‘That may well work,’ Ahenobarbus conceded eventually. ‘What’s more, if it does it won’t look suspiciously like a fix; and I should know because I’ve tried to arrange the very same thing but failed. My aunt, the Lady Antonia, tells me that you wish me to place a bet with the bookmaker named Ignatius.’
‘That is correct, Consul.’
‘What amazes me is why she would get involved in something like this; she used all her charm on me to get me to consent; she must be very fond of your benefactor to show such loyalty.’
‘It’s not something that’s occurred to me, Consul,’ Magnus replied truthfully, surprised at the thought that the loyalty Antonia had shown had been to him.
‘No, of course not, why would someone as lowly as you consider such things? Now tell me why I should place this bet with Ignatius?’
‘If you don’t we won’t tell you which race it’s going to be.’
Ahenobarbus laughed; it was a grating sound. ‘That’s no threat, little man; I could take the information and then place the wager with anyone.’
‘But the other three bookmakers in the senators’ enclosure have all been in there for a very long time and consequently are very wealthy; even a bet ten times that amount won’t hurt them. However, Ignatius has yet to attain such riches as, up until now, he’s just been a bookmaker to the masses; if you place it with him it’ll ruin him completely and you can get your pleasure in chasing him for every sestertius.’
Ahenobarbus folded his arms and contemplated Magnus. ‘Do you think that I derive pleasure from other people’s misfortunes?’
Magnus knew that he had to reply with care. ‘I’ve heard that . . . you like to win.’
There was a brittle silence in the room that was abruptly shattered by another hoarse laugh. ‘By the gods below, I do; and, what’s more, I like to be sure that I’m going to win. How can we be certain that this Ignatius will accept the wager?’
‘His greed; he wants to be as rich as the other three book-makers in the senators’ enclosure and he wants to be so quickly. As you know, one Colour finishing first, second and third is very rare indeed; he’ll think that your money is his the moment you show it to him and name your bet.’
Ahenobarbus’ eyes narrowed and he compressed his lips so tightly that the skin around them went pale as the blood was forced away. ‘The bastard’s going to think he’s taking me for a fool; no one does that.’ Again the palms slammed down on the desk. ‘All right, I’ll do this. Tell me which race-day?’
‘The one in three days’ time.’
‘Which race?’
‘I’ll be able to tell you that just after halfway through the programme. Have one of your slaves waiting at the entrance to the senators’ enclosure; a man with a missing left hand will come and tell him which race.’
Magnus heaved his way towards Servius through the crowds of Red supporters flocking along one side of the tenement-lined street leading to the Aemilian Bridge. The other side of the road was lined with Whites; as always on a race-day, the Urban Cohorts’ heavy presence kept the two sides apart.
‘I can’t imagine how people get any enjoyment from just watching the teams going to the circus,’ Magnus muttered, reaching his counsellor as the final twelve Red chariots of the day came into view to Red cheers and White derision.
‘It’s good for us that a lot of people expect very little from life, brother.’
‘It is indeed. Where’s Cassandros?’
‘He’ll be along any moment; he had to wait for his flexible little friend to help harness all the last twelve teams before he could slip out and report on their form.’
Magnus took a few moments to scan the crowd and then looked up behind him; he caught the eye of Tigran in a window on the second floor of a plain, rickety brick tenement overlooking the Red crowd. A few windows down from him he discerned the ox-like silhouette of Sextus; Magnus nodded his satisfaction. ‘The lads are in position. Did you see Rufinus and his boys?’
‘I’ve just left them.’ Servius pointed up the street to Rufinus, who nodded at Magnus. ‘He’s waiting for your signal; his lads are ready and looking forward to it.’
Magnus slapped his hands together. ‘So am I, brother, so am I.’
The first of the Red chariots, driven by apprentice charioteers, drew level, raising the volume of the crowd all around them.
Marius eased his way through the throng and up to Magnus as the Red teams streamed by, roared on with increasing passion by their supporters. ‘They’re all ready at the other bridge.’
The last Red chariots drove by and Cassandros finally appeared.
‘Well?’ Magnus asked.
‘Well, of the last four races the teams in the first one are going to be driven by their three best charioteers.’
‘No good, brother, the Whites will put three of their six spare teams in that one and the rest in the next; what about the third race?’
Cassandros grinned. ‘If they survive the first race the same three charioteers will drive in the third, and, what’s more, the teams have won two of their last eight races and been placed in another four.’
Magnus slapped him on the shoulder. ‘That’s our one; top charioteers and teams with form. Well done, mate, I know how hard you had to work to get that information. You can have a rest from it now.’
‘No chance, brother, he fits me like a glove.’
Magnus drew the air through his teeth, screwing up his face. ‘Literally I suppose.’ Shaking his head to banish the image he turned to Marius. ‘Off you go to the senators’ enclosure and tell Ahenobarbus’ slave: the second-to-last race of the day.’
‘Right you are, Magnus.’
‘Rufinus has given his men orders to let you across the bridge, just show him your stump and tell him which race. Oh, and Senator Pollo has got one of his young lads waiting there too, tell him the same thing.’
Marius disappeared off into the crowd in the direction of the Aemilian Bridge as roars from the opposite direction indicated the proximity of the final twelve White chariots of the day.
‘Cassandros, get back down to the other bridge and tell the lads that we’re just about to start.’ As Cassandros moved off Magnus put his arm around Servius’ shoulder and guided him away. ‘I think we should step this way; some of the lads may not be so accurate.’
‘A wise precaution.’
The roaring from the White supporters on the far side of the street intensified as their teams drew closer; at the same time the hisses and cat-calls from the Reds increased in animosity. Here and there small scuffles broke out that were soon dealt with by the men of the Urban Cohorts. Magnus caught sight of Rufinus slapping a miscreant with the side of his sword; their eyes met; the centurion nodded and moved away towards the bridge, taking his men with him.
The White teams came into view, resplendent with tall white plumes adorning their heads and white ribbons decorating their manes and tying back their tails; high-stepping, heads tossing with jangling harnesses and flaccid-lipped snorts, the first team – four greys – came level with Tigran’s window as the bays behind them reached Sextus’. Within an instant the Whites’ cheers of approval had turned into howls of outrage as they, quite literally, saw red. A tongue of crimson liquid flooded through the air from Tigran’s window, expanding as it descended; a second jet of red shot through Sextus’ window. For a moment time seemed to slow as both airborne streams of red paint flowed inexorably towards the leading couple of White teams; with a wet slap and splatter the greys became piebald red and grey whilst behind them the bay team’s coats were spattered and their feathers dripped crimson.
The reaction was immediate; enraged that their colour should be so soiled, the Whites charged at the perceived perpetrators of the outrage with the fury of the deeply offended. The Reds responded with equal measure; still smarting from the Greens’ ruse four days earlier, they were more than happy to fight anyone. With the men of the Urban Cohorts withdrawn the whole street erupted into an orgy of violence, trapping the White teams who reared and bucked in terror, ripping their traces and smashing their chariots.