The Great Game (28 page)

‘You were a friend of the Praetorians; a friend of the emperor?’

Rufinus blinked. ‘I’d hardly say that. Alright. I’m here in secret.’

‘For Praetorians and emperor?’

Rufinus felt a moment of panic again. Just how much did Senova know of the rift between Commodus and Lucilla? If she was
too
well informed and as loyal as she really should be to her mistress, almost anything Rufinus now said could land him deep in the shit-pit.

‘After a fashion’ he muttered. ‘Let’s say the only person other than yourself who knows who I am is Pompeianus.’

For a moment, Senova’s face brightened and Rufinus thought he saw a solution.

‘Pompeianus is a good man. There is reason to believe…’ he paused and tried to find the right words: ambiguous enough to mask the truth while appearing to reveal it. ‘There is reason to believe that the Imperial family is in danger from a potential usurper.’

Senova frowned and Rufinus wondered whether he’d gone too far suddenly.

‘I am sorry. What is this word ‘usurper’. I only speak Latin for three years. Some words are still unknown to me.’

Rufinus heaved a sigh of relief. ‘A usurper… a man who would kill them to make himself emperor. Or a woman.’ He added almost as an afterthought.

Senova nodded thoughtfully. ‘I think mistress thinks the same. She is always having private meetings and buys many new guards.’

Rufinus nodded, grateful how what appeared to him to be behaviour seriously indicative of treachery could appear quite the opposite with just a little nudge of suggestion. ‘It is absolutely imperative that I remain in secret here. Lives may depend upon it. Do you understand?’ Just which lives, she couldn’t know, of course. Senova nodded.

‘I will not tell anyone but master Pompeianus.’

Rufinus paused. He’d much rather she kept the subject away from the Syrian master’s ears too, but small concessions would have to be made. If Senova was to trust him and keep his secret, she must be free to confirm the story with the only other man involved in any
way. He sat back in the chair, his mind still racing. Of course, that meant that he now had to make closer contact with Pompeianus; had to warn him about the somewhat twisted version of the truth he had given the girl so that the former general wouldn’t contradictory him. He was suddenly, very uncomfortably, aware of the intensity of the gaze she was throwing his way and felt the colour rising in his cheeks, hopefully invisible in this gloom.

‘I really wish you hadn’t recognised me. It would have made things so much easier. Do you live in these chambers?’

Senova shook her head and nodded toward the east. ‘The Empress’ chief slaves live in part of the main palace. She likes them on hand all times. Only unimportant slaves live in the hundred chambers, with the storerooms.’

Rufinus nodded. It would be difficult to contact Senova if he wanted to speak to her. Or just to see her. So far, in his first week here, he had stuck to the outer grounds, where his assigned patrols were. Soon, he was going to have to begin exploring the palace properly, to find the ways in and out of the buildings, even the ones he was not allowed in;
especially
the ones he was not allowed in…

‘Are guards ever brought into the palace itself?’

He regretted the question as soon as it was out. She might think he was simply lusting after her, or she might worry that he had unsavoury reasons for seeking access to the lady’s private palace. Either way it would look bad.

‘What I mean is…’

‘Guards come into the palace from time to time. There are always two men patrolling the corridors, but you will not be one of them. You are too new. When there are big parties, more guards are brought in for extra safety, yes?’

Rufinus nodded, sighing with relief at the ease with which she had openly accepted his question. If he remembered the geography of the palace from his first day and the guided tour by both Phaestor and Glaucus, his fascinatingly-unwell room-mate, the wing occupied by Pompeianus, a sprawling complex of gardens, ponds and well-appointed chambers, was connected with the rest of the palace at some curious circular building that remained mysterious in its use. Perhaps if the worst came to the worst, the Syrian would be able to arrange access to Lucilla’s palace?

‘I must go’ Senova said quietly, pointing to the drab blanket swaying slightly in the breeze. ‘I have many chores and must be in the triclinium before domina sits to her meal.’

Rufinus nodded and smiled as reassuringly as he could manage.

‘I am sorry to have dragged you into this and just as sorry for the rough manner in which I did it, but I’m also very grateful for your understanding and your help.’ He found his throat was cracking as he spoke. ‘And I am… I’m very glad to see you again, Senova.’

He savoured the name for a moment, running the syllables round his tongue. The slave girl climbed wearily to her feet and pulled her cloak around her shoulders in preparation.

‘Brigantia go with you, Gnaeus Marcius.’

‘And with you, Senova of the Brigantii.’

As she stepped forward, he reached out and lifted the blanket aside for her.

The huge, monochrome shape of a hunting hound, half the height of a man, stood on the wooden walkway outside the railing, its eyes boring into his as he slid the blanket aside. The beast issued a low, threatening growl, spittle-soaked lips pulling back across the pink gums and savage teeth.

Rufinus saw the hackles raised on the dog’s shoulders and immediately pushed Senova behind him, his hand going to his waist. At least, since he’d not been back to his quarters yet, he still had the sword at his side. His fingers closed on the pommel.

What in the name of everything sacred and sane was the damn thing doing four floors up on a rickety wooden walkway in the slave quarters? Slowly, Rufinus took one step forward. The hound sank toward the ground, crouching into a hunter’s stance, its whole body vibrating with tension as another horrible growl issued from deep within its throat.

Rufinus’ fingers slid from the pommel down to the sword’s grip and tightened. The beast clearly had no intention of letting them past. And yet, if he was forced to try and dispatch one of Dis’ hounds, how long would the mercenaries’ second in command suffer him to remain unharmed. Assuming he would be
able
to best the creature, of course. Given the sheer size and feral nature of the dog, he wasn’t sure he would come away on top.

‘Shoo!’ he said rather lamely, and then hissed and waved his free hand.

Another deep growl came as his answer.

A distant shrill whistle pulled the beast up short just as its front legs were tensing.

‘Acheron! Heel!’

With a last look that conveyed a lot more intelligent malice than a dog should really be capable of, the Sarmatian hunting hound rose and stalked away.

Rufinus watched it go, his heart pounding in his chest as he let go of the sword grip and flexed his fingers. If he ever came up against both of those hounds at the same time, the contest would go entirely the canines’ way. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the fear in Senova’s eyes and understood it perfectly.

Listening, he could hear the heavy paws clattering down the wooden staircase over the persistent drumming of the rain.

‘It’s gone. We’ll be safe now, but I think I’ll escort you back to the palace, just in case.’

Senova nodded nervously and clung tightly to him as he stepped out onto the slimy wooden walkway. A quick glance over the edge revealed the dog leaping the last eight feet or so from the lowest landing and scampering across the sodden grass to where Dis stood, hunting bow in hand, with the other dog, looking up at the walkway. His eyes never left the pair of them as the savage hound ran up to its master and squirmed around his legs like a puppy until he dropped his free hand and ruffled the hair behind its ears.

Rufinus felt a chill run down his spine as he watched the figure. Dis stood motionless and silent, like some marble sentinel. Something about him was almost inhuman.

‘Come on.’

Grasping Senova’s hand, Rufinus walked her toward the stairs, ignoring both the heavy rain lashing down at them and the stare of those hollow eyes boring into him. As quickly as he dared in the conditions, he hurried them down the slippery steps. For the first three flights, every time the grass below came into view, Rufinus could see the shape of Dis watching them, hunting bow in hand, a dog by each shin, until finally, as they descended to the lowest landing, the figures had vanished, quickly and silently.

Rufinus cursed to himself, invoking the name of three Gods just in case. Likely a confrontation was coming with Dis. A hollow man like that was a challenge enough in the ring, let alone out of it and with no rules, and with two hounds of Hades thrown in to boot!

Hurrying onwards, they descended into the welcome shelter of the passageway that echoed with the drip of rain from a score of light wells. Back along the corridor they shuffled together, the chill of the weather seeping deep into their bones, until they reached the place where Rufinus had first entered.

‘I can go from here. I must hurry. Thank you.’

Rufinus opened his mouth to protest that he should walk her to the palace, but closed it again as common sense took control of his head. She was in no danger, particularly with Dis and his dogs on the far side of the villa, out in the grounds. And it would do her no good to be seen consorting with a guard, given the mistress’ rules of non-fraternisation.

‘Alright. Go safe, and thank you.’

Senova treated him to a heart-warming smile and, climbing the stairs, disappeared off into the distance. Rufinus stood for a moment and then, deciding on a course of action, climbed the stairs himself and veered off to the left. He would yet go and make use of the baths and dry his clothes, but not until he had done something else first. Besides, by then Phaestor and his companions would have left and he could relax in peace.

At the top of the stairs, where a decorative arch opened out into a well-tended lawn surrounded by sculpted hedges and bushes, the right led off to the olive-tree strewn hillside and the largely abandoned buildings at the south end of the villa’s grounds. Straight ahead, past which Senova had hurried, was the bath house. To the left, where he now trod with purposeful gait, was the nearest wing of the palace.

Marching through the downpour, he made for the doorway into Pompeianus’ interior garden, a portal that he had spotted several times on his visits to the baths and had noted was almost always open. Few people cared about the security of the mistress’ consort.

Taking a deep breath, aware that he could land himself in serious trouble if he was found wandering the palace without permission, he strode through the gateway and into the long, well-kept garden. Stretching some hundred and twenty paces and bisecting the two built-up sections of the palace wing, the stadium-shaped garden, with a curved decorative exedra at the nearest end, was a beautifully designed space of ponds, fountains, hedges, flower beds, and gravelled seating areas.

A figure moved among the small conifers growing in huge pots near the centre, snipping and pruning, and Rufinus shrank instinctively back against the wall, fearing discovery.

As he slunk along the wall’s edge, his mind raced. Pompeianus lived here, unpopular and almost in seclusion, with his own servants and hardly any contact with the guards or his wife. Any servant Rufinus found here would be one of the Syrian nobleman’s own.

Another deep breath. Nothing ventured: nothing gained.

Striding out from the wall, his boots crunching on the wet gravel, Rufinus approached the hunched figure of the gardener, busily tidying a decorative conifer, his straw hat waxed for extra protection as the torrents of rain ran from it and fell onto the cape he wore beneath.

‘Excuse me’ he said loudly, over the sounds of the rain striking leaves all around.

The figure paused in his work and turned.

‘I need to speak with your master. Would you be so kind as to take me to him?’

Pompeianus, former highly decorated general of the empire and husband of the most powerful woman in the world, turned with a smile, tapping the brim of his hat so that a fresh sheet of rain bounced off it. ‘I was wondering when you’d decide to show up, young man. Best come in out of the rain.’

Gesturing for the surprised Rufinus to follow, Pompeianus strode towards a door into the building to the left. ‘I have a rather good bottle of Falernian resting open and breathing the cool air. I’m sure after your exertions you would not be averse to joining me for a tipple while you tell me what is on your mind?’

Rufinus nodded seriously. ‘I think the time has come for us to have a talk, general.’

XIV – Understandings and revelations

POMPEIANUS sat back and exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. Rufinus sat nervously, having revealed every last detail of his involvement with Commodus, the two Praetorian prefects, the lady Lucilla and her personal slave. He had found, as he talked frankly and openly, that such a weight lifted from him that he had gone far beyond his initial intentions and had laid his soul bare before the Syrian former general. Somehow the man’s presence was comforting enough that it felt good to do so.

Now, however, was crunch-time. What would Pompeianus do?

The general nodded to himself, apparently mulling over the information as he digested it.

‘You have been a busy man.’

Rufinus nodded, his breath held. He’d even spoken in careful and peripheral terms of his confrontation and disposal of the animal Scopius, though omitting both name and location. He’d given over enough secrets to see himself executed five times over, for all the extenuating circumstances that had influenced his actions. But the only way anything was possible here in this palatial villa was through the acquiring of allies. And the only way to ally with Pompeianus was to come clean with him. A gesture of trust.

‘I remember you from Vindobona. I suspect that my wife and most of the notables will have only seen a soldier, for all your valour. Paternus clearly saw something else; Perennis too, else he would hardly have cared about your sudden prominence. I saw something in your eyes that at the time I took as deviousness, and I wondered whether you were busy engineering your advance. I see now that I was wrong.’