Dubnus put a hand on his friend’s shoulder and dragged him away.
‘Come on! Before the whole place goes up, and we find ourselves having to explain to the urban cohorts why half the street’s on fire!’
They fled, Marcus looking back as Dubnus pulled him into the alley and started shouting that there was a fire, seeing the flames flickering brightly at the museum’s high windows. The glass popped and tinkled to the ground in a glittering shower, and Marcus realised, with a combination of gratitude and regret, that the praetorian’s screaming had stopped, replaced by the fire’s terrible, powerful roar.
4
‘And then he simply set fire to himself?’
Excingus’s voice, usually so carefully controlled in tone and inflection to give every impression of complete imperturbability, was as incredulous as the expression on his face. He’d appeared at the barracks’ gate that morning soon after dawn, unbidden but clearly eager to know what had happened with Dorso. Marcus looked across the table at him, painfully aware that there was only a feeling of emptiness where’d he’d expected some sense of triumph in the wake of the praetorian’s demise.
‘As strange as it sounds, yes. From what he said before he put the torch to himself, he was suffering from an attack of conscience.’
The informer put his head to one side as if trying to work out what the word meant.
‘And it sounds as if he was expecting you to make an appearance?’
The young centurion nodded.
‘Yes. He’d learned enough about the circumstances of Perennis’s death from the praetorians who were on duty when the prefect was murdered by Commodus to realise that I was back in the city.’ Marcus grimaced. ‘We were lucky. If he’d not had such a strong death wish then Dubnus and I would probably have been walking into a trap. As it was, I genuinely believe that he was marking himself for death.’
Excingus nodded slowly.
‘And now you’re not feeling quite as satisfied with the state of affairs as you thought you might, given his death, are you Centurion? You didn’t want contrition, did you? You wanted a fight, and the chance to carve Dorso into ribbons with one of his own swords.’
Scaurus frowned at the informant, but Marcus shook his head.
‘All I want is for the four men who murdered my family to suffer some measure of their misery and agony. And Dorso’s death wasn’t an easy one.’
Excingus laughed tersely.
‘Apparently so. His screams were heard half a dozen streets away, I’m told. So, honour is satisfied to some small degree, and as far as the authorities are concerned it’s a simple enough fire, which ought to stop the others taking fright. So, now that you’ve seen off one of them, are you sure you want to continue? If, of course, I could deliver another of them to the point of your sword?’
Scaurus’s eyes narrowed.
‘If? Share what you have, Informant.’
Excingus tipped his head to one side again, considering the tribune’s demand.
‘Really? I ask a question of the man seeking vengeance and you answer for him? I could wonder which of you feels the most strongly motivated …’
Scaurus turned to Marcus.
‘He’s right, loathe though I am to admit to it. This is first and foremost your concern. So, do you wish to continue?’
His centurion stared blankly at the table for a moment.
‘I have no other choice. What do you have for us, Varius Excingus?’
The informant raised an eyebrow at the use of his name, but spoke quickly nonetheless.
‘The gang leader Brutus has taken to the streets. It seems that there’s another group of thugs who go by the name of the “Dog Eaters” encroaching on his territory, stripping away whole city blocks from his control and attacking his main business in each neighbouring block in turn.’
Julius spoke, having sat quietly throughout the previous discussion.
‘And his main business is …?’
‘The same as every other gang you’ve ever run across, taking a piece of anything and everything he can muscle his way into. Protection money, prostitution, theft … As their name suggests, it’s a dog-eat-dog life at that level of society, and it seems that an even bigger dog has decided to eat dear old Brutus’s dinner.’
‘And what do you mean by “taken to the streets”?’
Excingus turned back to Scaurus.
‘Exactly what it sounds like. He’s fighting a war for survival, and in a war the last thing the general wants is for the enemy to find and overrun his headquarters. He’s gone underground — possibly quite literally so — and is directing his army from a place that should be safe from attack since nobody knows where it is.’
‘And in reality?’
The informant grinned savagely.
‘I have an … associate, shall we say, although associating with him is a little like making a pet of a viper. He lives and practises what I will euphemistically call his trade in the Aventine district, with a loose affiliation to one of the smaller gangs that supports Brutus. It seems that they have been contracted, secretly and under threat of a slow and nasty death, to secure a secret hideout for Brutus and his senior men, somewhere from which they can direct the fight for their ground without the risk of being disturbed by unfriendly strangers. My man Silus, expensively purchased I can assure you, not only knows the location of this place, but has agreed to take a small party of men to it, when the time is right. And word has reached them that Brutus intends taking occupation of this clandestine headquarters for a day or two from tonight. He only stays in each safe house for a short time, choosing the next location at random, but with every change he has to give his men a few hours to make sure that his networks of runners and soldiers can be realigned to keep him informed and protected. So, gentlemen, tomorrow night would appear to be your best opportunity, if you want to put your heads into the lion’s mouth?’
Later that morning, Julius looked around the shop that Cotta had rented, pulling a disgusted face at the state of the space in which he stood. The shop’s floor was little more than a selection of warped and mismatched boards laid over the rough dirt beneath them, while the coating of plaster that had originally adorned the walls had long since been reduced to a few patches that clung stubbornly to the bricks, fragments of paint giving some hint as to their original bright decoration.
‘What a fucking dump! This place can’t have seen a copper coin’s worth of maintenance since Hadrian was on the throne. And we paid how much for this shithole?’
The veteran centurion standing beside him grinned at their surroundings.
‘Your expectations are a little out of alignment with the reality of Rome, First Spear. What we’re paying per month for this place wouldn’t normally cover the cost of a shop like this for a week, but then it’s not really in the best spot and, as you say, it is a little basic …’ He waved a hand at the shop’s dilapidated state. ‘But then we’ve got an asset that’ll make short work of even this mess.’
The other man looked round at him with a snort of incredulity.
‘You think my soldiers can sort this out? We’re fighting men, not the assorted collection of plumbers and plasterers that you were chasing around in your legion cohort.’
Cotta smiled, tapping his purse.
‘In which case I’ll have a wager with you that we can have this place tidied, painted and ready for business inside a day, once the groundwork’s out of the way. I’ve got just the men lined up, since your Centurion Dubnus was kind enough to find me some volunteers who are the least likely to leave a customer looking as if he’s had his hair cut by a butcher. You leave me to it and I’ll have the first customer in here and on his arse being asked how he’d like his hair cut before sunset tomorrow, if your ditch diggers don’t hold the whole thing up. Shall we call it ten sestertii?’