Magnus digested the information for a few moments; drops of rain trickled off his wide-brimmed leather hat. He shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. ‘What about the Sublician Bridge?’
‘To stop any rabble getting into the teams’ camp, that’s always closed on a race day as it too leads directly into the Forum Boarium.’
‘So the only ways to cross the river near the Circus Maximus on a race day are across the Tiber Island and the Aemilian Bridge.’
‘Precisely.’
‘What about the Greens and Blues?’
‘They take a different route. They don’t cross and recross the river; they enter the city through the Porta Carmentalis and then cross Velabrum and enter the Forum Boarium from the east.’
‘Why are there two different routes?’
‘To avoid congestion.’
‘And they always stick to the same route?’
‘Always. You wouldn’t know this because our connections mean we can always get into the circus whenever we want; however, hundreds of thousands of people can’t and they line the routes so that they can see their favoured teams pass.’
‘How the masses live, eh?’
Servius spat; his saliva was immediately lost in a rain-battered puddle. ‘Fucking rabble. Come on, brother, let’s get back before my old bones seize up.’
‘How far in advance do they bring the teams in?’ Magnus asked as they turned to go.
‘Normally, on a twenty-four-race day, they start by bringing in the twelve chariots for the first four races plus the spares for the day and all the hortatores; then they do relays of twelve throughout the day so that the Forum Boarium doesn’t get too crowded.’
Magnus grinned despite the rain. ‘So if we were to stop the Whites bringing their last relay of twelve in then they wouldn’t have any teams in the final four races, would they, brother?’
‘Don’t forget the spares.’
‘How many do they have?’
‘It depends on the fitness of the horses, but normally between three and six teams, never more because of shortage of space.’
‘So we could guarantee the last two races being free from Whites?’
‘It’s possible; but how would you do it? They’re very well guarded and if you were to block the way they would just go back and take another route to the circus.’
‘Not if we block the bridges and trap them on the wrong side of the river.’
‘But the Reds would be trapped as well.’
‘Not if we time it right. Let’s invite Nonus Manilus Rufinus over for a little chat when he gets off duty this evening.’
‘So what have you learnt, brother?’ Magnus asked, rubbing his hands over a portable brazier as Marius walked into the tavern’s back room.
‘Fabricius doesn’t go out much and when he does he’s very well guarded.’
‘As we expected,’ Servius commented, taking a sip from a steaming cup of hot wine; his eyes watered from the brazier’s smoke.
Magnus indicated the jug on the table. ‘Help yourself, brother. What about his household?’
Marius poured himself a cup, chuckling. ‘Well, every morning two of his fat slaves – and they really are fat, you should see ’em, Magnus, you’d have to roll ’em in flour and look for the damp patch. Anyway, every morning the same two head off for the market to buy whatever they need for the day. They come back a couple of hours later laden with stuff; it’s unbelievable how much they all eat.’
‘Fabricius likes to keep them fat and he can well afford it.’
‘Well, I ain’t ever seen the like of it, Magnus.’
‘Are they guarded when they go?’
‘No, who would want to touch ’em?’
‘We would. Tomorrow, brother, I want you to invite those two well-formed ladies here for a little bit of the brotherhood’s hospitality, if you take my meaning?’
Marius’ eyes glinted with amusement over the rim of his cup. ‘They’re big old beasts; it’ll take more than me and my two lads.’
‘Take Sextus; what he lacks in brains he makes up for in brawn.’
Marius turned to leave, taking his cup with him. ‘Right you are, Magnus; I’ll have them here by the third hour of the day.’
‘Make sure you do, brother; and don’t let them see your faces or where you take them.’
‘Of course not, Magnus.’ Marius opened the door and stepped out.
‘Leave the door open; let’s get some of this smoke out.’
Servius rubbed his eyes. ‘Thanks.’
‘We’ll be ready to do this first part tomorrow night; how’s Tigran doing with his archery practice?’
‘He says he’s fine; his wound has healed nicely. The last couple of days he’s gone out into the country each morning and has been practising shooting at a sack of hay a hundred paces away; he reckons to hit it nine times out of ten.’
‘Let’s hope it’s not the tenth shot tomorrow. Tell him to practise all day and to be here by nightfall. And get one of the lads to purchase a couple of snakes first thing in the morning, but not poisonous ones.’
Servius picked up a stylus and a wax tablet and scratched a note. ‘That reminds me,’ he said, reading a previous note. ‘Cassandros came in this morning; he says he’s been doing very nicely with a young lad from the Reds. I’ll spare you the details, but the boy enjoys all of Cassandros’ little hobbies and can’t get enough of one in particular.’
Magnus winced and looked at his hand. ‘I suppose that involves a lot of olive oil.’
‘I’m afraid it does, brother. Anyhow, suffice it to say that the lad is very amenable now and Cassandros is sure that he can get whatever information we require out of him.’
‘Good; tell him that, when the time comes, I’ll want to know the form of the Red teams in the last two races on the first race-day after the calends of March.’
Servius made a note of the race as a figure appeared silhouetted in the doorway.
Magnus rose to greet the new arrival. ‘Rufinus, my new friend, good of you to come; I have a little proposition for you concerning the closing of bridges owing to a riot.’
Magnus shivered; his breath steamed in the cold night air as he hunched down on the Servian Wall, keeping low so that his silhouette would not be visible. Next to him, Tigran examined an arrow in the moonlight, checking the fletching was secure and the shaft true; satisfied with his choice he nocked it.
‘Juno’s plump arse, come on, lads,’ Magnus muttered, peering down into the street that ran alongside Fabricius’ house, ‘what’s keeping you?’
Marius and Sextus had delivered the two slaves earlier that day, bound, gagged and blindfolded. Magnus had been truly surprised by their magnitude and had feared for a while that his plan might not work; but after the lads had shown they could lift the women’s massive bulk he was happy with it.
After a few more muttered curses Magnus finally heard the noise he had been waiting for: the clatter of hooves and the rumble of iron-shod wheels on stone. Out of the gloom a covered wagon appeared, making its way slowly up the street. As it drew level with the wall of Fabricius’ courtyard garden it pulled in as close as possible and stopped. The cover was pulled back by shadowy figures and then two ladders were placed upright in the wagon, leaning against the wall so that they reached its summit.
‘Good lads,’ Magnus said under his breath. Two of the figures started mounting the ladders with a large, struggling shape between them; underneath, in the wagon, two more figures took the weight of the writhing burden. Eventually they got it to the top and heaved it on to the tiled roof of the garden portico.
‘Remember, it’s the small skinny man we want,’ Magnus reminded Tigran as the second obese slave was hefted up the ladders. ‘The first people through the door will be bodyguards; it’ll be a fuck-up if you shoot one of them.’
Tigran nodded and took a kneeling position, drawing his compact recurved bow as the second shape was manhandled on to the roof.
‘Hoods and gags now, lads,’ Magnus muttered, ‘and then give them something to make some noise about.’