a fool not to. It’s just that he was a decent man, who knows what sort of bastard will take his place.’
Magnus nodded and slapped Terentius jovially on the shoulder. ‘You’ll have good news in the morning, my friend.’
‘I hope so. Bricius will see you out.’
As Magnus turned to follow the slave boy out he paused and looked back. ‘Get rid of that Praetorian cloak in the vestibule, just in case someone comes asking any questions.’
Terentius raised his eyes and smiled. ‘I shall have it made into a blanket for my bed.’
Magnus shook his head disbelievingly and left the room.
M AGNUS WALKED BRISKLY and with confidence up a narrow street ascending the northern slope of the Viminal. Moonlight and the occasional spill of dim lamp-light from an open window provided just enough illumination for him to keep up a quick pace without fear of losing his footing on the uneven, wet paving stones. Behind him Lucio, Cassandros and the two Armenians struggled with the hand cart containing their swords, helmets and the sleeping Tribune, who was covered with a leather sheet. Marius and Sextus brought up the rear, hands on the hilts of their daggers at their waists. Now and again a snatch of conversation or the harsh tones of an argument floated out from the dwellings on either side but otherwise their route was comparatively peaceful. The few figures that came into view melted into the shadows before they passed, unwilling to confront or be confronted by a relatively large group led by a man with such an air of authority and purpose.
Upon reaching the top of the Viminal, Magnus turned east towards the looming bulk of the Servian Walls before turning back south and entering the Lamp-makers’ street at the end furthest from the Viminal Gate.
Signalling to his brothers to stop he looked down its length. He could make out nothing to concern him unduly – a couple of stationary delivery carts off-loading their consignments of blocks of clay wrapped in damp cloth to various workshops on either side of the street.
Servius appeared out of the shadows of a nearby doorway. ‘I’ve had a couple of the lads take a look at the place, there’s no one down the back alley but there was a group of four Vigiles chatting with the doormen at the front.’
‘With luck they should be called away very soon,’ Magnus replied looking west in the direction of the Tiber. ‘Where’re the rest of the lads?’
‘They all arrived here without mishap, they’re scattered around within earshot of a whistle.’
‘Good. Get a man up on the wall and tell him to keep a look out for a nice big orange glow from the banks of the Tiber. I’ll take eight men to get rid of those carts.’
Servius nodded and gave a brief, shrill whistle and within a few moments the full complement of eighteen other brothers had assembled; all were wearing Urban Cohort tunics. Urban Cohort cloaks were quickly exchanged for their own, and helmets and swords were distributed from the carts. Cassandros scaled the wall by one of the many sets of steps constructed to allow defenders access.
‘Right lads,’ Magnus said quietly addressing the eight men gathered that were to accompany him. ‘Remember, we’re Cohort, so we’re smart, just like we used to be in the legions or the auxiliaries. You march in step and stop as one when I command. If I give any of you an order, you reply, “Yes sir” or “Yes optio”, is that clear? Now form up.’
A few of the lads grinned, trying out Magnus’ new title quietly as they arranged themselves into two files of four. At Magnus’ signal they marched forward and turned right into the Lamp-makers’ street.
Approaching the carts Magnus counted a dozen or so men unloading them. He brought his men to a smart halt ten paces away and walked forward with the strut of a man used to command. The work ceased at the sight of a unit of the Urban Cohort.
‘Whose carts are these?’ Magnus demanded looking around the faces in the
Magnus nodded and slapped Terentius jovially on the shoulder. ‘You’ll have good news in the morning, my friend.’
‘I hope so. Bricius will see you out.’
As Magnus turned to follow the slave boy out he paused and looked back. ‘Get rid of that Praetorian cloak in the vestibule, just in case someone comes asking any questions.’
Terentius raised his eyes and smiled. ‘I shall have it made into a blanket for my bed.’
Magnus shook his head disbelievingly and left the room.
M AGNUS WALKED BRISKLY and with confidence up a narrow street ascending the northern slope of the Viminal. Moonlight and the occasional spill of dim lamp-light from an open window provided just enough illumination for him to keep up a quick pace without fear of losing his footing on the uneven, wet paving stones. Behind him Lucio, Cassandros and the two Armenians struggled with the hand cart containing their swords, helmets and the sleeping Tribune, who was covered with a leather sheet. Marius and Sextus brought up the rear, hands on the hilts of their daggers at their waists. Now and again a snatch of conversation or the harsh tones of an argument floated out from the dwellings on either side but otherwise their route was comparatively peaceful. The few figures that came into view melted into the shadows before they passed, unwilling to confront or be confronted by a relatively large group led by a man with such an air of authority and purpose.
Upon reaching the top of the Viminal, Magnus turned east towards the looming bulk of the Servian Walls before turning back south and entering the Lamp-makers’ street at the end furthest from the Viminal Gate.
Signalling to his brothers to stop he looked down its length. He could make out nothing to concern him unduly – a couple of stationary delivery carts off-loading their consignments of blocks of clay wrapped in damp cloth to various workshops on either side of the street.
Servius appeared out of the shadows of a nearby doorway. ‘I’ve had a couple of the lads take a look at the place, there’s no one down the back alley but there was a group of four Vigiles chatting with the doormen at the front.’
‘With luck they should be called away very soon,’ Magnus replied looking west in the direction of the Tiber. ‘Where’re the rest of the lads?’
‘They all arrived here without mishap, they’re scattered around within earshot of a whistle.’
‘Good. Get a man up on the wall and tell him to keep a look out for a nice big orange glow from the banks of the Tiber. I’ll take eight men to get rid of those carts.’
Servius nodded and gave a brief, shrill whistle and within a few moments the full complement of eighteen other brothers had assembled; all were wearing Urban Cohort tunics. Urban Cohort cloaks were quickly exchanged for their own, and helmets and swords were distributed from the carts. Cassandros scaled the wall by one of the many sets of steps constructed to allow defenders access.
‘Right lads,’ Magnus said quietly addressing the eight men gathered that were to accompany him. ‘Remember, we’re Cohort, so we’re smart, just like we used to be in the legions or the auxiliaries. You march in step and stop as one when I command. If I give any of you an order, you reply, “Yes sir” or “Yes optio”, is that clear? Now form up.’
A few of the lads grinned, trying out Magnus’ new title quietly as they arranged themselves into two files of four. At Magnus’ signal they marched forward and turned right into the Lamp-makers’ street.
Approaching the carts Magnus counted a dozen or so men unloading them. He brought his men to a smart halt ten paces away and walked forward with the strut of a man used to command. The work ceased at the sight of a unit of the Urban Cohort.
‘Whose carts are these?’ Magnus demanded looking around the faces in the
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