The Crossroads Brotherhood (6 page)

Within moments the doors were shut and a pile of twenty Urban Cohort uniforms, minus the armour and shields, lay in a heap on the floor.

‘Right lads, sort it all out into twenty sets,’ Magnus said, putting his arm around Aelianus’ shoulders. ‘You, my friend, are coming with me to fuck the best-looking girl we have working here, and all for free.’

‘What’s the catch, mate?’

‘No catch, I just want you to tell her what the Cohort are planning to do in three nights’ time.’

‘I don’t know what we’re planning in three nights’ time.’

‘Of course you don’t, quite rightly you take no interest in the doings of your unit, but I shall enlighten you as we walk.’

‘A
QUILINA
,
COME AND
meet my very good friend and one-time comrade, Aelianus,’ Magnus shouted as he led the quartermaster through the door into the fug of the tavern.

Aquilina disengaged herself from a disgruntled old man and walked through the crowded room. A plumper colleague took her place.

‘Aelianus has just done me a huge favour,’ Magnus informed her as she came up to them, smiling sweetly, ‘and I want you to be very, very nice to him. I’m paying so anything he wants, if you take my meaning?’

‘Oh I do Magnus,’ Aquilina ran her hand up the inside of Aelianus’ thigh. ‘Anything he likes, for as long as he likes.’ Aelinaus’ mouth fell open as he gawped at her with undisguised lust. ‘But there’s no need to pay me Magnus – any friend of yours is a friend of mine.’

‘If you insist.’

‘It’ll be a pleasure.’

‘In that case you can use my room.’

‘Thank you Magnus,’ Aquilina purred leading Aelianus off and flashing Magnus a sweet smile over her shoulder.

As they disappeared through the door, his eyes hardened. It was almost a shame that she was going to have to lose that pretty smile.

A
LMOST AN HOUR
later, Magnus was sitting in the back room when he heard footsteps on the bare wooden stairs coming down from the first floor. He put down the knife that he had been sharpening and looked at Servius. ‘Seems like Aelianus has had his fill of Aquilina.’

‘I would say that it is probably the other way around, Brother.’

‘Yeah, too true,’ Magnus laughed, getting up. ‘Let’s hope that he’s still got the energy for a bit of fire-starting.’ He opened the door and, stepping out into the dingy corridor, saw Aquilina appear at the bottom of the stairs.

‘Your friend has quite worn me out, Magnus,’ she said with a touch of exaggeration, ‘I’m going to call it a night, if that’s alright with you?’

‘Nothing to do with me, my girl – you work as and when you want to, so long as you pay your percentage.’

Aquilina smiled brightly. ‘Of course. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then.’ She disappeared into the tavern with a little wave.

Servius joined Magnus. ‘Do you want me to have her followed?’

‘No, she might notice, and it wouldn’t do for her to become suspicious. Anyway, we know where she’s going.’

Aelianus lumbered down the stairs looking conspicuously florid. What was left of his ginger hair stuck out at odd angles.

‘How did it go?’ Magnus asked.

‘Very well,’ Aelianus replied with a grin, ‘I surprised myself and, I like to think, the lovely Aquilina too. You heard her – she said that she wouldn’t be able to have another customer for the rest of the night after my performance.’

‘Yeah? Well don’t take it too hard but that was just her excuse to get out of here and go and tell a few tales to her real master. I meant how was the pillow-talk?’

Aelianus looked slightly downcast. ‘It was fine. I told her that I’d come to warn you, as an old mate from the Cohort, that the Urban Prefect was planning a raid on one of your clients’ establishments in a few days time, someone called Terentius. That’s why you wanted me to have her as a reward.’

‘What then?’

‘Well after that she started saying that I must be very important to have that sort of information and how much important men like me excited her…What she can do with her—’

‘I know mate,’ Magnus cut in, ‘I’ve had her too. Just tell me the part I need to know.’

‘Sorry. Well she carried on asking me about the Cohort and the raid … you know … now and again … until I told her that it wasn’t to be the first raid, there was going to be one in three days time on an establishment on the Viminal owned by easterners.’

‘And she swallowed it?’

Aelianus raised his eyebrows and nodded, grinning. ‘Yeah, all of it.’

Magnus slapped him on the shoulder. ‘You did well, my friend, I hope you’ll be as successful with the fire.’

‘It won’t be a problem Magnus but I’d appreciate a couple of your lads to help me spread some oil.’

‘Fine. Come over tomorrow and collect your money.’

‘I’m looking forward to it.’

‘Oh, and leave those handcarts here, mate.’

‘They’re no good to you – they’ve got Cohort insignia branded all over them.’

‘I know.’ Magnus turned to his counsellor. ‘Brother, we’ve got work to do. Get a couple of the lads for our good friend here and see him out, and then slowly get the rest moving up to the Lamp-makers’ street in twos and threes. I’ll meet you there in a couple of hours.’

T
HE TWO DOORMEN
outside Terentius’ establishment were equally as large as those guarding the Albanians’ place. Magnus, however, had nothing to fear from them as he and his party approached the house awhile later.

‘Evening lads, your master’s expecting me,’ he said striding up the worn steps to the door of the elegant marble-fronted house. Torches attached to each of the two columns of the portico illuminated the well-crafted drawing of an erect phallus, above the door, succinctly advertising the business transacted within.

The doormen immediately stepped aside, one giving a coded knock on the door as he did so. The viewing slot slid back and a pair of eyes perused Magnus for a few moments before the door opened.

‘One of you show my boys around the back,’ Magnus ordered, pointing down the steps where Marius and his mates stood with the handcart. Behind them the inevitable night-time parade of carts and wagons rumbled past in both directions. The shouts of the drivers and the clatter of hooves and iron-rimmed wheels filled the cold air, and the moonlit darkness was given substance by wisps of smoke and the breath of both man and beast.

Once satisfied that his brothers were being taken care of, Magnus walked through the open door into a small vestibule lined with cloaks. He recognised one as that of a Praetorian. He stepped out into an atrium furnished with couches, some empty and some holding youths in various states of undress. Oil-lamps and the orange flicker of flaming sconces, gave the room a feeling of intimacy and homeliness. The sweet chords of a lyre blended with the gentle patter of a couple of fountains at either end of the impluvium and any conversation between the boys was conducted in a soft murmur.

A slave in his late twenties, evidently too old to be of interest to most of the clientele but strikingly good-looking nonetheless, proffered Magnus a tray holding cups of wines. He took one at random as Terentius appeared at the far end of the room.

‘You honour me with your presence,’ the whore-boy master said formally, walking elegantly through the room, one foot placed exactly before the other, dressed in a woman’s
stola
. His long auburn hair fell loose to below his shoulders, half-concealing two drop-pearl earrings. Kohl lined his sea-grey eyes, rouge delicately enhanced his cheeks and his lips were painted a soft pinkish-red.

Really not bad at all, Magnus found himself thinking as he downed his wine, if you like that sort of thing. ‘Thank you Terentius,’ he replied, placing his empty cup back on the tray and helping himself to another. ‘We have business to discuss.’

‘Come.’ Terentius beckoned with his left arm and inclining his head so that a few strands of hair fell across his face; with an unhurried brush of his right palm he eased them back into place as he turned and walked back the way he had come. His body swayed sensuously beneath the fine fabric of his
stola.

Magnus followed, glancing left and right at the whore-boys languishing on their couches and realised that Terentius had not been exaggerating about his taste. They were all exquisite but each in a different way, whether it be skin, hair, or physical build; however, they all had one thing in common: they were undeniably beautiful. Each was immaculately turned out, clean and well-groomed and although the perfumes with which they adorned themselves were thicker and headier than those of women, they were still intoxicating.

Magnus raised his eyebrows and found himself wondering whether he might not take advantage of Terentius’ offer to sample the goods on display. He followed the whore-boy master into a corridor with a slanted ceiling. On one side lay moon-lit windows looking out onto a courtyard garden; on the other, six evenly-spaced doors on with oil-lamps set into a niche in the wall. Four of the lamps were burning.

‘He’s down at the end,’ Terentius whispered.

As they progressed down the corridor Magnus realised that the lit oil-lamps were a sign of occupancy.

Terentius reached the last door and knocked three times. After a brief pause it was opened by the same scarred boy who had delivered the message earlier.

‘Is he still sleeping deeply, Bricius?’ Terentius asked, stepping into the room. Magnus followed him in.

‘Yes Master, I’ve poured a few more drops down his throat and he hasn’t stirred,’ Bricius replied, wincing in evident pain from his wound.

Magnus walked in; the room was of a good size and decorated with homo-erotic frescoes depicting acts between men and youths. It was furnished sparsely but with taste and was dominated by a large, richly covered bed upon which lay the recumbent form of Tribune Blandinus, breathing deeply.

‘You’ve done well, Terentius,’ Magnus said approvingly, patting him on the back.

Terentius looked down sadly at Blandinus and stroked his short-cropped black hair before running his hand over his tanned, high cheek-bones and then tracing the line of his straight jaw. ‘I won’t ask what’s going to happen to him but I imagine that I won’t see him again. A pity – he was always very good to me, never too gentle but never too bestial, I shall miss him.’

‘Yeah well, that’s one of them things,’ Magnus mumbled, ‘Fortuna wasn’t kind to him and he drew the long straw. Nothing you can do.’

‘No, I understand.’

‘Now, my lads are around the back with a cart, I need a couple of them in here to help move them.’

‘Yes of course,’ Terentius replied in a small voice, running his finger along the drugged man’s lips. ‘Bricius, go and fetch them.’

The boy ran off leaving Magnus watching uncomfortably as the whore-boy master continued caressing Blandinus’ face, kohl-stained tears trickled from his eyes.

Fortunately after a few moments the sound of footsteps came from the corridor. Marius and Sextus came through the door.

‘Right lads,’ Magnus said with relief, ‘an arm over each shoulder and drag him out to the cart.’

 ‘Drag
him
to the cart,’ Sextus repeated slowly pointing at Blandinus, anxious not to get anything wrong.

‘Yes Sextus, that’s right, the man on the bed.’

‘Right you are Magnus.’

As his brothers lifted the sleeping Tribune, Magnus found himself putting an arm around Terentius. ‘I’m afraid that this comes from people far above us and there ain’t nothing that I can do unless I risk my standing with them; which I wouldn’t do for no one.’

Terentius sobbed gently. ‘Nor would I Magnus, I understand how favours work, I’d be a fool not to. It’s just that he was a decent man, who knows what sort of bastard will take his place.’

Magnus nodded and slapped Terentius jovially on the shoulder. ‘You’ll have good news in the morning, my friend.’

‘I hope so. Bricius will see you out.’

As Magnus turned to follow the slave boy out he paused and looked back. ‘Get rid of that Praetorian cloak in the vestibule, just in case someone comes asking any questions.’

Terentius raised his eyes and smiled. ‘I shall have it made into a blanket for my bed.’

Magnus shook his head disbelievingly and left the room.

M
AGNUS WALKED BRISKLY
and with confidence up a narrow street ascending the northern slope of the Viminal. Moonlight and the occasional spill of dim lamp-light from an open window provided just enough illumination for him to keep up a quick pace without fear of losing his footing on the uneven, wet paving stones. Behind him Lucio, Cassandros and the two Armenians struggled with the hand cart containing their swords, helmets and the sleeping Tribune, who was covered with a leather sheet. Marius and Sextus brought up the rear, hands on the hilts of their daggers at their waists. Now and again a snatch of conversation or the harsh tones of an argument floated out from the dwellings on either side but otherwise their route was comparatively peaceful. The few figures that came into view melted into the shadows before they passed, unwilling to confront or be confronted by a relatively large group led by a man with such an air of authority and purpose.