Robert Fabbri: The Racing Factions

‘To whom and why?’ Antonia turned over languidly to lie on her belly, her eyes closed and her face nestled into the pillow; the sheet fell away from her buttocks.

Magnus admired his handiwork. ‘To your nephew, Ahenobarbus.’

‘You don’t want to get involved with him; he’s probably the most unpleasant member of my family. I’m just pleased that he and Agrippina haven’t managed to breed yet; a child of that union would be atrocious.’

Magnus knew enough about the imperial family to understand that was condemnation indeed.

‘I don’t want to get involved with him; I was hoping to do this without him ever knowing where you got your information from – until it’s been proven reliable, if you take my meaning?’

‘Why do you want him to win at the races?’

‘I don’t want him to win as much as I want him to place a bet with a bookmaker called Ignatius, big enough to ruin Ignatius when he does win.’

‘If he wins.’

‘Oh, he’ll win all right; it’ll be a sure thing.’

‘How much do you want him to put down?’

‘A thousand aurei on a Red one-two-three at odds of around fifty to one.’

‘And if he wins then the bookmaker will owe him over a million denarii; it would probably break him.’

‘Yes, domina.’

‘This bookmaker has upset you, I take it.’

‘Very much, domina.’

‘Ahenobarbus might not believe me.’

‘I know, so before he places the big bet we’ll have a practice run on the races on the calends of March; then he can judge just how good the information he’s getting is. If you’re willing to grant me this favour, have Pallas meet me at the Temple of Mars in Augustus’ Forum that morning at the third hour.’

‘I’ll think about it, Magnus; now leave me.’

‘Yes, domina.’ Magnus scooped up his sandals, took the short black-leather whip from off the bed and left the room.

‘The Whites bring their teams out of their stables’ gates and turn right, past the Pantheon and the Baths of Agrippa; they then pass between Pompey’s theatre and the Flaminian Circus and on to the Fabrician Bridge and over the Tiber Island,’ Servius informed Magnus as they stood in the rain outside the Villa Publica on the Campus Martius, three days later. ‘They cross the river, turn left along the Via Aurelia and go across the Aemilian Bridge and then through the Porta Flumentana and into the Forum Boarium, the race-day camp for all four teams. The Reds also take that route; however, the Urban Prefect never lets the Reds go at the same time as the Whites – that way he avoids any faction trouble.’

Magnus digested the information for a few moments; drops of rain trickled off his wide-brimmed leather hat. He shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. ‘What about the Sublician Bridge?’

‘To stop any rabble getting into the teams’ camp, that’s always closed on a race day as it too leads directly into the Forum Boarium.’

‘So the only ways to cross the river near the Circus Maximus on a race day are across the Tiber Island and the Aemilian Bridge.’

‘Precisely.’

‘What about the Greens and Blues?’

‘They take a different route. They don’t cross and recross the river; they enter the city through the Porta Carmentalis and then cross Velabrum and enter the Forum Boarium from the east.’

‘Why are there two different routes?’

‘To avoid congestion.’

‘And they always stick to the same route?’

‘Always. You wouldn’t know this because our connections mean we can always get into the circus whenever we want; however, hundreds of thousands of people can’t and they line the routes so that they can see their favoured teams pass.’

‘How the masses live, eh?’

Servius spat; his saliva was immediately lost in a rain-battered puddle. ‘Fucking rabble. Come on, brother, let’s get back before my old bones seize up.’

‘How far in advance do they bring the teams in?’ Magnus asked as they turned to go.

‘Normally, on a twenty-four-race day, they start by bringing in the twelve chariots for the first four races plus the spares for the day and all the hortatores; then they do relays of twelve throughout the day so that the Forum Boarium doesn’t get too crowded.’

Magnus grinned despite the rain. ‘So if we were to stop the Whites bringing their last relay of twelve in then they wouldn’t have any teams in the final four races, would they, brother?’

‘Don’t forget the spares.’

‘How many do they have?’

‘It depends on the fitness of the horses, but normally between three and six teams, never more because of shortage of space.’

‘So we could guarantee the last two races being free from Whites?’

‘It’s possible; but how would you do it? They’re very well guarded and if you were to block the way they would just go back and take another route to the circus.’

‘Not if we block the bridges and trap them on the wrong side of the river.’

‘But the Reds would be trapped as well.’

‘Not if we time it right. Let’s invite Nonus Manilus Rufinus over for a little chat when he gets off duty this evening.’

‘So what have you learnt, brother?’ Magnus asked, rubbing his hands over a portable brazier as Marius walked into the tavern’s back room.

‘Fabricius doesn’t go out much and when he does he’s very well guarded.’

‘As we expected,’ Servius commented, taking a sip from a steaming cup of hot wine; his eyes watered from the brazier’s smoke.

Magnus indicated the jug on the table. ‘Help yourself, brother. What about his household?’

Marius poured himself a cup, chuckling. ‘Well, every morning two of his fat slaves – and they really are fat, you should see ’em, Magnus, you’d have to roll ’em in flour and look for the damp patch. Anyway, every morning the same two head off for the market to buy whatever they need for the day. They come back a couple of hours later laden with stuff; it’s unbelievable how much they all eat.’

‘Fabricius likes to keep them fat and he can well afford it.’

‘Well, I ain’t ever seen the like of it, Magnus.’

‘Are they guarded when they go?’

‘No, who would want to touch ’em?’

‘We would. Tomorrow, brother, I want you to invite those two well-formed ladies here for a little bit of the brotherhood’s hospitality, if you take my meaning?’

Marius’ eyes glinted with amusement over the rim of his cup. ‘They’re big old beasts; it’ll take more than me and my two lads.’

‘Take Sextus; what he lacks in brains he makes up for in brawn.’

Marius turned to leave, taking his cup with him. ‘Right you are, Magnus; I’ll have them here by the third hour of the day.’

‘Make sure you do, brother; and don’t let them see your faces or where you take them.’

‘Of course not, Magnus.’ Marius opened the door and stepped out.

‘Leave the door open; let’s get some of this smoke out.’

Servius rubbed his eyes. ‘Thanks.’

‘We’ll be ready to do this first part tomorrow night; how’s Tigran doing with his archery practice?’

‘He says he’s fine; his wound has healed nicely. The last couple of days he’s gone out into the country each morning and has been practising shooting at a sack of hay a hundred paces away; he reckons to hit it nine times out of ten.’

‘Let’s hope it’s not the tenth shot tomorrow. Tell him to practise all day and to be here by nightfall. And get one of the lads to purchase a couple of snakes first thing in the morning, but not poisonous ones.’

Servius picked up a stylus and a wax tablet and scratched a note. ‘That reminds me,’ he said, reading a previous note. ‘Cassandros came in this morning; he says he’s been doing very nicely with a young lad from the Reds. I’ll spare you the details, but the boy enjoys all of Cassandros’ little hobbies and can’t get enough of one in particular.’