Robert Fabbri: Rome's lost son

‘Five years, patronus.’

‘I think that we can drop the pretence of you calling me patronus, don’t you? Now, the last time you left this room someone came in for an interview straight after you: do you remember him?’

Laelius whimpered, holding his damaged shoulder. ‘No, patronus.’

‘The other one, Magnus, now!’

Magnus reacted in a flash and within moments Laelius had fallen screaming to his knees with both arms hanging useless at his side.

‘It’s the elbows next, Laelius. Do you remember who came in after you?’

‘Yes, but I don’t remember his name.’

‘Agarpetus; he was Narcissus’ freedman here to organise a meeting between me and his patron. And you listened at the curtain, didn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ Laelius sobbed.

Magnus’ expression changed as he understood the implication; murder shone in his one good eye.

Vespasian held up a hand to stop his friend. ‘What did you do with what you heard, Laelius?’

‘I told Corvinus.’

‘Told Corvinus? Now why would you do that?’

Laelius looked up at Vespasian, his eyes pleading for his life. ‘Because he paid me to tell him anything interesting that I heard while I was in your house.’

‘Do you know what he did with this information?’

Laelius shook his head.

‘Tell him, Magnus.’

‘He had the East Aventine Brotherhood attack the South Quirinal Brotherhood.’

‘That’s exactly what he did,’ Vespasian agreed. ‘In an effort to have me killed; but, instead, quite a few of Magnus’ brothers lost their lives. I imagine the South Quirinal would like to see justice done.’

‘Very much so; but they wouldn’t be anxious to see justice done quickly, if you take my meaning?’

‘Oh, but I do, Magnus, I do.’ Vespasian was now enjoying this even more than he had anticipated he would when he had made the connection between Corvinus knowing when he would be in Magnus’ tavern and Laelius. That had been over a month before and since then he had been savouring the prospect of Laelius coming to plead for his chickpea contract. ‘But you are no longer a member of that brotherhood so it’s not really your argument any more. We wouldn’t want murder committed for no reason, would we, Laelius?’

A flicker of hope showed in Laelius’ eyes. ‘No, patronus.’

‘So when will be the next time you see your former brethren, Magnus?’

‘In the Circus Maximus in an hour or so to watch your team race for the Greens for the first time.’

‘Now that is convenient. Laelius lives in Red Horse Street just off the Alta Semita.’

‘I know it well, sir, so do Tigran and the lads.’

‘And once you’ve told Tigran and the lads that Laelius was responsible for the deaths of a few of their brethren and their temporary eviction from their tavern, how long do you think it would take them to find Laelius’ house?’

‘My guess is that for the pleasure of revenge for something like that they would forgo the racing and be there within a half-hour.’

Vespasian made a show of doing some arithmetic. ‘I would say that you’ve got precisely an hour and a half to get out of Rome, Laelius. Goodbye.’

Laelius looked wide-eyed at Vespasian and then realised that he was indeed letting him go. He stood, grimacing at the pain in his shoulders, and then ran from the room with his arms flapping uselessly beside him.

‘Follow him, Hormus, and don’t let anyone open the door for him; let him try and work that out for himself.’

‘Are you really going to give him a chance, sir?’

Vespasian shrugged. ‘Do you think that the lads won’t get him?’

‘Of course they’ll get him, even if he runs to Corvinus.’

‘Well, then, after what he did, he deserves to live his last few hours, or days, in terror of the inevitable.’

‘What do you want to do about Corvinus? I could get the lads to torch his house for him.’

Vespasian contemplated the offer briefly. ‘No, but thank you, Magnus, it was a kind offer; he’s so rich that it would hardly inconvenience him at all. I’ll think of something suitable in due course.’

Magnus grinned. ‘I’m sure you will. In which case, I think it’s time we went to the circus, sir.’

‘So do I, Magnus; and now that Seneca has persuaded Nero to grant Malichus his citizenship I think the gods will look kindly on my team. I’ve a feeling that this is our lucky day.’

Magnus grinned. ‘I believe you may be right; after all, it’s already started off so pleasantly.’

The sight of Caratacus being admitted to the imperial box reminded Vespasian that he wanted to share, over dinner, their reminiscences of four years of fighting each other. But as the Britannic chieftain was greeted by Nero, who was enthusing about the scale model of the Circus Maximus and comparing its details to the real structure surrounding them, Vespasian returned to his inner battle and looked down at the purse in his hand, struggling with himself and his inability to part easily with money.

‘I’ve put ten aurii on them, dear boy,’ Gaius, sitting to his right, informed him, holding up the wooden bet marker that he had just received from the bookmaker’s slave with whom he had placed the bet.

Vespasian was appalled. ‘That’s five times the annual salary of a legionary, Uncle. What if they lose?’

‘Then I shall blame you because they’re your horses. But if I win, then I’ll get eight times my bet because no one fancies the Greens’ third chariot with a team that has never raced before.’

Vespasian looked back down at his purse and weighed it in his hand. Despite the fact that he had driven his team himself a few times in the Flammian Circus and was well aware of their prowess, he was still finding it very hard to lay his first ever bet.

Flavia, seated to his left, snorted in derision. ‘You’ll have as much chance of getting him to place a bet on his own horses, Gaius, as you would of getting him to pay for your upkeep if you made the mistake of marrying him without a dowry. Fortunately I didn’t make that error.’ She smiled in a goading manner and brandished her bet marker. ‘Fifteen denarii of my money on your horses, dear husband.’

Vespasian was taken by just how much his wife was becoming like his mother; given another few years, he surmised, she would stand a good chance of being just as cantankerous. He felt relief that he had forbidden Vespasia Polla to accompany him and Flavia back to Rome, after they had visited her in Aquae Cutillae for the Saturnalia, ostensibly on account of her frailty and the cold; in reality it was because of their souring natures rubbing each other. Dealing with two such women on a daily basis had been intolerable; whereas the month that he had spent with Caenis at Cosa had been very tolerable indeed.

Titus leant over his mother and rubbed Vespasian’s arm, bringing him back to his present dilemma. ‘Come on, Father, it’s just a bit of fun; I’ve put down five denarii.’

‘Five! Where did you get that from?’

‘It’s part of my allowance.’ Titus cocked an eyebrow before adding, ‘Quite a large part seeing as you’re the one who sets the level of it.’

Vespasian did not take offence at his son’s remark; he knew that, although it was an exaggeration, there was more than a grain of truth in it. He sighed, pulled a coin out of his purse and handed it to the waiting bookmaker’s slave. ‘One sesterces on the Green number three chariot. What will I get if I win?’

‘Two denarii plus your original stake, master,’ the slave replied, taking the bronze coin. With great ceremony he placed it in his bag before recording the wager in his ledger and then handing the numbered marker to Vespasian.