they try and introduce us to their iron.’ With a well-aimed kick at the genitals of a young man trying to get away he broke off from the fight, turned and sprinted towards the nearest exit that did not contain onrushing units of the Urban Cohorts; his brethren followed.
‘I do love a ruck with the Reds – more than anything, Magnus,’ Marius puffed as they barrelled down the steps.
‘That weren’t just a ruck, brother; that was the means to get a couple of bridges closed.’
‘I imagine that you were right in the thick of that,’ Gaius Vespasius Pollo boomed, waddling down the steps holding a heavy-looking purse and a scroll.
Magnus took his place with his brothers ready to beat a way home through the crowds for his patron. ‘Indeed, but it was more business than pleasure, sir, and very successful it was too; the Reds will be seething with resentment for a good few days. I’m not looking forward to seeing their behaviour on the next race-day if they haven’t calmed down by then; it’s only four days away. How was your business?’
‘Equally successful, I’m pleased to report. I got twenty to one for a Green one-two in the order you told me. This purse contains two hundred in gold and this is Ignatius’ promissory note for a further two hundred. Did you profit as well?’
‘Very much so; I’ve sent a couple of the lads back with our winnings.’
‘I’m told by an acquaintance that Ahenobarbus was equally successful in the same race.’
‘That’s gratifying to hear, senator.’
‘Well, yes and no, Magnus. The Lady Antonia sent me a note just before she left the circus: Ahenobarbus is very enthusiastic about the information as he feels that it’s impossible for someone of his family to be too rich.’
‘A noble sentiment.’
‘I couldn’t agree more. However, there’s one small snag.’
‘Which is?’
‘Which is that before he lays out such a huge amount on a wager he wants to meet the person who provides the information; he wants to find out just how he intends to fix a Red one-two-three, seeing as no one has ever managed it previously.’
‘Ah!’ Magnus’ face fell.
‘Ah, indeed. Antonia said in the note that he expects that person at his house tomorrow morning as soon as he’s finished greeting his clients. Obviously there’ll be no mention of my name.’
‘Obviously.’
Magnus waited in a thin drizzle outside an old and elegant marble-clad house on the east of the Palatine next to the Temple of Apollo. Despite its age the house was well maintained, reflecting the wealth of Gnaeus Domitius Ahenobarbus whose family had first held the consulship over two hundred years before.
With the rain soaking into his toga, Magnus watched the stream of clients come down the half-dozen steps from the front door in reverse order of precedence, calculating that there were at least five hundred – the sign of a very influential man in possession of a very large atrium.
As the last of the clients, a couple of junior senators, came down the steps the door closed behind them. Magnus crossed the street and knocked.
A viewing slot immediately pulled back to reveal two questioning eyes. ‘Your business, master?’
‘Marcus Salvius Magnus, come at the request of the Senior Consul, Gnaeus Domitius Ahenobarbus.’
The door opened and Magnus walked in, through the vestibule and into an atrium that could easily hold five hundred people.
‘Wait here, master,’ the doorkeeper requested, ‘whilst I inform the steward of your arrival.’ He whispered an order to a waiting slave of inferior rank and dress before returning to his post as the messenger walked quickly off.
Magnus studied his surroundings: everything spoke of immense and long-held wealth. Engraved silver candelabras, the height of a man, with eagles’ feet of gold; golden bowls on low marble tables polished to reflect the high, brightly painted ceiling. The statue in the impluvium was a bronze of Neptune spurting water from his
‘I do love a ruck with the Reds – more than anything, Magnus,’ Marius puffed as they barrelled down the steps.
‘That weren’t just a ruck, brother; that was the means to get a couple of bridges closed.’
‘I imagine that you were right in the thick of that,’ Gaius Vespasius Pollo boomed, waddling down the steps holding a heavy-looking purse and a scroll.
Magnus took his place with his brothers ready to beat a way home through the crowds for his patron. ‘Indeed, but it was more business than pleasure, sir, and very successful it was too; the Reds will be seething with resentment for a good few days. I’m not looking forward to seeing their behaviour on the next race-day if they haven’t calmed down by then; it’s only four days away. How was your business?’
‘Equally successful, I’m pleased to report. I got twenty to one for a Green one-two in the order you told me. This purse contains two hundred in gold and this is Ignatius’ promissory note for a further two hundred. Did you profit as well?’
‘Very much so; I’ve sent a couple of the lads back with our winnings.’
‘I’m told by an acquaintance that Ahenobarbus was equally successful in the same race.’
‘That’s gratifying to hear, senator.’
‘Well, yes and no, Magnus. The Lady Antonia sent me a note just before she left the circus: Ahenobarbus is very enthusiastic about the information as he feels that it’s impossible for someone of his family to be too rich.’
‘A noble sentiment.’
‘I couldn’t agree more. However, there’s one small snag.’
‘Which is?’
‘Which is that before he lays out such a huge amount on a wager he wants to meet the person who provides the information; he wants to find out just how he intends to fix a Red one-two-three, seeing as no one has ever managed it previously.’
‘Ah!’ Magnus’ face fell.
‘Ah, indeed. Antonia said in the note that he expects that person at his house tomorrow morning as soon as he’s finished greeting his clients. Obviously there’ll be no mention of my name.’
‘Obviously.’
Magnus waited in a thin drizzle outside an old and elegant marble-clad house on the east of the Palatine next to the Temple of Apollo. Despite its age the house was well maintained, reflecting the wealth of Gnaeus Domitius Ahenobarbus whose family had first held the consulship over two hundred years before.
With the rain soaking into his toga, Magnus watched the stream of clients come down the half-dozen steps from the front door in reverse order of precedence, calculating that there were at least five hundred – the sign of a very influential man in possession of a very large atrium.
As the last of the clients, a couple of junior senators, came down the steps the door closed behind them. Magnus crossed the street and knocked.
A viewing slot immediately pulled back to reveal two questioning eyes. ‘Your business, master?’
‘Marcus Salvius Magnus, come at the request of the Senior Consul, Gnaeus Domitius Ahenobarbus.’
The door opened and Magnus walked in, through the vestibule and into an atrium that could easily hold five hundred people.
‘Wait here, master,’ the doorkeeper requested, ‘whilst I inform the steward of your arrival.’ He whispered an order to a waiting slave of inferior rank and dress before returning to his post as the messenger walked quickly off.
Magnus studied his surroundings: everything spoke of immense and long-held wealth. Engraved silver candelabras, the height of a man, with eagles’ feet of gold; golden bowls on low marble tables polished to reflect the high, brightly painted ceiling. The statue in the impluvium was a bronze of Neptune spurting water from his
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