Robert Fabbri: The Racing Factions

Magnus winced and looked at his hand. ‘I suppose that involves a lot of olive oil.’

‘I’m afraid it does, brother. Anyhow, suffice it to say that the lad is very amenable now and Cassandros is sure that he can get whatever information we require out of him.’

‘Good; tell him that, when the time comes, I’ll want to know the form of the Red teams in the last two races on the first race-day after the calends of March.’

Servius made a note of the race as a figure appeared silhouetted in the doorway.

Magnus rose to greet the new arrival. ‘Rufinus, my new friend, good of you to come; I have a little proposition for you concerning the closing of bridges owing to a riot.’

Magnus shivered; his breath steamed in the cold night air as he hunched down on the Servian Wall, keeping low so that his silhouette would not be visible. Next to him, Tigran examined an arrow in the moonlight, checking the fletching was secure and the shaft true; satisfied with his choice he nocked it.

‘Juno’s plump arse, come on, lads,’ Magnus muttered, peering down into the street that ran alongside Fabricius’ house, ‘what’s keeping you?’

Marius and Sextus had delivered the two slaves earlier that day, bound, gagged and blindfolded. Magnus had been truly surprised by their magnitude and had feared for a while that his plan might not work; but after the lads had shown they could lift the women’s massive bulk he was happy with it.

After a few more muttered curses Magnus finally heard the noise he had been waiting for: the clatter of hooves and the rumble of iron-shod wheels on stone. Out of the gloom a covered wagon appeared, making its way slowly up the street. As it drew level with the wall of Fabricius’ courtyard garden it pulled in as close as possible and stopped. The cover was pulled back by shadowy figures and then two ladders were placed upright in the wagon, leaning against the wall so that they reached its summit.

‘Good lads,’ Magnus said under his breath. Two of the figures started mounting the ladders with a large, struggling shape between them; underneath, in the wagon, two more figures took the weight of the writhing burden. Eventually they got it to the top and heaved it on to the tiled roof of the garden portico.

‘Remember, it’s the small skinny man we want,’ Magnus reminded Tigran as the second obese slave was hefted up the ladders. ‘The first people through the door will be bodyguards; it’ll be a fuck-up if you shoot one of them.’

Tigran nodded and took a kneeling position, drawing his compact recurved bow as the second shape was manhandled on to the roof.

‘Hoods and gags now, lads,’ Magnus muttered, ‘and then give them something to make some noise about.’

The two men up the ladders fiddled for few moments with the slave women and then leapt down as shrill screams pierced the night air. As soon as the ladders were removed the wagon thundered off into the night, turning left down a side street and disappearing.

The screeching continued.

Tigran aimed his arrow at the closed garden door of Fabricius’ house; light leaked from beneath it. On the roof one of the two slaves started to slide down, increasing the intensity of the shrieks.

‘They really don’t like snakes down their tunics,’ Magnus observed, staring at the door, willing it to open. ‘Come on, come on.’

The sliding slave neared the edge and then, with a shriller but suddenly curtailed yelp, fell into the garden.

The door opened and two bulky figures filled its frame.

‘Bodyguards,’ Magnus whispered unnecessarily.

The second slave continued screaming; the men ran towards her, disappearing from view as an enormous female shape, obviously naked, took their place in the doorway, closely followed by a second and then a third.

Tigran’s aim remained firmly fixed on the mounds of female flesh silhouetted against the soft light burning within the house.

A harsh shout from inside caused the three women to turn and move apart; light played on the rolls of fat that draped their forms and wobbled as they moved. A slight man appeared in their midst, pushing them out of the way.

Tigran’s bow thrummed.

The man stopped.

The women jumped back.

Tigran’s bow twanged again; this time the man jerked, arcing around with his left shoulder raised. The women brought their hands up to their mouths but failed to stifle the squawks that welled up from inside as Fabricius collapsed to the floor with two arrows in his chest.

‘Great shooting, brother,’ Magnus said, shaking his head in admiration. ‘You’ve just created a most convenient vacancy.’

‘I’ve made my recommendation,’ Gaius informed Magnus the following day as he and a few of his brothers escorted the senator back up the Quirinal from the Senate House.

‘And?’

‘And the aedile was rather surprised to hear that there was a vacancy, it was the first he knew of it; I assured him that it was the case – one of Fabricius’ rivals had finished him off over an argument about positioning in the senators’ enclosure. I told him that it wouldn’t be worth investigating because whichever one of the other three did it would be sure to cover his tracks.’

‘Very sensible advice, senator; we wouldn’t want a man whose time is as valuable as the aedile’s wasting it on a pointless investigation.’

‘Exactly, especially when he should be utilising it on the far more important task of making sure that there are enough book-makers for the senators to place wagers with next race day.’

Magnus nodded sagely. ‘Far more important. What did the aedile think of your suggestion?’

‘He took the hundred aurei that you gave me to give him and said that he would send for Ignatius immediately. He then expressed a warm certainty that if Ignatius could come up with a sizable incentive for the aedile to appoint him it would be confirmed by this evening before any other bookmakers heard of Fabricius’ unfortunate end and applied for the position themselves.’

‘That’s very understanding of him; perhaps you’d like to give him a racing tip as a thank you? I’m sure Ignatius would be only too pleased to take the aedile’s wager after the generosity he’s shown him.’

Gaius looked at Magnus and narrowed his eyes. ‘Ah! I see: create a certainty, then have people who can afford a large bet lay money with Ignatius and break him. That’ll do it; but how does that help Sabinus?’

‘We just have to choose the right time to drop his name with someone; but first I’ve got to create that certainty.’

‘How do you plan to do that?’

‘By having a nice quiet chat with the Green faction master after the Equirria.’

The Campus Martius brimmed with people in holiday spirits a few days later, making their way to the already packed Trigarium, nestled in the east and south of the Tiber’s curve. Having no permanent structures, it was an area ideal for exercising horses; but today it was not mere exercise that the people of Rome were coming to see, it was racing: the Equirria, a series of horse races in honour of Mars.

Magnus barged a path through the heaving crowds towards the Greens’ race-day camp on the banks of the river. Although it was not chariots being raced, the factions still entered using their hortatores as jockeys; they would prove to be stiff competition for the noble young bucks who rode their favoured mounts in the gruelling races set over different distances.

‘Lucius!’ Magnus shouted over the hubbub, spotting his friend checking the girth and saddle of one of the Green horses.

Lucius looked up from his work. ‘Magnus, my friend, I was expecting you.’ He paused, waiting for Magnus to draw closer. ‘I’ve got good news, but not here, I’ll tell you away from the camp.’