Rome's Lost Son(23)

Magnus frowned at that statement and then led the way across the courtyard.

Vespasian looked at the Greek and wondered whether he would feel gratitude for saving his life or the opposite because his latent cowardice had been exposed.

He decided he had nothing to lose and would probably have more to gain by aiding him. ‘You’d better come with us.’

Speed was the issue, or, rather, lack of it, as Magnus guided Vespasian, Gaius and Narcissus through the unlit alleys and yards that separated the insalubrious dwellings, built with little thought of civic planning, between the two diverging major roads of the Quirinal. It was not Gaius’ girth nor was it Narcissus’ inability to run more than ten paces without gasping for breath that impaired their progress; it was the refuse, both solid and slimy, scattered on the dirt ground already laced with unseen potholes. Magnus cursed as he led them, single-file, stumbling forward, arms outstretched and feet taking unsure steps, through gloom that was only occasionally alleviated by guttering light from a candle burning in a window or a torch sputtering in a holder next to a door. From all around came shouts and cries, not the sounds of escape and pursuit but the noise of the inhabitants of this underbelly of the city arguing and fighting amongst themselves in an environment where contentment is a far-off dream.

Vespasian glanced over his shoulder; the end of the alley was faintly illuminated by the glow of the fire raging through the tavern, two hundred paces away. There were no signs of their attackers nor of Magnus’ brethren who had split up into small groups and fanned out in different directions, blending into the neighbourhood and losing themselves. But that was easy for men dressed in the rough woollen tunics and cloaks favoured by the urban poor; their passing would cause no more notice amongst the footpads and cut-throats than that of one of the mangy dogs that infested these lawless lanes.

He pulled off his cloak and handed it to Narcissus in front of him. ‘Cover your clothes with this; and keep your hands inside it so that your rings aren’t visible.’

‘Surely we’re safe enough with Magnus; no one’s going to rob us in his area when we’re with him?’

‘You may not have noticed,’ Magnus said, stumbling over an unseen obstacle that squelched and then gave off the sickly scent of decomposition, ‘but someone has just burnt down my crossroads headquarters and tried to kill me. I’d say that my authority in the area is at quite a low ebb at the moment. And besides, if a gang of thieves catch a glimpse of your rings or fine clothes in a pool of light and they outnumber us, they ain’t going to have a look to see who you’re with until we’re all lying down bleeding copiously from our slashed throats. I think that it’ll be a bit late by then, don’t you?’

Narcissus drew the cloak about him, breathing heavily after the exertion of talking and walking fast.

Gaius pulled his hood over his finely tonged hair. ‘Who do you think that was, Magnus?’

Magnus turned right with the confidence of a man who knew his way. ‘If it was one of the brotherhoods then it could be any number of them, but my guess is it was Sempronius’ lads from the West Viminal; we share a border and have a few disputed streets. Sempronius and me have never got on personally since a dispute over whore-boys twenty-five years ago. We’ve had a few run ins and he holds a grudge better than a woman.’

‘Do you want me to do something about him?’ Vespasian asked.

‘Oh, you’ll never be able to touch him, even as consul.’

‘Who protects him?’

‘His brotherhood controls the Viminal Gate and so consequently has close ties with the Praetorian Guard who use the brothels along the Vicus Patricius; Sempronius and Burrus, the prefect, have a very good understanding, if you take my meaning?’

‘So what will you do?’

‘I ain’t going to do anything, Tigran will. I spoke to him and told him to take the strongbox; he’ll take over now. It’s a younger man’s game and I don’t qualify any more, especially after losing the eye. He’ll do nothing until he knows for certain who it was and who’s behind them. If it was one of the brotherhoods, he’ll have to hit them hard and quickly. A lot of blood needs to be spilt in order for the South Qurinal to reassert itself.’

‘What do you mean “if”? Surely it was a rival brotherhood? You just said it was.’

‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you, sir? That is until you look at the timing. It might be just a coincidence but why did they choose to attack at precisely the moment that the Junior Consul and the imperial secretary were on the premises?’