bent over his abacus; next to him sat a youth of notable beauty.
Magnus sat down, looked at the youth and then at Servius. ‘Is this what I think it is?’
‘Tell him,’ Servius growled, clacking his abacus.
‘The master says to tell you that everything is prepared in the matter that you spoke of.’
The fatigue fell away immediately. ‘Run back and tell him I’ll be there very soon.’
‘I’ll come with you. I had already sent Marius, Sextus and Cassandros up there about half an hour ago when the message arrived.’
‘Thank you, my friend.’ Magnus brandished the tablet. ‘I need to drop this off with Terentius anyway.’
Servius’ eyes glinted in the lamplight. ‘Another thousand or so aurii; just a fraction of that will reimburse our people for the grain that Brutus cheated them of. It’s been a good day.’
‘Indeed; and it’s just about to get better.’
‘Well, well,’ Magnus ruminated as he looked down at the recumbent form of Brutus, lying on the couch in Terentius’ private room. ‘You look to be enjoying yourself, aedile.’
Brutus looked up with unfocused, drooping-lidded eyes and stared at Magnus for a few moments, with no sign of recognition, before returning his attention to the genitalia of the writhing youth straddling his hips and riding hard.
Terentius signalled to a second youth busy flicking one of the aedile’s nipples with his tongue whilst caressing the other; he removed the two knives from the brazier and pressed them to either side of a small ball of resin on the table next to it. Smoke immediately spiralled up and the youth offered it to the aedile; even in his engrossed state, Brutus noticed the source of pleasure nearing him and turned his head to suck greedily at the smoke.
‘He certainly has developed the taste for it,’ Magnus observed as the door opened and Servius entered holding a rope; behind him came Marius, Sextus and Cassandros, struggling with a large tub of water.
Servius pointed to the floor next to the couch. ‘Set it down there.’ He looked down at Brutus who lay back with a fixed grin on his face. ‘Is he ready?’
‘He’s far too deep into Morpheus’ realm to notice anything,’ Terentius assured him. ‘Leave us, boys.’
The writhing youth eased himself off Brutus and, picking up his tunic from the couch, scurried, giggling, out of the room with his colleague.
‘Get him on his knees in front of the tub, lads,’ Servius ordered, throwing the coiled rope on to the couch.
Sextus and Cassandros raised Brutus to his feet.
‘All forgotten, I’ve forgotten,’ the aedile mumbled as they lowered him on to his knees over the tub. ‘Ah, water; so much water.’
‘Head in and hold it there; but be very careful not to bruise him. Once he’s dead we hang him upside down to get all the water out, then dry him off and dress him and he’ll seem to have died of natural causes.’
As Brutus’ head disappeared beneath the surface Magnus turned to Terentius. ‘It’s probably best if you don’t witness this; the last time you saw him he was still alive.’
‘And in such capable hands,’ Terentius added with a smile as he walked away.
Magnus watched him go for a few moments before turning back to Brutus just as the convulsions started.
*
‘Natural causes?’ Gaius was shocked; he leant forward across the desk in his study, almost spilling an inkpot. ‘At his age? He couldn’t have been more than thirty-five or six.’
Magnus contrived to look equally shocked. ‘I know, sir; but there it is. He was found near the Viminal Gate soon after dawn this morning, in the Via Patricius. Not a mark on him so it is assumed that he just dropped down dead after some mighty exertions in one of the brothels along there.’
‘There’ll be an investigation.’
‘I’m sure there will.’
‘And if they find that it wasn’t natural causes can they trace it to you?’
‘I very much doubt it. He was found on the Viminal; not my area.’
‘Because if they can I might be implicated as well. How did you do it?’
‘You don’t need to know, sir; other than it was the same way he would have killed you.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because my client who made the original complaint against him was found dead of natural causes yesterday, soon after Brutus had threatened you. I think he was starting a spree of natural revenge.’
‘Yes, well, I suppose I should thank you, Magnus.’
‘Yes, I suppose you should, sir.’
‘But even so, I think that you should get out of Rome for a while whilst I try and persuade the Urban Prefect that young men of his age drop dead all the time of natural causes.’
‘Lucky that he’s in your debt.’
‘Yes, but I think this will use up the last of the favours he owes me; he did grant my request to make Sabinus the Grain Aedile next year now that he’s back from serving as quaestor in Judea. But I’m sure that the Lady
Antonia will emphasise the unfortunate tragedy of the thing; especially as she failed to get me that imperial permission for Vespasian to enter Egypt.’ He picked up a wax tablet from his desk and looked at it ruefully. ‘She sent me the message this morning.’
‘Then it would seem that I’m the right man to go to Cyrenaica and tell Vespasian the bad news.’
‘Yes, my friend, it would seem that you are.’
Magnus stepped out of Gaius’ carriage on to the quayside at Ostia, helped by an extremely attractive groom. He ignored the youth’s languid eyes and coy smile and looked, instead, with a sinking heart at the hulking merchantman in which he was to spend the next half a month or so; her sides were stained with age and she exuded an unpleasant smell of rotting refuse.
‘I’m sorry, Magnus,’ Gaius said, ‘but it was all that I could get at such short notice; the sailing season’s over and there’re very few making the crossing at this time of year.’
Magnus glanced back at the terrace of warehouses in which, just six nights previously, he had organised the break-in that had somehow led to his enforced exile; he cursed vociferously.
Gaius smiled in sympathy as he gave him a handful of scrolls. ‘Letters for Vespasian.’
‘I’m sure he’ll be very pleased to have them.’
‘Yes, well, I should be getting back; the Lady Antonia has invited me and the Urban Prefect for dinner. I’m sure that by the time you return this matter will be completely forgotten.’
Magnus took his bag from the groom. ‘I’m sure it will, Senator.’
‘Just mention my name to the trierarchos; I’ve paid in advance so there’ll be no problems.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Will you be all right?’ Gaius asked, his eyes lingering on the groom’s legs as he climbed up next to the driver who was equally as lissom.
Magnus grinned and slung his bag over his shoulder. ‘I’ve got nothing to do for the next fourteen or fifteen days, sir.’ He patted a small lump concealed underneath his tunic. ‘So don’t worry about me, I’ll put that time to good use; I’ve got a whole realm to explore.’
THE ALEXANDRIAN EMBASSY
This story comes between False God of Rome and Rome’s Fallen Eagle. It concerns the Jewish Embassy to Rome, led by Philo, the brother of Alexander, the Alabarch of Alexandria, to protest to Caligula about the violence perpetrated upon the Jews of Alexandria that we witnessed in False God. Vespasian was a praetor at the time so, therefore, could very likely have been involved somehow with the diplomatic mission. Amongst his many works, Philo wrote an account of the embassy; it is the only extant description of Caligula by someone who actually met him and conversed with him. All the interaction with Caligula in this tale is therefore taken from a first-hand account – he really was interior decorating whilst he received the embassy!
I had always wondered how I was going to cope with the relatively boring – to my mind – time taken up by Vespasian’s term as a praetor and had already come up with the idea of writing a short story to cover the period; however, once the Magnus shorts had started to take shape it seemed much more appropriate to take the incident from his point of view, rather than Vespasian’s. And so, set against the backdrop of the Mercuralia, Magnus is dragooned by Senator Pollo to fix up the security for the embassy that has become Vespasian’s responsibility; at the same time he has difficulties of his own in completing an illegal arms deal and getting one over his old enemy, Sempronius of the West Viminal Brotherhood, as well as an unscrupulous arms-dealer – it was ever thus.
Vespasian’s obsequiousness to Caligula in thanking him for a splendid dinner is a matter of record and gives us a good insight into how he managed to survive such a dangerous time.
ROME, MAY AD 39
MARCUS SALVIUS MAGNUS did not look impressed; far from it. His pugilist’s face was crowned with a heavy frown; dark eyes stared grim from above a battered nose at the suave man across the desk as his index finger took out his aggression on one of his cauliflower ears, drilling it deeply. ‘I’ve not come all the way here, Tatianus, to be told that the shipment hasn’t arrived and, in fact, may never arrive.’
Tatianus shrugged; the two thick gold chains around his neck glinted in the lamplight. He flicked away a fly that had had the temerity to land on the sleeve of his fine-spun pastel-green tunic and then met Magnus’ hostile gaze. ‘I’m afraid, Magnus, that it looks rather as if that’s exactly what you’ve done because it’s not here. I do, however, think that you’re exaggerating when you claim that I said it may never arrive. I believe that I told you that it would not arrive in the near future.’ With his little finger extended, he took an elegant sip of wine from a silver cup and swilled it around his mouth; his eyebrows creased and his lips puckered in appreciation of the vintage.
Magnus struggled to keep his temper; he had never liked this smooth middle-man but, unfortunately, when it came to acquiring certain items, he was forced to do business with him. ‘And what do you mean by that?’
‘By the near future I mean today and tomorrow, so, by process of deduction, my statement means that the earliest your order will arrive is in two days’ time.’
Magnus’ fist slammed down on the desk causing his untouched cup of wine to disgorge some of its contents on to the waxed walnut-wood surface. ‘You promised me that it would be here by two days before the Ides of May, and that is today.’
The room was not large and Magnus’ voice filled it, causing Tatianus to wince. ‘My dear Magnus, shouting at me is not going to make the slightest difference to the speed with which your order gets past the Urban Cohort guards on the city’s gates. A consignment of fifty swords or a dozen re-curved Scythian composite bows are one thing: they can be hidden beneath a load of vegetables or suchlike, but a Scorpion? That’s a very big piece of kit to conceal. And bearing in mind that it is illegal for all but the Praetorian Guard and the Urban Cohorts to carry swords within the city, just imagine how much more illegal it would be to be caught in possession of a legionary bolt-shooter?’ Tatianus raised his eyebrows. ‘I’ve resisted asking but now my curiosity has got the better of me: what in Hades’ name do you want a Scorpion in the city for? It’s not as if you can reassemble it anywhere public without it being noticed.’
‘I’ll tell you what I want it in the city for, Tatianus. I want it in the city for the thousand denarii that I’ve paid you up front, and the balance of a thousand that I’ve brought with me, that’s what I want it in the city for.’
‘And you shall, Magnus, you shall; but not today. The centurion with whom I have a close financial understanding won’t be on duty at the Capena Gate on the Appian Way until the midnight of the Ides; as your delivery is coming up that road in three different carts, we’ll get them through then in the early morning. You can bring back the balance at the third hour of the Ides; I’ll be out until then.’ Tatianus raised his shoulders and spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. ‘Unless, of course, you would prefer to leave it here for safekeeping rather than risk walking back to the Quirinal with such a large amount at night?’ He gestured to the formidable-looking iron-reinforced wooden door with many locks, behind him. ‘I have the most secure strongroom.’
‘Leave you the money before you give me the goods? Bollocks! I’ve brought five of my lads with me; we’ll be fine.’
‘Just trying to be helpful, that’s all,’ Tatianus muttered, taking another sip of wine. ‘Remember, I only hold on to the items for a few hours. If you don’t come with the money quickly then I offload it to the first comer and your deposit is forfeit. It’s all one to me.’
Magnus checked himself, swallowing a string of invective, and then looked around the painted and gilded items of furniture in Tatianus’ study. The tables and sideboard bore the trappings of a wealthy but tasteful man: exquisite coloured glass vessels, their rich umber and turquoise hues warm in the flickering light, were interspersed with many small, delicately sculptured figurines of gods; more gods, in fact, than Magnus had ever seen in one r
oom. Lining two of the walls were shelves full of scrolls, almost all of them contracts, for Tatianus liked to keep his business close to hand in the only room in which he would discuss it. Tatianus visited no man. All who required his services had to come and pay court to him; he would have it no other way, and all of Rome’s underworld knew it and accepted it. ‘Very well,’ Magnus conceded, calming somewhat and getting up, ‘I’ll come back on the Ides and it had better be here or …’
‘Or what, Magnus?’ Tatianus leant across the desk and steepled his hands as if his interest had been exceedingly piqued. ‘What would the patronus of the South Quirinal Crossroads Brotherhood have to threaten me with? A drubbing in a dark alley or an arsonistic visit to my home, perhaps? The latter’s more your style, from what I hear. Or you might even skewer me with a Scorpion bolt if you could find someone else who could supply you with that particular item; but of course, you can’t, can you?’ He sat back in his chair and gave Magnus a pleasant smile. ‘So it’s “or nothing”, isn’t it, Magnus? And if you ever say “or” to me again it will be the last word you will ever utter in this room because my services will be closed to you. Understand?’
Magnus closed his eyes and grimaced; Tatianus was a man he could not afford to alienate. ‘I apologise, Tatianus, I meant nothing by it. I’m sure you will do your best to get my order here as quickly as possible.’
‘Of course, my friend; of course I will.’ Tatianus, suddenly all affability once more, rose and walked around the desk and, clapping an arm around Magnus’ shoulders, guided him to the door; he was a full head taller than his guest. ‘It’s been a pleasure as always.’ He opened the door and slapped Magnus’ back so hard it propelled him out of the room.
The door slammed closed leaving Magnus, seething inside at the humiliation of being dismissed in such a patronising manner, standing in a brightly lit, marble-floored corridor, staring at two grinning henchmen. With as much dignity as he could muster he barged his way past the two heavies and stomped back down the stairs and on through the house to the atrium.
Magnus and the Crossroads Brotherhood Page 20