Praetorian: The Price of Treason

by S. J. A. Turney

  Bruiser was on the floor making keening noises as he clutched his leg, and Nerves was struggling in the bath, dragged down by wet clothes and a mail shirt. Leader came at him again and this time he was fighting properly, his fists lancing out as he advanced, his foreleg biting the ground, his rear bracing with each step.

  As Rufinus blocked and turned aside blow after blow with his naked arms, feeling the pain that would later blossom into a network of bruises, two more horsemen appeared in the doorway.

  Shit. This was starting to become properly dangerous.

  Block, block, block, sidestep, duck, block…

  Punch.

  The jab was not a hard one but with no bindings and just bare knuckles it was enough to smash cartilage and spread the leader’s nose across his face. He was quite impressed that the man barely faltered, issuing a growl of fury rather than a howl of pain.

  ‘Separate!’ bellowed a voice from the door, and the command came as such a surprise that both Leader and Rufinus stepped back and disengaged as they turned to the source of the shout.

  Mercator and Icarion stood in the doorway with their blades out, the points pressed lightly into the backs of the two newly-arrived cavalrymen.

  ‘This is a private fight,’ snarled the leader.

  ‘Oh I have no intention of stopping it,’ Merc laughed. ‘But let’s keep it fair.’ He turned to Icarion, gently pressing his blade forward as the man it threatened thought to move. ‘Five sestertii on Rufinus?’

  Icarion snorted. ‘No one would take that. Not even Knuckles over there.’

  Rufinus felt the leader come for him again even as he smiled at Icarion. Leader dropped as he advanced, his arms coming round to encircle Rufinus’ ribs, attempting to knock him from his feet and drive him to the floor. Almost contemptuously, the young guardsman allowed himself to be driven backward toward the bath rather than fall and raised both hands. With as much power as he could present given the constricted position, he slammed down with both elbows onto the man’s head. There was a click from below and for a heart-stopping moment, he wondered if he’d broken the leader’s neck. But while the arms released him it was not through unconsciousness, and the man staggered back, shaking his head and reeling.

  ‘Walk away,’ Rufinus said quietly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nerves scurrying for the doorway. Bruiser was still out of the fight, trying to rise but unable to put any weight on his leg. Leader seemed oblivious. As he shook out the worst of his confusion, he came again, swinging and jabbing wildly. Rufinus watched him come, stepped lightly to one side and delivered a light kidney punch as he passed.

  The man yelped and staggered, almost falling as he spun.

  ‘You’re beaten,’ Rufinus said calmly. ‘Walk away while you can.’

  ‘Murdering scum,’ snarled the man as he advanced yet again, an unplanned flurry of blows that Rufinus ducked back from easily without the need to provide a block. The man was driven by anger rather than desire to win, and the elbows to his head had thoroughly unseated his wits. There was little chance now of the man even landing a punch, let alone winning.

  Rufinus backed away again and waited for the inevitable opportunity. When the man overstretched and that opportunity came, Rufinus stepped aside once more, hooking out a foot and tripping his opponent. Leader fell forward to where Rufinus had been – right in front of the huge circular labrum on its pedestal. His forehead smacked into the marble edge as he toppled, ending the fight. He hit the floor groaning and took three attempts just to get to his knees. A huge red welt crossed his forehead just above the brow, and he almost toppled again as he tried to stand.

  ‘Will you walk away now?’ Rufinus muttered.

  The big man opened his mouth and blood gushed out. Rufinus realised with distaste as the man spoke that when he’d collided with the labrum he’d bitten off the tip of his tongue in the process.

  ‘Thavianuth? Pwopertiuth? Go find Gwabwio.’

  The two men in the doorway stepped away, testing Merc and Icarion’s resolve. When Rufinus’ friends made no move to skewer them, the two troopers ran for it, back through the warm and cold rooms and out into the early morning. Rufinus looked down at his two remaining attackers. Leader wouldn’t be fighting anyone any time soon, and Bruiser was still failing even to rise to his feet. Turning, he smiled at the two men who’d come to his aid, discarding the strigil with a metallic clatter as he crossed the room.

  ‘Thank you. Timely arrival.’

  As the others stepped aside and let him pass, back through to the changing room, Merc shrugged. ‘We saw a group of cavalrymen leaving our barrack block looking intent on something. It wasn’t hard to guess what they were up to. And everyone knows you come to the baths early so you don’t have to get naked in front of real men.’

  Rufinus shot him an irritated look, but the veteran was grinning. ‘I assume someone back in barracks told them where you were when they came looking. I’m quite surprised you made it this long without someone throwing a punch at you.’

  Rufinus stretched and probed his bruised arms. ‘I might have been in trouble there if those other two had joined in.’

  ‘Hey, we’re guardsmen. We look after our own. Sadly, so do the cavalry.’

  ‘I wondered if they were the other killers I was after, but there were five of them, not four, and I didn’t recognise any faces.’

  Icarion shrugged. ‘There are thirty men in every turma of cavalry. That means that when Pollius died in the fight yesterday you made twenty nine new enemies. As Merc said, even the nag-huggers look after their own. They all observed what happened yesterday and while most of the crowd saw an accident, his friends will have seen a killing, same as we did. You’re a dangerous man to know, young Rufinus. Even more without a sword than with one, I reckon.’.

  Rufinus sighed as he quickly towelled himself down and slipped into his fresh tunic. Despite his repeated self-delusion over the past year and more, he had recognised back in the hot room something of his former self that had recently been lacking. As good as he’d been yesterday in the arena against Pollius, he’d taken a fair battering from one opponent he should have beaten so much easier. This morning, in the baths, he’d fought off three men with nothing to show for it barring a few bruises on his forearms. Being clearer of the poppy had made a difference. The Rufinus who’d fought in the match yesterday would have come out today with contusions and possibly broken limbs. He tried not to follow the reasoning to the inevitable conclusion that the sensible Rufinus of this morning might not even have gone into the arena yesterday.

  He failed.

  ‘I think it’s time I talked to the prefect again,’ he said quietly.

  ‘He’ll not change his mind,’ Merc replied. ‘He’s sort of known for that.’

  ‘I have to try. I don’t want to have to take any more justice dispensing into my own hands. It’s not doing me any good.’

  ‘On that we are agreed,’ Icarion smiled. ‘Perennis came in about a quarter hour ago. You’ll find him in his office now.’

  ‘Do I smell?’ Rufinus asked, lifting an arm.

  ‘Like a dung heap, but that’s normal.’

  ‘Thanks again. I love having friends.’

  Swiftly, Rufinus fastened his boots and cinched his belt. ‘I’ll see you back at barracks then before duty time. Can you feed Acheron for me if I’m running late?’

  The pair nodded and Rufinus smiled. ‘Wish me luck.’

  ‘That’s all we ever do, Rufinus. All we ever do.’

  Ignoring the mocking pity of their grins, the young guardsman stepped out into the cold morning, the sky now streaked through by the rosy coloured fingers of dawn. The camp was coming to life with men going off-duty and others hurrying to their posts. The Porta Praetoria stood open and a column of carts was entering the fortress under the watchful eye of the duty centurion. Birds were making a racket in the trees here and there – the presence of so many small gardens set this luxurious fortress far apart from the utilitarian affair
s of the legions on the empire’s borders.

  Striding through the grand arch and into the headquarters complex, he nodded at the men on guard. His hair might still be skewwhiff and wild, but at least he was relatively clean and wearing fresh kit. Presentable enough to pursue a meeting with an officer, anyway. In the old days of the Tenth Legion he’d never have dreamed of seeking an audience with the legion’s legate. It wasn’t done. A soldier seeking higher approval spoke to his centurion, who spoke to a tribune or the camp prefect, and eventually his request might reach the legion’s commander. Perennis was a different matter. While he held tightly to military etiquette in almost all matters, he preferred to deal directly with issues rather than have them diluted by the chain of command before they reached his desk. In Perennis’ own words, any matter a soldier thought important enough to bring to the prefect’s attention was something he wanted to hear first-hand.

  The colonnaded square surrounded by offices was still largely dim, lit by torches in sconces as much as by the burgeoning sunlight above. Four guardsmen stood at protective points on guard duty and he passed them by as he moved into the large basilica hall with its statues of long-gone emperors who had a personal connection with the Guard: Augustus, Tiberius, Titus, Trajanus and Marcus Aurelius. Mars and Minerva stood at the end of the hall, presiding over the emperors and the Guard together, twin deities with something to say in all matters of war. Clerks scurried around preparing for the morning’s work and two tribunes chatted amiably on the way to their offices. The chapel of the standards gleamed with polished silver, gold, bronze and steel, the men guarding it ever-watchful, even here.

  Marching along the hall, his boot nails clacking on the marble, Rufinus approached the corridor that led off the basilica at one end, where the offices of the prefect and his staff were located. As he closed on the entrance, a clerk hurried out with an armful of documents, looking nervous. Behind him, the sound of raised voices issued from the corridor. With a touch of trepidation, Rufinus approached the open door to the suite. As his boots clacked into the narrow opening, Perennis’ voice rang out even louder.

  ‘And for the love of Minerva keep that outer door shut, Lentulus.’

  Assuming Lentulus to be the now-absent clerk, Rufinus went to shut the door to the office suite, trying to decide on which side of it to remain. Propriety and sense said ‘outside’. Curiosity said ‘in.’ Curiosity won and as the door clunked shut behind him, he listened to the argument start up once more.

  ‘You work for the emperor, Perennis. It’s not the other way round, no matter how much you may wish it.’

  There was a feral snarl that made Rufinus recoil against the wall. Perennis was a man of controlled anger. Not once in four years now had Rufinus heard the prefect lose his calm to such an extent. It reminded him disturbingly of how the traitorous, dangerous former prefect Paternus had reacted when speaking of the emperor’s favourite, Saoterus.

  ‘You may wish to clamp your fat, arse-kissing lips down on top of those poorly-chosen words, Capito,’ the prefect growled. ‘I do what I must to keep the empire functioning while the emperor indulges his hobbies. The fact that he is willing to rely upon my judgement to do so should be endorsement enough for my actions. You, on the other hand, you yellow-livered snake of a worthless dog’s arsehole, are the most dangerous sort in this city.’

  The sound of the second man stuttering and coughing in astonishment and indignation only served to drive on Perennis. ‘Though clearly I am lacking in at least one respect in my devotion to duty, for if I truly held the good of empire and emperor to heart I would draw my sword and put you out of everyone’s misery right here and now, saving us undoubted months and years of troubles at your instigation.’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare!’

  Rufinus could almost feel the prefect’s predatory smile through the walls. ‘You forget that I am more or less the hand of Commodus these days. You’d be surprised at what I might dare when the security and health of the empire are at stake. Listen to me, Capito… you are not welcome here or on the Palatine. If I see you in either place, I might just forget my principles and gut you on sight. If only your oily master didn’t also have the ear of the emperor, I might be tempted to put a blade through Cleander too – untrustworthy, dangerous piece of shit that he is. Now get out of my office and my fortress as fast as your slithering belly will allow.’

  ‘You go too far, Perennis. You might think you rule the empire, but you’re just a soldier with megalomaniac tendencies. Cleander is an imperial chamberlain with all the authority that implies. It is his job to do those things that you seem to have decided are yours. The time is coming when your mask will fall away and the whole of Rome will see what I do: that you are naught but a would-be usurper, snatching at every string of power until you can control us all.’

  ‘Get out.’

  The unmistakable sound of a gladius leaving a scabbard filled the tense silence and Rufinus shrank back against the wall as footsteps echoed from the prefect’s office and their owner turned into the corridor. Shock gripped Rufinus as he recognised the man who’d almost become the prefect’s victim. Egnatius Capito. A former consul and general, a powerful and noble man, and a senator to boot. Rufinus’ heart thumped in his throat. Here was one of the most high-profile men in the empire, and Perennis had actually drawn a sword on him.

  The former consul glared at Rufinus as he passed and the young guardsman leapt forward, opening the door for him. Then he was gone and the door slowly swung shut once more. There was a long, apprehensive silence and finally the prefect’s voice issued from his office once more.

  ‘Lentulus? Get in here.’

  Shit.

  Trying to look as professional and non-eavesdroppery as possible, Rufinus approached the office doorway and came to a halt in it at attention. Perennis stood behind his desk with his face lowered, breathing heavily. It took long moments for him to look up and when he did, he frowned in surprise.

  ‘Lentulus?’

  ‘Just left, sir. Shall I run and fetch him?’

  Perennis continued to frown at him for a moment, probably trying to decide whether he’d just arrived as Capito left or whether he’d heard everything, and finally shook his head.

  ‘Is this a bad time, sir?’

  ‘Rufinus, with you every time is a bad time.’ He sighed. ‘No. Come in and close my door.’

  The young soldier stepped in and sealed the office behind him.

  ‘So what is it you’re wanting, Rufinus?’

  Steeling himself, the guardsman took a deep breath. ‘It’s about the cavalrymen who Paternus set on the frumentarius two years ago, sir.’

  ‘Great Venus, not this again.’

  ‘Sir, they need to be dealt with.’

  Perennis leaned forward with glinting eyes. ‘Be very careful, Rufinus. That sounded dangerously close to a guardsman giving his prefect an order.’

  Rufinus sagged a little. ‘I apologise sir. No offence or affront was intended.’

  ‘Good. I understand that a cavalry soldier died in a ‘freak accident’ during a boxing match against you yesterday. Consider this, Rufinus: if I should bother myself digging out that list of six names that I keep secured in my records and I note that one of those names coincides with a certain dead boxer I would be forced to start a very thorough investigation into his death. I doubt either of us wants to take this matter any further?’

  The young guard sagged further.

  ‘I’ll tell you this one more time, Rufinus. I will have the Guard acting as a single unit, as brothers with the good of the emperor as our whole remit. I will not have my force torn in two by petty rivalries or the incessant desire for revenge, no matter how warranted it might be. Justice is a fine thing to seek, and on a certain level I admire your cleaving to it as a code. But sometimes the greater good has to be considered over and above such stringent values.’

  The prefect sighed and leaned back in his chair. ‘The empire is beset once more, Rufinus. Already the p
eoples beyond the Danuvius stir, especially in Dacia, and in Britannia the northern tribes move once more and swamp the civilised lands south of that wall. The senatorial commanders there seem unable or unwilling to do anything but send a few ineffectual forays north of the wall, and I have secured the emperor’s permission to replace said useless old men with ambitious, talented equestrians who will soon have Britannia at peace. But these commanders are expecting to take good men with them, and if you persist in badgering me over this list of names that I have no intention of letting you see, I might be tempted to reassign you to the fortress of Habitancum. Do you know where that is, Rufinus?’

  The young man shook his head nervously and Perennis rose from his chair and stalked over to a map of the empire on the wall. His finger slammed on Rome and then started to slide up the map north and west. As it passed across the sea and into Britannia, Rufinus tried to imagine those horrible, cold, misty northern lands full of barbarians. The finger slid to the north of the country, approaching the great wall that Hadrianus had built half a century ago, and then slid beyond it into the blank area that represented ‘places beyond civilisation.’ The prefect’s finger came to rest somewhere in the white nothingness.

  ‘There, Rufinus. That is Habitancum. Half a mile of swamp and mud with winds that cut like knives and its own almost permanent raincloud. And I hereby give you this promise: the next time you even mention those cavalrymen to me, the following morning you will be on a horse and heading north to take up your posting in Habitancum. Do you understand me?’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  ‘Good. Now you had better leave me alone. I’m sure you have duties, and I need to work out what to do about Cleander’s man.’

  ‘Capito, sir?’

  Rufinus regretted the impulse the moment he’d issued the words. The frown was back on Perennis’ face now as he realised that Rufinus had been privy to at least some of the exchange.

  ‘Hardly. Ulpius Marcellus – the general that somehow Cleander has managed to get assigned to the Sixth Legion in Britannia despite all the equestrians I’ve sent there. Doesn’t that freedman politician realise that it’s my duty to assign military commanders?’