Rome's lost son

CHAPTER III

Unrecognisable in a deep-hooded cloak, Vespasian walked in silence next to his uncle, escorted by four of Magnus’ crossroads brothers who had been sent to see them through Rome’s nocturnal streets. Even in the middle of the night the city teemed with activity as suppliers made their deliveries with carts and wagons banned from Rome’s thoroughfares and lanes during daylight hours and the people feasted on the generous handouts made by the Emperor in thanks for the defeat of his persistent enemy, Caratacus. However, the presence of so many people abroad at this time did not make the journey to Magnus’ tavern any safer; quite the contrary in a city where the vast majority lived a hand to mouth existence. Gangs of footpads roamed the streets hauling the unwary or the intoxicated into dark alleyways to relieve them of their property and sometimes of their lives. Those who bore witness to the muggings would, in general, prefer the safety of minding their own business to the mortal danger of coming to the aid of a stranger. Only the club-wielding Vigiles, Rome’s nocturnal fire-watchers and keepers of the peace, offered any assistance to those in trouble and then, often, at the price of the contents of the victim’s purse.

With four torch-bearing crossroads brothers, daggers and cudgels secreted under their cloaks, Vespasian felt safe as they made their way along the bustling Alta Semita bordered by three-or four-storey tenements to either side; thin light delineated an occasional upper window and gloom-filled alleys divided them, leading into a dark and completely lawless world between the more frequented thoroughfares. But it was not his present well-being that concerned Vespasian as he blocked out the drunken singing, the cries of the street vendors and carters, the rattle of iron-rimmed wheels, the bestial calls of beasts of burden and the countless other sounds that made sleep a rare commodity on Rome’s busier streets; it was what the future held for him.

‘If Agrippina expects me to be killed,’ he said eventually to Gaius, ‘doing whatever it is that Pallas suggests, then how would you explain the mark that I found on the sacrificial liver this morning?’

‘I can’t explain it and I certainly wouldn’t make it public,’ Gaius said after hearing the incident recounted.

‘I’m not stupid!’ Vespasian snapped more tersely than he had meant to. ‘But that mark implies that Mars has a destiny set for me that is somehow involved in the greater affairs of state. I’m no auger, but when I put together a clear reference to me on a sacrifice to Jupiter Optimus Maximus, made in the very heart of Rome by my hand as a consul of Rome, with the fact that the auspices at my naming ceremony were of such a sensitive nature that my mother forced everyone present to take an oath never to talk of them, then I begin to wonder what that destiny is, seeing as I’ve already achieved the consulship.’

‘Well, I wasn’t at your naming ceremony, so I can’t comment.’

‘If you had been you would be sworn against commenting anyway. But I’m beginning to have a suspicion that is so outrageous that I might as well discuss it with you.’

‘So that’s what you were brooding about all through dinner; I was thinking that you and Flavia had had another dispute over your differing attitudes to expenditure. Try me.’

Vespasian took a deep breath and hoped that the cause of his last few hours of contemplation would not provoke ridicule. ‘It was Sabinus who originally put it into my mind when Claudius came to Britannia. Claudius noticed that I had Marcus Antonius’ sword that had been given to me by the Lady Antonia; only Pallas and Caenis knew that it had been a gift from her, as they had brought me the sword after she had used it to open her veins. Claudius asked me how I got it because it was well known in the imperial family that his mother would only give it to the person that she thought would make the best emperor. I lied and told him that Caligula had given it to me. Pallas told me never to let the truth be known because, if Claudius found out, my life could be in danger. Sabinus witnessed the incident and asked me about it; I laughed it off saying that it was a simple gift and, besides, I didn’t have the blood of the Caesars. He then asked how long that bloodline would last.’

‘That’s a treasonous question.’

‘But it’s a pertinent one. If Claudius does die soon, Britannicus will be moved aside and Nero will become emperor having married his stepsister who is also his first cousin once removed; it’s not quite Egyptian but it’s getting close. How long can a bloodline like that last? Suppose it finishes with Nero, what then?’

‘Then the Guard will proclaim an emperor.’

‘That only works if there is a suitable candidate from the imperial family. But each province with legions will want their own generals, because if they support a man to the Purple they know they’ll be very well rewarded.’

‘Civil war, you mean?’

‘Of course. And there’re no rules about what blood a man needs running in his veins in order to win a civil war; he just needs to ensure that it stays in them.’

Gaius turned his hooded face towards Vespasian, his voice conveying his consternation. ‘You, dear boy?’

‘Why not? Sabinus was at my naming ceremony; he saw the auspices but has always refused to talk about it because of the oath. However, he asked me, after Claudius had taken back the sword, what if Antonia had not given it to me as a simple gift but had actually given it to the person that she thought would make the best emperor, as she had always said she would? And at that moment I thought: Why not? Why not me? Because someday it will be someone from a different family; it has to be if Rome is to survive. Tiberius, Caligula, Claudius? If Nero is like any one of them then …’ Vespasian trailed off; the point did not need to be made.

‘You think that Sabinus believes you could become …?’ It was Gaius’ turn to leave a question hanging.

‘I’m not saying that; all I’m saying is that he put it into my mind. And I think that Pallas also has a suspicion; I think Antonia said something to both him and Caenis when she gave them her father’s sword to pass on to me before she died, but I’m willing to bet that she swore them to secrecy. But I think that Pallas managing to help me to a position which is obviously so fraught with danger that Agrippina does not expect me to survive is his way of testing whether Antonia was right.’

‘You mean if you survive you’ll eventually become …?’ Gaius tried but again failed to complete the sentence.

‘I expect that if I survive Pallas might look at me in a different light.’

‘You don’t seriously think that you could be the …?’

‘Why not, Uncle? Look at me: look at how far I’ve come since being brought to your house when I was sixteen with lofty ideals of serving Rome for the greater good. I’m now consul, admittedly only for two months, but I’ve reached that rank because of what I’ve achieved and not because of what blood flows in my veins. I’ve commanded a legion in the field for six years, four of those in Britannia against some very unpleasant tribes; I’ve spilt blood when necessary and sometimes when not. Here, in Rome, I know how the politics of the city and of the palace work because for years now I’ve been unwillingly wading through their mire; I’ve become just as ruthless as the practitioners whom I’ve learnt from and whom I’ve come to admire. I understand the power of money, fear and patronage and know that any man can be bought by a mixture of all three; it’s just a question of finding the right levels of each ingredient. I’m ideally qualified.’

Gaius’ jowls quivered with fear. ‘You can’t believe that you’ll succeed to the …?’

‘No, Uncle; but I may fight my way there one day. If the blood of the Caesars fails there’ll be a scramble for the Purple and who better than someone like me? But if it’s to be someone like me then why not me?’

‘And you think all this just because of a mark that looks like a “V” on a liver?’

‘Not just that. I think this because then many things, strange things, that have happened in my life start to make sense: the Phoenix, the prophecy of Amphiaraios, Myrddin, the Oracle of Amun telling me that I had come before it too early to know the right question to ask; every weird thing that has happened to me would be explained by that.’

‘This is something that you should keep to yourself, dear boy; it won’t do to go about shouting that you’re a potential …’ Gaius still could not bring himself to say the word.

‘Oh, I will keep it to myself, Uncle. And I won’t dare to believe that I’m right until it happens. However, because I know the possibility is now there I shall watch out for sensible opportunities and will not do anything rash in the meantime.’

‘Like agreeing to secret meetings with scheming imperial freedmen in the middle of the night, for example?’ Gaius suggested as they came to the acute junction of the Alta Semita and the Vicus Longus at the apex of which stood Magnus’ tavern.

Vespasian smiled at his uncle. ‘This may well be an opportunity; and besides,’ he added as he pushed open the door, ‘it’s not a secret.’

Vespasian did not pull back his hood as he entered the crowded fug of the parlour; sweat, stale wine, cheap-whores’ perfume and burnt pork fat assaulted his nose, his ears rang with drunken shouting and harsh laughter and his eyes immediately moistened with stinging charcoal fumes from the cooking fire behind the amphorae-lined bar at the wider, far end of the tavern. Gaius’ girth caused some comment — not all of it good-humoured — as they followed their escort across a wine-sticky floor, through the shadowy crowd of drinkers and whores filling the widening room. To quizzical looks they passed through a leather-curtained doorway and then turned right into an unlit corridor. At the far end on the left, the leader of their escort, a huge bald man in his late fifties, knocked with a ham-sized fist on a substantial iron-reinforced door and opened it at the sound of a response from within.

‘Well done, Sextus,’ Magnus said, getting up from his seat behind the desk as the door swung open. ‘Any trouble?’

‘No, brother,’ Sextus replied, stepping aside to allow Vespasian and Gaius into the room.

‘Good. Now take your lads outside and keep an eye out for our two guests.’

Sextus hesitated for a moment and then rumbled slowly into a guttural laugh. ‘Aw, very good, Magnus,’ he managed between bursts of mirth. ‘Keep an eye out! I like that.’

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ Magnus said, shaking his head, exasperated. ‘It was almost funny the first time we had that joke, three years ago.’ His one good eye looked at Vespasian apologetically while his glass replica glared at Sextus, adding to the man’s enjoyment of the humour. ‘Now get out and do what you’ve been told.’

‘Keep an eye out,’ Sextus chuckled as he left with his brothers, ‘right you are, Magnus.’

‘Sextus has got a new joke, I take it,’ Vespasian said as he took the seat that Magnus had just vacated.

Magnus picked up the pitcher on the desk and poured three cups of wine. ‘Each time he hears it he thinks it’s for the first time.’

‘Just like he used to when he was always offering to give one-armed Marius a helping hand.’

‘Yes, it’s the same thing and it keeps him amused for hours.’

Gaius sat in the chair next to his nephew, accepting a cup of wine. ‘Still, he’s a reliable solid lad, from what I know of him.’

‘Solid being a good choice of word in more ways than one, sir,’ Magnus observed, proffering a cup to Vespasian. ‘He knows his limitations and didn’t make a fuss when I promoted Tigran to my second in command when old Servius died.’ Magnus walked across the room, opened a door on the far side and looked out into the darkness beyond. ‘I do miss the old bugger,’ he continued, closing the door and bolting it. ‘Even though he was blind towards the end he could still see the right way through a problem.’ Magnus paused to consider for a moment. ‘I was thinking over what you were saying this morning about retiring now; it may not be such a bad idea. I promised Tigran that I would soon. Perhaps it’d be better to do it now rather than have it forced upon me by one of the other brotherhoods staging a takeover or Tigran slipping a knife between my ribs because he can’t wait.’

Vespasian raised his eyebrows. ‘He’d do that?’

‘He’s already thought about it; it was only my promise that stopped him. Anyway, that’s how I got the job all those years ago.’ Magnus closed and secured the shutters on the only window in the room, dulling the rumble of traffic and drunken shouts coming in from the street.

‘Twenty-six, to be precise,’ Gaius informed them. ‘I should remember because it cost me a fortune in bribes and blood-money to save you from being condemned to the arena.’

‘For which I’ve always been grateful, senator.’

‘And you’ve repaid me many times over.’ Gaius chuckled, holding his cup in both hands. ‘I don’t suppose I’ll get quite as good service from the brotherhood if Tigran becomes the patronus.’

‘It’ll certainly cost you more; but I’m sure we can come to an accommodation as part of the transfer of power.’ A knock on the door prevented him from elaboration on the point. ‘Ah, your guests.’ He opened it to find Sextus’ massive form blocking the doorway; he moved to one side, his shoulders shaking slightly as if he was still controlling his amusement.

A moment later, Narcissus walked into the room, removing his hood; Agarpetus followed. Narcissus glanced at Magnus with languid, pale eyes. ‘The redoubtable Magnus of the South Quirinal Crossroads Brotherhood,’ he crooned, walking straight to a chair and sitting opposite Vespasian and Gaius; the scent of his pomade wafted through the room. ‘Thank you for your hospitality. Losing your grip a bit recently, I hear, hmm?’

Magnus bristled. ‘Not so as you’d notice.’ He shot Narcissus a one-eyed glare and then pushed past Agarpetus and left the room.

Narcissus affected not to notice the slam of the door. ‘Good evening, gentlemen.’

‘Good evening, imperial secretary,’ Vespasian and Gaius replied as Agarpetus stepped forward to stand at his patron’s right shoulder.

‘You had a safe journey, I trust,’ Gaius asked at his most ingratiating.

‘I came by carriage and the roads were terrible; clogged with scroungers and wastrels drunk on our merciful Emperor’s wine.’ The Greek examined one of the many bejewelled rings he wore on each of his chubby fingers and spoke as if addressing the ruby set in it: ‘Which is exactly why I chose tonight for our meeting. So we will get directly to business and forgo the small talk.’

‘We’ve always respected your penchant for straight-talking,’ Vespasian replied while pouring another cup of wine.

Narcissus’ mouth twitched into the nearest he ever came to smiling. He leant forward and placed his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers and pressing them to his lips above his trimmed and oiled black beard; weighty gold rings, dangling from each ear, glinted in the lamplight as they rocked to and fro. He considered Vespasian and Gaius for a few moments, his eyes slowly passing between them as if he was deciding whom to address first. Raucous laughter over a steadily increasing chanting and clapping filtered in from the tavern; a whore and her client were evidently being encouraged in their endeavours.

Vespasian pushed the filled cup across the desk, holding his visitor’s gaze when it fell upon him, and was shocked by how lined Narcissus’ well-filled-out face had become since the last time he had seen him at such close quarters. The strain of losing his position of influence with the Emperor — if not his title and function — to his colleague Pallas had evidently borne down hard on him; it was not easy living with the constant fear of execution. However, Vespasian felt no sympathy for him as he observed the black staining of dye on the pale skin around his hairline and beneath his beard. The threat of arbitrary death had been the lot of every Roman of the equestrian order and up from Tiberius’ reign onwards; the closer one was to the centre of power the more acute that danger became. It was something that Pallas had admitted the one time he had let his mask slip in front of Vespasian.

‘You both know very well the situation that I find myself in,’ Narcissus began, half-closing his eyes. ‘I am the Emperor’s secretary, in charge of his appointments and therefore access to him; yet for the last couple of years my influence over him has been negligible. Since Pallas and Agrippina manoeuvred me into ordering Messalina’s execution before Claudius had completely settled his mind upon it, I have been out of favour with my patron. Yes, I can still make a great deal of money charging for audiences but that is nothing compared to what Pallas makes charging for influence. I remain alive because Claudius cannot bring himself to order my execution as only I know the ins and outs of all his business affairs; I’m alive because he is too chaotic to survive without me. Agrippina has made a couple of attempts on my life but I’m too careful for her; but very soon she won’t have to resort to murder. Once Claudius is dead I think it is very obvious to all what will happen.’ He parted his hands a fraction and held them still, inviting Vespasian to fill in the gap.

‘Nero will become emperor.’

‘Yes, Claudius’ attitude to Britannicus this afternoon showed us just how far he has estranged himself from his own flesh and blood. He even granted Agrippina’s request and had Sosibius executed this evening as being responsible for Britannicus’ carefully studied insult.’

Vespasian was shocked at the extreme result of Britannicus’ revenge and wondered if either the boy or Titus had realised the possibility of that outcome. He found himself hoping that they had: it was sweet justice for the man whose lies had forced him to bear false witness. ‘Of course, he was Messalina’s appointment; I suppose it was only a matter of time before Agrippina got him.’

‘She is not feted for her mercy; and she is ruthless in fighting for Nero’s and therefore her own position. She couldn’t have the boy executed so the tutor would have to do.’ Narcissus inclined his head a fraction. ‘Lucky that Titus wasn’t standing next to Britannicus.’

Vespasian chilled but then felt a surge of hope. ‘Perhaps with his tutor’s death, I’ve got a good excuse to find an alternative for Titus.’

‘I’m afraid not; Britannicus’ education and that of his companions has now been entrusted to Seneca. Claudius has managed to put Britannicus in even more danger by giving him to the one man whom Agrippina respects and Nero actually listens to. Because Seneca’s as ruthless as the two of them in the pursuit of power he will share their view that Britannicus is an obstacle. Whatever you thought of Sosibius, at least he provided some sort of protection from those three.’

Vespasian took the point and began to wish that the odious tutor had not been so summarily dealt with.

‘So, Claudius will condemn his own son to death by making Nero his heir and that poisonous little snake does everything his mother tells him to.’ Narcissus re-steepled his fingers and looked meaningfully at each of them in turn. ‘Everything. And she gets him to do everything she asks because she in turn does everything that he asks of her; and I can tell you, gentlemen, that his requests are far removed from what a son should ask of his mother.’

Vespasian shuddered at the image but, having seen Nero snuggling up to Agrippina and resting his head on her breast that afternoon, it did not come as much of a shock to him. In fact, he reflected, after what he had seen with Tiberius and Caligula, that there was very little that the imperial family could now do to shock him. Caligula had made free with all his sisters, Agrippina amongst them; why should she not go further than him and do the same with her son? But then how would the Senate and people of Rome take to having such an unnatural couple rule over them? And if Nero felt free to bed his own mother, what depravity would not be beyond him?

From the bar the clapping and cheering had reached a crescendo; a successful conclusion to the business was clearly imminent.

Narcissus raised his voice, slightly, over the noise. ‘One of the first conditions that she will extract from Nero for her acquiescence to his unhealthy demands once he becomes emperor will be my death; and that, gentlemen, is something that I intend to avoid.’ Narcissus paused for a sip of wine, frowned his disapproval at the vintage, or lack of it, and then dabbed his lips with a handkerchief. ‘Now, interestingly, you two find yourselves with a similar, if not quite so potentially fatal, problem.’ Narcissus indicated to his freedman with a fractional head movement. ‘Agarpetus came across some very interesting intelligence from the trierarchus of a trading ship just back from the Kingdom of Colchis on the eastern coast of the Euxine. It would seem a Parthian embassy passed through Phasis, the major port of Colchis, towards the end of September heading home by way of the Kingdoms of Iberia and Albania and then across the Caspian Sea, thus skirting very close to the north of our client kingdom of Armenia.

‘Now, that may be nothing in itself: the Parthians are often sending embassies to the tribes and kingdoms around the Euxine and our traders are always reporting them; we pay well for the information. But what caught Agarpetus’ eye was an earlier report intercepted from one of Agrippina’s people that he had killed an agent, as he had been ordered, very soon after the man had informed the Governor of Moesia that a Parthian embassy to the tribes beyond the Danuvius had arrived in Tyra, just to the north of that province, and therefore this agent had been prevented from getting the news to his pay-master; unfortunately we don’t know who that was. This happened, as I said, in September, at the end of which month, incidentally, our puppet king in Armenia was subject to an invasion led by his nephew. It’s a reasonable assumption that this was the same embassy and it’s also reasonable to assume from their route home that on their way to the Danuvius they passed through Iberia. Now, Iberia was the base for this invasion that has since managed to topple the Armenian King.’ Narcissus raised an eyebrow at his audience and braved another sip of wine as a massive cheer broke out next door.

Vespasian saw Narcissus’ implication immediately. ‘Therefore the Parthians could have triggered the Armenian usurpation on their way through and Sabinus must have failed to kill or capture them, even though he had been warned about their presence.’

‘It would seem that way; very careless, wouldn’t you say?’ Narcissus dabbed his lips again; the noise level from the tavern had dropped back down to laughter and boisterous conversation. ‘If we had a chance to question them we would know the object of their mission to the northern tribes and, more importantly, we would know for sure if Parthia is once again trying to destabilise Armenia. Still, it’s done now and one can only hope that the consequences aren’t too … er … disastrous for Rome — or indeed, for Sabinus and perhaps even his family?’

‘Are you threatening us, Narcissus?’

‘My old friend,’ Narcissus crooned without a trace of amicability, ‘I am doing nothing of the sort; I don’t need to. Agrippina has made sure that news of his failure has already reached Claudius and Pallas and she has insisted that after such a mistake your family cannot be trusted. Yesterday, at the Emperor’s request, I personally crossed your name off the list of governors for next year; Titus Statilius Taurus will go to Africa in your place.’

‘Africa?’ Gaius blurted. ‘The Emperor was going to reward Vespasian with Africa?’

‘I’m afraid so, but it is not to be. A shame really, such a prestigious province.’

Gaius’ jowls quivered with outrage. ‘You took Africa away from our family?’

‘Calm yourself, senator; I did nothing. I just amended the list at the Emperor’s instructions after he had been advised by the Empress. She really doesn’t like you, Vespasian.’

‘I’m aware of that and of the real reason why; but she likes you even less.’

Narcissus parted his hands and exclaimed in feigned joy, ‘Ah! Back to the subject I can never tire of: me. Yes, she would have me dead; and what’s the best way to avoid that whilst at the same time doing yourselves a great service by removing the block to your family’s career?’

Vespasian glanced at his uncle and realised immediately that he would not be furnishing the answer. ‘Kill Agrippina?’

Narcissus tutted and raised his cup for another sip of wine before thinking better of it. ‘Kill another empress? I don’t think I’d survive that again, no matter how chaotic Claudius’ affairs are. No, gentlemen, the answer is to expose her for what she is.’

It was Vespasian’s turn to be dismissive. ‘You and Pallas both tried to do that with Messalina but Claudius refused to believe you.’

‘Precisely, but this time the emphasis has changed. Then we were trying to get Claudius to believe that Messalina had savoured most men of the equestrian and senatorial classes and gone through the Praetorian Guard century by century, which, despite the truth of it, is a huge claim and easily rebutted on the grounds of impossibility. This time I just have to convince Claudius that his wife is not only sleeping with his most trusted advisor but he’s also being cuckolded by her son whom she has persuaded him to adopt as his own.’ Narcissus leant forward on the desk, looking directly into Vespasian’s eyes. ‘It’s all rather nasty, wouldn’t you agree? And yet again our divine Emperor is looking less of a god and more of a fool. Of course, we’re used to that, but he’s not; I think that the shock will make him very vengeful and all three of his betrayers will, at the very least, live out the rest of their lives on a barren rock, rather like Agrippina’s namesake, her mother, and her two older brothers.’ He twitched the corners of his mouth once again into the closest he ever came to a smile. ‘You could almost say that it runs in the family.’

Vespasian could not but admire the logic of it. ‘With one move you rid yourself of both your rivals, remove Nero and restore Britannicus to the succession with you as the arbiter of the potential regent when the time comes. No doubt you would choose someone of little consequence who was also well in your debt and once more you would be the Master of Rome.’

‘And you would be governing whichever province you wished for; Sabinus’ error would be quietly forgotten and you, my dear Gaius, would have that long overdue consulship.’

Vespasian kept his face placid; he was tempted but he knew better than to trust this Greek. He remembered only too well how Narcissus had been prepared to go back on the promise never to reveal Sabinus’ part in the assassination of Caligula when political expediency pressed.

Gaius, however, took the bait: his eyes glinted in the lamplight. ‘What do you want us to do, my dear Narcissus?’

‘The only people that Claudius would believe are Agrippina or Pallas themselves.’

‘But neither of them is ever going to admit to the thing that’ll bring them down.’

‘Of course not, senator.’ The Greek’s irritation at a statement of the obvious was conveyed by a lowering of his voice.

Vespasian cocked an ear; the noise from the tavern had taken on a different timbre.

Gaius reddened. ‘I apologise.’

Narcissus flourished a dismissive wave, half-closing his eyes. ‘But they will confess to Claudius if the alternative is being accused of treason; palpable treason, for which they will most certainly be executed.’

‘Treason?’ Vespasian asked, his attention now back to the conversation. ‘What’ve they done?’

‘The timing and the source of these reports from the East and then the recent trouble in Armenia have led me to believe that Agrippina has precipitated a crisis that not even Pallas knows of. If my instincts are correct, it is connected to the Parthian embassy that your brother so carelessly lost; but as yet I have no proof. But both of you could help me with that. Now, if this treason comes to light, it will certainly be assumed that Pallas was a party to it and will be executed along with-’ A woman’s shriek from the tavern cut him off and he looked to the door in alarm.

Vespasian jumped to his feet; masculine shouts and bellows erupted, joined by the crashing of wooden furniture. Agarpetus pulled a sword from beneath his cloak, opened the door a fraction, looked out and then quickly stepped back.

Magnus came barrelling in. ‘We’re under attack!’ he yelled as he raced across the room to a wooden chest. ‘The bastards have used the celebrations to slip past our security.’ Throwing open the lid he pulled out a sword and lobbed it over to Vespasian; another two followed for Gaius and Narcissus as Sextus crashed in. ‘Take these into the tavern, brother,’ Magnus said as he scooped out the remainder of the box’s contents and jammed them into Sextus’ arms, keeping one back for himself, ‘and then pull back here with the lads. We’ll stop them in the corridor.’

‘Who’s attacking you?’ Vespasian asked, pulling the sword from its scabbard with a metallic ring.

Magnus rammed the tip of his blade between two floorboards. ‘Fuck knows, but they’re serious.’ With a grunt he pulled back on the weapon and sprang a board up.

Vespasian realised just how serious they were as the first whiff of smoke came through the door.

‘They’re torching the place!’ Narcissus shouted, drawing his sword and looking at the blade in disbelief.

‘That’s why we need to fight our way out of the back door,’ Magnus said, hauling a strongbox out from under the floor.

The clash of iron against iron rang above the yells; then a wail added to the noise, rising in pitch and fearful realisation — someone had been hideously wounded.

‘Uncle, help Magnus with that box.’ Vespasian pushed past Narcissus and Agarpetus and stuck his head around the door to see a couple of whores burst through the leather curtain from the bar; smoke wafted in with them. They turned down the corridor and then caught sight of him, screamed, doubled back and disappeared up the staircase at the other end. Vespasian ran along to the curtain and carefully pulled it back a fraction. Flames raged behind the bar where the cooking fire had been fed some incendiary liquid; a body writhed on the counter, its wails weakening as its flesh charred. Dozens of figures struggled in the blaze’s glow, in pairs or groups, wrestling hand to hand or stabbing at close quarters, screaming, cursing, growling as they fought for their lives. The bodies of the dying squirmed in agony on the floor, entangling the legs of friend and foe alike as men strove to keep their balance and their chances of survival. Over their heads and beneath the thickening pall of smoke Vespasian could see that the door at the narrow end was barred by two hulking shapes with staves — no one was leaving by that exit.

Sextus, bellowing like a goaded, chained bear, hacked and cut downwards onto a smaller opponent’s upturned sword, forcing it ever lower as his brothers slowly gave ground around him, under pressure from weight of numbers and the growing strength of the flames. There was no way forward, only back.

‘Sextus!’ Vespasian yelled into the room. ‘Now, before it’s too late!’

Sextus roared and sliced his blade down again with a force that dislodged his opponent’s from his grip. With a speed that belied his bulk, Sextus changed the stroke from vertical to horizontal, slicing through the exposed throat with an explosion of blood, black in the flicker of the flames, before backhanding the sword into the upraised arm of the intruder next to the dying man, taking the limb off at the elbow and sending it spinning, spiralling gore, over the heads of his comrades, weapon still in hand and glinting with firelight.

Vespasian backed away from the doorway as the South Quirinal Crossroads Brothers took advantage of the moment of extreme violence to retreat a few more steps. As he went back along the corridor the first of them pushed through the leather curtain.

‘Are they coming?’ Magnus asked as Vespasian ran back into the room.

‘As fast as they can,’ Vespasian replied.

Narcissus looked at him. For the first time Vespasian saw a genuine expression on the freedman’s face; it was fear. ‘I’m the imperial secretary; I can’t be trapped here. I must get out!’

‘We must all get out, but not that way.’

‘This way,’ Magnus said, unbolting the door on the far side of the room as Gaius struggled with the strongbox, ‘there’re two back doors, well, three actually.’

Narcissus and Agarpetus dashed past him into the darkness beyond.

The first few of the brothers scrambled into the room, wafting in thick smoke as they did. The noise of fighting in the corridor carried on, fierce and unremitting, as the rest of Magnus’ brethren gave ground slowly with Sextus’ voice booming above the rest.

‘Whoever’s attacking didn’t just come for tonight’s takings,’ Vespasian observed as he took one end of the strongbox from Magnus.

Magnus shook his head, both eyes glaring, one sightlessly. ‘No, and that makes me think that we’re in the middle of a commercial takeover.’ Sword in hand he headed back to the corridor door. ‘We’ll get all the lads in here first, secure the door and then make our break for it together; if this is a move by a rival brotherhood they may well know about the exits. Fall back, lads!’ Pulling a few of the brothers out of his way he made it to the corridor as the smoke intensified. ‘Sextus, get them all in here.’ He turned to an easterner, complete with pointed beard and trousers, and an old Greek with an ugly scar on his left cheek where his beard grew rough. ‘Tigran, take half the lads to the south exit and wait for me to give the go-ahead before you pull the bolts. Cassandros, take the rest to the northern one and don’t forget the sledgehammers, just in case. We all go together. And get the lads to relieve the senators of that strongbox; what the fuck are they doing manual labour for?’

Tigran and Cassandros moved off, marshalling the brothers, two of whom took the strongbox from Vespasian and Gaius, as Magnus pulled more in from the corridor until there was just Sextus’ thrashing bulk preventing him from securing the door. ‘Now, Sextus!’

Sextus leapt backwards and, with a lightning thrust, rammed the tip of his blade into the shoulder of the nearest intruder; the man fell back into his comrades and Magnus heaved on the door, slamming it shut just as Sextus extracted his sword. He jammed the bolt into its socket as Vespasian ran forward and retrieved the iron bar that barricaded the door; within an instant it was firmly wedged in its housings.

‘Time to go, sir. Well done, Sextus, my lad.’ Magnus turned and crossed the room with his brother following as the reinforced door started to shake with blows from the far side. ‘They’ll have to pull back soon because of the smoke.’

Vespasian went to the desk and blew out the last lamp left burning in the room, leaving it lit only by the dim light coming in from the escape route. Magnus was waiting for him and bolted the door behind him as he slipped into another corridor even longer than the last as the building widened in accordance with the diverging lines of the Alta Semita and the Vicus Longus. He followed Magnus across and into a small room. From beyond an open door at the far end came the sound of fighting.

‘The stupid bastards have tried to go before we’re all there,’ Magnus hissed as they ran towards the sound.

An instant later they burst into a storeroom, the width of the building; a dozen or so of the brothers were struggling to heave shut a door leading out to the Vicus Longus. A honed-muscled giant with scars on his forearms stood in the narrow opening, one foot on the body blocking the door from closing, lashing out with a bloody sword at all who fell upon him, his movements a blur of fluid motion.

‘Fucking ex-gladiator,’ Magnus cursed as he too threw his weight against the door. ‘Pull that body clear!’

As Tigran and another brother took it in turns to trade blows with the fighting machine trying to gain ingress, Vespasian bent down between the two brothers and caught hold of one of the dead man’s wrists. He pulled, using all his strength, and the dead weight slowly shifted. A ringing clash above his head made him instinctively jump back; Tigran had blocked a downward blow meant for his neck. The easterner parried again and Vespasian held his breath and grabbed the arm once more. This time he pulled with the desperation of a doomed man; the corpse slid, lubricated by its own blood. As the impediment cleared the opening, Magnus’ brethren slowly forced the door closed, compelling the ex-gladiator to retreat or risk losing an arm in the narrowing gap.

‘Who the fuck gave the word, Tigran?’ Magnus snarled as the door finally shut and the brothers slammed the bar across it.

‘He did, brother,’ Tigran shouted, pointing at the corner. ‘He and his freedman opened the door.’

Narcissus stood, cowering, looking down at the dead man at Vespasian’s feet. ‘I have to get out! I can’t die in a hole like this.’

‘You could have killed us all!’ Tigran shouted, lunging at Narcissus with his blade aimed at his throat.

Narcissus howled.

Vespasian grabbed Tigran’s wrist and arrested the stroke a thumb’s breadth from the Greek’s quivering flesh. ‘He stays alive!’

Tigran tried to force his arm forward but Vespasian held firm; with a nod and a shrug the easterner pulled back.

Narcissus spouted tears of relief.

Vespasian looked at the Greek who had ordered so many deaths; in disgust he kicked the corpse at his feet. Its head lolled into the light: Agarpetus.

Magnus wasted no time on recriminations. ‘Tigran, stay here with a couple of lads and keep an eye on the door. The rest of you, come with me.’ He ran to the other side of the room, but there was no exit to the Alta Semita, only a small window; he turned left up a further corridor.

Vespasian grabbed the sobbing Narcissus by the sleeve and hauled him away after Magnus.

At the far end of the corridor they came into a final room; there was one door to the Alta Semita but no other exit. It was crammed with at least a score of men.

‘I thought I’d be safer down here,’ Gaius told Vespasian as he pushed his way through to him. ‘I could see that Narcissus ordering Agarpetus to open the door before we were ready was a bad idea.’

‘What if they’ve blocked this exit too, Uncle?’

‘The prognosis wouldn’t look too favourable. There’s no other way out except for going back.’

‘I have to get out!’ Narcissus bleated.

But it was not the door that Magnus headed to; it was the blank wall on the opposite side. ‘We won’t risk the obvious way. Cassandros, you got the hammers?’

The scarred Greek nodded and indicated to a brother who lifted two weighty tools and handed one to Cassandros.

‘Get on with it then, lads.’

Magnus moved back and the brothers took their places next to the wall facing each other and hefted their hammers over their shoulders. In the dim light Vespasian could see a faint line, door-shaped, drawn upon it.

‘We keep this for special occasions,’ Magnus informed Vespasian and Gaius. ‘Never had to use it so let’s hope the bastards don’t know about it.’

The first blow hit with a resounding crack; on the other side of the room the tell-tale glow of flame flickered in the narrow gap between the ground and the door.

‘Soon as you like, boys,’ Magnus said as Tigran and his two lads came pelting up the corridor. ‘Don’t even say it, Tigran, I can guess. Just bolt that door.’

Tension in the room escalated as smoke began to creep under the door to the street and the flames on the other side grew. The hammers worked with fast alternate blows, soon knocking away all the thick plaster.

Vespasian’s heart sank as a solid wall of thin bricks was exposed; he looked over his shoulder to see that the fire was quickly gaining.

‘All right, lads, a few good blows each at the very base should do it.’

Vespasian watched, ever mindful of the danger eating its way through the wooden door, as the hammers beat at the lower bricks. To his great surprise the blows sent them shooting out; they had not been mortared. After three or four strikes there was a foot-high gap; an instant later two of the lower bricks fell to the ground and then the rest followed, tumbling, chinking down in a cloud of dust.

‘Clear it, lads,’ Magnus ordered.

Half a dozen brothers stepped forward and began heaving and hurling the bricks out of the way. After less than fifty heartbeats the mound was low enough to scramble over and the brothers streamed out. Vespasian found himself in the corner of a delta-shaped courtyard, stinking of rotting refuse and faeces, sandwiched behind the last tenements on both the Alta Semita and the Vicus Longus; to his left flames from the tavern at the apex of the junction could be seen rising to the sky, to his right were the backs of another couple of tenements divided by a narrow alley.

‘Quickly through there, lads, then split up and slow down; lose yourselves in the alleys on the other side.’

As the South Quirinal Brotherhood dispersed silently, Magnus had a quick word with Tigran and the brothers carrying the strongbox and then looked at Vespasian and Gaius. ‘I’d say that I’m going to have to rely on one of you for hospitality tonight.’

‘And maybe a few nights to come, my friend,’ Gaius observed.

‘I don’t think so, sir. If that was organised by who I think it was, then I’m a dead man if I stay. I’m out of Rome as soon as I can.’

‘What about me?’ Narcissus asked, some of his haughty dignity returning to his voice. ‘I can’t risk going to find my carriage. You must protect me; this was meant to be a safe place for a meeting.’

Magnus frowned at that statement and then led the way across the courtyard.

Vespasian looked at the Greek and wondered whether he would feel gratitude for saving his life or the opposite because his latent cowardice had been exposed.

He decided he had nothing to lose and would probably have more to gain by aiding him. ‘You’d better come with us.’

Speed was the issue, or, rather, lack of it, as Magnus guided Vespasian, Gaius and Narcissus through the unlit alleys and yards that separated the insalubrious dwellings, built with little thought of civic planning, between the two diverging major roads of the Quirinal. It was not Gaius’ girth nor was it Narcissus’ inability to run more than ten paces without gasping for breath that impaired their progress; it was the refuse, both solid and slimy, scattered on the dirt ground already laced with unseen potholes. Magnus cursed as he led them, single-file, stumbling forward, arms outstretched and feet taking unsure steps, through gloom that was only occasionally alleviated by guttering light from a candle burning in a window or a torch sputtering in a holder next to a door. From all around came shouts and cries, not the sounds of escape and pursuit but the noise of the inhabitants of this underbelly of the city arguing and fighting amongst themselves in an environment where contentment is a far-off dream.

Vespasian glanced over his shoulder; the end of the alley was faintly illuminated by the glow of the fire raging through the tavern, two hundred paces away. There were no signs of their attackers nor of Magnus’ brethren who had split up into small groups and fanned out in different directions, blending into the neighbourhood and losing themselves. But that was easy for men dressed in the rough woollen tunics and cloaks favoured by the urban poor; their passing would cause no more notice amongst the footpads and cut-throats than that of one of the mangy dogs that infested these lawless lanes.

He pulled off his cloak and handed it to Narcissus in front of him. ‘Cover your clothes with this; and keep your hands inside it so that your rings aren’t visible.’

‘Surely we’re safe enough with Magnus; no one’s going to rob us in his area when we’re with him?’

‘You may not have noticed,’ Magnus said, stumbling over an unseen obstacle that squelched and then gave off the sickly scent of decomposition, ‘but someone has just burnt down my crossroads headquarters and tried to kill me. I’d say that my authority in the area is at quite a low ebb at the moment. And besides, if a gang of thieves catch a glimpse of your rings or fine clothes in a pool of light and they outnumber us, they ain’t going to have a look to see who you’re with until we’re all lying down bleeding copiously from our slashed throats. I think that it’ll be a bit late by then, don’t you?’

Narcissus drew the cloak about him, breathing heavily after the exertion of talking and walking fast.

Gaius pulled his hood over his finely tonged hair. ‘Who do you think that was, Magnus?’

Magnus turned right with the confidence of a man who knew his way. ‘If it was one of the brotherhoods then it could be any number of them, but my guess is it was Sempronius’ lads from the West Viminal; we share a border and have a few disputed streets. Sempronius and me have never got on personally since a dispute over whore-boys twenty-five years ago. We’ve had a few run ins and he holds a grudge better than a woman.’

‘Do you want me to do something about him?’ Vespasian asked.

‘Oh, you’ll never be able to touch him, even as consul.’

‘Who protects him?’

‘His brotherhood controls the Viminal Gate and so consequently has close ties with the Praetorian Guard who use the brothels along the Vicus Patricius; Sempronius and Burrus, the prefect, have a very good understanding, if you take my meaning?’

‘So what will you do?’

‘I ain’t going to do anything, Tigran will. I spoke to him and told him to take the strongbox; he’ll take over now. It’s a younger man’s game and I don’t qualify any more, especially after losing the eye. He’ll do nothing until he knows for certain who it was and who’s behind them. If it was one of the brotherhoods, he’ll have to hit them hard and quickly. A lot of blood needs to be spilt in order for the South Qurinal to reassert itself.’

‘What do you mean “if”? Surely it was a rival brotherhood? You just said it was.’

‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you, sir? That is until you look at the timing. It might be just a coincidence but why did they choose to attack at precisely the moment that the Junior Consul and the imperial secretary were on the premises?’