Everywhere was quiet. It was dinnertime in Rome. This was a fine day in early September, between the Calends and the Nones, still in the school holidays; not a festival; before the Roman Games; not a black day in the calendar. Absolutely nothing noteworthy about the day at all, in fact.
Nobody saw three men hold a short discussion, after which they all walked into the dingy alley. They were comfortably built and capable, so they all went with confidence. A few moments later, there were sounds of a short scuffle, expertly managed. It was followed by dull metallic noises, as if someone had pulled up and dropped a large manhole cover. The Great Sewer, the Cloaca Maxima, ran beneath the rutted roadway, taking sewage and storm water to the River Tiber.
Not long afterwards, two people strolled out again from that alley. Emerging into the late evening light, they walked unhurriedly, comfortable in an easy friendship. They looked like two men casually eating pastries and perhaps talking about the races. Two men who were preparing to leave the streets after the day's business and who were setting off home to their families.