Robert Fabbri: The Racing Factions

Magnus increased the pressure. ‘So why do you think that he wrote down five instead of twenty-five?’

‘I don’t know, master, but it’s happened before when he’s stood to lose a lot of money with a big bet.’

‘Has it now? And what about your records?’

The slave’s face screwed up even further. ‘They’re written on wax, master, the two Xs can be scraped clean leaving just the V.’

‘What’s your name, boy?’

‘Menes, master.’

Magnus released his grip. ‘If you know what’s good for you, Menes, you won’t mention our little chat to Ignatius. Now piss off.’

Menes scuttled away and disappeared into the crowd.

Sextus frowned. ‘So did we get the right money or not, Magnus? I mean, can I still have a couple of whores tonight?’

‘No, brother, we did not, but we will; and until we do you’ll just have to make do with one.’

‘Do you think the slave’s lying?’ Marius asked, sitting in Menes’ place.

‘No, brother; I think that Ignatius’ dishonesty means that he has just unwittingly declared war on the South Quirinal Crossroads Brotherhood.’

‘That’s very foolish of him.’

‘Very.’ Magnus stood. ‘Come on, lads, we don’t want to be late for our senator.’

‘Magnus, my friend, I trust you’ve had luck?’ Senator Gaius Vespasius Pollo boomed, waddling down the steps from the senators’ enclosure in a flurry of wobbling belly, jowls and chins.

‘Quite the opposite, senator.’ Magnus took up his position in front of his patron, the man to whom he owed his life, with his brothers at either shoulder, ready to beat a path for him through the departing race-goers disgorging into the urine-scented, cavernous belly of the Circus Maximus.

‘That’s what comes of just betting on your beloved Greens without paying any attention to form.’

‘Once a Green, always a Green, sir.’

Gaius’ full, moist lips broke into a grin as he pushed away a carefully tonged curl of hair from his eye. ‘I find it much better to have no such affiliations; it gives me far more room for manoeuvre and a better chance of backing the winning team. That, of course, goes for politics as well as racing.’

‘I admire your lack of loyalty, sir.’ Magnus shoved a slow-moving, old man out of the way as they emerged through an arch into the Forum Boarium where the four Racing Factions had their race-day camps; horses and wagonloads of chariots trailed out, heading back to their permanent bases on the Campus Martius, north of the city. The fading, late-afternoon light washed the grand marble buildings on the Palatine above them with a warm glow, despite the dropping temperature.

‘I reserve my loyalty for family, patrons and my clients, such as yourself; it’s generally wasted elsewhere.’

‘Except on the Greens.’

Gaius laughed. ‘Have it your own way, Magnus. If it makes you happy to lose your money needlessly, who am I to dissuade you? In the meantime, I have a favour to ask.’

Magnus stopped for a few moments, giving way to a party of higher status. ‘Of course, patronus.’

Gaius nodded at the passing senator, one of this year’s praetors, preceded by his fasces-bearing lictors. ‘As you know, my eldest nephew, Sabinus, has failed for the last two years to get elected as a quaestor; obviously I can’t allow that state of affairs to continue.’

‘Indeed not.’

‘I have to make sure that he gets in this time because next year his younger brother, your friend Vespasian, will be old enough to stand and I certainly won’t be able to afford two sets of bribes; not to mention the friction it’ll cause in their already strained relationship.’

‘Surely your patron, the Lady Antonia, could help; the support of the Emperor Tiberius’ sister-in-law for Sabinus would be invaluable.’

‘I’m nervous about asking her to involve herself in matters, like quaestor elections, so far beneath her.’

‘She involves herself with some matters way beneath her.’

Gaius chuckled. ‘She’s always loved a boxer; is she still demanding your services?’

Magnus grunted. ‘Yeah, well, now and again I get a summons.’

‘I’ve made an appointment to see her tomorrow morning concerning another issue and I wouldn’t want to make two requests of her at the same time; you know how demanding her reciprocal favours can be.’

‘I do – at first hand, as it were.’

‘So I have to look elsewhere for support for Sabinus and that’s where I’ll need your particular skills.’

‘I assume, therefore, that pressure needs to be applied or an incentive offered, if you take my meaning?’

‘I do indeed; but in this case pressure would be risky.’

‘So you have someone in mind?’

‘I think it would help if the Senior Consul publically supported Sabinus.’

‘Gnaeus Domitius Ahenobarbus?’ Magnus turned in horror to Gaius. ‘You must be mad, begging your pardon, to think about influencing him, sir, he’s a monster.’

‘He is.’

‘He pulled an eques’ eye out in the forum just because he criticised him.’

‘And only last month he purposely ran over, with his quadriga, a small boy playing on the Via Appia. What better person to support Sabinus? If Ahenobarbus backs him a lot of other people will vote for him too, to keep on the right side of the monster.’

Magnus looked dubious as Marius and Sextus, either side of him, used their strong arms to ease their way through the crush. ‘Why don’t you just bribe him?’

‘I will, and handsomely so; but everyone else is too. He’s taking money from all the candidates and will end up supporting the one who pays him most. The trouble is I don’t know whether my bribe will be enough and I can’t afford to increase it; somehow it needs to be supplemented.’

‘So you want me to ease him in the right direction.’

‘Exactly, but without him realising that I’m behind it as I fully intend to have both my eyes still in place once Sabinus is elected quaestor.’

‘And how do you think I can manage that?’

‘I’ve no wish to know, Magnus my loyal friend; but you’ve served me well before and I’ve complete trust in your ability to solve even the most delicate of problems.’

The ceaseless night-time clatter and rumble of delivery carts – banished from Rome’s packed streets during the day – had begun in earnest by the time Magnus and his companions reached the tavern, at the junction of the Vicus Longus and the Alta Semita, that served as the headquarters of the South Quirinal Crossroads Brotherhood. Magnus checked the flame on the altar of the Crossroads Lares – the deities of the neighbourhood – the upkeep of which was the original purpose of the formation of the many such brotherhoods in Rome; satisfied with it, he patted the brother guarding it on the shoulder and stepped through the door into the fug of the crowded tavern.

‘A legionary back on leave called in to see you,’ an old man with gnarled hands informed him, looking up from a scroll on the wine-stained table before him.

‘Did he leave a name, Servius?’

‘Just the one: Lucius. He said that you’d remember him from Thracia and Moesia a couple of years ago; he’s serving with the Fourth Scythica.’

Magnus looked at his aged counsellor and second in command, recalling the name for a couple of moments, and then smiled. ‘Lucius? Yeah, I remember him; Vespasian saved him from execution in Thracia; he owes him big. He used to work as a stable lad for the Greens before he joined up; he’s still got contacts there, promised me a few tips.’

‘He’s going to be at the Greens’ stables on the Campus Martius from noon tomorrow; he said you should drop by, he’d give you the tour that he promised when he last saw you.’