Robert Fabbri - The Dreams of Morpheus

Menes reacted instantly and fled for the cart, abandoning his men to be slaughtered in vengeance for brothers lost. Magnus smiled to himself and, indicating to Marius and Sextus to follow him, walked after the fleeing Egyptian as the cart driver urged his horse into action, clattering out of the forecourt and then turning right towards the Fabrician Bridge. Magnus did not rush; he knew there was no need to. As he stepped on to the main street the cart began to traverse the bridge. Midway it stopped.

‘Thank you, Cassandros,’ Magnus muttered, prowling forward as the cart attempted to turn a hundred and eighty degrees; behind it a line of silhouettes blocked the bridge.

The driver whipped the horse without mercy, trying to reverse it in order to complete the turn, but to no avail. The beast reared in the harness as its chest scraped against the brick parapet and sharp whip-inflicted pain seared along its back.

Menes leapt from the vehicle, grasping the sack of tablets, his head jerking left then right, like some demented bird, as if the situation might change at any moment and a way off the bridge would miraculously present itself.

‘Where were you going, my friend?’ Magnus called.

Menes froze and then cranked his mouth into the widest of grins. ‘No problems, no problems, my friend, no problems.’

Magnus stopped five paces from the Egyptian. ‘You see, that’s the funny thing; there is a problem. You killed a few of my lads and took a lot of money.’

Menes laughed as if it was a matter of small import that could easily be cleared up over a cup of wine.

‘I’m going to kill you slowly for that, Menes, and then there’ll be no problem.’ Magnus lunged forward; the Egyptian stepped back, turned and leapt on to the bridge’s parapet, hurling himself into the river below, the sack clutched in his hand.

‘Shit!’ Magnus exclaimed, rushing to look over the edge. Menes was struggling with one hand to keep himself afloat, whilst still holding the sack with the other, as the river swept him away. He looked back up at Magnus, laughing, as he shouted in his own tongue. But in his triumph at escape he failed to see the danger that whistled in from the river steps. His face contorted into a grin more pronounced and rigid than he had ever concocted before as an arrowhead burst out of his right eye-socket, the eyeball skewered on the bodkin. The feathered shaft vibrated, embedded in his crown, and a few paces away Pallas, his expression passive, set down his bow and sent his oarsmen diving into the river as the dead Menes finally gave up his hold of the tablets.

‘It would seem that you’ve had a very successful morning, Pallas; keeping the tablets was an unexpected bonus,’ Antonia conceded, looking at the pile of moneybags and the wet sack of tablets on the mosaic floor of her private office at her residence on the Palatine. She looked at Magnus, her green eyes showing life in them that belied her seventy years but matched her highcheekboned, fading beauty that still needed little cosmetic augmentation. ‘And I have much to thank you for too, Magnus. I will pay the blood money for your men. Pallas.’ She indicated to the bags.

Pallas picked one up and gave it to Magnus.

‘I think that should cover it.’

‘Thank you, domina,’ Magnus muttered.

‘What’s the matter? You don’t look overly thrilled.’

Magnus looked at the bag and then down to the tablets. ‘Well, begging your pardon, domina, but I was wondering what you intend to do with them.’

‘I shall inform the Urban Prefect that they’ve fallen into my hands and that I shall return them to their rightful owner, so he needn’t concern himself about them any more. Then I’ll restore them to Herod Agrippa for the pleasure of watching him control his expression as I demand a substantial finder’s fee. I think that’ll be the point when he realises I was behind the theft and that it might be a good idea to pay off the debt he owes me to avoid further inconvenience in the future.’ She smiled at the thought.

‘If that is the case, domina, could I swap the aurii for one of the tablets?’

Antonia looked at Magnus, frowning. ‘And why would you want to do that?’

‘Let’s just say I know a use they can be put to that is worth far more than two hundred in gold.’

‘How?’

‘Well, it … er … if you inhale the fumes when it burns, it takes you to a place where pleasure has no bounds if you share it with another, if you take my meaning?’

‘I think I do, Magnus.’ Antonia smiled again and looked at Pallas. ‘Leave us.’

Magnus tried but failed to hide his alarm as the steward left the room.

‘Show me.’

Magnus walked through the tavern door soon after dusk, clasping a tablet under his arm and fit to drop; it had been a long day, although much of it was now a blur. He looked across to his table in the corner and saw Servius bent over his abacus; next to him sat a youth of notable beauty.

Magnus sat down, looked at the youth and then at Servius. ‘Is this what I think it is?’

‘Tell him,’ Servius growled, clacking his abacus.

‘The master says to tell you that everything is prepared in the matter that you spoke of.’

The fatigue fell away immediately. ‘Run back and tell him I’ll be there very soon.’

‘I’ll come with you. I had already sent Marius, Sextus and Cassandros up there about half an hour ago when the message arrived.’

‘Thank you, my friend.’ Magnus brandished the tablet. ‘I need to drop this off with Terentius anyway.’

Servius’ eyes glinted in the lamplight. ‘Another thousand or so aurii; just a fraction of that will reimburse our people for the grain that Brutus cheated them of. It’s been a good day.’

‘Indeed; and it’s just about to get better.’

‘Well, well,’ Magnus ruminated as he looked down at the recumbent form of Brutus, lying on the couch in Terentius’ private room. ‘You look to be enjoying yourself, aedile.’

Brutus looked up with unfocused, drooping-lidded eyes and stared at Magnus for a few moments, with no sign of recognition, before returning his attention to the genitalia of the writhing youth straddling his hips and riding hard.

Terentius signalled to a second youth busy flicking one of the aedile’s nipples with his tongue whilst caressing the other; he removed the two knives from the brazier and pressed them to either side of a small ball of resin on the table next to it. Smoke immediately spiralled up and the youth offered it to the aedile; even in his engrossed state, Brutus noticed the source of pleasure nearing him and turned his head to suck greedily at the smoke.

‘He certainly has developed the taste for it,’ Magnus observed as the door opened and Servius entered holding a rope; behind him came Marius, Sextus and Cassandros, struggling with a large tub of water.

Servius pointed to the floor next to the couch. ‘Set it down there.’ He looked down at Brutus who lay back with a fixed grin on his face. ‘Is he ready?’

‘He’s far too deep into Morpheus’ realm to notice anything,’ Terentius assured him. ‘Leave us, boys.’

The writhing youth eased himself off Brutus and, picking up his tunic from the couch, scurried, giggling, out of the room with his colleague.

‘Get him on his knees in front of the tub, lads,’ Servius ordered, throwing the coiled rope on to the couch.

Sextus and Cassandros raised Brutus to his feet.

‘All forgotten, I’ve forgotten,’ the aedile mumbled as they lowered him on to his knees over the tub. ‘Ah, water; so much water.’

‘Head in and hold it there; but be very careful not to bruise him. Once he’s dead we hang him upside down to get all the water out, then dry him off and dress him and he’ll seem to have died of natural causes.’