Robert Fabbri - Tribune of Rome

An underclass of thieves, confidence tricksters, charlatans and cheats preyed on the unwary or the dull, weaving their way stealthily through the crowds looking for likely targets and picking them off with a finesse born of a lifetime’s dishonesty. What profit they could not cream off they left to the lowest of the low: the beggars. Blind, diseased, maimed or malformed, they struggled, with a desperation known only to those who have nothing, to elicit some scraps or a small bronze coin from the few who cared enough to even notice them.

All forms of human existence were here – except the wealthy. They lived up on Rome’s hills in the cleaner air, above the heaving masses that they saw only when they had to pass the squalor on their way through the city to or from their more fragrant country estates.

The Flavian party made its way along the street that plunged, downhill, straight as an arrow, towards the heart of Rome.

‘We need to keep on this street until it divides in two, then we take the right-hand fork,’ Titus called out to their hired guards, who were doing a fine job of easing their passage through the crowds. He turned to look at his younger son. ‘Well, my boy, what do you think?’ he asked.

‘It’s a lot bigger than Reate, Father,’ Vespasian replied, grinning. ‘Though in truth I don’t know what to say… it is everything that I was expecting, except magnified by ten. I was prepared for a lot of people, but not this many. I knew that the buildings would be tall, but this tall? How do they stay up?’

‘Well, sometimes they don’t,’ Titus replied. ‘The landlords build these insulae as quickly and cheaply as possible, and then cram them with as many tenants as they can. They often collapse, and when they do they just put up another and to Hades with the poor buggers who got crushed to death. There’ll always be people happy to pay rent to live in the city, even in a death trap; it’s that or in the tomb shantytowns outside the walls. At least in the city the poor can take advantage of the free corn dole; the Emperor won’t let his people starve, that would be political suicide. Anyone with any money will tell you that we are only ever an empty granary away from revolution.’ His father smiled at Vespasian. ‘But you don’t have to worry about all that, it’s no concern of ours; let others take care of their own as we do of ours.’

They came to the fork in the road. At its apex stood a tavern outside of which lounged a group of hard-looking men drinking and playing dice on rough wooden benches. As Titus’ party took the right-hand fork one of the group stood up and approached Titus.

‘You’ll be needing protection, sir, if you’re thinking of going down that road,’ he said in a quiet, menacing voice. He had the build and cauliflower ears of a boxer; the scars on his face attested to his profession. He stood squarely in front of Titus and made no attempt to move as Titus tried to push his horse past him.

‘I said that you’ll be needing protection on that road. My name is Marcus Salvius Magnus and my crossroads fraternity here can provide you and your party with that reassurance,’ he insisted. ‘A denarius apiece for me and two of my lads will see you safe enough on your way.’

‘And from whom do we need protecting, Magnus?’ Titus asked, his voice filling with suppressed rage. ‘You and your murdering bunch of cronies no doubt.’

‘There’s no need to be uncivil, sir,’ the boxer replied. ‘I just wouldn’t advise you to proceed without an escort who knows the area. Who knows where to go and not to go, if you take my meaning?’

Titus struggled to control himself; the last thing he wanted to do was to lose his dignity to a mere thug. ‘Why do we in particular need protection?’ he asked and pointed to a passing group of travellers. ‘What about them, why don’t you offer them your protection?’

‘They don’t look like they could afford it, sir. Them that can’t afford it don’t need it, because if you’re too poor to afford protection you’re too poor to rob. Your party on the other hand looks as if it can afford to buy the protection that it therefore quite obviously needs.’ Magnus looked pleased with the logic of the argument.

‘Ah, but we have our protection, three armed guards all very capable of looking after themselves and us,’ Titus said, gesturing towards the ex-legionaries who had now dismounted and drawn their daggers.

‘And very lovely they look too, sir, but there are only three of them and there are a lot of very bad people down that way, I can assure you of that.’

‘I’m sure you can,’ Titus seethed, ‘but what if we decide not to take your very well-meant advice?’

‘Then that would be very risky, sir, and somewhat foolish, if I may be so bold.’ Magnus gave a smile that did not reach his eyes. Behind him his comrades had started to get up; the whole situation was getting rapidly out of control.

‘Just pay the man, Father,’ Sabinus whispered, realising that they would come off worst if it came to a fight.

‘Over my dead body,’ his father replied forcefully.

‘Let’s hope that it doesn’t come to that, sir. It’s to prevent that that I’m offering you our services. Tell us where are you heading and we’ll see you safely on your way,’ Magnus insisted. The Flavian guards had now surrounded him, yet he showed no sign of backing down.

‘Just what is going on here, Titus?’ Vespasia had got down from her litter and stood next to her husband.

‘These thugs wish to-’

‘As I said, there is no need to be uncivil,’ Magnus cut across him.

‘Uncivil! You disgusting, uncultured ape,’ Vespasia shouted. ‘How dare you delay us? I shall speak to my brother as soon as I see him.’

‘Hush, my dear, I’m afraid that won’t help us at the moment.’ Titus looked at Magnus’ cronies, who were now completely blocking both their way forward and their retreat. He realised that fighting was futile and made a mental note to one day extract a painful revenge. ‘We are going to the house of Gaius Vespasius Pollo,’ he spat out, ‘on the Quirinal.’

‘What? The ex-praetor? Why didn’t you say so before, my friend? That changes everything. I know him well; there’ll be no charge. A silly misunderstanding; please accept my apologies, sir, madam, and pass on our greetings to the honourable senator.’

‘I shall do no such thing, you impertinent little man,’ Vespasia said darkly as she turned and made her way back to her litter.

‘Nevertheless it will be our pleasure to escort you and your party to his house, sir. Sextus, Lucio, with me, we shall lead this noble family to their destination.’ With that he walked off down the right-hand fork leaving the rest of the group to follow him.

‘What was all that about, Father?’ Vespasian asked Titus as they moved off.

‘That, my boy, was part of the most powerful force in Rome after the Emperor and his Praetorians: the crossroads fraternities,’ Titus replied, still bemused by the rapid turn of events. ‘They’re gangs who base themselves at all the major road junctions in the poorer areas of the city and extort money from the local traders, residents and people passing through by selling their protection. If you buy it they won’t rob you, and if you don’t they will. It’s as simple as that.’

‘But surely that’s illegal,’ Vespasian said appalled. ‘Why doesn’t the Emperor do something about it?’

‘Well, it may sound strange but they are tolerated because they also do a lot of good.’

‘What good can a bunch low-life who specialise in demanding money with menaces do?’ Vespasian scoffed.

‘Well, for a start, rather ironically, they keep the crime rate down in their areas just by being there. Other thieves caught operating on their patch get pretty rough justice from all accounts. If you think about it it’s in their interest to keep their areas safe so that business will flourish; the more traders, the more money they rake in. On top of that they also look after the crossroads shrines. Your uncle evidently tolerates them at the very least, if not actively encourages them, judging by their reaction to his name just then.’