Magnus drained his goblet and held it out for a refill. ‘What do you mean?’
Terentius picked up the decanter and poured. ‘I have heard stories from the East, from beyond the empire, of how to augment the senses by using this resin. It’s not how our doctors use it, made into a potion or just chewed; it’s a different and far more efficacious method.’ He placed the decanter back on the table, rose and walked over to a chest at the far end of the room. He removed one of the sackcloth-wrapped tablets and two broad-bladed knives before returning to his chair. ‘I’ll show you.’ He exposed the edge of the tablet, shaved off a sliver and then put the points of both knives into the brazier.
Magnus watched with interest as Terentius worked the sliver into a ball, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. He then handed it to Magnus and removed both knives from the fire. He held one out. ‘Put the resin on the tip of the blade.’
Magnus obeyed; Terentius pressed the second blade down on it. Immediately fumes spiralled up; Terentius leant over and inhaled, pulling the smoke deep into his lungs. ‘Your turn,’ he said with a tight, almost choking voice.
Magnus opened his mouth and sucked in the white trail emitting from between the blades. He felt a harsh rasping in his throat and a warmth in his chest.
‘Hold it in,’ Terentius said, his voice higher from having held his breath.
Magnus did so for as long as he could, then exhaled a thin stream of smoke. He looked at Terentius. ‘Well?’
‘Give it time, Magnus; Morpheus needs to be woken from his slumbers before he will show you his realm.’
Magnus took a sip of wine and waited, contemplating the beauty of the glass. And it was beautiful, intensely blue in a way that he had never seen before; the bluest of blues. And yet, where the reflections of the brazier’s red glow played on it, the blue deepened into purple, flickering across the surface, picking out the fine engravings of grape-laden vines; imperial vines, he mused. He smiled to himself, enjoying the thought, then realised that red grapes were often purple in hue and was about to make a connection with … but then the goblet’s stem caught his attention: thin blue glass, so blue, but right at its heart a very fine line of purple; again, that must be a reflection from the fire. He looked across at the brazier, still smiling, yes, it was glowing; so comforting. His eyes rose to meet those of Terentius; they were wide open but their pupils had contracted to pinpricks, and he too was smiling. Magnus was about to say something but then the calm of the moment prevented him; it would be wrong to break so peaceful an atmosphere with harsh talk. His gaze drifted down. He discerned, with a widening of his smile, that the blue of Terentius’ stola matched that of the goblet – if it was held at certain angles. He experimented with the position of the goblet, looking between it and the stola. He noticed Terentius rise and walk past him; he heard the door open just as he discovered a fascinating new angle at which to hold the goblet. Then voices, followed by the soft click of the door reclosing. Terentius swished past him, a blur of blue motion – so beautiful, blue. The decanter glided towards him, it tipped; the glug of pouring wine so slow and regular. The taste of the wine, sublime. He looked up to thank Terentius; Terentius smiled down, his hands touching Magnus’ shoulders. His palla was gone; there was no crimson, only blue. And then there was no blue, just cream flesh, and Magnus understood. He heard the door creak open and soft voices approached from behind him; he felt his belt being unfastened. He raised his goblet and finished the last of the wine; it was taken from him as he sluiced the liquid around his mouth and allowed his tunic to be pulled over his head. A soft hand on his chest eased him back on to the cushions on the couch – soft, smooth and warm, so warm. He felt the hand stroke his hair and he opened his eyes; Terentius stood over him, his skin sheened with the glow of the brazier, and then he sat, revealing two more figures, lissom and delicate, one blond and one dark – both naked. One held out the knives; Magnus sucked in the spiralling smoke, holding it deep. As he laid his head down, feeling the sweet touch of multiple caresses, he saw the gates to the realm of Morpheus open and, with absolute calm and contentment, he floated forward to sample the dreams therein.
A damp cloth, warm and fragrant, dabbing his brow brought him back. For a while he did not open his eyes, content to enjoy the sensation of being cleansed.
‘What did you think?’ Terentius whispered.
What did he think? He cast his mind back: the images, the colours, the acts, the abandon, the release, the pleasure; all as he had never experienced before. ‘Well, it weren’t natural and yet it seemed to come so easy, if you take my meaning?’
‘I do, Magnus; and now do you see how so much money could be made out of this?’
‘Fortunes.’ Magnus opened his eyes; Terentius was dressed and his hair pulled back into a ponytail. ‘But I doubt that you’d be able to afford even one tablet.’
‘How much are they each?’
‘I don’t know exactly, but more than gold. I’m going to-’ He sat up and looked around; early light crept in through the window. ‘What time is it?’
‘Halfway through the first hour of the day.’
‘Shit! Where are my clothes? And get me one of the tablets. Are Marius and Sextus still here?’
Terentius handed Magnus his tunic, belt and loincloth. ‘Yes, I’ve had them woken and they’ve been served breakfast.’
‘Served breakfast? They don’t have time for that.’
Within moments Magnus had dressed, strapped on his sandals and, with a tablet wrapped in sackcloth under his arm and Terentius following behind, was walking at a rapid pace through the garden. ‘Come to the tavern at dusk and I’ll have a reasonable idea as to how much the tablets are worth; meanwhile you work out how much you think you can make from each one; then we’ll know whether it’s viable.’
‘I’ll be there,’ Terentius confirmed as they passed through into the atrium.
‘No time for that, lads,’ Magnus said, grabbing a hunk of bread from the table at which Marius and Sextus were breaking their fast in delightful company. ‘We’re almost late.’ He hurried on through the room and into the vestibule. Postumus opened the door and Magnus stepped out into the street with his brothers following. As he headed at a brisk walk towards the Caelian Hill and the meeting at the House of the Moon in the stonemasons’ street, he addressed Marius and Sextus without looking at them. ‘I think it would be best all round if we didn’t mention where or how we spent last night.’
Finding the House of the Moon had been easy, with a carving above the door of Luna, the divine embodiment of the moon, cloak billowing behind her in the shape of a crescent moon as she rode in her oxen-drawn chariot. What had not been easy was concentrating on business and Magnus found his mind wandering as he sat opposite a brown-skinned man in his thirties with a thin face and lips, a sharp nose and tight curly black hair; Egyptian, Magnus had assumed when the man introduced himself as Menes.
Menes sniffed the tablet and looked across the table at Magnus, his dark eyes glinting with barely restrained greed. ‘How many these you say your patron had, my friend?’
Magnus hauled his attention away from some vivid images of the night before and focused on one of the two thickset bodyguards standing behind the Egyptian. ‘I didn’t.’
Menes grinned in a manner that totally failed to convey any charm or warmth. ‘So, my friend, how much you want for this?’
Magnus took a moment to register the question. ‘Offer me a price.’
‘How can I make an offer when I don’t know how much is for sale? If I take a lot you make me special price.’
‘There is no special price, my friend; whoever makes the highest offer gets to purchase as much as they want at that price. No discounts, understand?’