The Imperial Triumph

by Robert Fabbri

  With the resigned look of a man trying to retrieve something from a terrible situation, Geminus raised himself up onto his elbows. ‘Agreed.’

  ‘Marius! Get over here with the Vigiles centurion and four of the brothers, now!’ Magnus pulled Geminus to his feet as Marius got the witnesses together.

  ‘We’re going to wansht paying, you knowsh,’ the Vigiles centurion informed Magnus; he frowned and looked closer. ‘Oh, itsh you, Magnush.’ He signalled to his men to begin work. ‘Another amphorash or two of that wine will go down a treat, though.’

  ‘And they shall be yours, Densus; but bear witness to this first. Marcus Favonius Geminus agrees to sell me, Marcus Salvius Magnus, his seven properties on the Vicus Longus and his three on the Chainmakers’ Street for a hundred denarii each or ten denarii each should we save a building intact, which he would then keep in lieu of the balance. Do you agree, Geminus?’

  ‘I do.’ Geminus went on to repeat the exact terms of the deal and the witnesses affirmed their presence and understanding as the frenetic action of pumping water into the flames and attaching ropes to the buildings to be demolished carried on apace.

  The legal deal done, Magnus wondered how Rome had not completely burnt down in the days of Crassus continually extorting property at knock-down prices from the unfortunate owners watching their buildings burn, as he rushed to the tenement with the courtyard; ropes were already being tied onto the upper storey. Smoke had started to spout from the front door and a couple of windows but, as yet, there was no tell-tale orange glow.

  ‘We need to get this one down quick, Densus! You carry on here and we’ll get some ropes on the back.’ He ran through the door with Marius following, pulling Geminus along with him. Through the passage they went, keeping their heads down and squinting against the sting of smoke. Out into the courtyard they burst; flames licked out of the next-door building’s windows and smoke swirled all around; the upper reaches of the tree were charring and some twigs were alight. Magnus stopped as Marius held onto Geminus.

  Geminus looked around. ‘What are we doing here? Where’re the ropes we need?’

  The cold look on Magnus’ face told the story.

  ‘But we had a deal!’

  ‘I know, a lovely one and it’s all legal now – whatever happens.’

  Geminus did not see the knife come up through the smoke, punch into his chest just under his ribs and then plough on through into his heart; but the pain in his eyes as he stared at Magnus showed how much he felt it.

  ‘You know how it goes, Geminus; you did it enough in your time. I just made one more refinement to your scam in that instead of the ones who refuse to sell ending up dead, like you used to do, the ones that sell also end up dead once the deal’s been witnessed.’ Twisting the knife left and right, he pulled it out; blood slopped to the ground.

  Geminus slumped, the life fading quick in his eyes. Marius let him go and, with a shove, pushed him onto the pile of rags in the handcart; the first sparks started to fall from the tree as the fire spread from the twigs along the branches. Magnus picked up a smouldering brand and blew on it; it glowed. He stuck it into the pile of rags and, within a few moments, they burst aflame.

  Looking up through the smoke, Magnus could see that the fire had caught the branch to which the amphora of oil was tied. As he watched, the flame crept along and reached the rope; it started to burn. ‘Let’s go!’ He sprinted back into the corridor with Marius close behind; both were wafting the smoke away to increase visibility. Out they raced into the flame-lit night and the pandemonium of fire-fighting as more and more of the local residents came to help stop the blaze spreading to their properties.

  ‘We can’t pull him out!’ Magnus shouted to Densus.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Geminus! A branch has fallen on him. I need to borrow a couple of your men.’ As the last word passed Magnus’ lips a dull whoopff made him turn in time to see an explosion of flame burst through the door as the oil-filled amphora fell and shattered on the body of Geminus. ‘Too late!’ he shouted, slamming his fist into the palm of his hand, before adding, under his breath: ‘Just in time.’

  ‘Well, Magnus,’ Senator Pollo boomed, ‘this all looks very good; very good indeed.’

  They were standing in the now well-furnished atrium of the house on Pomegranate Street the following morning; all around there was ordered activity as a couple of manacled Germanic slaves shuffling in leg irons, closely supervised by Tigran and Cassandros, brought in armfuls of weapons from the carts parked in the stable yard and stacked them in the rooms off the atrium; here, under Marius and Sextus’ eyes, three more slaves stripped the blades of any leather, wood or bronze before two more slaves took them to the forges in the two shops out front whence came a steady heat and the acrid smell of super-heated iron.

  ‘It was Tigran that got it all going; I was otherwise engaged.’

  ‘My thanks will be forthcoming, Tigran.’

  Tigran bowed his head. ‘I look forward to it, senator.’

  ‘Show me the rest.’

  Tigran led Magnus and the senator to the workshops past a couple of slaves bringing back well-formed swords and daggers. Here the blacksmiths and their slaves were re-forging the weapons into army issue; twisting white-hot blades together, combining them, they hammered ceaselessly, strengthening the metal from the softer type produced by the Britannic tribes into biting Roman iron.

  ‘Very good, Magnus,’ Senator Pollo boomed again over the clanging of hammers on anvils; sweat poured down his face. A figure beating away at smaller pieces of metal in the corner caught his eye. ‘What’s he doing?’

  ‘Martinus? Ah, he’s a chainmaker. He’s putting the off-cuts to very good use seeing as there seems to be a shortage of chainage in the city; what with all these prisoners and all, the price is going up.’

  The senator wiped the sweat from his jowls with a large handkerchief – it was a losing battle – as he waddled to the door. ‘Excellent! How long do they reckon to process the whole consignment?’

  ‘Ah, well; that’s just the trouble, you see, senator: the smiths are estimating four months. I don’t think neither you nor me realised just what was involved – how much there was, if you take my meaning?’

  Senator Pollo paused and looked knowingly at Magnus. ‘I think I do; what do you want?’

  ‘Now, sir; no, no. Nothing for myself. It’s just that there was a fire in my area last night on the Vicus Longus and also in the Chainmakers’ Street.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, three of the buildings were destroyed in the Vicus Longus and a couple more had to be pulled down. However, they managed to put out the fire in the Chainmakers’ Street before it did too much damage to the adjoining buildings.’

  ‘Yesss?’ the senator said, more as a question as he stepped out into the street covered with the debris of a public feast not yet cleared up.

  ‘Well, the workshops along that street are all chain-makers – forges, in other words; one of them belongs to Martinus. With some money I could get them working again and we could use them to melt down the metal from the helmets and shields; we could take it all down at night to keep it all very discreet. It’ll speed things up considerably.’

  ‘Ah! I see. So you want …?’

  Magnus shrugged. ‘A thousand should do—’

  ‘Just what the fuck is going on here?’

  Magnus looked round to see a balding man wearing an equestrian tunic and toga edged with a thin purple stripe. ‘And who’s asking?’

  The man’s face was puce with indignation. ‘Lucilius Celsus, that’s who; the owner of this house.’

  ‘I’m afraid you’re completely mistaken. I took possession of this abandoned building over two years ago and have a certificate from the aedile at the time to prove it was acquired legally and not through theft or violence.’

  ‘You what?’

  Gaius stepped forward. ‘I don’t know if you laid claim to the ownership of the building before but i
f you do you should be ashamed of yourself: once you abandoned it the house started attracting the most insalubrious characters. As a concerned resident I informed Magnus here – I believe he still has the letter – as the patronus of the local brotherhood and he did his civic duty and expelled the riff-raff and selflessly took on the expense of the property.’

  Magnus gave his best cold-eyed smile. ‘I did.’ He pointed through the open front door into the well-furnished atrium. ‘As you can see it has been lived in for some time; over two years in fact.’

  Senator Pollo ruffled himself up to look his most magisterial. ‘Which means in law … sorry, I didn’t catch your name?’

  ‘Lucilius Celsus!’

  ‘My dear Celsus, the property now belongs to him. You’re too late.’

  ‘I want to see these documents.’

  Gaius nodded; sweat dripped from his chins. ‘Of course you do; who wouldn’t in your position? I was just saying to Pallas, the other day, that if the original owner would ever turn up—’

  ‘Pallas? Marcus Antonius Pallas, the imperial secretary to the treasury?’

  ‘Yes, the very same; he was here because we’re doing some business together. He said that if the original owner ever did turn up he was sure that he could in some way recompense him seeing as the building has suited our purposes so well. Would you like me to arrange an interview with the man who controls the proceeds of the Triumph, or would you prefer to squabble over the ownership of an insignificant house?’

  Celsus looked unconvinced. ‘How can I trust that you have any influence with him?’

  ‘You can’t; but neither could you win the argument about who legally owns this house. My name is Gaius Vespasius Pollo; I live in the next street. Come to my salutatio in two days’ time and I shall have procured you that lucrative interview. Now go, before I decide not to be so helpful.’

  Celsus’ indignation had not abated but it was overruled by the possibility of preferment by the man with control of the Empire’s finances. ‘Two days’ time, then; I’ll be there.’ Issuing threats and oaths in equal measure as to what he would do if he were thwarted, Celsus stormed away past Servius coming up the hill guided by Lupus.

  ‘Will you get him into Pallas?’ Magnus asked the senator.

  ‘Yes, Pallas owes you a favour for the discretion you’ve shown in this matter.’

  ‘Speaking of which: about that thousand?’

  ‘You shall have it if it speeds up the work.’

  ‘It’ll be finished in under two months.’

  ‘Excellent!’

  ‘Not everything is excellent, I fear, Magnus,’ Servius said.

  ‘What’s wrong, Brother?’

  ‘Unfortunately the urban prefect has been looking into the cause of the fires last night.’

  Magnus shrugged. ‘Let him look; we’re in the clear.’

  ‘If only, Brother, if only. But it would seem that two Urban Cohort men saw you start the singing and lead the mob down the hill; then the public slaves on the kitchens that caused the fires have all testified under torture that they were told to move their kitchens and some described you as the instigator.’

  ‘Just supposition.’

  ‘Would that it were, Brother, would that it were. Unfortunately the Vigiles centurion, Densus, in having to explain to his tribune the state his watch were in last night admitted that it was us that gave them all the wine and then placed you as being already at the scene upon his arrival. Now that in itself could just about be dealt with. However, he’s also told of witnessing your property deal with Geminus shortly before you took him into a building whence he never returned; and as I told you, the urban prefect has done business with Geminus and knows all about that sort of thing. I think that when he hears of that he might well be very interested in having a little chat with you.’

  ‘Ah!’

  ‘Ah, indeed, Brother.’

  ‘Perhaps I should … er?’

  ‘I think perhaps you should.’

  ‘I’ll do what I can to sort out the misunderstanding,’ the senator offered.

  ‘That’s very kind of you, sir. I suppose it’s back to Britannia for me in the meantime, then.’

  ‘The safest place for you, Magnus.’

  By the look on Magnus’ face he was not entirely convinced. ‘And the little matter of the money I owe your family for the slaves, senator?’

  ‘My dear Magnus, do not trouble yourself with details like that. They are doing a fine job in there; I’ll take them off your hands and we shall call the matter quits. You lose the deposit you paid, that’s all.’

  Magnus smiled inwardly, knowing that he was not going to be without his deposit for long. He gave his best impression of a look of innocence – it was not that convincing. ‘And what about the house?’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Well, sir, it would seem that in law I own it.’

  ‘Now, just a moment; I was—’ Senator Pollo stopped mid-flow and reconsidered. ‘You’re right I suppose; only you could use that certificate in the courts. I’ll tell you what I shall do: in return for my silence on the matter we’ll sell it and split the proceeds fifty-fifty once the job is finished.’

  ‘That should just about cover our rebuilding of the tenements destroyed in the fire; it’s a deal. Give the money to Servius, he’ll sort it out for me. Any idea who we could sell it to?’

  ‘As a matter of fact I do: my nephew, Vespasian, will be needing a house when he returns from Britannia and I said that I’ll find him one; this’ll suit him perfectly.’

  ‘That’s ideal.’

  ‘It is, but when you see him back in Britannia there’s no need to mention that he’s purchasing it off us, otherwise, knowing him, he’ll be wanting a large discount, and we wouldn’t want that, would we, Magnus?’

  ‘No, senator, we wouldn’t want that; not at all.’

  Also by Robert Fabbri

  THE VESPASIAN SERIES

  TRIBUNE OF ROME

  ROME’S EXECUTIONER

  FALSE GOD OF ROME

  ROME’S FALLEN EAGLE

  MASTERS OF ROME

  ROME’S LOST SON

  THE FURIES OF ROME

  ARMINIUS: THE LIMITS OF EMPIRE

  Coming soon …

  ROME’S SACRED FLAME

  SHORT STORIES

  THE CROSSROADS BROTHERHOOD

  THE RACING FACTIONS

  THE DREAMS OF MORPHEUS

  THE ALEXANDRIAN EMBASSY

  First published in Great Britain in 2017 by Corvus,

  an imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd.

  Copyright © Robert Fabbri, 2017

  The moral right of Robert Fabbri to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitt ed in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This story is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities, is entirely coincidental.

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  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  E-book ISBN: 978 178 649 1701

  Corvus

  An imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd

  Ormond House

  26–27 Boswell Street

  London WC1N 3JZ

  www.corvus-books.co.uk

 

 

 
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