The enforcers fled, and Morban turned back to his supporters.
‘Start counting. I’ll give two to one we’re toe to toe with them in less than five hundred. And no gabbling it either, nice measured counts. Those odds working for anyone? Two to one? Five to two?’
After a few moments of waiting in the morning’s growing heat, they heard the sound of footsteps echoing distantly up the hill, swelling quickly from a mutter to a clamour of leather slapping on stone, and Maximus rounded the corner at the head of a dozen of his men. Seeing Morban waiting for him he spread his arms wide, gesturing to his companions to spread out to either side.
‘Well now, here’s Fatty enjoying the sunshine. Isn’t that nice boys? It’s a shame that every fucking shop in the street’s had to close as a result though.’ He stopped in front of Morban, an angry sneer plastered across his face. ‘I ain’t got the heart to slap you about, Fatty, ’cause I reckon if I do you might just burst. I’ll have to make do with a temporary increase in your tax rate to say …’ He made a show of thought. ‘A hundred per cent for the day. If you open that door right now, and put your boys back to work, I’ll settle for a day’s takings as your fine. How’s that, Fatty, or do I have to make my point even clearer? Even the fucking “imperial Roman army” can’t be that stupid.’
Morban nodded slowly, putting a hand on the shop’s door handle, and the enforcer turned to his comrades with a triumphant grin.
‘Like I’ve always said, you let them get out of line and you always end up having to slap them around to compensate for being too lax in the first place!’
He turned back as Morban swung the door open and stepped aside, his eyes widening as he saw the first of the Tungrians come through the opening with his shield raised, the polished tip of his sword’s blade winking in the sunlight, and another man at his heels. In the moment of the gangster’s distraction, Morban reached for the spear propped up beside him and stabbed the weapon’s sharp pointed head down into the gang leader’s sandal-clad foot, feeling the crackle of small bones parting under the iron’s remorseless thrust. Maximus screamed in agony, and while his mouth was hanging open, the standard bearer released his grip on the spear with his right hand and swung a bunched fist into the helpless man’s gaping jaw, hard enough to break the bone with a rending crack.
‘Hold!’
The gang members, caught between the obvious need to fight back and the overwhelming urge to flee, froze at Morban’s bellowed command, their eyes fixed on him as he pointed to the soldiers facing them.
‘If you fuckers run, these lads will chase you down and stab you in the back. D’you want that? Drop your fucking knives!’
The gangsters looked from the standard bearer’s implacable mask to the writhing body of their leader, then back at the hard faces of the soldiers, clearly ready to spill their blood at the slightest excuse. One weapon fell to the floor, swiftly followed by another, and then the rest of them allowed their iron to drop to the cobbles, their faces red with the shame.
‘On your way then. And no looking back, or you might just find it brings us down on you!’
He waited until the last of them was round the corner and out of sight, then took a firm grip of the spear’s shaft, experimentally tugging at it. Maximus groaned with the pain.
‘No …’
‘Well as it happens … yes!’
Morban wrenched the spear from his victim’s foot, tearing a moan of agony from the thug’s shattered mouth, then squatted down to speak conversationally.
‘Well now, One Eye, my old mate. All this time you’ve been calling me nasty names and taking my money, and suddenly here we are with the roles reversed. Now you’re the one with the problem, aren’t you, with one foot all torn up and your face in pieces. I don’t suppose it could get much worse, not unless …’ He put a finger to his chin and adopted a pensive expression. But surely nobody would be that inhuman. Would they?’
He levelled the spear at the helpless gang leader, easing it forward until the blade was an inch from his eye.
‘We do get an amazing amount of training in the army, of course, especially with this little beauty. I can hit a man with it at thirty paces, or I can just stick it into him an inch or two and watch him bleed to death. I bet I could pop that other eye of yours without killing you, if I wanted to.’
Maximus moaned again, but this time it was more from fear than pain.
‘And you know what they say, don’t you, about bad things coming in threes?’
Morban looked down, his face wrinkled with sudden disgust. He jerked the spear sharply, driving the point into the good eye. The gangster screamed, his entire body rippling with the pain, while the standard bearer looked down at him dispassionately.
‘Consider that as your payout for all the extortion, and rape, and murder you’ve visited on these people over the years. Let’s see how compassionate they feel towards a crippled, blind beggar who can’t even chew his own food, shall we?’
He gestured to his men.
‘Right then lads, pick up those knives, drop the weapons back into the shop and let’s be away to leave old ‘No Eyes’ to consider the error of his ways!’
He turned to find the potter standing close behind him.
‘You’re going to leave all those swords in the shop?’
Morban nodded.
‘They’ll be safe enough until someone comes to collect them. I’ll lock the place up and I can’t see anyone being brave enough to break in given the obvious penalty for crossing me and my lads.’ He offered the shopkeeper his spear with an impetuous grin. ‘Want to finish him off? Be my guest! After all, think of all the times the bastard’s taken money off you, or pawed your wife.’
The other man shook his head.
‘Part of me wants to, wanted to the second I saw you put the iron into his foot … but I can’t.’
Morban nodded, giving the weapon to a passing soldier.
‘I know. I would have been the same, a long time ago …’ He sighed. ‘And now I’m just a murdering animal. Only every now and then I get to do some killing that actually feels good. Be lucky, friend, and when Maximus’s replacement turns up, and you know he will, you just remember that the only thing keeping them on top of you is your willingness to be stood on. Show ’em your teeth and they’ll soon fade.’
He locked the shop and headed off down the hill towards the Ostian gate with the last of his men, a grizzled veteran from his own century who had waited for him while he chatted to the potter.
‘You think they’ll stand up for themselves, do you, next time the protection boys come knocking?’
The standard bearer shook his head sadly.
‘Not a chance.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘See, I’ve worked out what it is I like so much about this place. It’s civilised. Good food, good wine, whores wherever you look. It’s just nice. Problem is, you introduce animals like us to somewhere nice and before you know it everyone’s paying a percentage just to keep their guts on the inside, or to avoid having their daughters fucked in the street. And that’s sad, mate, more than sad, it’s a fucking tragedy. All we can do is console ourselves that at least we did a little bit of good today, and gave them one less horrible bastard to worry about.’
His fellow soldier nodded.
‘And not only that, you also gave me something to tell the lads back in barracks.’
Morban puffed his chest out.
‘You mean when I put that spear to him?’
The soldier shook his head.
‘No mate, when you told him you could kill him from thirty paces with it. You couldn’t hit a barn door with a bolt thrower!’
Scaurus and Marcus made their way through the crowds surrounding the Flavian arena with their usual escort of barbarians and Cotta’s men in close attendance. Both men were immaculately turned out, Scaurus wearing a toga bearing the single narrow stripe that indicated he was of the equestrian class, while Marcus was dressed in a simpler garment and walking a careful half-pace behind him. Striding up to the guards barring the entrance that led up to the senatorial level, the tribune announced his invitation by the imperial chamberlain himself to witness the afternoon’s bouts. After a swift reference to the list of guests for the day, they were admitted, leaving their escort to wait for them in whatever shade they could find, while Cotta made his way over to the next entrance to take his seat in the section reserved for army veterans. Climbing up to the senatorial balcony, they were greeted at the entrance to the imperial box by Cleander himself.