Robert Fabbri: The Racing Factions

‘Did he now? I may well take him up on that, it’d take my mind off a couple of problems we’ve got; come through to the back room, we need to talk.’

‘Gnaeus Domitius Ahenobarbus!’ Servius exclaimed as Magnus finished talking; his gaunt, lined face appeared waxen in the light of a single oil lamp. ‘He’s a monster; no one in their right mind would meddle in his affairs.’

Magnus poured them both a cup of wine from the jug on the table between them. ‘That’s what I said, but the senator needs him to back Sabinus.’

‘I suppose Sabinus getting elected and taking a seat in the senate could be useful for us.’

‘Possibly; and then his younger brother, Vespasian, will follow him and we’ll have three tame senators to call upon should we run into difficulties with the authorities; but Sabinus first.’

‘If we can get Ahenobarbus to support him.’

‘Which is a big “if”, brother. So what do you know about him?’

‘Apart from the fact that, just like all his ancestors, he’s violent, cruel and arrogant?’

Magnus waved a dismissive hand. ‘I know all that.’

‘He’s very greedy; he hoards money and hates giving it away. When he was a praetor he used to refuse to hand over the prize money to charioteers in the games he sponsored; he found it bad enough being forced to put on the games without having the extra expense of rewarding the winners. It’s ironic really because he loves chariot-racing; he attends every race and is a fanatical supporter of the Reds. All his family are because their beards grow that colour.’

‘I fucking loathe the Reds almost as much as I do the Blues.’

‘I know, don’t we all? But the Whites loathe them even more than we do.’

‘I ain’t that keen on the Whites either. What else?’

‘He’s married but doesn’t have children.’

‘Likes it rough the other way?’

‘Likes it rough any way. He married his wife four years ago when she was just thirteen; apparently every time she’s been seen in public since she’s had bruises all over her face and arms.’

‘He sounds lovely.’

‘Oh, he is, believe me.’

‘So how do we get to him?’

‘We’ve got time to think; the elections aren’t for another few months. What was the other problem? You said there were two.’

‘Ah, yes; Ignatius.’ Magnus downed his wine and related the events of the afternoon.

‘What are you thinking of doing?’ Servius asked, having heard the story without a flicker of emotion.

‘We could kill him but he’s well protected and anyway that’s too clean and quick for what he did. I can’t allow people to humiliate me in front of a couple of the brothers; that sort of thing gets around and before you know it there’re mutterings about a change of leadership. I want to see him suffer and I want the brothers to be reminded about what happens to men who cross me.’

‘Ruin him, then; but the problem is how to place a bet with him big enough to do that and certain enough to win.’

Magnus thought for a few moments and then smiled; his dark eyes twinkled in the lamplight. ‘We need to fix a race.’

Servius pulled at the loose, wrinkled skin of his throat. ‘Of course we do.’

‘You can get odds of forty or fifty to one for all three chariots of one team to come in first, second and third.’

‘Yes, but he’s got to be worth at least a million denarii; you’d still have to bet at least twenty-five thousand denarii to have a chance of ruining him. That’s a thousand aurei. We don’t have that sort of money; and, even if we did, how would we make him pay up?’

‘No, we don’t have that sort of money, nor would Ignatius be terrified enough of us to honour the bet even if we did, but . . .’ Magnus paused and winked at Servius.

The old man broke into a brown-toothed grin. ‘I take your meaning: there is someone who would frighten Ignatius into parting with his last sestertius, and he certainly does have that sort of cash. But how could you make Ahenobarbus place such a bet with him?’

‘That’s where Ignatius’ greed will be his downfall. I think, brother, that, despite how much the idea repulses me, we’re going to organise a Red one-two-three.’

Magnus pushed his way through the drinkers in the tavern, past the amphorae-lined bar and on to his table in the far corner, which had a good view of the door; the regulars knew better than to occupy it and passing customers, who lacked the benefit of such knowledge, were soon made aware of their transgression.

A Greek with a nasty scar along his jaw, which reduced his beard to clumps, brought a jug of wine and a cup and set it on the table.

‘Thanks, Cassandros,’ Magnus grunted. ‘Sit down a moment.’

Cassandros complied whilst pouring Magnus’ wine.

‘I need you to do what for you should be a pleasant job.’

Cassandros grinned lopsidedly. ‘So I’ll be mixing business with pleasure.’

‘Very much so. Tomorrow I want you to go down to the Campus Martius and hang around the Red stables.’

Cassandros’ face fell. ‘But tomorrow is the Lupercalia.’

‘And you’re going to miss it. I know you enjoy watching patrician youths running naked through the streets whipping women with thongs of goatskin but, let’s face it, the ceremony is to help women conceive and therefore completely irrelevant to a man of your tastes. Instead you’re going to find yourself a nice attractive Red stable lad or whatever and show him a good time; Servius will give you some cash to cover your expenses. Take him home, give him a serious going-over and leave him panting for more, if you take my meaning?’

‘I do indeed, brother. How long do you want me to keep him desirous of my services?’

‘Shouldn’t be more than a month I’d guess; and then I’ll be wanting some information from him.’

Cassandros frowned. ‘You’re not thinking of betting on the Reds, are you?’

‘Why would a lifelong Green do a thing like that? Don’t you worry about what I’m thinking of doing; you just concern yourself with making a nice young lad very friendly.’

‘Only the aedile in charge of the games can do that,’ Gaius informed Magnus as they made their way up the Palatine, rife with crowds, the following morning. ‘Only four bookmakers are licensed to operate in the senators’ enclosure: Albus, Fabricius, Blasius and Glaucio; and all of them have paid very hefty bribes for the privilege, as I’m sure you can imagine. It’s a very lucrative position.’

‘Do you know the aedile?’ Magnus asked as a group of women came running, laughing and screeching in excitement, towards them.

‘I do.’

The women dashed past, their laughter and footsteps echoing off the grand buildings of the Palatine, pursued by a group of naked youths, in varying states of arousal, lashing at them with freshly cut, bloody strips of goatskin. The crowds on the pavements cheered them on; young girls held out their hands to be whipped, giggling as the youths obliged them.

‘And?’ Magnus asked as Gaius eyed the youths in appreciation, turning his head as they passed.

‘And it makes no difference. There’re already four book-makers with the senatorial-enclosure licence.’

‘What would happen if there were suddenly three?’

‘Ah! That would be a different matter altogether; then there would be a vacancy which the aedile would be duty-bound to fill.’

‘Do you know him well enough to make a recommendation?’

Gaius tore his eyes from the retreating youths’ buttocks and gave Magnus a sly look. ‘And whom should I be recommending?’

‘Ignatius.’

‘A friend of yours?’

‘Quite the opposite.’

‘Then why help him?’

‘It’s partly to do with Sabinus.’