The Great Game (36 page)

Somehow, though, he was convinced that the complicated direction his career had taken was far from over.

Gritting his teeth, Rufinus veered off the road that led to the crowded, dirty streets of the city and made his way toward the Praetorian fortress. Approaching the gate in its high brick wall, away from civil structures, Rufinus slowed and pushed his cloak back to
show the sword by his side. Dressed like a nobody, and dusty from travel he would hardly be recognisable as a guardsman.

‘Halt! Identify yourself!’ called a voice from the top of the gate. A bolt-thrower turned with an audible creak to point down at him as though one weary, dusty traveller might pose a threat to the fortress of the most powerful military force in the world.

‘Gnaeus Marcius Rustius Rufinus, regular guardsman in the First cohort, century of Aelius Metellus, returning from special duty.’

There was silence, punctuated by low discussion on the wall.

‘Wait there, Argentulum.’

Rufinus ground his teeth. Four months away from the place and the damn nickname still hadn’t died. Breathing deeply and wondering what reception awaited, he paused ten paces from the gate and leaned on the travelling pole with which he had carried his kit. After a couple of moments there was a series of clunks and the smaller door within the large gate swung inwards with a squeak of badly-oiled hinges.

‘Welcome back, soldier.’

The watch centurion eyed him curiously as he approached the gate, limping slightly, his arm in a sling and his hand bandaged.

‘I’ve sent a runner to the headquarters. You should probably go there as soon as possible, but I’d highly recommend a swift wash and stowing that auxiliary shit you’re carrying in your room first, then changing into a proper white tunic as though you were a guardsman and not a walking midden.’

Rufinus saluted the officer wearily and walked through the gate, past the interested gazes of his peers and into the camp. The gloom lifted only a little as he spotted two familiar figures pounding across the dusty ground towards him. Mercator and Icarion were both equipped for duty, armour flashing in the sun, swords at their sides and white cloaks swirling as they ran, grins plastered across their faces.

It was hard not to feel uplifted by the presence of the pair, but even as the smile broke across his face, the reason for his return and the anticipation of the coming interview wiped it away.

The two veteran guards scraped to a halt and fell in on either side of him as he walked, grins wide as they looked him up and down.

‘What in the name of seven sacred shits of Jove happened to you?’

Rufinus glanced sideways at Mercator. ‘Good to see you too. A twelve foot Sarmatian cannibal with pointed teeth tried to eat me; even succeeded a little bit. I was saved by wild dogs.’

Icarion grinned. ‘You enjoyed your little ‘cruise’ then?’

Rufinus flinched irritably at the sarcasm. ‘That was an unpleasant, painful and completely wasted trip.’

Mercator laughed. ‘You’ll have to tell us all about it after you report in. I’ve got some nice Falernian back in the barracks, hidden away from prying thieves in a pile of socks.’

‘That’d be nice’ Rufinus nodded, ‘depending what the prefect has to say.’

Icarion’s face darkened, causing Rufinus to frown. ‘What?’

‘Paternus isn’t in a good mood at the moment. Trouble between the prefects, so tread carefully. Tell you more, later.’

Rufinus sighed. Thus began the next downward slope in his career?

‘Great. I’ll catch up with you as soon as I can.’

Not waiting any longer, he strode out across the open ground. Whatever the duty centurion had suggested, Rufinus was fairly sure Prefect Paternus would take a dim view of being made to wait while he cleaned himself; cleaning and stripping down was a slow and painful job at the moment. Besides, being dirty, unkempt and visibly wounded might make the prefect go easier on him.

Taking a deep breath, he strode across the ground, pulling the cloak back around his bad arm to keep away the breeze. While the weather had changed last night and produced the first ice-free morning of the winter, the wind had a bite to it, reminding people that spring was still a month or more away.

Preparing himself, he slowed as he reached the headquarters, opening his mouth to announce himself. The guardsmen standing on duty by the arch nodded at him.

‘You’re expected, Rufinus.’

With a feeling like a lead weight in his belly, Rufinus nodded and strode past them into the courtyard, making his way across the colonnaded square and into the basilica, passing through its grand open space and to the door that marked Paternus’ office.

Another deep breath to try and calm his nerves.

‘Get in here, Rufinus. I can hear you hovering.’

Resigned to his fate, the young guardsman stepped into the office. ‘Sir.’

Paternus gave him a sour look and ducked past him, checking to see that the basilica outside his office was empty before closing the door and returning to his seat.

‘Before I grant you the opportunity to speak, I would like to remind you that you were sent to the Villa to secure any information concerning the plot against our beloved emperor. You were supposed to be passing said information back to us via Constans the trader. I have spoken to the man on numerous occasions in the past four months without a single word from you. He tells me, however, that you have apparently been a model guard, patrolling until your feet froze and your brains addled.’

He leaned forward, eyes like black fire, and cradled his fingers on his desk. ‘Bearing all of that in mind, I would now invite you to explain.’

Rufinus sagged a little and threw out a salute, more from habit than desire. ‘Prefect, the Villa Hadriana has a distinct hierarchy. As a new recruit I found it extremely difficult to work my way into their circles. Only a trusted elite are privy to anything that happens in the residential areas. Consequently, I spent the first three months very much unable to learn anything of value. I considered it too dangerous to contact Constans just to report that there was nothing to report. It would have put both of us in unnecessary danger.’

Paternus’ face failed to soften as Rufinus had hoped.

‘And after those first three months? What of the past few weeks?’

‘The last week particularly has been an avalanche in terms of important events, sir. I’d decided that I needed to do something important to earn the trust of the villa’s major domo and guard captain, if I was ever to get into the important parts of the palace.’

Paternus nodded eagerly.

‘And I thought that I’d identified an agent there working for Cleander.’

‘
Cleander
?’ Paternus asked sharply.

‘Yes sir’ he replied quickly, ‘but I was wrong. It turns out that the man, Fastus, was actually working for the Frumentarii.’

Paternus’ thumbs, which had been twiddling as he listened, stopped and those sharp eyes narrowed as he looked up at Rufinus. ‘What have those devious snakes been up to?’

Rufinus sighed. ‘There is one of their number on the villa’s staff. He’s managed to get himself in high position, too. I’m afraid that in my attempts to rise in the hierarchy I very nearly toppled his plans.’

‘Shame you stopped. But you’re sure he was Frumentarii? They’re not supposed to work out of uniform.’

Rufinus nodded. ‘In all fairness, sir, they’re famous for breaking that particular rule. You can ask any man in the legions. They’re known to infiltrate units looking for signs of disloyalty.’

‘Sad truth, but truth nonetheless. He’s investigating the same thing as you?’

‘No sir. He’s just trying to put together a list of potentially disloyal names, using the emperor’s sister as a… ‘hub’ was the way he put it. I don’t think he believes there is a threat of a coup. Not the way you and Perennis do, sir.’

He was suddenly aware that he may have said too much as Paternus’ face darkened.

‘Explain that last remark.’

‘Well, sir. It seems that Prefect Perennis has recruited Pompeianus to investigate the very same thing at the villa, though the general is unlikely to gain even as much favour and access as I, given the rift between he and his wife.’

Paternus shook his head irritably.

‘So every fisherman in the capital is dangling a line into Lucilla’s pond and trying to hook the big fish. And you decided to return and report this Frumentarius rather than working with him?’

Rufinus shook his head and swallowed nervously. ‘Essentially, sir, the agent handed me my things and sent me back.’

Every movement in the prefect’s hands and body stopped and a small twitch appeared just below his left eye. ‘
Sent
you back?’

Rufinus cleared his throat noisily. ‘Yes sir.’

‘You report to
me
, guardsman. You work for
me
.
Do you understand
? You are not under the command of some obfuscating spy, no matter how much he might think so. You are a Praetorian. Are you a coward or just an idiot?’

Rufinus bridled, his cheeks colouring.

‘With respect, sir, the balance there is delicate. The Frumentarius has achieved tremendous position within the villa and he need only open his mouth and I would wake up crucified on the road to Tibur. Regardless of his authority levels here in the capital,
within the villa, he might as well be Mars himself as far as I’m concerned. He said ‘go’, and I had no choice.’

Paternus glared at him, but the sudden clenching of his jaw told Rufinus that the man had grasped the truth of the issue.

‘It’s a shame, too, sir. I was finally at a point where I was being moved inside where I might learn something useful.’

‘And you picked nothing else up in your time there?’

‘Nothing of import, sir’ Rufinus said quietly. ‘The lady has regular gatherings - at least monthly I’d say, but they’re always private affairs in the main palace. Most of the slaves, servants and guards don’t even see the guests. I tried to listen in and glean information over the first few months, but I couldn’t even get names, let alone hear them. All of the new recruits and the lower echelons are effectively shifted to the outlying areas during these visits.’

‘But you would have been in a position to learn more soon if this agent had not sent you packing?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Then I will have to think on a way to settle things with this Frumentarius when you return.’

Rufinus blinked. ‘Return, sir?’

‘Of course. I don’t care whether Jupiter himself sent you home, I put you there to do a job and you will return and carry out your orders as though you were one of my elite Praetorians, which I’d hoped you were.’

‘But sir, he’ll have already given them a reason for my departure. It could be disastrous for us both if I reappear.’

‘Then you’d best get your lying head on and spin a believable tale to those concerned.’

The prefect peered closely at Rufinus. ‘You appear to have suffered a violent attack recently, if my eyes do not deceive me. You can stay here for the week while I work on our Frumentarius problem. See the medicus and have yourself sorted, but be prepared to return to Tibur when the week is out.’

Rufinus sighed as quietly as he could, trying not to sound unhappy with his lot.

‘It’s a bit of a shame he sent me back when he did, sir, since I’ll miss Saoterus.’

For the third time in a hundred heartbeats, every ounce of motion disappeared from the prefect, save the increasingly active twitch beneath his eye.

‘Would you care to repeat that, soldier?’

Rufinus swallowed, nervously. ‘Saoterus, sir. He’s visiting the villa. Should have arrived today, sometime after I left.’

‘And it did not occur to you to mention this before?’

‘It seemed less important sir. After all, Saoterus is…’

‘A devious snake’ Paternus spat with distaste, ‘wrapping his coils around the emperor. A deviant, with designs on higher power… and a lover of men to boot. A catamite and almost certainly a traitor, given time to demonstrate it. For all Cleander is a twisted man, at least he has the decency to make it obvious without all the fawning and eyelash fluttering Saoterus manages. If I could get my hands on the little weasel I would wring him so tightly he’d be bone dry when he died.’

Rufinus found he had taken a couple of steps back during the tirade, the bile and spite in the words projecting as though Paternus had been poking a finger in his face. Rufinus’ mind whirled. His memories of Saoterus had been of a serious and intelligent young man, quiet and reserved. And Pompeianus, whom Rufinus was only coming to realise may be the most respectable and trustworthy person he had met in this whole nightmare, held the young advisor in high esteem, claiming him as the only thing holding the emperor back from disaster.

‘Sir, Saoterus is simply an advisor and he…’

‘Don’t try to sell me this feeble line of the man being the emperor’s conscience. I’ve heard it before. Take it from me: the only time that little deviant is not plotting is when he’s
trying to slide beneath Commodus’ bed-sheets
!’

Rufinus had taken another step back. This was not the prefect Paternus he remembered from Vindobona, the quiet and thoughtful, reserved and principled officer. It was hard to credit so much anger residing in such a man.

Carefully, he waited until the twitch faded and the prefect’s lower eyelid stopped leaping around and then took a deep breath and made one last effort to be the voice of reason.

‘Respectfully, sir, I heard the villa’s major domo speaking on the subject. It seems that Lucilla and her people are less than happy with Saoterus’ visit. They were making careful plans to keep their guest separated from everything of import. I cannot say what his motives may be for the visit, but I am convinced they have nothing
to do with conspiracy and that he is in no way tied to the lady or her machinations.’

Paternus sneered. ‘And of course, you expect me to defer to your boundless experience in the field of politics. Get out of my sight, Rufinus, but keep your kit packed. There’s no furlough or medicus in your future. Tomorrow morning you’re back to that villa as fast as a horse can take you and you stick to Saoterus like bee-glue until you know every little secret.’