Ignoring the sickening sight of the strewn and trampled bloody bodies in the wake of the killing, Rufinus walked his horse out into the street and began to follow the white-clad killers at a discreet distance. It made him shiver to think on the men and women dying in front of that white wave sweeping along the street, the evidence of which was strewn across the road before him.
He watched as they chased the screaming population down the sloping street and to the junction with the Vicus that led to the gate. The cavalry continued their butchery into that main thoroughfare and Rufinus moved quietly and carefully down behind them, keeping to the shadow at the side of the street, watching with distaste and waiting for any opportunity to get to Fulvius to arise.
At the sight of the gateway, less than three hundred paces from the junction, the Praetorians changed tack. At bellowed commands from Fulvius, they formed into a tight wedge and swept along the side of the street, past the crowd, still swinging out with their blades as they passed and scything down the terrified population. Rufinus realised with disgust what they were doing. A significant number of men and women had already passed beyond the line of the old walls, but the bulk were still within, and Cleander had no intention of letting them leave.
The Praetorians formed up in the gap between the walls and systematically butchered anyone who came close. The mob ground to a halt, panicked. There were still those among them angry enough to override their fear, and they ran for the gate here and there, either intending to slip past the Praetorians and run for the aid of their emperor, or perhaps attempt to bring those riders down and set upon them.
They were doomed, though, for the bulk of the mass were more intent on staying alive now.
Rufinus watched, nervous, tense. Any time, anything could happen, opening up a path to Fulvius for him. Moreover, now that they had stopped and the bulk of the crowd were in flight along whatever side street they could find, the killing had subsided. Perhaps Rufinus could get in among the riders when it all stopped. That would be his time.
Slowly, he became aware of a new noise, as the sounds of slaughter subsided.
The rhythmic tramp of booted feet. From further away, beyond the gate.
He strained to look past the Porta Raudusculana and blinked in surprise as he spotted the source of the noise. A large force of the Urban Cohort were closing on the gate from the sub-urbs, filling the street. As the unit closed, Rufinus spotted several mounted figures among them, including Prefect Pertinax and the consul Septimius Severus. Both had blades drawn, along with the entire force of soldiery.
A loud murmur arose from the crowd. While they may still respect the Urban Cohort, the sudden convergence of two large armed groups who were well known to hate one another was a worrying development for everyone.
Rufinus’ mind raced. There was no way the Urban Cohort could have assembled at the Castra Praetoria and got here this fast, especially by a circuitous enough route to come at the Praetorians from behind. They had to have been deployed close by and waited for a signal. The presence of Severus among them suggested that perhaps their timely arrival was his doing, or more likely another facet of Vibius Cestius’ machinations.
The Praetorians had noticed the approaching force now, and the killing stopped as they straightened to Cleander’s voice and turned en-masse to face the new threat. The civilians remaining in the street took flight, those last few grasping the opportunity to disappear into alleys and doorways, fleeing the two forces closing in the wide street before the fighting really started. As the last few melted away, Rufinus felt a twinge of irritated impotence once more. Finally the crowd were gone and he could potentially slip in with the Praetorians and kill Fulvius without getting involved in the slaughter, but now instead he was to be thwarted by the arrival of his allies. How could he slip out into the street and get to the tribune now?
There were still a hundred or so white-clad horsemen blocking the gap where the city gate had once stood, but instead of facing unarmed civilians, they were now confronting the Cohort, and the odds had to be at least five to one in favour of the new arrivals.
Rufinus saw Cleander gesticulating as he said something to Fulvius. The man would be plotting now in desperation. His world was collapsing around him, but he still thought he could put it right. Cleander was not a man to give up, as Rufinus knew. He had culled the riot in this region. He had dispersed the crowd with excessive use of force, and Cleander probably did not believe that the men of the Cohort would dare launch an attack on the Praetorians. What he would be wondering now was how to get past the Cohort and after those civilians who had already fled the city and would even now be racing along the road to Laurentum to denounce the chamberlain and turn the emperor against him. He had to stop them if he wanted to come out of this alive. For preference he would have to reach the emperor first and put his side of things. And yet here he was stuck at the Porta Raudusculana, facing off against Severus and Pertinax and a superior force of men who stood in his way.
The chamberlain turned to Fulvius again. Rufinus concentrated, straining to hear. He was close enough to make out only part of what was said, but it was enough. The chamberlain had ordered his tribune to return to the Castra Praetoria and call out the entire Guard. Rufinus shivered. This had the makings of a battle, a brutal conflict between Praetorians and the Cohort. Fulvius saluted and gathered two riders to him. As he made to leave, the chamberlain called him over once more and said something to him, very quietly – almost secretively, in fact.
Rufinus narrowed his eyes. What was happening? Whatever it was, his chances of getting to Fulvius were about to improve hugely. The tribune escorted by only two men might just be accessible. Fulvius nodded to his commander and emerged from the rear of the cavalry force with his two men, riding back along the road that would take him through the heart of Rome and to the Castra Praetoria. Instead, though, once they were far enough back to be out of sight of Pertinax and the Cohort, they turned and rode into a side street, heading south, just one turning up from Rufinus.
He frowned. That was a strange direction to take to return to the Castra Praetoria, given that it headed in almost the opposite direction, towards the river. Rufinus twitched. He needed to follow Fulvius, but he also wanted to see what happened here. He decided that he could allow himself a few moments. The street Fulvius had taken he knew well enough.
The Urban Cohorts came to a stop at a command, facing the Praetorians at a distance of only two hundred paces.
‘Your career is over, Pertinax,’ the chamberlain shouted angrily. ‘I will not stand for your policemen defying the Guard. You overstep your boundaries once again, and in the company of the treacherous Severus, too, a man who has worked evil miracles to blacken my name.’
Pertinax stepped his horse forward.
‘You condemn yourself, Cleander. Your name is blackened by your deeds most of all. The Urban Cohort serves to protect the people of Rome, even if they have to be protected from the Praetorian Guard.’
Rufinus winced. This was unlikely to end well, unless somehow Pertinax and Severus could appeal to the horsemen and turn them against their commander. It was possible. Either way, whether this ended in bloodless victory or mutual slaughter, Rufinus was out of time. He would have to leave Cleander to the others if he was to finish Fulvius.
Praying that his friends would manage to bring this to a conclusion, Rufinus turned his horse and rode back up the Vicus Publicius. Fulvius had only a short lead on him, and was riding up the Vicus Loreti Maioris. Several side streets connected the two thoroughfares, but Rufinus knew the best cut through to save time.
As he trotted up the street, he pondered on what Fulvius might be doing heading this way. It was unlikely in the extreme that he was heading back to the fortress, else he would have gone entirely the other way. Over the months of patrolling the region with the Urban Cohort, Rufinus had a better grasp of the area’s geography than most. The line of the old, disused city wall ran from the gateway he’d just left down to the r
iver, mostly now running through warehouses and residences, long since overgrown by the city. But despite being disused as a defensive circuit, the wall itself remained to a good height in many places, often reused as the side wall of later buildings. As such, it still presented a solid barrier. Rufinus knew well that from the Raudusculana Gate they had just left, the line of the wall remained unbroken until it reached the Porta Trigemina, down by the river and not far from the circus.
Connections were made instantly in his mind. That was the next gate. From there, horsemen could leave the old walled region and move through the network of good modern roads in the sub-urbs. In a quarter of an hour they would be on the road to Ostia and Laurentum, chasing down that mob of civilians. Worse still, since the start of the grain problems, Cleander had taken to stationing a small unit of his Praetorians down near the emporium, and there would be even more of the Guard a little further back, near the circus. Fulvius could probably gather a full turma of cavalry on his way out of the city, and he would then be out in the open, free to dispatch that crowd of citizens without Severus and Pertinax even being aware of their departure. This whole thing could still yet collapse if Cleander managed to stop word reaching the emperor before he could pour his poisoned words into Commodus’ ear and turn the tide against the conspirators.
Now, more than ever Rufinus needed to get rid of Fulvius, and quickly. As soon as the man reached the emporium he would have reinforcements and be unreachable once more.
Rufinus kicked up from a trot into a fast canter.
He turned the corner, hurried along the connecting street and then back out onto the Loreti Maioris. He could see the three white horsemen further up the slope. They were moving hastily but not at top speed, which confirmed Rufinus’ suspicions. If they were only intending to gather local reinforcements or get back to the fortress, they could gallop and be much faster. That they moved at a steady pace suggested that they had a longer distance to ride and meant to conserve their horses’ energy.
Rufinus steadied himself, drawing the blade from the sheath at his side. He urged his horse on now into a gallop, and the beast raced on up the slope. He was closing on them. He had to get rid of the other two who rode side by side behind their master first, and quickly else they stop him bringing down the tribune. He was short on time and had to be fast, and that meant he could do with removing both men at the same time, to avoid becoming embroiled with them while Fulvius fled to safety.
With a touch of regret, Rufinus slung away his shield, letting it fall to the ground as he rode. Freed of the painted board, he drew his pugio dagger with the off-hand. He had to be swift and accurate. He had only one attempt at this without turning it into a troublesome melee.
He was closing on the trio now, and finally they became aware of the hoof beats following them, the drumming speed too rapid to be lost among their own. They turned and looked back. Rufinus flinched, but both men simply nodded and then faced forward again. He was a Praetorian. He was one of them. Probably Cleander had sent them an extra man with a message.
Rufinus grinned viciously.
In a matter of heartbeats he was with them. Instead of slowing, though, he made for the gap between the two men escorting the tribune and, as he did so, pulled back his sword arm. A double attack, striking out separately with both arms, is a difficult thing to do, and something that gladiators learned rather than legionaries, but it was also something any successful boxer trained in.
As he came level with the two men, who now turned once more to look at him, he struck.
The sword that had been pulled back now swept forward. The man on the right at which he struck was an optio or other junior officer, clearly, as he wore a shirt of gleaming bronze fish-scale armour. It was decorative and relatively protective. Unfortunately for the man it also had a low collar-line, while his helmet’s neck guard, since his gaze was lowered to his reins, was a little high. The resulting gap was not over-wide, certainly less than a hand-width, and wrapped in a scarf, but for an experienced soldier with plenty of preparation, it was enough.
Even though the cavalry sword was longer than the gladius Rufinus was used to, it handled in much the same way, and the edge was narrower and sharper. The swinging blade bit into the man’s neck deep enough to smash the bones in his spine despite the scarf.
His scream masked that of his companion, who shrieked simultaneously as the dagger plunged beneath his right arm with which he gripped the reins, sinking into the unprotected flash and hammering deep into the chest cavity.
Calling on every ounce of strength he had, Rufinus ripped both weapons free and used the fists balled around the hilts to push the dying men outwards. The two escorts, still screaming, fell away, sagging in the saddle, and Rufinus was right behind Fulvius as he turned in shock at the noise.
It took a moment for recognition to sink in, and then the tribune danced his horse ahead a few paces before wheeling her sharply to face his assailant.
Rufinus stopped and the two men sat for a moment, eyes locked upon one another. Fulvius then drew his sword and dagger to match Rufinus – a tribune rarely carried a shield, after all.
‘The time has come then.’
‘It has.’
Fulvius nodded to himself. ‘I should have dealt with you long ago. I let caution get in the way. I did not want to cause trouble for the chamberlain, particularly after everything he has done for me, but I should have bitten down on the strop and done it anyway. I would be fascinated to find out how you got out of your cell, though I don’t suppose it matters now.’
‘I won’t let you murder any more civilians,’ Rufinus said in low, menacing tones.
Fulvius laughed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Rufinus. I have no intention of killing anyone now. Once I’ve sent you to meet your father, I intend to find somewhere nice and quiet and wait out events.’
Rufinus frowned. ‘What? Your master…?’
A snort. ‘Cleander’s done for now. I’m well aware of that. Whatever little plot you and your friends have been cooking up with the grain shipments has achieved the impossible. Cleander is going to fall a long way, and I intend to distance myself from today’s events. When he falls, the two prefects will fall with him, and the rest of the Guard will get just a stiff talking to, for they were just following their commander’s orders. By autumn I will be a prefect of the Guard.’
‘No, by sundown you will be a corpse.’
Fulvius snorted again. ‘I offer you this only once, in a spirit of goodwill. Go away and leave me alone. Forget about your petty revenge, and I will go about my own business. With luck, both of us will see out the day alive and you can reclaim your name.’
‘No.’
‘Because if you refuse,’ Fulvius said, gripping his blades tight, ‘then it will be you lying mouldering in a ditch. I am not some gilded flower of a tribune, granted command by the senate because my dad is of old blood. I fought in Pannonia, in the front lines. I killed while up to my knees in blood and mud and shit, just like you. But unlike you I am a cavalry soldier. I know horses well, and mounted combat even better. You are infantry. You will die. Last chance to run away, Rufinus.’
‘No.’
Rufinus danced his horse forward, sword rising above his head. As he closed on the tribune, it came down hard, but Fulvius simply slung his own blade in the way and knocked the strike away easily. He was good. He was quick, too. The dagger in the tribune’s left hand thrust out and Rufinus had to lean back in the saddle sharply. The dagger whispered past him as he turned his horse once more, meeting Fulvius for a second clash.
The two swords met again with a clang and a spine-tingling shriek of tortured metal as the two edges grated apart. This time Rufinus’ dagger slashed out but Fulvius was already moving out of the way. Then the tribune was on him. That sword came round again and again, the dagger punctuating each blow, and Rufinus was forced on the defensive, turning and parrying each blow without time to strike back.
His mind whirled. He had plenty of
fight in him yet but despite Rufinus’ youth spent in the saddle, Fulvius was right. A man trained to fight on horseback is naturally faster and more flexible with that situation. Part of the difference in their ability might also be put down to the fact that Rufinus was having a little difficulty moving well in his tight, restrictive chain shirt. Either way, unless he found a way to even the odds, he would have to be quite lucky to get the better of Fulvius.
The only way, then, was to turn this to his advantage.
He smiled grimly, remembering that fight a decade ago in the amphitheatre when he had put Phaestor, the commander of Lucilla’s private army, down. That man had been superior with a blade, and it had taken a trick – a ruse of foolish nature – to defeat him, falling as though by accident in order to get to a place where he could strike his blow.
This time took little planning. He knew immediately what to do. He continued to parry and dodge Fulvius’ blows until the right one came. As Fulvius swiped with his blade, slashing across at neck height, Rufinus fell forward in the saddle, lifting his rear as he did so that he came free of the secure horns of leather that held a rider in his seat. He fell forward, past the horse’s neck. It must have looked like a totally graceless and foolish failure, ducking the blow and in the process slipping and falling from the horse.
Rufinus dropped, keeping hold of just his sword and twisting as he fell.
Accompanied by Fulvius’ triumphant laugh, he landed on the street. He had turned, though, as he fell, and landed with both heels down, sword still gripped and dagger discarded, almost underneath the tribune’s horse.
Before Fulvius could work out what was happening or try to crush Rufinus under the hooves, the younger man got to work. His sword held to the side, he reached up and grasped the girth strap of the tribune’s saddle. It was the work of but a moment to unfasten the buckle and step back.
Lions of Rome Page 39
