The Dreams of Morpheus (2 page)

Walking swiftly, Magnus followed his companions left and then right into the street running behind the warehouses. Parallel with the harbour, it was lit only by the dim light oozing from open-fronted taverns and peopled by shadows. Drunken cries and raucous singing echoed up the high walls and the aroma of grilled meat mingled with those of sweat, urine and rotting refuse. Halfway to its end Magnus paused; a group of eight men in silhouette had turned into the street and were marching in two columns up the raised pavement towards him. ‘Shit! We can't turn round. It would be too obvious. We brazen it out if we're stopped, all right, lads?'

The brothers mumbled their agreement and followed their leader towards the representatives of the only real law enforcement in Ostia.

Magnus came to a set of three stones set in the road, placed there so that pedestrians could cross to the other side without soiling their feet, and positioned so that carts could still pass between them. ‘Marius and Cassandros, drop the ladder and stay on this side. Sextus, follow me.' He crossed the street with Sextus carrying the sack as the Vigiles' optio noticed the ladder discarded by Marius and Cassandros. ‘Don't look back, Sextus.' Magnus increased his pace as he heard the optio order his brothers across the street to halt and explain just why they had abandoned a perfectly good military scaling ladder at the sight of him and his men.

Magnus barged through a group of carousing sailors who thought better of taking exception to his manners at the sight of Sextus bearing down on them with a sledgehammer in his hand.

Then there came the sudden shout that he was dreading: ‘Halt!'

Magnus walked even faster.

‘You! Big man with the sack and your mate, halt!'

Magnus glanced round to see four of the Vigiles break into a run, heading towards him across the stepping stones, pulling their heavy cudgels from their belts whilst their comrades
chased after Cassandros and Marius, who had used the distraction to hare off in the opposite direction. ‘Run!' He sprinted away with Sextus in train, barrelling down the pavement regardless of other users who, in the main, ended up sprawled in the filth on the road.

Racing down the street, Magnus felt his chest tighten with every urgent pace and became horribly aware of his forty-four years. Very few of his brothers were under forty, most having served their twenty-five years under the Eagles or, as in Marius' case, in the navy. He threw another look over his shoulder and saw that the much younger Vigiles were gaining. ‘We'll have to turn and fight them, Sextus.' He looked up and saw the end of the street. ‘You go left and then turn straight back at them; I'll go right.'

Sextus nodded, frowning, looking at the sack in one hand and the sledgehammer in the other as he pounded along.

‘That way,' Magnus shouted, pointing to the left. He hurtled right, round the corner, then immediately turned and, putting his shoulder down, ran back to it as two of the Vigiles charged round. With a crack of ribs and a stunted grunt, Magnus' shoulder rammed into one of his pursuers' chests, catapulting him back and felling him like a sacrificed beast. The other man sprinted on a few more paces before realising what had happened; he stopped and turned. But Magnus was ready for him and snatched at his right wrist as the Vigile raised his club. Holding it in an iron grasp, he forced it down and round. The Vigile's breath puffed warm on Magnus' face, wine and onion clinging to it, as the man was slowly forced down. His left hand lashed out at Magnus, cracking a tight-fisted punch into his cheekbone that caused light to flash across his eyes and his grip to loosen just enough for the Vigile to raise his arm a fraction. Realising that in a protracted trial of strength the younger man would get the better of him, Magnus jerked his knee up into his genitals and felt the satisfying squash of a testicle. The wind fled from his opponent as his eyes popped and his mouth opened in a silent scream; his legs buckled and he collapsed to the ground, clutching his groin. Allowing himself one stout kick at the man's face as he passed, Magnus picked up his cudgel and ran on to
where Sextus was grappling with his second assailant; the first lay staring sightlessly at the night sky, his mouth and nose pulverised by a huge blow from the sledgehammer.

Without pausing in his stride, Magnus slammed the heavy club over the back of Sextus' opponent's head and felt the skull crack; the man went limp in Sextus' arms.

‘Time to go, Sextus, my lad,' Magnus shouted as he picked up the sack and pelted towards the crowded port.

‘Magnus!' Gaius Vespasius Pollo boomed, looking up from the breakfast he was obviously enjoying, next to the log fire crackling in the hearth of his atrium. He did not rise but indicated with a chubby, beringed hand that Magnus should take the chair opposite. ‘You were successful, I trust?' He placed half a hard-boiled egg into his mouth and chewed vigorously, causing his jowls and chins to wobble.

Magnus handed his cloak to the young, blond doorkeeper and crossed the dimly lit atrium; the first signs of dawn could be seen in the courtyard garden through the window. ‘We were, senator.' He sat, accepting a cup of warm, watered wine from another very attractive Germanic-looking slave boy.

‘You've not brought it with you, have you?'

‘Of course not, sir.' Magnus took a slug of his drink. ‘I left it at the Brotherhood tavern. I stopped there before coming over to you for a bit of er … refreshment, if you take my meaning?'

Gaius chuckled and cast an admiring eye at the boy waiting on them. ‘I'm sure I do. How many tablets were there?'

‘A couple of dozen.'

‘More than expected; I assume you've kept a little something for yourself as commission?'

‘Just the one tablet.'

‘A fair price; but don't let it be known.' Gaius pulled a ringlet of carefully tonged dyed-black hair from in front of his eyes and fixed Magnus with a hard stare. ‘Were you seen?'

Magnus placed his cup down on the table between them. ‘Yes and no. We were challenged but only after we left the warehouse; all the lads got away – just. One lad was a bit too enthusiastic
with a hammer and brought about an early demise to one of the Vigiles; but that might turn out to be a good thing.'

‘How so?'

‘Well, we left no sign of a break-in so the prefect of Ostia will only be concerned with who sent one of his ex-slave thugs to meet the Ferryman.'

‘Yes, but it would have been better to have had no fuss at all.'

‘Granted, but when the theft is noticed, if the owner reports it to the authorities, they'll be too busy looking for a Vigiles murderer to care that much.'

Gaius raised a finely plucked eyebrow and slipped an olive between his moist lips. ‘I very much doubt that; not when they realise who the owner is.'

Magnus felt his insides lurch. ‘You said that it was no one important.'

‘Well, he's not – in terms of Roman politics, that is. However, he does have some influential friends in the imperial household.'

‘Who is he?'

‘The Jewish Prince, Herod Agrippa.'

‘I heard that he'd fled Rome because of debt.'

‘He came back just recently; he managed to organise a very successful embassy of Parthian dissidents, which got him back in favour but not out of debt. The Emperor Tiberius rewarded him by making him tutor to his grandson, Tiberius Gemellus. So, in case the prefect takes a highly placed complaint of theft seriously and on the outside chance that you or one of your lads was recognised, I suggest you move the tablets out of your place to somewhere less obvious.'

Magnus downed the rest of his cup and held it out to be replenished. ‘Can't you just dispose of them?'

‘I'm afraid not, Magnus; not yet. But I'll send a message soon, telling you what I want done with them.' Gaius heaved his massive bulk up from the chair, his tunic straining to contain copious folds of flesh, and stood whilst a third slave boy – equally as pretty – began draping his toga about him. ‘Now, I must greet the rest of my clients and then I've an appointment to see the Lady Antonia before I go to the Senate.'

‘She's wanting a favour?'

‘No, I need her to return one. I'm hoping that as sister-in-law to Tiberius she can persuade him to grant my nephew, Vespasian, a travel permit to Egypt so that he can do some business there on his way back from Cyrenaica, once he's finished his year as quaestor. As you know, senators are forbidden to enter that bounteous province without the Emperor's permission and he doesn't give that too easily.'

‘You'll need to have done something very substantial for her to get that.'

Gaius smiled; his face aglow with firelight. ‘I already have, thanks to you, Magnus. What you stole was the very generous commission that Herod Agrippa received from the dissident Parthians for brokering their embassy. Antonia is going to sell it to recoup some of the considerable debt that he still owes her. You may find she's in such a good mood that you'll get a summons.'

‘Marcus Salvius Magnus, we have come to you because we hope that as the leader of the Crossroads Brotherhood in our quarter you can right the wrong that is being perpetrated on us.' The speaker, Duilius, an older man in his fifties, whom Magnus knew to be conscientious with his monthly payments to the Brotherhood in return for their protection of his sandal and belt business near the Porta Collina, paused and spread his hands towards Magnus in supplication.

Magnus looked at the crowd of shopkeepers, traders, residents and businessmen before him, all from the South Quirinal. There were a lot of them, more than could fit into the room behind the tavern that he normally used for such meetings; hence they were grouped round the rough tables set outside at the apex of the acute junction between the Alta Semita and the Vicus Longus, both busy with morning trade. Such a large deputation could only mean one thing: it was a serious problem and he would have to solve it for them or lose considerable face, maybe even his position – or perhaps his life.

Magnus felt Servius shift his weight on the bench next to him.

‘Do you speak for everyone, Duilius?' his counsellor asked, rubbing the loose wrinkled skin at his throat with claw-like hands.

‘I do.'

‘Then shall we three retire inside and discuss the matter in more comfort?'

‘No, Servius; all should witness the conversation.'

Magnus glanced at his counsellor; his rheumy eyes confirmed that this was indeed a serious problem that could not be ignored. He looked back at the delegation, steepled his hands and, leaning forward on the table, pressed them to his lips. ‘Speak, Duilius.'

‘For the last month or so we have been in receipt of short measures from the grain dole. We are entitled every market interval to one modius of grain per citizen, which normally fills a tub this big.' He illustrated with his hands a tub about one foot across and not quite as tall. ‘However, recently the dole has often been one sextius short; not all the time, you understand, but a significant amount since we noticed and started checking.'

Magnus could see where this was going and he did not like it: he was headed for a clash with someone from the senatorial class. ‘You're claiming that the aedile for this area is cheating you out of a sixteenth of your dole?'

‘Yes, Magnus. We think that he's had some of the modius measures made smaller because the public slaves who distribute the grain still fill them all to the brim – and yet sometimes the measure is short. We know from acquaintances working in the granaries here in Rome and at Ostia that the stocks are dwindling and, until the first Egyptian grain fleet arrives next year, we are heading for a shortage, which always means higher prices. We believe that Publius Aufidius Brutus is skimming off the top of our dole and hording it for himself so as to sell it when the price inflates next year.'

Magnus nodded, able to see the logic in the aedile's scheme; if it were true that Rome was heading for a shortage there would be fortunes to make in speculation.

‘Is this happening in other areas?' Servius asked.

‘Does it matter? The fact is that it's happening here, to us.'

Magnus turned to look at Servius. ‘Have any of the lads mentioned this to you?'

‘No, but if Brutus is clever, as I'm sure he is, then he wouldn't try to cheat anyone that he knew was a member of the Brotherhood; he'll make sure that the altered measures are only used at certain distribution points.'

Magnus grunted. ‘Well, he ain't that clever; if he pisses off our people he pisses us off too.'

‘I imagine he will try to reach some sort of arrangement with us.'

Duilius cleared his throat. ‘That's what we thought he would do, try to buy you off with a small percentage of the huge profit that he's liable to make, then you and he will leave us to suffer.'

Magnus' eyes hardened as he stood, almost pushing the bench over and Servius with it. ‘We take your money for two reasons, Duilius.' He pointed to the altar of the Crossroads Lares embedded in the tavern's walls; a flame burnt there constantly, tended by one of the brothers in turn. ‘First, to help service our sacred duty to the deities of this area, for the good of the whole community. Second, to protect you from outside interference. If you are being ripped off, then we will see justice done and not be bought off by the perpetrator, whomever it is – even if he comes from a family that has held the consulship. Do you understand me, Duilius? If I ever hear you questioning my honesty again things may not go so well for a few of your slaves and then how would your business be, if you take my meaning?'

Duilius held his hands up. ‘Forgive me, patronus; I didn't mean to imply that you would take the bribe. I just meant that I thought you would be offered one.'

Magnus sat back down. ‘Very well.' He looked round the crowd. ‘Is there anything else?' There were negative murmurs and shakes of heads. ‘I'll work out a way of having a private chat with Publius Aufidius Brutus and try to impress upon him the need to desist in this matter.'