With shouts to the queuing citizens to stay where they were, the Watch ran for the fire, leaving the waiting queue looking at each other in bemusement.
‘And there’s the only real problem with combining the duties of policemen and fire fighters. When fire strikes, who’s to watch the city, or in this case, the city’s gates? Come along then, let’s not keep our date waiting. He’s uncommonly bad tempered when he believes he’s not getting the respect that he’s due!’
The senator led them through the unguarded gate in the wake of the other members of the queue who had been similarly swift to take advantage of the Watch’s absence.
‘This way, gentlemen, turn right here and we’ll head on down the Viminal Hill until we have no choice but to dive into the slums. You’ll be earning your corn soon enough, eh Cotta?’
The streets of Rome were still warm three hours after the sun had dropped below the horizon, and Marcus could feel the heat that had been baked into the stones through the leather soles of the sandals that Albinus had procured for them. Like the rest of the clothing he’d been given the shoes were of the best quality, made with buttery-soft leather that moulded to his feet like a second skin. The three officers were all wearing heavy woollen togas, the hems of both Tungrians’ garments decorated with the thin purple stripe of the equestrian class, and the once crisp linen tunic beneath Marcus’s weighty garment had quickly become damp with his sweat. Scaurus had laughed quietly at his centurion as the younger man had awkwardly donned the toga, unfamiliar with its folds after so long a gap since the last time he’d worn the garment, pointing to the thin equestrian stripe with a sympathetic grimace.
‘Not what you were brought up to expect, eh Centurion, not when you were groomed for the thick stripe?’
Marcus had looked down at the dye that marked the garment’s pristine white wool with the symbol of his supposed membership of the equestrian class with a shrug.
‘Imperial law says I’m an impostor if I wear a stripe of any thickness, given my father’s alleged crimes. And besides, Tribune, I’d sacrifice a stripe of any thickness for the chance to get my family out from under the constant threat of death.’
Albinus’s men formed a protective cordon around the party as they made their way along the High Road that ran arrow-straight down the Viminal Hill’s spine, and as the senator led them down into the tight, filthy streets of the Subura, his men drew in closer, hefting their heavy clubs with meaningful glances at anyone taking an interest in the column of chests. Each apartment block’s ground floor was occupied by taverns that ranged in aspect from simply seedy to openly licentious, prostitutes and their pimps prowling between them in competition for paying clients with money-hungry bar staff of both sexes. At Cotta’s command a half-dozen men detached themselves from the group as it progressed through the notorious district, moving ahead of the party and checking the streets to either side of their route with a disciplined competence that hinted that they had worked together before. Seeing the young centurion’s eyes upon his men, Albinus dropped back to walk alongside him.
‘They’re all former soldiers, Centurion, men from one of the Pannonian legions. They hire themselves out as a unit, and their main selling point is that they have never yet suffered the loss of a client. I employ them pretty much full-time at the moment.’ He waved a hand at the man walking alongside him. ‘Cotta here was the man who came up with the bright idea for them to go into business together.’
Marcus inclined his head in recognition of Albinus’s explanation, meeting the eyes of the man indicated by the senator’s hand and finding them coolly alert as the bodyguards’ leader ran his eyes over the soldiers sweating beneath their heavy loads.
‘They must come highly recommended for you to trust them to escort us through the poorest and most dangerous suburb of the city with such a portable fortune.’
Albinus nodded at Marcus’s question with an amused smirk.
‘I don’t think there’s any danger of them betraying us. I served as the legatus of First Italica with Senior Centurion Cotta, and when he got bored with retirement and decided to pull some of his retiring soldiers together to form this nice little business two years ago, he came to me to ask for the money they needed. And of course I agreed.’ He bent closer to the young centurion’s ear. ‘A man in my position needs to ensure that he has the appropriate protection on the streets of Rome these days.’
Scaurus frowned, having overheard their discussion.
‘Your position, Senator?’
The big man snorted a laugh.
‘You really have been away from Rome too long, Gaius. By “a man in my position” I mean a man who might be perceived as presenting a risk to the emperor, a man around whom opposition to Commodus’s rule might, shall we say, coalesce? After all, I am something of a war hero, with a recent and crushing victory over the Sarmatae in Dacia to my credit, quite apart from my excellent record in command of an auxiliary cavalry wing and two legions in the German Wars under the last emperor. I come from an ancient and noble family and I am, as you well know, more than rich enough for the men that manage the imperial finances to have their beady eyes well and truly open for any opportunity to cast my loyalty in doubt, order my execution and sequester my estate and fortune.’ He shook his head at the tribune with a grim smile. ‘An opportunity which I will never allow them, of course, given that I never make any comment either public or private that is in any way critical of Commodus. Quite the opposite, in fact, but there is still always the risk of a politically motivated assassination. And these men are my protection against such an attempt to take my life. Hello, who’s this coming up the road? Someone’s got balls walking into this cesspit without anyone to back him up.’
They followed his gaze to find a single man sauntering towards them, passing the first of Cotta’s men with a nod. To Marcus’s surprise their reaction was incongruous, the soldiers nudging each other and pointing at the lone walker’s back with grins, and he looked with curiosity at the powerful figure as he passed, receiving a momentary direct gaze in return. Tall and heavily muscled, the man’s face was marked by a pair of scars that combined to form a lopsided cross on his right cheekbone, his hair cut close to his skull.
‘Damn me, it’s Velox!’
Albinus had stopped walking, and was looking at the receding figure with a stare of amazement.
‘Who?’
Albinus shook his head.
‘Gentlemen, we have stood in the presence of true greatness. That was one half of a gladiatorial pairing the like of which this city has not seen in my lifetime. Velox is the younger of a pair of twins who have ruled supreme in the arena for over a year now. He and his brother Mortiferum are from the land north of the city that used to be ruled by the Etruscans, and they are without doubt the fastest men I’ve ever seen with a sword, either of them the match of any other three men you could choose from Rome’s gladiators. When they fight, which isn’t very often these days given just how special they are, they usually take to the sand as a pair, matched against half a dozen opponents at a time. And because they’ve never lost a fight, either together or fighting solo, they’re worshipped by the plebs. Which explains why he’s not afraid to walk alone — there’s not a man in the Subura that would dare to touch him for fear of being beaten to death by his peers.’
As they watched, the lone gladiator turned off the road and walked into the garden of a mansion that Marcus had noted a moment before, its grounds wedged tightly between a pair of apartment blocks. Albinus laughed quietly, shaking his head in amusement.
‘Well now, I wonder if the man of the house is at home. That young man has a well-justified reputation for taking advantage of his exalted status, I hear. Indeed I believe he’s cut a swathe through the otherwise respectable female population of the rich and well-to-do like a hot knife through butter. Women and gladiators, eh? What is it, I wonder, that draws them to men who have so degraded themselves by adopting the status of infamia? Mind you, it’s rumoured that his twin swings in the other direction, if you take my meaning, so perhaps he’s just doing his best to compensate …’