The Dreams of Morpheus

by Robert Fabbri

  Magnus leant across the table. ‘How’s business?’

  ‘It’s very good.’ Terentius took a sip before adding, with a raised eyebrow, ‘But not good enough to justify an increase in what I pay to the Brotherhood.’

  Magnus leant back, laughing, then reached across and laid a hand on Terentius’ arm. ‘Very good, I take your meaning, old friend. In lieu of that rise I need a favour.’

  ‘Anything for you, Magnus.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m sure. Well, I need something kept safe and secret for a few days.’

  With a slight incline of the head, Terentius acquiesced.

  ‘Servius has it out the back; go and find him and he’ll have a couple of the lads escort you home.’

  Terentius took another sip, placed his cup down and then stood. ‘I’ll hear from you shortly then?’

  ‘You will.’

  Terentius smiled as he turned to go.

  Magnus held up a hand. ‘Oh, one thing. Have you or your boys been having any trouble with short measures on the grain dole recently?’

  ‘No, Magnus.’

  ‘Any trouble with our local aedile?’

  Terentius pouted and shook his head. ‘No, Magnus. I make sure that he’s very well disposed towards me; I give him free use of my establishment a couple of times a month.’

  ‘Do you now?’

  ‘Oh yes, it always pays to look after those who have power over you; you know that the offer’s always open to you too.’

  As Terentius walked away, Magnus’ gaze lingered on him for just a moment too long for his own liking. He shook his head then looked around for the whore, feeling an urgent need to take her upstairs to the small room that he called home.

  Thin, pale fingers of dawn poked through the window shutters as the constant clamour from the street below impinged once more on Magnus’ consciousness, hauling it from the realm of dreams.

  He lay in the half-light, looking up at the roughly cut ceiling beams, listening to the whore’s soft breaths and running through in his mind what he needed to achieve in the next two days; the list was not long but it was tricky.

  Once satisfied, he turned his attention to the business of his patron, Senator Pollo, pleased that he had helped to boost his patron’s standing with the most powerful woman in Rome, the Lady Antonia.

  He was acquainted with Antonia, surprisingly given the vast social gulf between them, but unsurprisingly given her enjoyment for boxing and her penchant for a private round with the after-dinner-spectacle winner once her guests had departed. But that had been ten years or more ago when he had made his living that way after completing his time first in Rome’s legions, and then getting a lucky transfer to the Urban Cohorts which meant he only had to serve sixteen years and not the full twenty-five. Once he had fought his way to the position of patronus of his Brotherhood, using the substantial prize money that he had earned in his two years of gruelling, iron-fisted bouts, he had left the profession and the lady behind. Until, that was, their paths had crossed again after his patron, Senator Pollo, and his nephews, Sabinus and Vespasian, had risen in her favour. Now she summoned him as the fancy took her and because of her status he would be a fool to refuse; he grimaced to himself at the thought of a new summons as she was not getting any younger. He wondered how and to whom she would sell the tablets, and when Senator Pollo would require him to pick them up from Terentius and … At the thought of Terentius he turned the whore over, putting him to the back of his mind.

  *

  ‘Magnus! you get prettier by the year.’

  And you get slimmer by the year, Aetius.’ Magnus grasped his old comrade’s forearm and felt giving flesh where there once had been taut muscle. ‘Standards are really dropping in the Urban Cohorts if they allow figures like yours to parade under their banners.’

  Aetius threw his bald head back and laughed, placing one hand on his ample belly. ‘I haven’t stood underneath a banner since they stopped making mail tunics that fitted me which, as quartermaster for the cohorts, was easy to organise.’ He swept his arm round his large, well-appointed office complete with mobile braziers, clerks and an oak desk of vulgar proportions. ‘When I re-enlisted for a further sixteen years I did so with a nice cosy and lucrative time in the stores in mind and none of that running up and down that the centurions seem so keen on.’

  ‘Quite right, old friend; all that running prevents a man from cultivating a decent paunch.’

  Aetius gave Magnus a playful punch to the stomach. ‘Still firm; you must be doing a lot of running.’

  ‘Horizontally, Aetius, horizontally.’

  ‘I’m sure. But what can I do for you? I can’t recall being in your debt.’

  ‘You’re not; but how would you like me to be in yours?’

  ‘That, Magnus, would help me to sleep much easier at nights.’

  Magnus pointed to his ear and indicated that Aetius should follow him outside away from eavesdroppers.

  They walked out into the bright sunshine of an early autumnal day and crossed the courtyard of the Urban Cohorts’ newly constructed stores warehouse near the Tiber; the previous one having burnt down eight years before with, unfortunately, Aetius’ inventories and everything within. The fire had been a useful diversion for Magnus and his brothers who had business on the other side of the city and preferred to transact it without the interference of the Vigiles, whose main duty was firefighting. Convenient though it was for the Brotherhood it was a sad loss for the Urban Cohorts. However, having had plenty of warning of the blaze, in that it was Aetius himself who had set it at Magnus’ request, Magnus was very confident that not much of value had remained for the flames – apart from the precious inventories, that was.

  They turned left out of the gate in order to avoid the reek of the tanneries along the riverbank; Sextus and Marius, who had been waiting outside, followed at a discreet distance.

  As they entered the open space of the Forum Boarium in the shadow of the Circus Maximus, Magnus put an arm round his old comrade’s shoulders. ‘What’s the difference between a civil modius measure and a military one?’

  ‘Not much; both are bronze and both have the inscription acknowledging imperial regulation of weights and measures. The only difference would be that a military one has the legion, cohort and century to which it has been issued engraved upon it.’

  ‘But if it hasn’t been issued?’

  ‘Then it wouldn’t have a military engraving on it.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. I’ll take a dozen.’

  ‘A dozen? But these things are tightly regulated; they remain the property of the Emperor. They have to be signed in and out.’

  ‘I wasn’t for a moment thinking of having the Emperor’s. That could get us into serious trouble; I was planning to have yours.’

  ‘Mine?’

  ‘Yes, why not?’ Magnus’ grip tightened round Aetius’ shoulders. ‘I imagine quite a few were sadly destroyed in that fire all those years ago; I just want a dozen of them.’

  ‘I’ve only got half a dozen left.’

  ‘They’ll have to do then. How would you make them one sextius short?’

  ‘Put a false bottom in, of course.’

  ‘How long will that take?’

  ‘I’ve got a man who could do all six in a day, no questions asked.’

  ‘You sound confident.’

  ‘He’s done it before.’

  Magnus stopped. ‘When?’

  ‘A couple of months ago.’

  ‘Who for?’

  Aetius shrugged. ‘I don’t know; the deal was through a series of intermediaries. I only do business face to face with a very few trusted associates like yourself. There’s no way that I can find out who it was, Magnus, unless I jeopardise my anonymity and reputation for discretion.’

  ‘You don’t need to, my friend. Have the measures delivered tomorrow morning at the latest, but tell your man not to make too good a job of the false bottoms; I need them to be visible.’

  ‘They’r
e never exact.’

  ‘Good.’

  Aetius rubbed his thumb against his fingers. ‘And what about, you know.’

  Magnus slapped his back. ‘Aetius, I believe that your second sixteen years are up very soon and I don’t suppose they’ll have you back.’

  ‘No, I suspect you’re right.’

  ‘So you’ll be looking for a safe area from which you can operate discreetly and unmolested?’

  Aetius grinned, displaying yellowing teeth. ‘Somewhere I can sleep easy at nights?’

  ‘My friend, everyone in the South Quirinal sleeps easy at night.’

  It was almost the sixth hour of the day by the time that Magnus, Sextus and Marius reached the baths of Agrippa; but this was a perfect time to run into, as if by accident, the sort of people Magnus needed to see. For all those in the city who followed a regular work pattern, be it trade or political, the working day ran from the first hour to the eighth or ninth. After that there was time to relax before the main meal of the day towards the end of the afternoon. Consequently, after the eighth hour, the baths filled up with a different kind of clientele from those who frequented them earlier in the day. But it was the early arrivals that Magnus wanted to mingle with: the men who did not have a regular working pattern, men who did not do physical trade or politics but, rather, men who dealt in other commodities, the same commodities that Magnus dealt in – fear and protection. Men who could afford to while away the morning in the comforts of Rome’s public baths.

  Having stripped and handed their clothes to one of the many slaves in the vestibule for safekeeping and received linen towels in return, Magnus led his brothers into the main hall of the baths where men exercised, relaxed, received massages, had their body hair removed and muscles massaged, or just strolled about chatting, scheming or gossiping.

  ‘Have a wander round and keep your eyes out for any members of the Suburra or Via Sacra Brotherhoods, lads,’ Magnus muttered as he looked around the throng. ‘No pointing, I just want to know who’s here and where they are.’

  Magnus spread his towel on a leather upholstered couch and settled down to a shoulder massage from one of the many public slaves, while his brothers circulated through the high-domed hall that echoed back, with sharp clarity, the sound of hundreds of voices.

  It was after too short a time of oiling, pummelling and kneading that Marius and Sextus returned.

  ‘Well?’ Magnus asked, dismissing the slave with a wave of his hand.

  ‘We saw some of those thieving bastards from the Central Suburra,’ Marius reported. ‘They’ve just come out of the fridigerium and look to be on their way out. The scum from the eastern end of the Via Sacra are exercising over at the weight benches and—’

  ‘Is Dacien with them?’

  ‘Didn’t see him. But I did see Grumio with some of his lowlife from West Suburra heading towards the caldrium.’

  ‘Did you now.’ Magnus got to his feet, picked up the towel and stretched his shoulders with a couple of cracks. ‘Time for a sweat, I think, lads.’

  Heat stung Magnus’ eyes as the heavy wooden door of the caldarium closed behind him; he looked around the dim interior, lit with ambient light from one small window in the wall opposite him, and saw a small group of naked men knotted round a shaven-headed, pot-bellied man of about his own age – in his early to mid-forties. Two slaves stood to either side of the group, fanning the hot air down on to them by vigorously twirling towels above their heads. All eyes in the group turned to Magnus and his two brothers as they approached. Neither party felt threatened as, by convention, there was a truce in all public baths – mainly because the only option in which a naked man could conceal a weapon was not that comfortable.

  ‘Grumio,’ Magnus said as he sat down on a stone bench, enjoying the warmth of it on his buttocks.

  ‘Magnus,’ Grumio replied, flashing gold teeth in an unconvincing smile.

  A slave approached and began fanning Magnus and his brothers; the hot air beating down on them soon caused beads of sweat to prick out all over their bodies.

  Magnus put his hands on his knees and lowered his head, ignoring his opposite number from the West Suburra.

  Sextus grunted with pleasure with every down beat of the towel.

  Marius closed his eyes and leant his head back against the wall, playing idly with the stump at the end of his left arm.

  ‘Word has it that you’ve got an issue with the aedile,’ Grumio said eventually. ‘I heard that you had a delegation.’

  ‘You heard right,’ Magnus replied without looking up.

  ‘Tricky situation.’

  ‘What’s it to you?’

  ‘Just making conversation.’

  ‘If it’s conversation that you want, then I heard that we’re heading for a grain shortage.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard that too from lads of mine in the granaries.’

  ‘And coincidentally the Via Sacra area is having the opposite problem to the Quirinal; they’ve got too much grain.’

  ‘I’d not heard that. What do you mean?’

  ‘Dacien at the east end of the Via Sacra and the aedile for the area have been registering false names on the dole list for the past few months.’

  ‘How do they do that? I’ve been trying for years.’

  ‘Don’t know; you’ll have to ask Dacien, who will probably deny it. But it’s a lot easier, I would assume, if you have an aedile on your side. Anyway, they have, and Dacien and the aedile are stockpiling the surplus to sell at a premium when the shortage hits in the spring before the first grain fleet arrives.’

  Grumio hawked and spat. ‘They’ll make a fortune.’

  ‘They will; but do you want to hear the funny part?’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘If the aedile were to be caught he’d be banished at the very least and his political career would be over. However, if Dacien were to be caught he would just slip away for a year or two and wait for all the fuss to die down.’

  ‘So Dacien has threatened to expose the aedile? Very sensible. What does he want?’

  ‘Well, quite rightly, he wants his people to be happy, so what would make them happier than this year to win the right to hang the head of the October Horse?’

  ‘They’ve got to fight us and the other Suburra Brotherhoods for that honour, and they hardly ever win because we outnumber them; how can the aedile fix that?’

  Magnus got up and stretched. ‘As you know, I used to be in one of the Urban Cohorts and still maintain my contacts there. One of them, and I can’t say who for obvious reasons, has told me that the Via Sacra aedile has paid a substantial sum to a couple of the centurions to have their men come in on the side of the Via Sacra.’

  Grumio was outraged. ‘They can’t do that. It’s always a fair fight.’

  ‘Of course, and they wouldn’t join in if it was just a fight; but if it had escalated into a riot?’

  ‘How are they going to do that?’

  ‘Turn it into a riot? My contact didn’t know, but I’m sure they’ll have thought of something. I’d be on your guard tomorrow if I were you, Grumio; and just remember that it was me that warned you.’

  ‘I will; but why did you?’

  ‘Let’s just say that I like to see fair play when it comes to the October Horse. It would bring bad luck to the whole city if the festival were to be meddled with.’ Magnus looked down at his brothers. Time to cool off, lads. Let’s leave these good gentlemen to contemplate what the Ides of October holds for them.’ With a curt nod to Grumio, he headed for the door.

  ‘So who told you that the cohorts were going to side with the Via Sacra?’ Sextus asked as they left the baths.

  Magnus grinned and slapped his large companion on his broad back. ‘I could tell you had a question forming, brother, you’ve been chewing your lip for the last hour and frowning more than usual. Tell him, Marius.’

  ‘No one, brother. Magnus made it up.’

  Sextus’ frown became even more furrowed. ‘How do you thi
nk of such things?’

  ‘Because I have to, Sextus. But just because I made it up doesn’t mean that it won’t become true, or at least partially true. Marius, go and find our old friend, Centurion Nonus Manilus Rufinus, at the cohorts’ camp and tell him that I may have an interesting business proposition for him.’

  ‘So what’s in it for me?’ Centurion Nonus Manilus Rufinus asked, leaning forward over the table in the private room behind the tavern that Magnus used for business. ‘If I have my men form up as if they are going to charge the Suburra factions in the fight it’ll cause a riot. There’ll be a lot of damage and quite a few questions asked; so it has to be worth my while.’

  ‘A noble sentiment, Rufinus.’ Magnus walked over to a strongbox in the far corner and slipped a key into the lock. With a dull click the lock turned; Magnus reached in and pulled out a thin, sackcloth-wrapped parcel. ‘I think you’ll find that this will make it worth your while.’ He placed it on the table and unwrapped it to reveal a tablet of dark resin. Taking his knife from its sheath, he cut it in half and pushed a chunk over to Rufinus.

  Rufinus stared at it for a few moments. ‘What is it?’

  ‘That, my good friend, is worth more than gold.’

  ‘Yes, but what is it?’

  ‘The key to the realm of Morpheus. It’s a resin from an eastern flower that transports you to another place. Doctors use it to dull the pain when they’re operating; but only on their rich clients because it is very rare. Hardly any makes it into the empire and it’s very sought after by the medical profession.’

  ‘How much is that worth?’

  ‘As I said: more than its weight in gold – if you know where to sell it. My guess is that the Praetorian Guard or Urban Cohorts’ doctors would be very interested, or perhaps the doctors favoured by the Senate.’