‘Over there.’ Cassandros pointed west.
Magnus followed his gaze over the shadowy rooftops of the Subura below, past the white marble edifices of the Palatine and on to the warehouse district in the lee of the tree-lined Aventine. There, sure enough, was a faint orange glow outlining the group of Cypress trees surrounding a temple on the side of the hill. ‘Good man Aelianus,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Cassandros, go and tell Sextus to have the lads stand by, I’m just going to watch the fire for a few moments to make sure that it’s growing.’
Cassandros nodded and then clattered down the steps, the hobnails of his Cohort sandals causing a few dull sparks on the damp stone. Magnus took in the view. Almost a million people resided in this city — most of them crammed into half of it whilst the lucky, elite minority enjoyed the rest. From where he stood it seemed almost peaceful, hardly a sound reached his ears and the only sure sign of habitation were the many trails of smoke climbing high into the air to form a hazy, moon-drenched ceiling over the Seven Hills. He glanced over his left shoulder towards the brooding presence of the Praetorian camp, just two hundred paces outside the Viminal Gate. Constructed like any other legionary camp its torch-strewn layout was very familiar to Magnus, even though he had never visited it. He offered a silent prayer to Jupiter and Fortuna that it would remain that way after the events of the next half-hour, then checked the progress of the fire. Satisfied that it was escalating, he made his way back down to his brothers who stood ready in a column three abreast. The Armenians stood to the rear with the hand-carts that held the ladders and the still recumbent tribune.
Taking his position at the head, Magnus raised his right arm, brought it down swiftly and the column set off in step down the Lamp-makers’ street. As they progressed, Magnus saw a few shutters on either side of the street open and close quickly, the occupants wanting nothing to do with a unit of the Urban Cohort marching down their road. Magnus smiled to himself knowing that when questions were asked there would be more than a few witnesses able to swear that they saw the men of the Cohort.
Bringing the column to a halt just before the alley, he turned to Servius. ‘Alright brother, get your boys into position. And remind the lads we need two people left alive: one of their whore-boys and that bearded bastard who raped the boy the other night.’
Immediately the five ladders were unloaded, and the fourteen men who were to accompany Servius over the rear wall made their way up the alley.
Once the ladders were set against the wall with three men waiting behind each one Magnus patted Servius on the shoulder. ‘Keep the boys quiet brother whilst I go and take a look at the front. I’ll come back and tell you once it’s clear.’
Taking his four lads and the Armenians with the second cart, he made his way to the end of the street and cautiously peered around the corner. The Vigiles were still there with the doormen but their attention was on the orange glow in the sky to the west.
Magnus waited for what seemed an age, praying that what he had counted upon would come to pass. After many a muttered entreaty to the whole pantheon of gods, a Vigiles optio eventually came pounding up the Via Patricius.
‘You men! Follow me at the double,’ he shouted to his subordinates.
‘But we’re meant to stay here for the night, optio,’ one of the Vigiles protested.
‘Fuck the whore-boys, that’s the Cohort’s depot on fire. The Urban Prefect will have our guts out if he hasn’t got anything to dress his toy-soldiers up in tomorrow. Macro’s ordered every available man down there.’
With a shrug the four Vigiles jogged off towards the conflagration leaving the two doormen alone.
Magnus ran back to the alley. ‘Now Servius,’ he hissed.
Instantly five men scaled the ladders, then crouched and leant back down to help their comrades. Once all fifteen were on the roof, the ladders were pulled up after them and they split into three groups.
As they disappeared from his vision Magnus went back to join his party. ‘Tigran and Vahram, get our guest ready.’
The Armenian cousins pulled back the leather sheet and, with a degree of difficulty, hefted Blandinus out of the cart and supported him between them, an arm around each shoulder.
Faint shouts and screams suddenly emanated from within the Albanians’ establishment. ‘Right, they’re in,’ Magnus whispered looking at the two Armenians. ‘When I give you the signal you run around the corner hollering in Albanian for all you’re worth that the place is under attack and you’ve brought a wounded man from round the back. We’ll be twenty paces behind you so you won’t have long to hold the door once you’ve killed the doormen. Don’t worry if you drop matey-boy here, he won’t feel a thing and we’ll pick him up.’
Tigran and Vahram grinned and nodded.
Good boys, Magnus thought as he peered around the corner, could be useful in the future. The doormen had now heard the fighting and were knocking violently on the door. Magnus heard the bolt slam back. ‘Now!’
The Armenians leapt around the corner, dragging Blandinus between them, shouting in an incomprehensible language. The two doormen glanced up at them in alarm and then at each other. They pulled the cudgels from their belts and one stepped through the now open door whilst the other held his position, with a puzzled look on his face, keeping the door clear for his comrades approaching from the shadows shouting for help in his own language. By the time they were close enough for him to make out their features, it was too late. He died looking into a stranger’s eyes with an unforeseen blade in his heart.
Magnus hurtled around the corner with his brothers in his wake as the doorman slumped to the ground. Within moments he made the door. Tigran held it open, the second doorman and the doorkeeper lay dead in a pool of blood at Vahram’s feet. Just inside the vestibule, Blandinus lay cast to the ground.
Lucio and Cassandros dragged the dead doorman in from outside and Marius shut and bolted the door.
Magnus looked through the curtains into the dimly lit atrium. Kurush and four or five of his men were struggling to hold back the Crossroads Brothers as they tried to force their way through from the courtyard garden. A gaggle of three frightened boys huddled in one corner. To his left the stairs leading up to the first floor were deserted. ‘Right Sextus, you stay here guarding the door and keep an eye out for anyone coming down them stairs. Kill anyone who isn’t wearing a Cohort tunic.’
‘Kill anyone not dressed like me,’ Sextus said, thoughtfully digesting his orders. ‘And look after Blandinus. If he starts to come round knock him on the head, but gentle like.’
‘Knock him on the head gently, right you are Magnus.’
‘Marius get those boys, one unconscious but alive. Alright lads, let’s do this.’
Magnus sprang through the curtain with a savage roar and his sword held steady at his side. Marius, Lucio, Cassandros and the Armenians followed, each yelling at the tops of their voices.
The sudden distraction from behind caused the Albanians to falter for an instant. Two went down immediately to the swords of their attackers in front whilst the rest gave ground.
Magnus leapt over a couple of the sumptuously upholstered divans that littered the room and pounced on Kurush, locking his forearm around the whore-boy master’s throat. ‘I don’t take kindly to greasy foreigners fucking with my clients,’ he growled in his ear.
‘Magnus!’ Kurush managed to gurgle through his constricted windpipe, ‘I thought we were square.’
‘Now we’re square.’ With a brutal thrust he forced the finely honed blade of his sword into Kurush’s side, up under the ribcage, slicing through his liver and into a lung. Blood spurted from the Albanian’s mouth onto Magnus’ forearm as Kurush went rigid with pain. Around him his brothers despatched the remaining defenders in a welter of dismemberment and savagery. With a final upwards thrust that lifted Kurush off his feet, Magnus felt the man go limp. He let him fall to the floor with the sword still embedded, his eyes open in sightless shock and his beard redder than it had ever been in life.