‘I am.’
‘When I was a boxer I attended a few of her dinners as a part of the entertainment.’
‘Yes, I’m aware of that, although I’ve never understood why a citizen would choose to become a boxer.’
‘The money mainly but also the notoriety — look at all them young gentlemen who choose to fight a bout or two in the arena for wagers or just to get their names heard.’
‘Rather excessive to my mind.’
‘Yeah well, it helped me become the patronus of my Crossroads — you don’t do that by just asking nicely, if you take my meaning?’
Gaius’ eyes twinkled with amusement in the glow of the fire. ‘No, you did that by murder for which you would have paid with your life — had it not been for me, if you take mine?’
‘I do, Senator and I will always be in your debt.’
‘Enough to commit another murder?’
Magnus shrugged and held out his cup for another refill. ‘If you require it.’
‘I don’t,’ Gaius emphasised, pouring more wine, ‘but Antonia does. This evening she asked — or rather ordered — me to organise one for her. She’s not a woman that one can say no to.’
Magnus looked away and tried to keep his face neutral. ‘I can imagine.’
Gaius chuckled causing his tonged ringlets to sway gently over his ears; he took another sip of wine.
‘Who does she want done and why doesn’t she organise it herself?’ Magnus asked.
‘There’s absolutely no reason why she couldn’t organise it herself, so I’ve a hunch that the answer to the second question is that it’s a test to see how far she can trust me. If I succeed then I will have a place in her inner circle of friends.’
‘And be one step closer to the consulship.’
‘Quite. So you can see how important it is for me. As to the first question, that’s simple: a Praetorian Guardsman.’
Magnus banged his cup down onto the table in alarm. ‘A Praetorian? Is she serious?’
‘Oh yes, quite literally deadly serious. And it’s not just any Praetorian either, it’s Nonus Celsus Blandinus.’
‘Blandinus? One of the tribunes?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘What’s she got against him?’
‘Nothing that I know of; it’s rather unfortunate for him really.’
‘Then why?’
‘Earlier this year, Antonia managed to persuade the Emperor to forbid the Praetorian Prefect Sejanus to marry her widowed daughter, Livilla. Now she wants to send a message to Sejanus that in making that request he went too far; and what better way to do that than to have one of his deputies killed?’
‘I can think of a lot of better ways. When does she want it done?’
‘Within the next couple of days. But she wants it done in a way that Sejanus will know that she’s behind it but be unable to accuse her of organising the murder.’
‘So we can’t just slit his throat in a dark alley.’
‘Absolutely not, this demands subtlety.’ Gaius leaned forward and put his hand on Magnus’ forearm. ‘I’m relying on you, my friend. If you do this well for me then Antonia will owe me a favour. My sister and brother-in-law are bringing their two boys to Rome. I may be able to use this to have her further their careers as well as my own.’
Magnus raised an eyebrow at his patron. ‘And the higher you and your family rise the more you can do for me, eh Senator?’
‘Naturally.’ Gaius smiled and patted Magnus’ arm. ‘We could all come out of this very well.’
‘You might, but I could come out of this very dead.’
‘If I thought that for one instant then I wouldn’t have entrusted you with one of the most important favours of my career,’ Gaius asserted raising his cup to Magnus who smiled mirthlessly, raised his in reply and then downed it in one.
The night was cold and clear; Magnus’ breath steamed as he walked, deep in thought, down the quiet streets of the Quirinal followed by Marius and Sextus. Turning left onto the wider and busier Alta Semita, jammed with the delivery wagons and carts that were only allowed into the city at night, the pavement became more crowded but people stepped aside in deference as they recognised the leader of the area’s Brotherhood. Those who were not local and failed to move were roughly shoved out of the way by Marius and Sextus.
Magnus accepted a charcoal-grilled chicken leg from the owner of one of the many open-fronted shops, occupying the ground floor of the three or four storey insulae that lined both sides the street. The walls to either side of the shop were covered in graffiti, both sexual and political.
‘Thank you Gnaeus, one for each of the lads as well.’
‘My pleasure, Magnus,’ the sweaty store-holder replied, retrieving, with a pair of tongs, two more legs off of the red-glowing grill.
‘Business been good?’ Magnus asked biting into the dripping flesh.
‘We had a very good Saturnalia, however it’s trailed off a bit in the last few days since but I’m sure that it will pick up for the New Year. The trouble is that the price of fresh chicken has gone up considerably in the last couple of months and it’s eating into my profit.’
‘And you’ve raised your prices as much as you can?’ Magnus asked, realising why Gnaeus had offered him some of his wares.
‘As much as I dare without pricing myself out of the market.’
‘Where do you buy your chicken?’
‘Ah, that’s the big problem: the small market at the Campus Sceleratus, just inside the Porta Collina; the prices are usually better there than in the main Forum markets, and it’s in our area. However, I’m sure that the traders have started fixing their prices and the market aedile is colluding with them.’
‘I see.’ Magnus gnawed thoughtfully on his chicken leg. ‘That sounds less than legal to me. I’ll send a couple of the lads up there tomorrow. They can offer anyone I suspect of price-fixing the opportunity of joining the Vestals who were buried alive beneath that Campus for breaking their vows.’
Gnaeus inclined his head in gratitude. ‘I’m sure that’s an offer they would be happy to refuse, thank you, Patronus.’
Magnus threw his cleaned bone into the gutter. ‘How’s that daughter of yours? Have you found her a husband yet?’
Gnaeus raised his eyes to the heavens. ‘The gods preserve me from wilful women. I…’
A loud series of shouts from a nearby shop interrupted the store-holder’s catalogue of domestic woes. A bearded young man came pelting along the pavement towards them, clutching two loaves of bread to his chest.
‘Marius? Sextus?’ Magnus said stepping aside and nodding at the fast approaching thief.
Seeing his path blocked by two burly men in togas, he tried to sidestep to his left, into the road. Sextus thrust out his massive, right fist and caught him a stunning blow to the side of his head, sending him crashing into a mule-cart and startling the beast pulling it. With a speed that belied his size and quickness of thought, Sextus was down on the stunned man, hauling him up by his ragged tunic, semi-conscious, to his feet; the loaves of bread were left in the road to be trampled by the spooked animal.
A tubby little baker in a grease-specked tunic puffed, pushing his way through the gathering crowd of onlookers. ‘That man stole from my shop, Magnus. I want payment for that bread.’
Magnus walked over to the still-dazed thief held upright in Sextus’ powerful grip. He lifted his chin roughly in his hand, squinting at his face. ‘I don’t recognise him, he ain’t from round here.’ Letting his chin go he gave him an abrupt slap across the cheek. ‘Where’re you from, petty thief?’ The man’s head lolled on his chest, a trickle of blood worked its way through his beard; he said nothing.
Magnus grasped the captive’s right hand, folding his fingers in a firm grip, crushing them, causing a groan of pain as he recovered his senses. ‘What are you doing stealing from this area?’
The man opened his eyes and tried to focus on Magnus, his face grimacing with agony as the pressure increased on his crushed fingers. ‘He cheated me couple of days ago,’ he managed to whisper, in thickly accented
