Rufinus watched her scouring the racks and turned, shutting the door behind them, leaving Acheron sitting on the grass outside.
‘I don’t know what this is,’ he said quietly.
‘It is a wine shed,’ said Senova in a matter of fact tone.
Rufinus rolled his eyes. Her Latin was so much better these days he’d almost forgotten that she was still a foreigner from that distant political hotbed, Britannia, and her grasp of subtle meaning was sometimes flawed.
‘No. Not the shed.’ He pointed at her and then himself. ‘This. What is this?’
Again, she seemed not to comprehend, her head tilting to the side.
‘You and I,’ Rufinus sighed. ‘I don’t seek the bed of a slave. If that was all I wanted, there are hundreds of such beds available to men of the Guard, and some don’t even charge for the privilege.’
Her expression darkened and Rufinus shook his head, sighing again. ‘I don’t mean it like that. What I mean is that I want more from us than that, but I don’t know what or how.’
‘I was yours for the taking,’ she said, her voice containing a dangerous edge.
‘Yes, but that’s not what I mean. If you had been a Roman girl – an equestrian or a plebeian – I would have courted you. If you’d been a patrician, even my father would have pushed me to court you. But you’re a slave.’
‘Then you do not want me because I am a slave?’
‘It’s not that exactly,’ Rufinus bit his lip painfully. ‘It’s just not easy. I am of an equestrian family with roots in a patrician line. I’m a member of the emperor’s guard. My family own land – not as much as they once did, and my father seems Hades-bent on destroying whatever we still have. But you see there are things I cannot do, in my position. It would go against a thousand years of Roman civilisation, and would ruin my family if I were to throw status to the wind.’
‘I can be a freedwoman this year,’ Senova said quietly, and Rufinus blinked. ‘It is true,’ she confirmed. ‘Master Pompeianus has set me a low manumission price and pays me well for my skills with thread and the loom. By summer I will be able to buy my freedom. I cannot leave, of course. What use is freedom to starve in the gutters of the city. But I will be free while I continue to serve the master. Then I can save my money for a future of my own.’
Rufinus scratched his head. ‘He is a generous man.’
‘They say a freedwoman carries no stigma in these days,’ Senova said nervously. ‘I am not sure I believe that, but they say that freed men and women can aspire to much in this world.’
‘Hard to deny,’ Rufinus replied quietly, ‘given that the imperial chamberlain was in your position a few decades ago.’
‘If I were free, would your family still suffer?’
What a direct question! Rufinus found himself shivering nervously, but his mind was racing. His father would hate it. Hate it. That alone was almost enough reason to do it. And the gods knew, he would love to have her. But there were other considerations, and one in particular…
‘Senova, I’m a soldier.’
‘I know.’
‘Soldiers cannot marry, Senova. When I moved to the Guard, I signed new term papers, my old ones being nullified. I signed to the Praetorians for sixteen years, and I’ve served four. Even if you’re free and I throw caution to the wind, the law forbids me to marry for another twelve years.’
‘I hear that soldiers take wives anyway.’
‘Well, that’s sort of true. But they cannot truly live like man and wife. It’s unofficial, you see. And the men still have to live and serve in the army. These ‘army-wives’ have to live on their own outside the camp. It’s no life, really.’
‘And slavery is to be sought?’
Damn it. She was right.
‘Senova…’
‘Do you want me?’ she asked.
Yes. Yes he did.
‘When things are right…’
‘Do you want me?’
‘If I can…’
‘Do you want me?’
‘For gods’ sake, Senova. Yes. Alright? Yes, I want you.’
‘Then I shall save and free myself in the summer. I shall then save more until I can start a trade and buy a house near the fortress. I shall become a weaver and seamstress. I am good at those things. Better than many who sell their goods in the forum.’
Rufinus smiled. She was a force of nature, this one. ‘At the moment, things are rather unsettled. It would be wise for you to remain distant from the Guard for now. We can discuss the matter again in summer when you receive your manumission, but right now the Guard is in turmoil and I cannot afford to have to consider your safety as well as my own. Just like Publius, you will be safer staying with Pompeianus until matters settle.’
He hurried over as Senova started to slide one of the heavy amphorae from the rack and helped her remove it. As he tried to lift it, she held on tight.
‘Thank you. I will carry it.’
‘It’s too heavy.’
She gave him a withering look. ‘I have been a slave for many years. I can lift an amphora.’ As she pulled it from his grip and lifted it to her shoulder, he smiled. ‘I know guardsmen who’d have trouble doing that.’
‘Then they should be ashamed of themselves,’ she snorted.
Rufinus chuckled and stepped to the door, pulling it open. Something put him immediately on the alert and he held up a hand to hold Senova back. His eyes fixed on the shape of Acheron, who was no longer sitting in front of the shed, but prowling along the edge of the vineyard as though hunting, a low growl issuing from his throat.
‘Trouble?’ whispered Senova.
‘Maybe. Wait here.’
Slipping from the door, Rufinus moved to the corner of the shed and peered around it quickly, looking toward whatever Acheron was stalking. It took his eyes a few moments to adjust again, but as soon as he saw them he pulled himself back round the corner and gestured for Senova to be quiet. In the silence, broken only by Acheron’s rumbling, he could hear rustling and snapping of twigs receding. Then: silence. Rufinus counted to twenty and then looked around the corner again.
The white shapes he’d glimpsed among the trees in the copse that bordered the villa behind the shed were no longer evident. Acheron had reached the estate’s boundary wall and was pacing back and forth protectively, growling. Carefully, Rufinus scurried to the other corner. Again, no white shapes in evidence. But they had been there. And they had been wearing white tunics. And he could only picture one group of people wearing white tunics.
‘Come on,’ he said to Senova. ‘Let’s get back to the house.’
‘What was it?’ she asked, emerging with the amphora of wine over her shoulder.
‘I need to tell Gordianus that there are Praetorians watching his house.’
Her expression darkened.
‘Exactly,’ he muttered. ‘My first question is: who are they watching? Pompeianus? Gordianus? Pertinax? Severus?’
‘You?’
Rufinus felt his heart skip a beat at the thought.
‘Come on.’
VII – A prefect’s concern
January 3rd 185AD
Rufinus glanced around at the others. Mercator, Icarion and Dexter marched purposefully with expressionless faces. They made a strange trio, like a chart of gradually darkening shades – Mercator from Rome itself, his skin a light tan, Icarion from eastern Greece with a more olive, darker complexion, and Dexter from… well who knew where, but darkened to a healthy umber by years of Aegyptian sun. None of them seemed remotely anxious.
Rufinus, on the other hand, usually fairly pale and possibly even sallow, was almost vibrating with nervous tension, a condition heightened by the cleanness of his veins and his revitalised senses. Every pace through the basilica felt like one of the steps of the Gemonian staircase. Ahead, Prefect Perennis’ office door stood open, inviting in an eerie way, especially due to the lack of guards or clerks visible.
Why us?
For some reason it s
eemed perfectly normal, if worrying, for Rufinus to be sent for by the Praetorian commander. There were any number of matters the prefect might wish to go over with him, for good or ill, and Rufinus couldn’t count on two hands the number of times he’d stood alone in that office while Perennis told him what an inconvenience he was. But to include half his tent party in a summons seemed odd. The prefect had never shown specific interest in the others before, as far as he could remember.
The corridor echoed with the clack-crunch of hobnails on marble and he heard the muttering of Prefect Perennis in his office ahead cease at the approaching footsteps. Finally, the small group arrived at the doorway and shifted into single file to enter before spreading out again with practised precision to a line-up, facing the commander. Four sets of nailed boots clacked to a stop simultaneously. Silence filled the room as the prefect slowly unfolded his arms and leaned back in his chair, rolling his shoulders as he did so. Rufinus was struck by an odd comparison to a vulture spreading its wings, and suppressed a shudder with difficulty. Autumn had been a difficult time, and the sensation of something building – a palpable and growing tension in the air – had Rufinus almost jumping at shadows. Moreover, it all seemed to revolve around the prefect, at least if rumour was anything to go by.
On closer examination, though, the commander looked unwell. His eyes were ringed with dark circles, his skin stretched like parchment across sharp bones, his fingers trembling slightly. The feeling of tense suspicion evaporated in a moment, and Rufinus found that he felt a touch of sympathy for the man, despite everything. He himself had suffered the curse of sleepless nights for an extended period and knew exactly how such a look came about.
The prefect was not a vulture with wings unfolding. He was a troubled man with his world unravelling. Perennis cleared his throat with a sound like a parchment scraping.
‘The corridor is empty?’
Mercator, the most senior man of the unit, nodded respectfully.
‘Good. Close the door behind you. I have a matter to discuss in confidence.’
Rufinus felt Dexter leave his side and carefully close the door with a gentle click.
Again, silence reigned in the room as the odd southerner returned to the line and stood straight. After some time, Perennis blinked and rubbed his eyes as though he’d suddenly realised he was not alone.
‘Thank you for attending so promptly. Each of you holds at least one god close to your heart, I am sure. It is only natural, and it need not be the emperor, Mars, or even Minerva. Whoever your favoured patron is, I would ask you to swear upon their name that you will not reveal anything of this discussion outside this office, barring the bare necessity required to carry out your orders.’
Rufinus felt a chill run through him. What orders were forthcoming now? Gods, but don’t let it be another execution…
‘On the honour of Jupiter, greatest and best,’ Mercator said without hesitation, ‘I give you my word, sir.’
‘My word on Apollo, bringer of light, sir,’ added Icarion.
‘My word on the basalt queen who reigns among the lions – mighty Sekhmet,’ said Dexter, and Rufinus had to force himself not to turn a frown on the man. Could he not even try to be normal sometimes?
Before he had given any thought to the deity he considered his own patron, he heard himself trot out ‘My word in the name of Nemesis, lady of vengeance.’ He felt the colour rise in his cheeks and as Perennis gave him an inscrutable look, he realised that the other three were staring at him and shaking their heads slightly.
‘Very well,’ Perennis said slowly. ‘You will be as aware as anyone in the city, from the highest ranking senators to the lowest gutter-crawlers, that I have become increasingly the target of rumour, verbal attacks, smears of my reputation and plain untruths. You will have heard of my apparent plans to overthrow our divine emperor and rule in his place. I’m sure you have learned that I am quickly building an army throughout the provinces and that I am manoeuvring even now to move against the throne. I would hope that at least three of you here have known me long enough to disbelieve any of this horse shit.’
The silence that followed was heavier than a lead elephant, and it did not escape Rufinus’ notice from the prefect’s expression that he had expected a reply. Yet the non-committal emptiness of the air instead held suspicion, trepidation and uncertainty. He almost felt the commander’s hopes being dashed on the rocks of their silence. Equally, it struck him that he had no more leapt to the man’s defence than any of the others. The uncomfortable silence was broken by Dexter.
‘Many a man suffers when he falls in a dry pond, sir.’
Used to Dexter, the three soldiers simply rolled their eyes, but the prefect’s face folded into a frown of complete incomprehension as he stared at the southerner. After another pause, he straightened.
‘I maintain my innocence in these matters and will continue to do so even in the face of public vilification, but my efforts will almost certainly be in vain. Despite my lack of culpability, the tide of opinion is against me and I can feel the noose tightening by the day. My time in this role may be coming to an end and it seems there is little I can do to stop it. I naturally worry for our emperor’s future if I am removed. The unhealthy influence of serpents such as Cleander might well march us into the maw of Hades once more, as we did under the vile Nero or Domitianus. I will protect divine Commodus from the unhealthy influence of his own court as long as I draw breath, but while I focus on saving our emperor I cannot afford to devote attention to other matters that deserve equal consideration. That is where you come in.’
Rufinus frowned as the four men stood in silence and Perennis scratched his chin.
‘My wife and our young infant I can preserve from the wrath of Rome. My two grown sons, however, are in Pannonia. Caelus commands the Tenth in Vindobona, and Secundus the Fourteenth Gemina at Carnuntum. If my attempts to crush this wave of hatred against me fail, I will fall rather spectacularly, and if that happens those who are close to me will be swept up in a tide of retribution. I naturally fear for my sons. Those men I have appointed to commands or positions of power are quite capable of preparing themselves for the worst, but I cannot leave my sons to their fate. I have prepared two documents.’
Reaching into a drawer, he retrieved two scroll cases sealed with red wax and the Praetorian scorpion symbol. The pair were placed on the table between them, and the prefect tapped them for a moment before sitting back.
‘To satisfy your curiosity, they are details of the various commanders, senators, governors and so on in which my boys can place their trust, should the worst happen. And as for me, I am placing a similar trust in the four of you to deliver this information to two innocent boys who may soon face the wrath of the worst side of Rome. And even if you harbour your own doubts over my innocence, I trust that you will put the survival of those innocents above all else. Two of you are veterans of my First Cohort, who have been with me since I was first made a tribune, and I know your quality. One of you we all know from bitter experience holds honour and truth above even his own wellbeing. And the last is only recently arrived in the Guard from a land so far outside the influence of the court that he should be free of all illusion and bias. Moreover, the four of you know each other and work well together.’
Rufinus felt peculiar. At the same time that his spirits were sinking with the revelation that Perennis felt the end was coming, they were also rising with the knowledge that the four of them were considered dependable and competent enough to trust with the most important task the prefect could ever bestow. His uncertain over Perennis lingered, though. It was hard to swim against the tide of public opinion, so strong was the current, especially after what they had done to senator Capito, and after quaestor Severus’ revelations at the villa. And yet Rufinus also knew he would try as hard as he could to achieve their task for, even if the man was a usurper, his sons did not deserve to die a traitor’s death because of their father. He wanted to go, even, because Rome was beco
ming unpleasant and dangerous, and the idea of returning to the lands where he had served for so many years appealed. And yet to leave Pompeianus, Publius… Senova…
‘You will take horses from the stables and appropriate kit from stores, and will receive documents of travel that will grant you free accommodation and change of steed at any mansio or fort across the empire. You should travel the Via Flaminia as far as Ravenna and take ship there for Pietas Iulia on the Dalmatian coast. Your documents will give you priority travel with the fleet at Ravenna, and despite the season, shipping is still viable and fast in the northern Adriaticum. From Pietas Iulia you should travel north as fast as you can to Vindobona and Carnuntum. Deliver the documents and your job is done. Unless either of my boys requires anything further of you, you are then free to make your way back here at your leisure.’
Again, a heavy silence fell. Perennis narrowed his eyes. ‘You will do this for me.’
Mercator nodded, and the others followed suit quickly. Rufinus refrained for a moment, wave after wave of uncertainty battering against him. Finally, he cleared his throat.
‘Permission to speak freely, Prefect?’
With a frown of disapproval, Perennis nodded. Rufinus breathed deeply and counted to five.
‘Why are you having the villa of Gordianus watched, sir?’
Rufinus saw the expression change on the prefect’s face. For just a moment he thought he saw a flicker of surprise, then a shifty unreadability replaced it before a slick veneer of innocence finally took root.
‘I am not having the villa watched, soldier. In fact, I was unaware that the villa was even occupied at this time, since I sent Gordianus to Britannia months ago.’
There was definitely something there in the man’s manner or expression that nagged at Rufinus, but he drew in another breath and tried one more thing.
‘Given your predictions of doom, Prefect, I would petition you one last time to release to me the names of the guilty cavalrymen so that I can see justice done. If you are not the one having the villa watched, then I must conclude that what I saw was those riders and that they are after me for their own reasons.’
Praetorian: The Price of Treason Page 10
