Running together since childhood, Monaxius has been with Gaius through thick and thin. Currently earning his living as a freelance priest to heretical sects and as a lawyer for people who can’t afford a real one, Monaxius is anxious to re-enter the rioting scheme Gaius’ client wants to force him to undertake again.

 

Needing a new influx of cash which their past scheme had earned them before, Monaxius pushes Gaius to accept. When Gaius refuses the client, Monaxius’ daughter, Martha, is kidnapped to force Gaius’ and Monaxius’ participation. In this excerpt from Chapter 4, Riches From Riots, before Martha’s kidnapping, Monaxius pushes Gaius to re-enter rioting …

 

Tedius and I retired to the dining room of an inn a couple of blocks away where Monaxius would join us. From our table on the second-floor we had a view of the Propontis Sea that floated the wealth of the Mediterranean world to Constantinople.

 

After a while, a commotion arose at the entrance from the stairs, and there was Monaxius trying to assure the upset proprietor that Brother Zazo was reputable. Wandering hermits and monks were no good for anyone’s business, as many of them scared people off begging or stealing things. At least the bad ones did. On the other hand, the truly ascetic monks and holy men who ministered to the needy while depriving themselves of comforts were highly regarded, often more so than a famous charioteer or pantomime. I could tell Zazo was not one of those so revered.

 

Moving to the stairs I said to him, “Brother Zazo, I have personal things to discuss with my friend. Would you wait for us outside? I will bring you wine and a fine meal – and I am sure you will find someone in need of ministering in the street.”

 

 “I will, Gaius Galen Licinius,” Zazo replied. “Monaxius tells me you two are like brothers, something I understand well.”

 

His exit down the stairs brought a thankful nod from the proprietor. At our table, I offered a toast to the newly wed Manicheans, which appeared to upset some nearby diners more than Zazo had.

“Quiet down, Gaius Galen,” hissed Monaxius. “I married them because marriage is forbidden among Manicheans, and none of their holy men would do it.”

 

“You mean you served two heretics of heretics? And they paid you? You are extraordinarily sly,” and I lifted my goblet to him.

 

Monaxius sipped at his and asked, “What do you want to talk to me about, Gaius? Tedius was completely unhelpful in this regard early this morning.”

 

“My master is leaning toward trouble,” Tedius told Monaxius. “If I may, Sir?” Tedius asked, and I indicated I didn’t care. “He has been approached to reignite his past, your past.”

 

“The riots?” Monaxius asked, now taking a full swallow.

 

“Yes,” I answered. “Though I have no details. My anonymous client’s representative spoke to me about this just yesterday, making it more an announcement than a request.”

 

“Who?” asked Monaxius.

 

“Ammianus.”

 

“Your employer who assists Maximius Clater Nerva?”

 

“Yes, but he says Nerva knows nothing about it.”

 

Monaxius leaned back in his chair and propped his right arm against the stone window ledge. White stars over the sea sparkled behind his head, filled with thought. After a moment he asked with interest, “Gaius, are you considering this? That was three years ago – and you and I have moved past that phase, into respectability, or certainly you have.” He paused a moment and looked sharply into my eyes, “Are you capable of that? That was another life altogether. Maybe you can smash open doors and torch a market stall, but can you cut a stranger? Still?”

 

His questions hung without my response, because our dinner was approaching – a large platter with a baked mackerel and asparagus moved toward our table, the small boy carrying it over his head barely visible. Two serving men took it from him and placed it in front of us, with three kinds of bread, relishes, a dish of peas in cream sauce and more wine. I led us in an orthodox prayer – before Monaxius might offer some heretical blessing. Then Monaxius surprised both of us.

 

“I could use another plunder of cash, though,” he said, taking a bite of fish. “Being an independent priest is not working, and I’ve been making more money doing legal work, wills and contracts for people who can’t afford a real lawyer. But the windfall we earned three years ago is dwindling. And I confess, at times I miss the action.”

 

Tedius stared in disbelief at him, then said, “I am surprised, Sir, that you would be ready for this again. All three of us are lucky to have lived through all that rioting, putting ourselves in the midst of it like insane directors.”

 

“I could be,” answered my former partner in crime.

 

Tedius shook his head and took out his frustration on the fish. He was too organized and cautious to ever enjoy our rioting. Monaxius and I had begun to veer into that sort of raucous entertainment around age 11, running with a pack of others, commandeering docked fishing vessels at night, ganging up on drunk monks and the like. In fact, it was encouraged by our fathers, particularly mine – not the bad deeds but becoming part of a cohort, growing from boy to man in the group dynamics of a military nature. Spoiled rich kids, with a taste and knack for violence.