Magnus stopped eyeing his fruit juice as if it was about to attack him. ‘It was well hidden.’
‘Or it could be just a coincidence.’
‘I don’t believe in coincidence.’
Caenis smiled. ‘Very wise, Magnus; neither do I. In a case like this, facts have meaningful connections. Let me have a look.’
Magnus leant over and pushed the scroll across to Caenis. She set her glass down and unrolled the chart flat on the table.
Magnus closed his eyes, enjoying the peace, and began to daydream about the sort of place he would buy himself with his not inconsiderable savings once he finally retired from the brotherhood.
‘Well?’ Senator Pollo asked eventually, dragging Magnus from a world of cool gardens, populated by generously built water-nymphs, where fruit juice was banned.
Caenis looked up from the chart; her normal composure, for which Magnus had always admired her, was not quite so apparent. ‘This is a death sentence for anyone who has seen it.’
Senator Pollo’s jowls wobbled in consternation. ‘Then we had better destroy it.’
‘Destroy it, Gaius? That would be rather a hasty action, I think. Why would you want to destroy the horoscope of someone who could become our next emperor?’
‘Emperor!’ Magnus and Senator Pollo exclaimed in unison.
‘Yes. This is the horoscope of Claudius’ natural son, Britannicus; at least, I assume it is as it’s forecasting the life of someone born two days before the ides of February, ten years ago, at the third hour of the day. But far more interesting is the date that it was done.’ She pointed to the bottom right-hand corner of the scroll. ‘Look at that very small writing; this was drawn up last month. And then this.’ She moved her finger along. ‘This is the initials of the person who paid for it to be done: JAA. Since last year Claudius has allowed her to use the title. This stands for Julia Augusta Agrippina.’
‘The Empress! We should definitely destroy it.’ Senator Pollo drained his drink, forgetting that it was not restorative wine.
Magnus smiled as he realised why Caenis was reluctant to destroy the horoscope. ‘That is a powerful weapon to have.’
Caenis agreed and, rolling up the scroll, handed it back to Magnus. ‘Yes, the Empress enquiring into the future of her stepson, the only serious rival to her own natural son, Nero. She’s very ambitious for him and has already started manoeuvring for the succession; it was her who got Sextus Afranius Burrus appointed as one of the Praetorian prefects.’
Senator Pollo winced at the thought. ‘So that’s why Burrus was enquiring after astrologers. It was not for another purge; it was so that Agrippina could get this chart done discreetly. And since she managed to get Lucius Annaeus Seneca recalled from exile to be Nero’s tutor, it’s rumoured that he’s preparing the young brute for the Purple. But we all know that Agrippina will be the real power. It is the height of folly to come between an ambitious, megalomaniacal woman and her objective.’
‘I quite agree, Gaius; or at least don’t be seen to come between an ambitious, megalomaniacal woman and her objective,’ Caenis said. ‘Use it well.’
Magnus could not hide his surprise. ‘You don’t want it?’
‘No, Magnus, you found it, you keep it. Besides, I would have trouble trying to use it against anyone other than Agrippina, which, as Gaius says, would be very dangerous. Whereas you—’
‘Could use it against anyone I wanted; I just have to let the relevant authorities know.’
‘Precisely. And that way it could come to the attention of someone who perhaps has fewer scruples than Gaius or myself and thereby find its way to the Emperor, who might be very interested as to the plans his wife has for the succession.’
‘She came out of the Vigiles’ depot about an hour ago and came straight here,’ Cassandros reported to Magnus as they stood in the entrance of Red Horse Street not long after. ‘I got the distinct impression that she didn’t want to leave the depot; they practically had to throw her out and then she all but ran home. Cordus’ men wouldn’t allow her back in as it’s still sealed off until the aedile has time to inspect the scene of the murder himself.’
‘Does Cordus have any idea when that might be?’
Cassandros shook his head. ‘He doesn’t know.’ He looked at Magnus with a furrowed brow. ‘Just what is all this about, Brother? Why is the aedile getting himself all upset about one little murder?’
‘It’s not the murder that has got the quality so upset; it’s the possible motive and the end result.’ Magnus looked back down the street to Tuscus’ house. ‘So, where is she now?’
‘In her neighbour’s place. I’ve got Lupus covering the back entrance with a boy to run a message should she leave by that method; Sextus is up the other end of the street.’
‘Good lad. I’ll wait with you until either she moves or Barbatus comes along.’
Barbatus arrived first, soon after the beginning of the ninth hour. ‘Well?’ he asked Magnus, without bothering to stop. ‘Did anyone try anything?’
Magnus fell into step next to him. ‘No. She’s in the house next door. She spoke to no one on her way.’
Barbatus grunted and walked on up the street. Magnus kept pace with him.
‘Where are you going?’ the aedile asked.
‘I was coming with you to have a look at the body.’
‘Why would you want to do that?’
‘We might learn something.’
‘Only that he’s dead with his throat cut, I should think.’
‘I just thought that if you want me to help clear up this rather delicate matter, I should take every opportunity I get.’
Barbatus grunted again but did not gainsay Magnus as they walked up to Tuscus’ house, past a guard of two Vigiles.
‘No one has been in since Magnus left, aedile,’ Cordus replied to Barbatus’ question.
Barbatus turned in surprise to Magnus. ‘You’ve been here already?’
‘This morning when Cordus arrived. I came as the concerned patronus of the local brotherhood.’
‘Why didn’t you say?’
‘I didn’t think it was important.’
‘Magnus found Tuscus’ price list,’ Cordus said in an attempt to be helpful.
‘A price list?’ Barbatus stared at Magnus. ‘What sort of price list?’
‘Oh, just for his candles; nothing of interest.’
With another grunt Barbatus walked over to the body. It was exactly how Magnus remembered it, only the blood had congealed even more and word had got around the local flies of a feast to hand. Barbatus knelt down and looked closely at the wound. ‘A single slash, cleanly done; I don’t think a woman could have done this.’
‘Professional?’ Magnus asked.
‘That wouldn’t narrow it down much; I expect more than half of Rome could neatly slit a throat. Still, this looks to have been done from behind as he’s lying on his back as if he has been laid down, rather than crumpled to the floor if he’d been slashed from the front.’
‘Fair point,’ Magnus said, not really understanding or caring what the aedile meant but very pleased that he had said it. ‘In which case, shall we turn him over to see if there are any wounds to the back?’
‘Good idea. Give me a hand.’
Magnus rummaged in his satchel as Barbatus turned his back for a moment to get up to the head end. With a deft movement, Magnus pulled out the curved blade and, bending down to grab the corpse’s thighs, slipped it beneath them, taking care that it was smeared with blood.
‘Ready?’ Barbatus asked. Without waiting for a response he lifted the shoulders and twisted the body.
Magnus did the same with the legs and over the corpse went, its partially severed head lolling.
‘What’s that?’ Barbatus said, his eyes widening.
Magnus did his best shocked and amazed face. ‘A knife, aedile!’
‘Let me see.’ Barbatus reached forward and picked it up by the sticky handle. He examined the blade and then wiped the
blood off on Tuscus’ tunic. ‘That is unquestionably the murder weapon. It looks Eastern to me. What do you think, Magnus?’
‘I think you’re right, sir. That has to be the murder weapon. There’re no signs of any other wounds on his back so this must have killed him with a single slash to the throat and then one of the murderers must have dropped the knife in his eagerness to get what they had really come for, there in that cupboard.’
Barbatus looked at the empty cupboard with the forced lock and stroked his chin. ‘Yes, I think you’re right. Which means that the murderers definitely took the scrolls, which puts Tacita in the clear: she couldn’t have done the murder, and whoever did dropped the knife getting the cupboard open, so the horoscopes would have been gone by the time she found the body.’
Magnus looked solemn and shook his head slowly. ‘So she’s telling the truth.’
‘It would seem so. Keep watching her; the murderers are bound to try and silence her at some point. Tell me as soon as they do.’
Magnus stood. ‘Of course, sir.’ He walked to the door, giving Cordus a cheery smile, and stepped out into the street. Looking about, he could see no sign of Cassandros. He walked towards the junction with the Alta Semita.
‘Magnus! Magnus!’ a high-pitched voice called.
Magnus looked up to see a small boy running towards him.
‘What is it?’
The boy, nothing more than an urchin, paused to draw a few quick breaths. ‘Cassandros sent me. He said to say: she’s moving.’
‘Which way did she go?’
The urchin pointed south, along Red Horse Street. ‘That way, Magnus, towards the Viminal.’
‘Did she now? Well, that is very interesting.’ Magnus took a sestertius from his purse and put it on the boy’s hand. ‘Try to catch up with Cassandros and then run back to me at the tavern when we know where she ends up. Although something tells me I already know the answer.’
‘So you’ll delegate the organisation of the Brotherhood’s participation in tomorrow’s festival, Tigran,’ Magnus said as his new counsellor finished studying the list of contributions from all the local traders and residents.
Tigran looked up at Magnus, seated across the desk in the back room. ‘What?’
‘You heard.’
‘But that’s far below me.’
‘That’s why you’re delegating it, not doing it yourself.’
‘But—’
‘Tigran, the Brotherhood is not just about collecting money in return for protection, as you should well know having been with us for twenty-five years. We’re also a religious organisation. First and foremost we tend the altar to the Crossroads’ lares in order to ensure their blessing upon the whole neighbourhood. And then we have to represent the area in all the other festivals, religious or otherwise. Tomorrow is the festival punishing the dogs for failing to warn the defenders of the Capitoline Hill that the Gauls were climbing it. If it hadn’t been for the geese, well … Anyway, that isn’t important. What is important, though, is that you delegate someone, and I don’t give a fuck who, to organise a group of the brothers to be a part of the procession up the Capitoline tomorrow with a half a dozen live dogs tied to forked poles.’
Tigran went to say something but Magnus raised his palm. ‘Just do it. Servius used to. You need to know everything about the Brotherhood if you’re to make a good patronus. What’s more, the brethren expect it of you; they want to know that someone is thinking of everything. You know how superstitious they are; we all are. Just imagine what they would think if we fucked up a festival or forgot one? That’s the sort of thing that leads to discontent, and discontent leads to weakness, and weakness is what Sempronius and the West Viminal bastards want to see in us so that they can push their influence into our territory.’
Tigran relaxed, slowly nodding, his eyes, hard, holding Magnus’ remaining one. ‘All right, Magnus, have it your way; I’ll do your running around but I won’t do it for long, is that clear?’
‘It’s not running around, it’s managing the Brotherhood, and you’ll do it for as long as I say.’
‘Make me.’
‘Do you really want me to?’
Tigran stood, still holding Magnus’ eye, and then turned and walked out of the room, slamming the door.
Magnus watched him go with the exasperated look of a parent dealing with a troublesome but promising child. ‘You leave me no choice, Brother.’
‘I’ve left Lupus and the boy watching her,’ Cassandros said as he sat down opposite Magnus at his table in the tavern, facing the door.
Magnus wiped a piece of bread around his bowl, soaking up the gravy from the remains of his pork, chickpea and lovage stew, and popped it into his mouth, chewing it at leisure.
‘Well, don’t you want to know where she went?’ Cassandros asked, pouring himself a cup of wine. ‘You don’t seem very interested.’
‘That’s because I can guess.’
‘Go on, then.’
‘She’s at the West Viminal headquarters.’
Cassandros looked in amazement across the table at Magnus as he concentrated on wiping his bowl clean. ‘How the fuck—’
‘Did I know? Easy: Sempronius is an unscrupulous piece of shit who’s willing to involve himself in the domestic disputes of people not of his area if he can see the slightest bit of gain in doing so. So, as soon as Tacita comes back to our territory, let me know; she’ll be able to go home now that the aedile has seen the body. I think we’ll pop round for a nice chat and ask her how our mate Sempronius is, if you take my meaning? I’ll be at Senator Pollo’s house – send a message there.’
Senator Pollo swallowed his honeyed cake in evident confusion. ‘But why would you want to organise the Vigiles raiding your own establishment, my dear Magnus?’ Crumbs sprayed from his mouth, scattering across the desk in his tablinum. ‘It’s rather like a hound volunteering for the Punishment of the Dogs parade.’
‘Yeah, well, let’s just say that it will be of benefit to all of us: you, me, Caenis and the aedile.’
Pollo helped himself to another cake as a flaxen-haired youth, wearing a tunic a thumb’s breadth too short for complete modesty, brought in a jug of wine and two cups.
Pollo paused, admiring the lad’s half-concealed buttocks as he poured the wine, striking a pose that was not altogether natural but evidently insisted upon by his master so as to facilitate the view. ‘Hmmm,’ Pollo rumbled as the slave left, the glasses filled. ‘Where were we? Ah, yes: of benefit to us all. If you say so, Magnus. When do you want it done?’
Magnus took a healthy slug of wine before answering. ‘Firstly, it must never be known that I ordered it, so you’ll have to get the tip-off to the aedile by a third party.’
‘Someone not connected to either you or me? Do you have any suggestions?’
‘You might like to ask your steward to have a quiet chat, incognito of course, with a Vigiles optio by the name of Cordus. He’s not that bright, but bright enough to appreciate the value of a few denarii.’
‘I shall send him down to the Quirinal depot forthwith.’
‘Not just yet, Senator; there’re a couple of things that I need to put in place first. I’ll send one of the lads round when I’m ready.’
‘Master?’ the flaxen-haired slave said, standing in the entrance.
‘What is it, my dear?’ Senator Pollo smiled at the lad with obvious affection.
‘A message for me?’ Magnus asked.
The lad nodded, his long locks swaying to and fro.
Magnus stood and downed the rest of his wine. ‘I’d better be going, Senator. You’ll hear from me soon.’
‘I didn’t, Magnus, I swear I didn’t.’ Tacita knelt, grasping Magnus’ knees in supplication. Cassandros and Sextus stood over her.
The blood remained congealed on the floor but the body of her husband had been removed; the infestation of flies, however, persisted.
Magnus gestured with his head to Cassandros; he pulled Tacita up to her feet. Sh
e howled and lashed out at Magnus. With a blurred-motion hand movement, he caught her wrist just before the nails made contact with his good eye. ‘Stop lying to me, Tacita. I had you followed to the West Viminal and back again. Now sit down and tell me the truth and you might just get out of this in one piece. Did you get Sempronius to order the death of your husband?’
Cassandros and Sextus manhandled Tacita down on to a chair. Sextus kept his ham-like fists clamped onto her shoulders, keeping her there.
‘Well?’
Tacita looked up at Magnus, tears welling. ‘You wouldn’t help me.’
‘It was domestic; we can’t have men living in fear of their wives ordering their deaths just because they might get a bit cross with them now and again. What did you offer Sempronius?’
Tacita cast her eyes down to stare at her hands folded in her lap. Tears were now flowing. ‘I offered him money.’
Magnus was surprised. ‘Money? How much?’
‘Not much; all I could afford. It doesn’t matter anyway because he wasn’t interested in money; he was interested in something else.’
‘So he asked for your husband’s secret copies of his charts; you didn’t offer them.’
Tacita looked up. It was her turn to be surprised. ‘How do you know about them?’
‘I’m the patronus of the local brotherhood and I talk with the aedile. So?’
‘Yes, he said he would do it for the horoscopes.’
‘Did he say how he knew about them? He must have been the only person other than you and Tuscus who did before they were taken.’
Tacita shook her head. ‘No. I was shocked when he asked for them.’
Magnus thought for a few moments. ‘All right, I believe you. So how did it happen?’
‘I didn’t want to hand them over before Tuscus was dead, for obvious reasons, so I made a deal that I would bring them once I had seen the body. I took them from their hiding place, hid them in my room and then went out and waited for the killers to strike. It was two men; they knocked on the door, Tuscus opened it, they went in and then, not long after, came out again and disappeared into the night. I waited until morning and then made the cupboard door seem as if it had been forced before taking the horoscopes to Sempronius’ house.’
Magnus and the Crossroads Brotherhood Page 36