The Racing Factions (3 page)

‘We could kill him but he’s well protected and anyway that’s too clean and quick for what he did. I can’t allow people to humiliate me in front of a couple of the brothers; that sort of thing gets around and before you know it there’re mutterings about a change of leadership. I want to see him suffer and I want the brothers to be reminded about what happens to men who cross me.’

‘Ruin him, then; but the problem is how to place a bet with him big enough to do that and certain enough to win.’

Magnus thought for a few moments and then smiled; his dark eyes twinkled in the lamplight. ‘We need to fix a race.’

Servius pulled at the loose, wrinkled skin of his throat. ‘Of course we do.’

‘You can get odds of forty or fifty to one for all three chariots of one team to come in first, second and third.’

‘Yes, but he’s got to be worth at least a million denarii; you’d still have to bet at least twenty-five thousand denarii to have a chance of ruining him. That’s a thousand aurei. We don’t have that sort of money; and, even if we did, how would we make him pay up?’

‘No, we don’t have that sort of money, nor would Ignatius be terrified enough of us to honour the bet even if we did, but . . .’ Magnus paused and winked at Servius.

The old man broke into a brown-toothed grin. ‘I take your meaning: there is someone who would frighten Ignatius into parting with his last sestertius, and he certainly does have that sort of cash. But how could you make Ahenobarbus place such a bet with him?’

‘That’s where Ignatius’ greed will be his downfall. I think, brother, that, despite how much the idea repulses me, we’re going to organise a Red one-two-three.’

Magnus pushed his way through the drinkers in the tavern, past the amphorae-lined bar and on to his table in the far corner, which had a good view of the door; the regulars knew better than to occupy it and passing customers, who lacked the benefit of such knowledge, were soon made aware of their transgression.

A Greek with a nasty scar along his jaw, which reduced his beard to clumps, brought a jug of wine and a cup and set it on the table.

‘Thanks, Cassandros,’ Magnus grunted. ‘Sit down a moment.’

Cassandros complied whilst pouring Magnus’ wine.

‘I need you to do what for you should be a pleasant job.’

Cassandros grinned lopsidedly. ‘So I’ll be mixing business with pleasure.’

‘Very much so. Tomorrow I want you to go down to the Campus Martius and hang around the Red stables.’

Cassandros’ face fell. ‘But tomorrow is the Lupercalia.’

‘And you’re going to miss it. I know you enjoy watching patrician youths running naked through the streets whipping women with thongs of goatskin but, let’s face it, the ceremony is to help women conceive and therefore completely irrelevant to a man of your tastes. Instead you’re going to find yourself a nice attractive Red stable lad or whatever and show him a good time; Servius will give you some cash to cover your expenses. Take him home, give him a serious going-over and leave him panting for more, if you take my meaning?’

‘I do indeed, brother. How long do you want me to keep him desirous of my services?’

‘Shouldn’t be more than a month I’d guess; and then I’ll be wanting some information from him.’

Cassandros frowned. ‘You’re not thinking of betting on the Reds, are you?’

‘Why would a lifelong Green do a thing like that? Don’t you worry about what I’m thinking of doing; you just concern yourself with making a nice young lad very friendly.’

‘Only the aedile in charge of the games can do that,’ Gaius informed Magnus as they made their way up the Palatine, rife with crowds, the following morning. ‘Only four bookmakers are licensed to operate in the senators’ enclosure: Albus, Fabricius, Blasius and Glaucio; and all of them have paid very hefty bribes for the privilege, as I’m sure you can imagine. It’s a very lucrative position.’

‘Do you know the aedile?’ Magnus asked as a group of women came running, laughing and screeching in excitement, towards them.

‘I do.’

The women dashed past, their laughter and footsteps echoing off the grand buildings of the Palatine, pursued by a group of naked youths, in varying states of arousal, lashing at them with freshly cut, bloody strips of goatskin. The crowds on the pavements cheered them on; young girls held out their hands to be whipped, giggling as the youths obliged them.

‘And?’ Magnus asked as Gaius eyed the youths in appreciation, turning his head as they passed.

‘And it makes no difference. There’re already four book-makers with the senatorial-enclosure licence.’

‘What would happen if there were suddenly three?’

‘Ah! That would be a different matter altogether; then there would be a vacancy which the aedile would be duty-bound to fill.’

‘Do you know him well enough to make a recommendation?’

Gaius tore his eyes from the retreating youths’ buttocks and gave Magnus a sly look. ‘And whom should I be recommending?’

‘Ignatius.’

‘A friend of yours?’

‘Quite the opposite.’

‘Then why help him?’

‘It’s partly to do with Sabinus.’

‘In which case I’ll be only too pleased to help – but it’ll be expensive.’

‘Don’t worry, senator, you’ll be able to recoup that money and a lot more besides.’

They stopped outside a single-storey house that, although tall and grand in structure, was not ostentatious compared to other buildings on the Palatine. Its windowless walls were painted a plain white, and it lacked any extraneous decoration.

Gaius slapped Magnus on the shoulder. ‘Thank you, Magnus. If you wouldn’t mind waiting for me whilst I have my interview with Antonia, I shouldn’t be long.’

‘Of course, senator. One thing before you go in: does Antonia have anything to do with Ahenobarbus?’

‘He’s her nephew, the son of her late elder sister, another Antonia. And he’s married to her granddaughter, Agrippina.’

‘Is he now? Does Antonia have any influence over him?’

Gaius rapped on the bronze-studded oaken door. ‘A little, but not enough to make him forgo all the bribes from the other candidates.’ A viewing slat slipped back and after a brief pause the doors were opened. Gaius walked in leaving Magnus deep in thought.

‘I thought the offer of a tour would be of interest to you.’ A broad-shouldered young man with military-style cropped hair and a tanned face greeted Magnus at the entrance of the Greens’ stables in the shadow of the Flaminian Circus.

‘More than you would know, Lucius, my friend.’ Magnus grasped the proffered forearm. ‘It’s good of you to remember your promise. When did you get back from Moesia?’

‘A couple of days ago; I’ve got a month’s leave in the city. Let’s go in.’

Lucius led Magnus through the arched gate, acknowledging two guards who made Ignatius’ protectors look like boy-players in the theatre.

‘How come they let you in?’ Magnus asked, eying the two colossi.

‘All my family work for the Greens; my uncle’s the stable-master now, I can come and go as I please.’

They walked into a busy, rectangular yard, two hundred paces long and half that across. The two long sides consisted of solely of stables, hundreds of them; whilst the shorter sides housed a mixture of workshops, forges, warehouses and offices. The air was scented with the sweet, animal smell of horses and filled with the sound of their hooves clattering on the paved ground as they were exercised in groups of four or in pairs. At one end, teams of carpenters were repairing those chariots only mildly damaged in yesterday’s racing, replacing broken struts in the light frames and restretching green linen over them. Next to them blacksmiths fitted glowing-red iron tyres on the eight-spoked wheels and dipped them, steaming and hissing, into tubs of water, contracting the metal so it fitted tightly around the rim. Everywhere there was activity: hunched leather-workers stitching harnesses and traces, dusty grooms currying horses, sweating slaves unloading bags of feed from a covered wagon, boys running errands, axles being greased; hammering, joking, neighing, sawing, shouting and whickering – all the business of a faction’s stables on the day after a race.

‘Were you there yesterday?’ Magnus asked as they wove their way through the plethora of pursuits.

‘Of course, I was helping my uncle in the Forum Boarium; we had a hundred and forty-four horses in the teams yesterday, plus all the hortatores’ mounts and the spares. Busy day.’

‘And only one winner.’

‘Yeah, shit, weren’t it? We haven’t had a day like it for years even through it was only a half-day’s racing. The faction-master was livid; although judging by the size of his purse at the end of the day he wasn’t just betting on his own team.’

‘Bastard.’

‘Yeah. Especially as it’s not allowed for anyone who works in the faction’s stables; one rule for them and one rule for us – you know how it is, my friend. If we get caught betting on another team we get expelled from the stables.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘It’s assumed that the only reason you would want to bet on an inferior team is because you’ve been fraternising with them and got some tips in exchange for information about your own team’s plans or, even worse, you’ve bribed the drivers to throw a race.’

Magnus stroked the muzzle of one of the finest pieces of horseflesh he had ever been close to: a beautiful bay Gaetulian mare from the province of Africa.

‘Spendusa,’ Lucius informed him. ‘She’s a rarity.’

‘I know; most racehorses are stallions.’

Spendusa whickered gently, her breath and soft, flaccid lips warming the palm of Magnus’ hand.

‘We have one team of mares. It’s a new idea: we don’t expect them to win but we’re going to use them when they come on heat. The hope is that they’ll distract the stallions in the other teams and allow our other two chariots to come in first and second.’

‘But they’ll be just as distracted as the rest.’

‘Not if they’re two teams of geldings.’

‘Nice.’ Magnus grinned and stroked Spendusa’s well-muscled flank. ‘Will it work?’

‘My uncle says that it already has in experiments in the Flaminian Circus. The stallions under-perform – they’re too busy trying to get a sniff; whereas the geldings just press on thinking about nothing more than their feed-bag at the end of the race.’

Magnus whistled appreciatively. ‘That’ll piss off the other factions.’

‘It’ll cause a riot.’

‘It will. When are you going to try it?’

‘They’re next on heat at the calends of March, Mars’ birthday. We’re going to put them in one of the races on that day, after the armed priesthood of the Salii have finished their round of the city.’

‘Which race?’

‘I don’t know yet but I’ll tell you when I find out.’

‘Now that’s the sort of information that’s worth a lot of money.’

‘I know. And I’m telling you because I want you to pass it on to Tribune Vespasian as a thank you for his saving me from execution back in Thracia. Hopefully he’ll be able to profit from it.’

Magnus laughed and slapped an arm around Lucius’ shoulders. ‘And Vestals will stop taking a close interest in their middle fingers. I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong thank-you gift there, my friend; Vespasian’s about as likely to put money down on a wager as I am to take it up the arse from a Nubian. And, besides, he’s away from Rome for a few months at his estate in Cosa. I, on the other hand, will be only too pleased to profit in his stead.’

Lucius shrugged. ‘Fair enough, I owe you as well. I should know which race we’re entering them for by Equirria festival, two days before the calends. Come and see me then.’

‘What do you know about the bookmakers Albus, Fabricius, Blasius and Glaucio?’ Magnus asked Servius. They were sitting on one of the rough wooden tables outside the crossroads tavern, idly throwing dice; no money was involved. Around them, the Brotherhood was similarly occupied whilst at the same time keeping their eyes on the constant stream of passersby making their way to and from the Porta Collina, just a couple of hundred paces away along the Alta Semita, or frequenting the open-fronted shops on the ground floor of tenements that lined the street.

‘Aside from the fact that they are all licensed to operate in the senators’ enclosure in the Circus Maximus?’

Magnus smiled, impressed by the speed with which his counsellor made the connection. ‘Yes, I know that.’

‘Albus and Glaucio both come from the Aventine: born and bred in the tenements on the far side by the granaries; but they now live in far grander houses on the summit. They’ve known each other and been rivals since boyhood; their mutual loathing is surpassed only by a hatred of any other bookmakers. Despite their antipathy they work together to fix odds to protect their businesses.’ Servius threw the dice and grimaced his disgust.

Magnus retrieved the offending articles. ‘So they need each other?’

‘Yes, it’s a perverse sort of loyalty but a strong one.’

‘What about the other two?’

‘Fabricius is a freedman; he lives on the Caelian, close to the Servian Wall. He’s completely ruthless and deals harshly with everyone who crosses him; he even had a neighbour’s house torched because the man built up another storey and took the sun from his garden. Four people died, including the owner, but nothing could be proved, of course. Apart from his bodyguards and bet-takers, Fabricius’ whole household is made up of female slaves who are – how shall I put it? – extremely well fed.’

‘Big and bouncy, eh?’ Magnus chuckled, shaking the dice-cup and throwing.

‘Which is ironic as he has no spare flesh on him whatsoever; although I’m told he eats like a slave at the Saturnalia.’

Magnus examined his score. ‘So he wallows in copious amounts of female flesh to make up for it; I suppose it keeps him warm in winter.’

Servius wrinkled his nose. ‘But what about in a hot summer?’ Magnus pushed the dice across the table. ‘Don’t bear thinking about.’

‘Quite. Blasius, however, lives on the west slope of the Esquiline, not far from the Querquetulian Gate. I don’t know anything about him other than he is, like the other three, fabulously wealthy. They’re all as well guarded as people who regularly take huge chunks of senatorial money can expect to be and they all pay for the protection of their local brotherhoods; so they’re very hard to get at – if that is your intention, which I assume it is.’