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
