‘I have concocted a reason to return to my old lodgings,’ Pompeianus said, then paused to sip his wine. ‘When we leave here again, we will take several chests of goods with us for the sake of appearances. I have a number of such chests in mind and in truth there are still many of my things here that I might wish to go through and either keep or discard.’
‘You were stopped and questioned on the way?’ Mercator asked.
‘Three times. The whole world is out looking for you three. Not, I might add, for you four. You can be sure that the Praetorians or their urban cohort pets are watching this place now, though. They followed us at a discreet but rather obvious distance all the way from the third mile marker. We have every reason to be here and there is nothing untoward going on as far as they can see, but from now on, stay away from the windows and open ground, lest your enemies spot you and identify you. Any calamity you bring on yourself here will naturally befall me and mine, too, and I will not countenance that.’ He sighed. ‘In fact, that I came here at all was against my better judgement. I have greatly imperilled myself by merely visiting you. I hope you appreciate that?’
‘I do,’ Rufinus murmured. ‘Really, I do.’
‘Good. Then what’s to be done?’
‘We need to know everything about Cleander’s forces and their disposition,’ Vibius Cestius said, cutting into the conversation, rising to his feet and crossing the room to stand in front of the general with his arms crossed. ‘We need to know the precise location of Prefect Perennis and any pertinent information surrounding him. We need to know everything about what’s going on in the city, in the senate and in the imperial court. In short, we need to know everything. And once we know, we need you to cook up a way to get us into the city and right to the Palatine itself.’
Rufinus felt a chill run through him. Any help Pompeianus chose to give them would be at his whim and would endanger he and his whole family. To be so blunt and rash as Cestius had might just turn the general away from their cause entirely.
Indeed, Pompeianus slowly, silently, placed his wine cup down on the table and rose to his full height, a match for the frumentarius, a foot apart and locking him with that imperious, subtle, calculating gaze.
‘Discourteous, impatient, demanding, and not particularly friendly.’ He broke into a wide grin. ‘Some things never change, Vibius Cestius, you dangerous hound, you.’
Rufinus blinked as the two men clasped hands like old comrades.
‘You two know each other?’
‘Know him?’ Pompeianus laughed. ‘This lunatic took a corona muralis decoration from my own hands in Marcomannia over a decade ago. He was the primus pilus of the Tenth, then. Stormed up the ramparts of a native fortress like an angry bear and secured the gate for the legion with just eight men at his back. Don’t let his age fool you, Rufinus, Cestius is a madman with that dragon sword of his.’
‘You were hardly a wilting flower yourself, Tiberius Pompeianus,’ the odd-eyed frumentarius laughed. ‘Generals are not supposed to bloody their swords. It looks bad and can be very dangerous for your ongoing political career when you find yourself knee deep in howling barbarians.’
Rufinus boggled backward and forward between the two men as Cestius shrugged and turned to him. ‘Don’t look so surprised. I told you I served on the governor’s staff in Pannonia during the last war. Pompeianus here was that governor. Raised me from the already lofty heights of primus pilus and put me in higher office. Two years later I was seconded to the frumentarii.’
‘They did well to get you. I felt your loss keenly in my coterie,’ Pompeianus grinned.
‘Anyway,’ Cestius said, stepping back, ‘I’ve never, even among the frumentarii, met a man as well-informed as you, general. And everything I just said still holds. We need to know everything we can.’
The general sat once more, tapping his lip. For a moment, as the pause instilled itself, Rufinus glanced at Publius and Senova. When business was out of the way, he would talk to them, but it did his heart good to see his brother looking so grown up and at peace with himself. The young man was nodding along with things as though he’d expected it all. Senova was still clearly uncomfortable just being back here and kept her eyes lowered, though periodically she would flick them up to take in Rufinus, with particular attention to his much abused nose.
He winced.
‘Do not count on any of your compatriots,’ Pompeianus began. ‘The Guard is now almost entirely under the command of Cleander. So much so, in fact, that he’s forgone all subtlety and has begun to give them orders openly as though he were already their prefect, and no one seems inclined to argue with him. Those few units who could not be bought or inveigled somehow into Cleander’s grip have been assigned detached duties that keep them far, far from the capital. Given his additional influence over the senate, this has made Cleander a very powerful, and very dangerous, man. In addition to the Guard, he controls the urban cohorts, the Misenum and Ravenna fleets, the city vigiles, and the whole of Britannia.’
‘Britannia?’
The general nodded. ‘Perennis put his equestrian clients in command of the legions there, but before his… untimely death… the old goat Capito secured Cleander’s man in the governor’s role, and Ulpius Marcellus quickly turned all the commanders to Cleander’s banner in defiance of Perennis.’
Rufinus shook his head sadly. So Egnatius Capito had been guilty, after all, at least of “intent to influence the assignment of governors and military commanders contrary to the benefit of the empire” if not the other charges that had been levelled. Perennis had been legally justified in bringing about the death of the senator after all.
‘As soon as he’d put down the troubles in Britannia,’ the general went on, ‘or at least, Perennis’ equestrians had done so in his name, Marcellus sent two cohorts of his veterans to Rome for Cleander’s own use. They arrived a few days ago and flooded Rome. They keep the peace in the troubled streets alongside the Guard and the urban cohorts now. And they’re brutal soldiers, used to hard provincial border life, not cultured men like the Praetorians. Hardly a street remains in the city without Cleander’s gaze upon it and his iron fist wrapped around it now.’
Icarion frowned. ‘You’re telling me the emperor has approved of two legionary cohorts on his streets, and under the command of a civilian administrator no less?’
‘He had little choice. With Perennis’ reputation in tatters and standing accused of treason, the Guard has become rather unpopular with the people of Rome. The ordinary man in the street no longer trusts the white tunic and the black scorpion. The emperor ordered Cleander to come up with a solution, and that’s exactly what he’s done. Most of the Praetorians are now either shut up in the Palatine or the barracks, or out in the countryside looking for you. A few remain on the streets to make up the numbers, but Rome is mostly patrolled now by the urban cohorts and hairy legionaries from Britannia who pay lip service to the emperor, but who know their wage comes from Cleander. It’s a mess.’
‘But Perennis is still alive?’ Cestius urged. ‘What of the Praetorian Glabrio? He brought manufactured evidence of the prefect’s treason.’
Pompeianus nodded. ‘This Glabrio is a dangerous one, I fear. He seems to be close to Cleander and to have an unprecedented level of control among the Guard. Only Marcius Quartus, the senior tribune, seems to outrank him, but Quartus is also cleaved so tight to Cleander’s side they probably have to go to the latrine together. The coins of which you speak were produced in evidence against Perennis, and what damning evidence they are. They have a likeness of Perennis that is unmistakable and have to have been cast by a man with personal access to him. They clearly proclaim him as an emperor. But most telling of all, they are cut with good imperial dies and when the metallurgy of the coins was tested they proved to be precisely the correct weights of metal, which is unheard of with provincial coinage. These were minted with imperial skill and no one would be able to suggest they were fakes. Then there’s the reports of t
he military build-up in Pannonia, which have been confirmed through several sources, and I presume you will not deny them? And his appointments in Britannia, though a failure in the end, were clearly an attempt to assert himself as commander of that island. There is much more evidence, though most of it is circumstantial. Only the coins are irrefutable, damning evidence.’
‘So what’s to happen to the prefect?’ Mercator asked as he poured himself another drink.
‘Perennis languishes under arrest in the old Flavian guardrooms near the ornamental stadium on the Palatine. He stands accused and no one will speak for him. He would be dead already if the emperor had not vacillated and delayed thus far. Commodus likes Perennis, and has trusted him ever since the war. They are old friends and the emperor is loath to believe even the irrefutable evidence before him. I imagine he procrastinates in the hope that something will crop up to change things. But he cannot delay for much longer. Even an emperor is answerable to his subjects eventually, as such men as Caligula and Vitellius discovered to their peril. Everyone in Rome, from senator to beggar, is convinced of the prefect’s guilt, and soon the emperor will be forced to accede and execute Perennis or risk civil revolt.’
‘Then we still have time,’ Rufinus picked absently at the scab on his hand. ‘We need to get onto the Palatine and into those old Flavian barracks. I remember them from my brief time there. They’re mostly abandoned these days, correct?’
‘Not now,’ Pompeianus replied. ‘They were, but now they are as busy as anywhere else, filled with Cleander’s men. Getting you into the city will be difficult. Getting you to the Palatine, impossible, I fear.’
‘Nothing is impossible,’ Cestius interjected.
‘Don’t be an idiot,’ Pompeianus said, rather harshly, turning to the frumentarius. ‘Many things are impossible. The Palatine will be sealed tighter than a vestal’s undergarments. Your chances of even getting near it are negligible. Cleander will have doubled his security there, and every door, window and hot air flue will be watched closely. Even the old passages under the hill – the ruined palaces, the slave tunnels and the hypocaust channels – will be guarded. The place is inaccessible unless you can persuade an eagle to drop you there! I recognise that what you are trying to do is noble, but it is still ultimately doomed. I presume you do bear something that you feel could change matters?’
Cestius nodded and fished out the coin dies, displaying them in the flat of his palm.
‘Yes, that might just do it, along with the testimony of a veteran frumentarius and a guardsman who the emperor considers one of his personal projects.’
Rufinus felt a flush rise to his cheeks again.
‘Can we secure any aid from the Castra Peregrina?’ he asked quietly.
The general and Cestius both looked across at him and shook their heads. ‘The frumentarii are totally loyal to the emperor,’ Pompeianus replied, ‘and Cleander is well aware of that fact. Not more than a missive has passed through the gates of their camp in almost a month. Apart from delivery of necessary supplies, nothing comes out or goes in. Cleander has the frumentarii more or less imprisoned in their own fortress and the grain men can do little about it without starting a civil war on the streets.’
‘Besides,’ added Cestius, ‘when faced with vast odds and an impenetrable city, a few men stand a lot more chance of gaining access than many. We cannot hope to fight our way in, so we must be subtle, use guile.’
‘But how? Pompeianus is right,’ Mercator sighed, exasperated. ‘Unless we can fly there’s no hope of getting inside the Palatine’s perimeter.’
Silence descended as each man sank deep into his own thoughts. Rufinus found his gaze passing across his brother once more and on to Senova. She was the only one in the room not deep in thought – well, her and Acheron, who lay disconsolate on the floor. He should not have brought them here. It was slowly killing Acheron as he searched for a sibling long dead, and the very place was eating away at Senova – he could see it in her eyes, in the way she sat. This was not the lively, if nervous, girl he had first met in his time at the villa. This was not the girl who had helped him ensnare a thief, playing tricks and setting traps up in the slave quarters of the complex.
He remembered with somewhat mixed emotions that rainy day up on the wooden landings of the hundred chambers. His gaze slipped up past Senova and across the periphery of the villa, to where the slave chambers rose beneath the pecile garden, three high tiers of archways, like some mini theatre exterior. Or like a curved…
He straightened and felt his cheeks warm again. But this was no blush. This was a smile – a genuine smile. He turned, eager, to the others.
‘I think I know how we can do it.’
*
Back in the main room, Cestius, Icarion and Mercator were changing out of their clothes and into the uniforms of the guards that had come with Pompeianus. The same number of men would leave as had arrived, bearing the chests for which they had come. Any watching enemy would think nothing amiss. Then, when the carriages and their horse escort had left and headed back toward Rome, taking the watchers with them, the four guards who had donated their tunics and cloaks to the insurgents would leave the villa across the fields at the far side and make for Pompeianus’ estate at Praeneste, where they would be safe.
The general was with the men in the room next door, discussing plans with the frumentarius and explaining what would be needed of them on the journey. Rufinus, however, sat in the smaller antechamber with his brother and Senova, and Acheron, who pressed tight against his leg as though afraid that if he let the Praetorian out of his sight he might lose him.
‘I am coming. That’s all there is to it.’
‘You are not coming,’ Rufinus said flatly.
‘You cannot stop me now, brother. You were perhaps right to do so when you left for Pannonia, but things are different now.’
‘Just because you’ve discarded the toga and put on a soldier’s tunic doesn’t mean you need to leap into trouble. This is our problem, not yours.’
‘Bollocks, Gnaeus. You know how things go at court. If you fail then you’ll be damned alongside Perennis and my name will be on a proscription list alongside Pompeianus’ within the hour. If you fail I will die. And if you succeed then all is well, so I have nothing to lose in coming to help you, and everything to gain.’
Rufinus felt his brow furrow. ‘When did you start getting so wise to the ways of the court?’
‘When you left me in a villa with two geniuses. You know I’m right.’
‘Very well. You are right. But if you come with us, you do what we say, when we say it. You might think you’re as good as us now, but all of us have a lot more experience in this sort of thing than you. I want your promise, on the memory of Lucius, that you will do as we ask at every turn.’
‘I promise,’ Publius nodded.
‘Alright. Get out there and tell the others that you’re coming and that I’ve agreed, and ask Pompeianus and Cestius – and the other two for that matter – if there is anything they need you to do. Prepare yourself.’
With a last nod, Publius reached out and squeezed his shoulder – the unharmed one, thank the gods – then trotted off into the other room and closed the door behind him. Rufinus reached up and felt his shoulder where his brother’s hand had pressed, the fingers of his other hand ruffling Acheron’s hair.
‘He’s grown up.’
Senova almost smiled. ‘He is still young. He thinks only the best of people and refuses to accept that there is anything he cannot change.’
‘In that, he reminds me of me not so many years ago. When I left Tarraco and rode halfway across the world to take up a post with the Tenth Gemina I was much the same. Only experience and a few hard bastards have knocked me into shape.’
‘And what shape is that?’ Senova asked with her first real smile as she reached out and ran a soft finger up the bumps on his nose.
‘I… I sort of got thumped.’
‘By a wall?’
‘Your whole face has changed.’
‘I’m lucky it’s still attached. I know I’m not pretty… I mean, I’ve never been pretty, but…’
‘I like it,’ she pronounced, and as Rufinus frowned in surprise she chuckled. ‘It gives you character. And makes you look like a boxer. A man should have a few marks. It proves his worth. An unmarked man is a man who has done nothing with his life.’
Rufinus laughed and was startled to find that with a proper, hearty laugh, his nose-whistle returned. As Senova collapsed into hysterical laughter at the sound, Rufinus watched her with a gentle smile.
‘You, Senova, are a remarkable woman.’
‘I know.’
‘And when you’re no longer a slave…’ he faltered. It sounded awful to say it like that.
‘I’m no slave, Gnaeus. Pompeianus freed me the week you left. He may be a clever and very calculating man, but he is also a kind one. I am now saving toward our future.’
Rufinus blinked. ‘That’s… that’s wonderful. So, are you…?’
‘I am now Claudia Senova. Soon to be Claudia Senova… Rustia?’
‘Marcia,’ Rufinus said with a smile. ‘Marcia Claudia Senova.’
‘Good,’ she chuckled. ‘Marcia sounds like a good Roman woman. Rustia sounds like a hag. I was not looking forward to that name. But there is something important I want you to promise me.’
‘What?’ frowned the young Praetorian and, as he waited, Senova produced a small bone-carved figurine from her belt pouch. He peered at it. ‘Minerva?’
Praetorian: The Price of Treason Page 26
