The Crossroads Brotherhood(18)

The two carters looked at each other and came to a mutual agreement. ‘We’ll come back tomorrow.’

‘Good choice lads.’ Magnus looked at the assembled lamp-makers and their slaves. ‘Inside, all of you and if you know what’s good for you keep your windows shuttered until after dawn.’

With a deal of muttering, but no outright dissent, the tradesmen dispersed with their slaves and whatever clay they had managed to grab.

The carters mounted their vehicles.

‘I’d turn them around if I were you, lads,’ Magnus suggested helpfully. ‘If you go towards the Viminal Gate you might find a brother optio of mine who’s not nearly as good-natured as myself.’

Muttering their thanks and looking nervously over their shoulders the carters turned their mules, brought the carts round and disappeared back down the street. With a barked order, Magnus turned his men about and they followed.

A whistled double note came from the wall as Magnus reached the end of the street; he looked up to his right to make out the silhouetted figure of Cassandros waving at him. Leaving his men with Servius he jogged over to the steps and mounted them, two at a time, to arrive puffing onto the wide walkway at the top.

‘Over there.’ Cassandros pointed west.

Magnus followed his gaze over the shadowy rooftops of the Subura below, past the white marble edifices of the Palatine and on to the warehouse district in the lee of the tree-lined Aventine. There, sure enough, was a faint orange glow outlining the group of Cypress trees surrounding a temple on the side of the hill. ‘Good man Aelianus,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Cassandros, go and tell Sextus to have the lads stand by, I’m just going to watch the fire for a few moments to make sure that it’s growing.’

Cassandros nodded and then clattered down the steps, the hobnails of his Cohort sandals causing a few dull sparks on the damp stone. Magnus took in the view. Almost a million people resided in this city – most of them crammed into half of it whilst the lucky, elite minority enjoyed the rest. From where he stood it seemed almost peaceful, hardly a sound reached his ears and the only sure sign of habitation were the many trails of smoke climbing high into the air to form a hazy, moon-drenched ceiling over the Seven Hills. He glanced over his left shoulder towards the brooding presence of the Praetorian camp, just two hundred paces outside the Viminal Gate. Constructed like any other legionary camp its torch-strewn layout was very familiar to Magnus, even though he had never visited it. He offered a silent prayer to Jupiter and Fortuna that it would remain that way after the events of the next half-hour, then checked the progress of the fire. Satisfied that it was escalating, he made his way back down to his brothers who stood ready in a column three abreast. The Armenians stood to the rear with the hand-carts that held the ladders and the still recumbent tribune.

Taking his position at the head, Magnus raised his right arm, brought it down swiftly and the column set off in step down the Lamp-makers’ street. As they progressed, Magnus saw a few shutters on either side of the street open and close quickly, the occupants wanting nothing to do with a unit of the Urban Cohort marching down their road. Magnus smiled to himself knowing that when questions were asked there would be more than a few witnesses able to swear that they saw the men of the Cohort.

Bringing the column to a halt just before the alley, he turned to Servius. ‘Alright brother, get your boys into position. And remind the lads we need two people left alive: one of their whore-boys and that bearded bastard who raped the boy the other night.’

Immediately the five ladders were unloaded, and the fourteen men who were to accompany Servius over the rear wall made their way up the alley.

Once the ladders were set against the wall with three men waiting behind each one Magnus patted Servius on the shoulder. ‘Keep the boys quiet brother whilst I go and take a look at the front. I’ll come back and tell you once it’s clear.’

Taking his four lads and the Armenians with the second cart, he made his way to the end of the street and cautiously peered around the corner. The Vigiles were still there with the doormen but their attention was on the orange glow in the sky to the west.

Magnus waited for what seemed an age, praying that what he had counted upon would come to pass. After many a muttered entreaty to the whole pantheon of gods, a Vigiles optio eventually came pounding up the Via Patricius.

‘You men! Follow me at the double,’ he shouted to his subordinates.

‘But we’re meant to stay here for the night, optio,’ one of the Vigiles protested.

‘Fuck the whore-boys, that’s the Cohort’s depot on fire. The Urban Prefect will have our guts out if he hasn’t got anything to dress his toy-soldiers up in tomorrow. Macro’s ordered every available man down there.’