The Alexandrian Embassy by Robert Fabbri Page A

fine.’
    â€˜Just trying to be helpful, that’s all,’ Tatianus muttered, taking another sip of wine. ‘Remember, I only hold onto the items for a few hours. If you don’t come with the money quickly then Ioffload it to the first comer and your deposit is forfeit. It’s all one to me.’
    Magnus checked himself, swallowing a string of invective, and then looked around the painted and gilded items of furniture in Tatianus’ study. The tables and sideboard bore the trappings of a wealthy but tasteful man: exquisite coloured glass vessels, their rich umber and turquoise hues warm in the flickering light, were interspersed with many small, delicately sculptured figurines of gods; more gods, in fact, than Magnus had ever seen in one room. Lining two of the walls were shelves full of scrolls, almost all of them contracts, for Tatianus liked to keep his business close to hand in the only room in which he would discuss it. Tatianus visited no man. All who required his services had to come and pay court to him; he would have it no other way, and all of Rome’s underworld knew it and accepted it. ‘Very well,’ Magnus conceded, calming somewhat and getting up, ‘I’ll come back on the Ides and it had better be here or …’
    â€˜Or what, Magnus?’ Tatianus leant across the desk and steepled his hands as if his interest had been exceedingly piqued. ‘What would the
patronus
of the South Quirinal Crossroads Brotherhood have to threaten me with? A drubbing in a dark alley or an arsonistic visit to my home, perhaps? The latter’s more your style from what I hear. Or you might even skewer me with a Scorpion bolt if you could find someone else who could supply you with that particular item; but of course, you can’t, can you?’ He sat back in his chair and gave Magnus a pleasant smile. ‘So it’s “or nothing”, isn’t it, Magnus? And if you ever say “or” to me again it will be the last word you will ever utter in this room because my services will be closed to you. Understand?’
    Magnus closed his eyes and grimaced; Tatianus was a man he could not afford to alienate. ‘I apologise, Tatianus, I meant nothing by it. I’m sure you will do your best to get my order here as quickly as possible.’
    â€˜Of course, my friend; of course I will.’ Tatianus, suddenly all affability once more, rose and walked around the desk and, clapping an arm around Magnus’ shoulders, guided him to the door; he was a full head taller than his guest. ‘It’s been a pleasure asalways.’ He opened the door and slapped Magnus’ back so hard it propelled him out of the room.
    The door slammed closed leaving Magnus, seething inside at the humiliation of being dismissed in such a patronising manner, standing in a brightly lit, marble-floored corridor, staring at two grinning henchmen. With as much dignity as he could muster he barged his way past the two heavies and stomped back down the stairs and on through the house to the atrium.
    â€˜Where do we take this, Magnus?’ Marius, a tall, shaven-headed crossroads brother, asked, pointing the leather-bound stump of his left arm at a strongbox on the floor.
    Magnus shook his head at the five crossroads brothers who had accompanied him with the money from the Quirinal to the Esquiline Hill. ‘Put it back on the cart, lads; we’re leaving empty-handed.’
    The largest and most oxen-like of the brethren turned his hands over and stared at the half-eaten onion in his right palm.
    â€˜It’s an expression, Sextus,’ Magnus snapped, venting his frustration on the slow-witted brother as he headed into the vestibule and grabbed his cloak from its hook. The doorkeeper performed his role with alacrity and Magnus stepped out into the drizzleladen gloom of an overcast, but warm, May night. Pulling his hood over his head, he kicked the slave belonging to Tatianus