Magnus pointed to his ear and indicated that Aetius should follow him outside away from eavesdroppers.
They walked out into the bright sunshine of an early autumnal day and crossed the courtyard of the Urban Cohorts’ newly constructed stores warehouse near the Tiber; the previous one having burnt down eight years before with, unfortunately, Aetius’ inventories and everything within. The fire had been a useful diversion for Magnus and his brothers who had business on the other side of the city and preferred to transact it without the interference of the Vigiles, whose main duty was firefighting. Convenient though it was for the Brotherhood it was a sad loss for the Urban Cohorts. However, having had plenty of warning of the blaze, in that it was Aetius himself who had set it at Magnus’ request, Magnus was very confident that not much of value had remained for the flames – apart from the precious inventories, that was.
They turned left out of the gate in order to avoid the reek of the tanneries along the riverbank; Sextus and Marius, who had been waiting outside, followed at a discreet distance.
As they entered the open space of the Forum Boarium in the shadow of the Circus Maximus, Magnus put an arm round his old comrade’s shoulders. ‘What’s the difference between a civil modius measure and a military one?’
‘Not much; both are bronze and both have the inscription acknowledging imperial regulation of weights and measures. The only difference would be that a military one has the legion, cohort and century to which it has been issued engraved upon it.’
‘But if it hasn’t been issued?’
‘Then it wouldn’t have a military engraving on it.’
‘That’s what I thought. I’ll take a dozen.’
‘A dozen? But these things are tightly regulated; they remain the property of the Emperor. They have to be signed in and out.’
‘I wasn’t for a moment thinking of having the Emperor’s. That could get us into serious trouble; I was planning to have yours.’
‘Mine?’
‘Yes, why not?’ Magnus’ grip tightened round Aetius’ shoulders. ‘I imagine quite a few were sadly destroyed in that fire all those years ago; I just want a dozen of them.’
‘I’ve only got half a dozen left.’
‘They’ll have to do then. How would you make them one sextius short?’
‘Put a false bottom in, of course.’
‘How long will that take?’
‘I’ve got a man who could do all six in a day, no questions asked.’
‘You sound confident.’
‘He’s done it before.’
Magnus stopped. ‘When?’
‘A couple of months ago.’
‘Who for?’
Aetius shrugged. ‘I don’t know; the deal was through a series of intermediaries. I only do business face to face with a very few trusted associates like yourself. There’s no way that I can find out who it was, Magnus, unless I jeopardise my anonymity and reputation for discretion.’
‘You don’t need to, my friend. Have the measures delivered tomorrow morning at the latest, but tell your man not to make too good a job of the false bottoms; I need them to be visible.’
‘They’re never exact.’
‘Good.’
Aetius rubbed his thumb against his fingers. ‘And what about, you know.’
Magnus slapped his back. ‘Aetius, I believe that your second sixteen years are up very soon and I don’t suppose they’ll have you back.’
‘No, I suspect you’re right.’
‘So you’ll be looking for a safe area from which you can operate discreetly and unmolested?’
Aetius grinned, displaying yellowing teeth. ‘Somewhere I can sleep easy at nights?’
‘My friend, everyone in the South Quirinal sleeps easy at night.’
It was almost the sixth hour of the day by the time that Magnus, Sextus and Marius reached the baths of Agrippa; but this was a perfect time to run into, as if by accident, the sort of people Magnus needed to see. For all those in the city who followed a regular work pattern, be it trade or political, the working day ran from the first hour to the eighth or ninth. After that there was time to relax before the main meal of the day towards the end of the afternoon. Consequently, after the eighth hour, the baths filled up with a different kind of clientele from those who frequented them earlier in the day. But it was the early arrivals that Magnus wanted to mingle with: the men who did not have a regular working pattern, men who did not do physical trade or politics but, rather, men who dealt in other commodities, the same commodities that Magnus dealt in – fear and protection. Men who could afford to while away the morning in the comforts of Rome’s public baths.
Having stripped and handed their clothes to one of the many slaves in the vestibule for safekeeping and received linen towels in return, Magnus led his brothers into the main hall of the baths where men exercised, relaxed, received massages, had their body hair removed and muscles massaged, or just strolled about chatting, scheming or gossiping.
‘Have a wander round and keep your eyes out for any members of the Suburra or Via Sacra Brotherhoods, lads,’ Magnus muttered as he looked around the throng. ‘No pointing, I just want to know who’s here and where they are.’
Magnus spread his towel on a leather upholstered couch and settled down to a shoulder massage from one of the many public slaves, while his brothers circulated through the high-domed hall that echoed back, with sharp clarity, the sound of hundreds of voices.
It was after too short a time of oiling, pummelling and kneading that Marius and Sextus returned.
‘Well?’ Magnus asked, dismissing the slave with a wave of his hand.
‘We saw some of those thieving bastards from the Central Suburra,’ Marius reported. ‘They’ve just come out of the fridigerium and look to be on their way out. The scum from the eastern end of the Via Sacra are exercising over at the weight benches and-’
‘Is Dacien with them?’
‘Didn’t see him. But I did see Grumio with some of his lowlife from West Suburra heading towards the caldrium.’
‘Did you now.’ Magnus got to his feet, picked up the towel and stretched his shoulders with a couple of cracks. ‘Time for a sweat, I think, lads.’
Heat stung Magnus’ eyes as the heavy wooden door of the caldarium closed behind him; he looked around the dim interior, lit with ambient light from one small window in the wall opposite him, and saw a small group of naked men knotted round a shaven-headed, pot-bellied man of about his own age – in his early to mid-forties. Two slaves stood to either side of the group, fanning the hot air down on to them by vigorously twirling towels above their heads. All eyes in the group turned to Magnus and his two brothers as they approached. Neither party felt threatened as, by convention, there was a truce in all public baths – mainly because the only option in which a naked man could conceal a weapon was not that comfortable.
‘Grumio,’ Magnus said as he sat down on a stone bench, enjoying the warmth of it on his buttocks.
‘Magnus,’ Grumio replied, flashing gold teeth in an unconvincing smile.
A slave approached and began fanning Magnus and his brothers; the hot air beating down on them soon caused beads of sweat to prick out all over their bodies.
Magnus put his hands on his knees and lowered his head, ignoring his opposite number from the West Suburra.
Sextus grunted with pleasure with every down beat of the towel.
Marius closed his eyes and leant his head back against the wall, playing idly with the stump at the end of his left arm.
‘Word has it that you’ve got an issue with the aedile,’ Grumio said eventually. ‘I heard that you had a delegation.’
‘You heard right,’ Magnus replied without looking up.
‘Tricky situation.’
‘What’s it to you?’
‘Just making conversation.’
‘If it’s conversation that you want, then I heard that we’re heading for a grain shortage.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard that too from lads of mine in the granaries.’