"Some bold suggestion you made at the banquet."
Augustus glanced behind.
At the door to his private box on the upper deck of the amphitheater, Remus Scipio was regarding him with a gleeful grin. He proceeded to sit beside him. "Now the whole country is ebullient, the number of bets we receive has increased by nearly a quarter."
Augustus shifted in his seat. He never had a taste for men too clever by half like Remus, whose grin was a manifest of mockery. Since they were young, Remus had always been the charmer, the ladies' man, whose eyes, the color of date syrup, were as tender as his words were sweet. Even now he had aged and bared his fair share of lines across the face, the gray in his hair only added volume to his charm and buoyed his spirit.
"Has it?" Augustus snorted. "Now that the Underdog and the Favorite are both picked from the League, no matter how it ends, you lose nothing. Somehow I've made you the biggest winner of all, haven't I?"
"You know I've always admired your droll sense of humor, my dear friend." Remus leaned back, arms about his chest. "But you're right. However inadvertently, you've done my house a favor, and I shall be forever in debt of gratitude."
"Any chance I get to liquidate that gratitude?" He japed, snorting. "How about a discount the next time?"
"My friend, the Scipios will always be at your service. You come and go as you wish and pay whatever amount you see fit." Remus took a meaningful pause, his forefinger stroking his chin.
A sneer narrowed Augustus' eyes. "But?"
"We have another problem."
He leaned to the side, away from Remus. "What is it?"
"The last soldiers sent to the hypocaust never returned. I've sent more men after them. They found only blood and signs of fighting. What's curiouser, the water had not been drained, and while the trolley was there, the bodies were gone. Odd, isn't it?"
Augustus gritted his teeth. "I told you we needed more guards there!"
"So what if we did?" Remus chuckled mockingly. "You think putting a squad there will stop them from killing each other? Instead of pondering the what if, let's focus on what's next, shall we?"
"No corpses were found. It means at least one man has made it out alive. Where is he, or where are they? Have you checked their homes?"
"I did. They never returned."
"Keep an eye there. They will try to make contact with their families eventually."
Remus nodded.
"Does the Praetor know?" Augustus side-eyed him, keeping his head low, his voice lower.
Remus shook his head. "But he will if we don't muck out the mess."
All the men, women, and children they had killed out of pleasure were cremated at the hypocaust. Such a service bound the triumvirs and their clans with the Praetor. To pledge one's allegiance was to avail himself of the service so no one could expose another: what they shared in power, they shared also in crimes. Reflecting on the series of incidents, the completion of the Dam, the unlikely election of the Underdog, the untoward pardon of Domitian, and now trouble at the hypocaust, Augustus balled a hand under his nose. They couldn't all be coincidence. Laelia is right. Must there be an exogenous force working against them.
"We need a new location for the hypocaust," he remarked at length. "And get rid of the old one."
Remus clapped his shoulder. "I'm already on it, dear Augustus. And if I were you, I'd be more concerned with how to win the bet against Lorenzino. We've underestimated the little miser. Do you have in mind a candidate for the Favorite yet?"
Augustus shook his head, his eyes turning to the stage where Lady Butterfly was singing during the interlude.
"Well, as I've said, the Scipios are at your service. Feel free to pick and choose whoever you like."
Augustus raised his head, his chin pointing at the stage. "Her," he grunted. "I'll worry about the bet tomorrow. I want her for the night."
Remus pulled away the hand. Straining his eyes, he hoisted the corners of his lips. "I still need her to sell tickets."
"I'll keep her alive."
"And I'll talk to Drouet Titus. He'll make the arrangement." Rising to his feet, Remus whirled and left.
Up on the stage, Lady Butterfly took a bow amidst a round of applause.
Augustus slumped in his seat, twiddling the gold ring on the other hand. A knock on the oak door heralded a servant, pulling Augustus' eyes away from the stage.
"M'lord, a young man is here to see you, said to be your nephew," said the servant, who had bent his neck so low Augustus could barely see his face.
"My what?"
"He bore the jade amulet with the openwork of the Praetor's sigil, m- m'lord," the servant stuttered. "We have it verified."
"Have the guards escort him here." Augustus reached for his sword slanting next to his seat.
Swishing steps drew close. A pallid young man, flanked by two guards behind him, emerged through the door. Clad in ivory linen gilded in gold threads, he had sunken cheeks and downturned eyes that glared like a hawk.
"Who are you? And who sent you?" Augustus swiveled toward the young man in the same breath he drew his sword and leveled the sharp tip at his cleft chin. "Speak!"
The young man flicked his eyes at the guards behind either shoulder, who had their hands around the hilts of their swords as they awaited further orders.
"Lord Gaius," he said, his tone flippant, his bow meaning to tease. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Anthony Heius, and I serve no one but my own. But that's about to change. A fervent admirer of you and your son, I'm here to pledge my service to you."
Augustus scoffed. "In the name of which blighted god do I need your service for, you filthy imposter?"
"I'm not stupid, m'lord," the young man replied, quirking his brows. "You really think I'd march in here without anything to offer?"
With a sidearm swing, Augustus withdrew the sword to his flank. His guards retreated a step.
"Everyone is worked up by your announcement to name another pugilist as the Favorite. The card game you suggested has prodded more men to the betting booth, and the number of bets received was unlike anything we've seen, making either you or Lord Lorenzo the biggest winner of all time."
"Do I look like I need a recap from you?"
"Of course not," Anthony smirked. "But there's still a chance that the Favorite will lose the card game and end with a blunt blade. Doesn't the prospect of losing nip you at night, m'lord?"
The sword swept up again, slashing the linen on the man's shoulder.
The young man chuckled, raising both hands. "I mean no offense," he continued and opened his right palm, on which sat a bronze plate. "This is my real amulet."
"So?" Augustus spat.
He uncoiled his left hand, revealing a jade pendant that shared the same design as the one Augustus himself possessed. "So I want to trade mine for this."
The whole time, has the exogenous force only been this self-serving little shit? A fleeting relief brought a sardonic laugh to his throat. His laughing ceased. The implications settled in him that even a little shit could stir up quite a tempest among the men who considered themselves formidable. Seething with slight if not fear, Augustus applied just enough pressure to draw a thin line of blood across the man's neck, a gesture of an order.
The guard on the left twisted the young man's wrist as he snatched the jade amulet while the one on the right knocked him to the floor.
Sinking to his knees, the thief groaned and yanked with his free hand the bronze plate off its chain. He swept up the arm at the feet of the other guard as he flicked off a pin attached to the plate.
A glint spiraled before Augustus' eyes and stabbed into the oak door behind the guard. Augustus winced, glaring with disdain at the guard who paled.
"Blunt blade or not, m'lord," the man on the floor snickered, a menace rasping in his voice. "Nothing has been said about wearing no amulet."
Augustus crouched down. "What exactly is it you want?"
"Membership." The other man raised his eyes. "I've heard that all first-class citizens are called in to update their amulets. I want my second proof of identity from you to update this one. In turn, I'll find you the Favorite and help you win."
Augustus rose and guffawed. Turning on his heel, he leaned out from the balustrade and scanned the auditorium. Remus Scipio was greeting Dracus Uranus, pecking the boy on either cheek. A shiver came to him as he imagined the words exchanged between them. He gritted his teeth. Laelia, that snake of a woman, and the mocking Scipio, could they also have plotted against him? Was it mere happenstance that the Scipio brothers would emerge as the biggest winner after all? Augustus could never know for sure. But had Laelia and Remus been laughing up their sleeves, he swore he'd not be made a fool.
"And what if I lose?"
"You can't." The man on the floor grinned up at him, baring his crooked teeth. "While men and women of this country are sick of the Scipios and the Legidus, they would follow your son to death. I have a mob of mendicants at your command. Win or lose, our brothers will take to the streets, celebrating your son while demanding whatever you see fit from the Praetor."
Musing on the man, Augustus found a new plan brewing in his head. All this time he had labored to clear him and his son of the Praetor's suspicion, his efforts had been passive, responsive at best. Why not take the initiative for a change? Had he not had enough of taking orders?
A rumble of drums sounded from the stage downstairs. The audience whooped in chorus at what must be a spectacle Augustus cared not to even peek.
Too long had he coveted the full command of the military force, which had been divided between the Praetor and the Triumvirs in the aftermath of the civil war thirteen years ago. While the division had indeed contained each clan, restoring stability the country sorely needed, it reduced their combat power against foreign offenses. Such had been a problem that favored the Scipios and the Legidus, whose midland and southern legions were challenged by no foreign assaults.
Augustus grunted and heaved.
But the Gaius were put in charge of the north assaulted continually by the Turisian horsemen. All the roads and bridges and waterways his son had commanded to build had earned the Gaius a reputation and the Praetor's tentative trust. But Augustus knew too well that deep down, that swine of a man Marcus Uranus had always reserved his doubts against him for the betrayal he committed thirteen years ago. The betrayal that won Marcus the war, he now held it against the Gaius, fearing that they would do the same to him. For thirteen years, Augustus had been punctilious not to agitate that fear. Had the Gods just presented him a chance to put his laborious punctiliousness to an end?
He turned to face the man on the floor. "You haven't really answered my question."
"As I've said, m'lord, you have a city of ruffians at your command," the man replied. "If victory can't be earned, rob it."