‘What’s your name?’ he shouted at the man.
The strangeness of this request in the midst of rising chaos cut into the crowd and those nearby fell silent, watching and listening.
‘Corbulo,’ the man said suspiciously.
‘You a merchant? A family man?’
‘Don’t threaten me.’
‘I’m not,’ Rufinus said calmly. ‘No threat. I’m Maximus. Centurion Gaius Valerius Maximus.’
‘Corbulo. I work for the aqueduct inspection team on the Esquiline.’
‘Important work,’ Rufinus said. The man glared at him, narrow-eyed, wondering whether he was being sarcastic.
‘No, honestly. I know aqueducts, believe me. It is important work. Probably more important than mine.’
‘Definitely,’ snorted the man.
‘Family?’
‘Two daughters. Five and three.’
‘You poor sod. Probably already saving for the dowries, eh?’
The crowd nearby chuckled, and Rufinus took a steadying breath. The mood had shifted. Only slightly and only subtly, but the threat of violence had receded notably.
‘Corbulo, you know what’s going on here the same as me. All I’m doing is escorting it from one place to another on the orders of the bosses. I have no more say when and where it gets distributed than you do. I can only assume there’s a good reason for it, and I’m sure in due course the chamberlain will make his reasons clear and order the dole given out.’
The man nodded, uncertainly and unhappily, but he understood.
‘Now the thing is, Corbulo, that we are both just working mules in the machine of state. But if you and the rest of these people take it upon yourselves to try and raid the wagons then it becomes my duty and that of my men to stop you. That’s a huge crowd, with some nasty rocks and sticks, and my men have batons. If this goes tits-up, an awful lot of people are going to be wounded, on both sides of the fight. And you know that before any crowd can get away with these sacks, other units of the Cohort and the vigiles will come and join in. Then, gods help us all, the Praetorians might show up, and they won’t even bother with sticks. They’ll use swords. What we’re looking at is bloodbath of epic proportions, and I most certainly don’t want that. Do you?’
There was a dangerous pause, but the man shook his head.
‘No, of course you don’t. Now please help me disperse this crowd before anyone gets hurt and let the administration do its job. No one starves their own people on purpose. Cleander must had a reason. Just wait until we hear what it is.’
Silence. Not just from Corbulo, but across the whole crowd. Everyone was listening carefully now, citizens and soldiers, mercenaries and foreign teamsters.
The man on the wagon with him nodded. ‘You speak sense, Centurion.’
A murmur of resigned misery flowed through the crowd. As Corbulo echoed his sentiments to the people and helped him avoid disaster, Rufinus swallowed a knot of tension. All it would have taken was for the very reasonable man on the wagon next to him to be a little less understanding and right now he’d be watching men kill each other. Disaster was coming that close.
And now, with this last very clear move, he had set the final piece of the game in position.
He had averted a riot. He had moved the grain. He had blamed Cleander very publically.
Today was a good day.
Unless the chamberlain found out…
Chapter Nineteen – Meetings and departures
Rome, Early May 190 A.D.
Rufinus looked around himself at the somewhat miserable interior of the statio annonae.
‘Are you settling in, then?’
Dionysus nodded distractedly as he ran a finger down a long list on the desk. ‘Slowly. We’re having to work around the damage, but it’s not as if there’s a huge amount of work to do.’
Rufinus nodded. It made sense in a way. The prefect had moved his central administration back to the smaller office complex near the circus for several reasons. Firstly, the Horrea Galbana had ceased to have any real part in the grain dole for the time being anyway and was now largely a huge conglomeration of empty warehouses and offices. Secondly, while the statio had been the target of arson and had suffered a little damage before extinguishing, so had the horrea, so that made little difference. But thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, the statio was a small complex and therefore considerably easier to defend if the crowds that still periodically gathered outside turned ugly.
Dionysus had doubled the number of his hired guard at his house and now brought half of them with him any time he moved through the city. With that solid force and the two centuries of the Urban Cohorts now assigned to him, he was as safe as he could hope to be in this seething city.
‘You wanted to see me?’
Dionysus looked up and then crossed to the door, peering this way and that into the corridor before closing it. ‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘We might have a problem.’
‘Oh?’
‘It seems that the prefect of Aegyptus has done a sterling job whipping his local boys until they gave their all. Word has reached me that a fleet of sixty or so ships of varying sizes is gathering in Alexandria ready to transport enough grain to relieve the current trouble.’
‘Shit.’
‘Succinctly put. If that shipment arrives then everything we have done is for nothing. And there is just no way to stop it. Even if you were still commanding the fleet you couldn’t do much about that. There is now no danger from pirates and even with the best will of Neptune I don’t think we can hope for another maritime disaster on the scale of the last one. Our only hope is to bring this to a head before the fleet arrives.’
‘How long will that be?’ Rufinus asked breathlessly.
‘I don’t know. Could be ten days, could be two months. Depends how long it takes for them to gather the fleet and load the grain for transport, and also on sailing conditions, of course.’
‘It might still be possible. Things here are so close. Rome teeters. I see the dangers every day, and already the chamberlain’s name turns sour on the lips of the people. Just pray that fleet doesn’t arrive and spoil it all.’
Dionysus nodded. ‘I’m doing everything I can. I’ve spoken to Nicomedes. All reports bound for Ostia and Rome have been diverted to me, so as far as I am aware I am the only official in the whole of Italia who knows of the impending fleet. Rumour will travel, of course, and there’s little we can do about that. But without an official report, it will still be considered just rumour.’
‘Well…’
Rufinus’ words trailed off as they both heard doors slamming back and the tromp of hobnails on marble. The two men shared a worried look and then stepped aside to face the door. Whoever it was could only be here to see the prefect.
The office door opened sharply without even a knock, and Rufinus felt his pulse race at the sight of Praetorian white as the soldiers stepped aside for their master.
Marcus Aurelius Cleander stepped into the grain prefect’s office with a face like thunder.
‘Can I help you, chamberlain?’ managed Dionysus with a calm, innocent and concerned tone.
‘I certainly hope so, Dionysus. Have you seen what’s happening in the city?’
‘Daily, chamberlain.’
‘The plebs are drawing comic pictures of me on the walls of the forum. I am depicted with a sword in one hand and a sheaf of wheat in the other, stabbing skeletons. This cannot go on. I had no intention of hoarding the grain in the first place until you…’ he paused, noticing Rufinus for the first time with a curled sneering lip, ‘and him, persuaded me. If this cannot be resolved, then I want that grain back in public sources and your responsibility, Dionysus.’
The prefect spread his arms placatingly. Rufinus wondered what he was going to do. Things were starting to fall apart here, right at the end, and yet Dionysus was playing it so calm.
‘Worry not, chamberlain. I am the bearer of good tidings.’
Rufinus frowned,
and then felt his pulse leap again as the prefect reached down and produced a recently unfurled document, handing it to Cleander.’
‘Just tell me,’ spat the chamberlain, thrusting it back at him.
‘Tinius Demetrius, the prefect of Aegyptus has managed to gather what he believes will be enough grain to save Rome. He has pulled the new grain fleet such as it is to Alexandria and gathers more vessels even as we speak. As soon as he has all the grain in the port and sufficient ships they will send it to Rome as fast as they can. Relief is on the way. We have only to hold out long enough.’
A number of expressions passed across Cleander’s face, the most prominent being suspicion. Finally, he pursed his lips and folded his arms.
‘Will it be soon? Things are becoming untenable. Can we not distribute what grain we have in the meantime. And I hear rumours that we had a delivery recently. I had dismissed the notion, but the talk persists. Can you clarify this for me?’
Dionysus shrugged. ‘I cannot say how soon the grain will arrive, but I know that everyone involved will be working to bring it to Rome as fast as they can, for everyone knows the situation. Until that time we simply cannot afford to give out what we have, chamberlain. You know why. With the constant threat of unrest and mob violence, we must keep out emergency units fed – the vigiles, the Cohort, the sailors. Might I humbly point out that almost half the grain we do release goes to the Praetorians, who are the only unit not currently on half rations if I hear correctly.’
Cleander flashed him a dangerous glare.
‘I will not starve the emperor’s bodyguard. And I accept your position, but I do not like it. And what of this rumour of wagons?’
Again, Dionysus shrugged easily. ‘We had a small boost from Gaul, courtesy of the fleet grain mills at Arelate, but it is not enough to make a difference. Not enough to feed the people, so it has been put aside with the rest to feed those who need it most.’
Cleander glowered, but his questions had been answered. He huffed for a long moment, and then gave a curt nod. ‘I am barked at by a multitude of dogs, Dionysus. Even Consul Vitellius nags me. Severus has thus far been blessedly quiet, though how long it will be before he grumbles at me, I cannot say. I do not wish to be held accountable for grain that should by all rights be your responsibility. I will continue to attempt mollification of the people, but do what you can to speed the Aegyptian fleet along. We need that grain.’
With that he turned, throwing Rufinus a brief angry glare, and stomped out, his Praetorians at his heel. Rufinus waited some time after their departure, listening to the distant, muffled sound of the chamberlain climbing into his litter and leaving, before closing the door and letting out an explosive breath.
‘Was it wise to tell him about the shipment? Now he will be expecting it.’
Cleander slumped into his chair. ‘His knowing of it makes no real difference, I suppose. It will either come or it will not. He might use it to improve the mood of the crowd, I suppose, but it will still either be in time to save him, or too late to be of use. We will simply have to do what we can in the coming days to exacerbate the situation and further condemn the man.’
Rufinus nodded. This was becoming more difficult by the day. He bade farewell to Dionysus, gathered his men outside and began to march back through the city towards the fortress. It was difficult not to feel nervous at the atmosphere in the city as they moved through it. Months ago the worst fear of the people had been contracting the plague and dying, bleeding out from sores in the gutter. Now people were starving to death before they could die of the disease. Every step hammered guilt into Rufinus for his part in starving his own city.
Malevolent stares followed the men as they travelled and though no one made a move against the forty men of the Cohort marching through the street, Rufinus could feel just how close they were to just such an incident. He had given a standing order that his men maintain silence in the city. One wrong word could start a riot these days.
As they marched, he contemplated that problem. The Urban Cohort were there to keep order and save lives. They were commanded by the honourable Pertinax, who only had the best for Rome in mind. Yet the people saw them only as an extension of the Praetorian Guard, who were Cleander’s force, and who everyone knew remained well-fed. There had to be some way to separate the two – to malign Cleander’s guardsmen while making the Cohort an ally in the eyes of Rome. He frowned. How long had he been willing to vilify the Guard to whom he had been proud to belong?
He was grateful to pass through the gate and into the Castra Praetoria, out of the baleful eye of the people of Rome, and he dismissed his men from duty and strode into his quarters with a sigh of relief. He had dumped his helmet and cloak and was contemplating whether to eat or bathe first when he noticed the message on his desk. Some helpful soldier had delivered it during his absence. A simple note, brusque and unfriendly. A summons to the house of Tribune Fulvius.
Rufinus sagged. As if today had not held enough unpleasantness. He was still struggling with the urge to put an end to the murderous cavalryman, but every day he let it pass in the knowledge that it was important right now to rock the boat, and that Cleander had to remain the big fish they sought, not the tribune. Yet every meeting between them brought that inevitable clash closer.
With another sigh, he gathered up his cloak and vine stick and left his rooms once more.
Striding out of the Cohort’s barrack area, he crossed a road and made for the centre of the fortress. His mind whirled as he walked. Whatever Fulvius wanted it would not be good. Life these days was simply becoming a matter of prioritising which irritation, misery or disaster to shuffle to the top of the list and deal with first. He was so deep in thought about the tribune, the chamberlain, the grain shipment and Dionysus that he walked straight into the two white-clad figures as he emerged from between two blocks.
Startled, he looked up and his heart skipped a beat.
He had seen neither Mercator nor Icarion, his two oldest friends in the Guard, since that day he’d almost bumped into them near the Palatine, when he’d left that first meeting that started this mess. He’d prayed time and again that they had managed to survive the manoeuvres in the Guard and had not fallen foul of Cleander. And here they were.
In the brief moment he floundered and took it all in, he registered several things. Firstly, his two old friends were leading horses, but not equipped as cavalry, so they had been somewhere distant enough to require riding. They smelled faintly of brine and fish, so they had been at the coast at least, and probably on a ship. And they looked travel worn and tired, their facial hair grown out long beyond their usual neat clipped beards. So they had been on a distant assignment, out of the way of what was happening in the capital. Good for them. But they were back, which was less spectacular, for now they would be forced to submit to Cleander as master or to find some way to run away again,
All this passed in a heartbeat as he panicked and tried to work out what to do about this unexpected and most unfortunate encounter. He could hardly afford for even his old friends to know that he was both alive and working under an assumed name.
For the briefest of moments he almost meekly ducked out of the way and ran past, but even in his panic he realised that that would be out of character and would only draw further attention. They may be Praetorians and he the Urban Cohort, but he was a centurion and they only guardsmen. No centurion of the Cohort would bow and scrape to them.
Adopting a gruff posture he rose to his full height, which was half a head below Mercator and therefore not all that impressive. Even as he spoke he realised that he had subconsciously attempted to affect a Gallic accent and winced inside at his poor inflection. He sounded like a character in an Apuleius comedy.
‘Why don’t your lot watch where they’re going?’ he snapped, and pushed his way between them, striding off with his vine stick under his arm, all centurion to the core. As soon as he had his back to them and was marching on, he allowed himself to blink away the
sweat that had formed on his brow. He was even quivering. Damn it, but if those two were back in the fortress and he had to keep an eye out for them all the time, things were going to start getting very difficult.
As he reached the far side of the street and made his way into the road onto which the tribunes’ houses looked, he paused just long enough to glance over his shoulder. His heart raced once more to see that Mercator and Icarion had not moved. Both men remained where he had bumped into them, watching him intently. Regretting turning to look, he spun once more and marched off out of sight towards Fulvius’ quarters.
Somehow he knew they had recognised him. Despite his attempt to cover it all up, he was certain Merc and Icarion knew it was him. What they would do with that information remained a troubling question. At least they were no creatures of Cleander’s, so there was little chance of them reporting to him, and they were infantry, so would be unlikely to speak to Fulvius.
Damn it all, but how could this day get any more complicated?
Straightening once more into his best ‘haughty centurion’ posture, Rufinus rapped twice on the door and waited. The doorman opened up, peered at him suspiciously and stepped back out of the way, jerking inside with a thumb in the most insolent manner imaginable. Ignoring him further, Rufinus strode inside and instead of standing and waiting for the door to close and the slave to escort him, simply marched off in the direction in which he knew the tribune’s office to lie. The slave, worried that his master would beat him for failing in his duty, rushed after Rufinus, trying to get in front to lead him. With grim satisfaction, Rufinus made sure to occupy the full corridor and stay ahead of the slave.
Lions of Rome Page 28
