Paternus nodded and leaned forward in turn. ‘Rufinus? Tell me about your nemesis, Scopius.’
Rufinus’ blood suddenly ran cold. He felt like a man standing in a dark room full of traps. Every step could end his life. ‘Sir?’
Paternus rolled his shoulders and leaned back. ‘Rufinus here has been plagued by a guardsman with a grudge for almost a year. I have had at least a dozen reports of incidents caused by a man called Scopius. Theft, beatings, tricks and deceit. The villainous cur was even responsible, we believe, for Rufinus receiving the lash, following that little fracas during the emperor’s triumph. I’m sure you all remember the incident?’
There were nods all around.
‘And a few days ago,’ Paternus continued, ‘this Scopius disappeared entirely. It’s almost as if Jupiter reached down, plucked him from the earth and secreted him among the clouds.’
He smiled. ‘There is not an ounce of evidence against Rufinus. Even the circumstantial evidence is sparse. Perennis took it upon himself to personally lead the investigation into the matter, and you know how much of a wolf Perennis is? Once he gets the scent, he doesn’t let up until he has his prey. Yet even he cannot come up with anything against the man. Scopius disappeared one morning, leaving Rufinus free from trouble.’
He turned the smile on Rufinus. ‘I am regretful that pressing business kept me from your interview this morning, Rufinus. I would have enjoyed watching Perennis seethe as he failed to pin anything to you.’
The senators were nodding appreciatively and Paternus concentrated an intense look on Rufinus. ‘What we are about to discuss never leaves these walls. I want your oath on the Praetorian eagle.’
Rufinus nodded emphatically.
‘I swear… on the eagle, sir.’
Rufinus’ heart began to beat just a little faster. This was not about him and his recent activities and that knowledge had lifted a weight from him. But being sworn to silence on the guard’s own eagle and included in a secret apparently shared only by the most powerful military officer in the empire and three of the most senior senators pointed down an entirely new shady path strewn with dangers and pitfalls. Rufinus held his breath as Paternus straightened again.
‘We have reason to believe there is a plot against our emperor.’
The senator called Gallus gave a short bark of a laugh. ‘One of several, I’m sure. One would think we had returned to the old days of dreadful successions, with generals crawling out of the woodwork from distant provinces, clawing at the purple robe; men with no command of Latin and the mental capacity of a honeyed lark claiming to be ‘Emperor of Rome’.’
Paternus shot him a look and then turned back to Rufinus. ‘We have good reason to suspect an attempt on the emperor’s life will come from within the folds of his own family.’
Rufinus felt his blood chill. The image of Perennis’ clandestine meeting with the emperor’s sister in the tavern swam into focus in his mind.
‘You refer to the lady Lucilla, sir?’
Pertinax nodded again. ‘Perceptive, too. Yes, Rufinus… the emperor’s sister and her conspiratorial companions. It is no secret that she is on poor terms with her brother and that she believes her line to be the natural succession, through Verus and herself to her children. For all my solid loyalty to our emperor, a good rhetorician would find the argument an enticing one. Verus was co-emperor with Aurelius, after all. Therefore, Lucilla’s line descends from both co-emperors, with Commodus from only his father. If Lucilla’s and Verus’ son had lived we would have seen deadly division in the senate, I’m sure.’
There was a moment’s pause as the others pondered on the comment and just for a moment, as Pertinax locked eyes once again with Rufinus, the guardsman saw something deep within them that he would never dare put voice to. Was it hunger? Certainly it had a feral edge to it.
Paternus, nodding, took up the conversation. ‘We’ll not go deeper into reasons now, though, lest we descend into a gaggle of gossiping miscreants. Suffice it to say that we are almost certain that the viper Aurelius unwittingly bore is hatching a plot against her brother. What we are unsure of is how, when and by whom an attempt will be made.’
A sinking feeling overcame Rufinus. He was suddenly aware of the reason behind this meeting and his inclusion in it. Should he tell them about Perennis? Everything about the situation screamed at him of that secret meeting’s importance and yet for some reason he was recalcitrant and could not have explained why. Something deep in his subconscious bid him hold his tongue.
‘Sir…’
‘Yes, Rufinus, we need to know more. If we are to prevent the emperor’s murder, we need to be better informed of the threat. We cannot rely on signs and portents such as foretold Caesar’s end. We must have solid confirmation. As such I am placing you on detached duty. You will take a place in the lady Lucilla’s household and gather the information that we need.’
Rufinus felt the nerves rising. This was hardly a task for the guard. ‘Sir, I’m a soldier, not…’
Paternus had his hand up. ‘You are clearly the best man for it. Lucilla has spent most of her adult life with the Praetorian Guard surrounding her. She knows most of the officers. A Praetorian carries a certain stance that she will recognise. You are new enough that you have not the haughtiness of a veteran guardsman yet and, although she has met you, you were bearded, unkempt and battle worn then. She could not recognisable you now. You’re brave and resourceful and not a little subtle as your recently unprovable endeavour has shown.’
He leaned back. ‘You are clearly the man for the job, Rufinus.’ He cast a questioning look at the senators, who nodded, murmuring their assent.
Rufinus felt he had returned to the dark room of traps. ‘How am I supposed to find my way into her service, sir?’
Pertinax smiled and sat forward. ‘Lucilla is occupying the villa constructed by the emperor Hadrianus at the town of Tibur some fifteen miles east of the city. The villa is extensive and was given to her by her father. It is also remote enough for her to plot and plan away from prying eyes and ears. She is assembling a small army of hired guards to control the estate. You will don the tunic of a standard legionary and present yourself at the market of Tibur where such men are hired. You will there contrive to have yourself hired.’
Rufinus, the whole idea seeming ridiculous, simply nodded blankly.
‘I will have you assigned to some duty out of the city that will keep the records straight’ added Paternus.
‘Sir, prefect Perennis is planning to find me a punishing duty somewhere. He might argue with you over the posting. Perhaps I am a little too high-profile in the guard at the moment to…’
Paternus shook his head. ‘Perennis warned me of his intention to transfer you to one of my cohorts as he is sick of dealing with your ‘resourcefulness’. That puts you under my direct command and I will decide where you go, Rufinus.’
He smiled. ‘And where you go is to the Villa Hadriana. You will keep us closely informed of everything you hear or see. I have already contrived to have a merchant named Constans, who has long been in the pay of the Frumentarii and the Praetorian Guard, consigned to deliver goods from Rome to the villa once each week upon the Dies Veneris. You can pass notes through Constans back to myself and vice versa.’
Rufinus swallowed again. ‘Sir, I’m not sure I’m devious enough for this sort of thing.’
‘For your sake I hope you’re wrong. Very simply, you can divide what we need to know into critical and non-critical information. The critical things are who will make the attempt, when they will do so, how they intend to do it, and the location. When we have all these four things, we can halt the attempt and you’ll have been successful. At that point it will be imperative for you to leave and pass any un-transmitted information back to me. The non-critical information you will likely come across during your investigation consists mostly of the names of any and all conspirators, including anybody who visits Lucilla for private talks. You may also hear further info
rmation that you consider important enough to pass on. We will be grateful for any of it, but not at the expense of risking the critical facts.’
Paternus took a deep breath. ‘Needless to say there’s a great deal of risk involved, and I’m not talking about risk to your life and limb, either. You’re a combat veteran so you’ll be prepared for that. The risk is of discovery with everything that would bring, from us losing any further chance at uncovering the plot down to the inevitable torture of those involved, yourself at the head of the list.’
Rufinus nodded, that cold knot in the pit of his belly making itself known again.
‘If things turn sour,’ Paternus continued, ‘and you are not captured, you will have to rely on your own skills to free yourself from the villa’s confines and make your way back to the city.’
Rufinus pursed his lips. ‘Is there anything I should know about the villa or its occupants, sir?’
‘Keen, isn’t he’ Gallus noted with a smile.
Pertinax shook his head slightly. ‘Fatalistic and professional, though the results are much the same.’
Paternus clicked his knuckles, a habit that Rufinus had noticed he only indulge on those rare occasions that he was tense. ‘Spend the evening in your quarters, preparing yourself. Discuss this with no one; if your friends ask where you are going, you can tell them I am sending you on courier duty by ship.’
He smiled and rubbed his hands together in an effort to stop himself cracking his knuckles. ‘Tomorrow morning you will make your way to the navalia in your tunic and cloak. You will seek out a small merchant vessel named Celeris. A place has been reserved for you for the journey upriver to Tibur. You will find old, worn legionary kit awaiting you in the vessel, along with a gladius. Dispose of your guard tunic on the journey, and you will be a former legionary seeking private employment when you arrive at Tibur.’
‘The name?’ senator Claudianus urged.
‘Yes. You’ll need an assumed name, but for the sake of not tripping yourself up, I would suggest that you simply drop your clan and branch names and go by Gnaeus Marcius. A good lie should be as close to the truth as possible. I’m sure that during your journey you’ll invent a convincing reason for having left the legions before your term was up.’
Rufinus nodded quietly. It seemed that every time his life eased, another weight was placed on top. From the dangerous obscurity of a frontline legionary in a time of war he’d been raised to the Praetorian Guard, only to come face to face with a level of bullying that had not only tested his patience, but threatened his life. He’d finally dealt with that problem only to be given an assignment that no man in his right mind would choose.
And here he was nodding…
‘Very well, Rufinus. I have further details to work out with the gentlemen here. Go home, rest and prepare. Think through any questions and concerns you have. I want you up bright and early tomorrow, long before dawn. Report to my office two hours before first watch and I will go through any extra details and try to answer any questions.’
He waved a hand. ‘Dismissed.’
Rufinus stood, turning and saluting the prefect and the three senators, before swinging open the door and stepping through. Twisting, he gently closed it and looked around conspiratorially, half expecting to see slaves crouched, listening to the conversation. Clearly Paternus either had that most curious and unlikely of things: slaves with no sense of curiosity, or they were too frightened of their master to eavesdrop.
Stepping from the building, his eyes fell on Mercator and Icarion in the shade of a barrack block colonnade opposite, passing a mug of watered wine back and forth. Rufinus was halfway across the intervening space when they saw him and stood, concern plastered across their faces.
‘‘Everything alright?’
Rufinus nodded, though his eyes belied the move. ‘I’m being sent on a courier job, to get me out of the way, I think.’
The three men turned and began to walk back toward Rufinus’ barracks. ‘Where to?’ Icarion asked with narrowed eyes.
‘Not sure yet’ Rufinus answered quietly. ‘I’ll find out in the morning, but it’s by ship and I might be gone quite a while.’ He took a deep breath. ‘And I very much suspect it’s dangerous.’
It was Mercator’s turn to narrow his eyes in suspicion. ‘They don’t send recent recruits on jobs like that. Even when they send veterans, we go in pairs. Usually it’s a job for the Frumentarii. What’s going on, Rufinus?’
The guardsman stopped dead, his friends pulling up in surprise. As Rufinus turned to them, his eyes flashed. ‘Just leave it, alright?’ he snapped.
‘Fair enough’ replied Icarion, making conciliatory gestures. ‘We’re concerned, that’s all.’
Rufinus stalked on toward the barracks, his friends close at heel. It was hard lying to the two men who had made his life bearable since he’d arrived in Rome. But things would become a lot worse in the near future and it was better for them to know as little as possible.
The sun beat down as he strode across the dusty ground. His friends walking silently behind him, he made for the shelter of his barracks where he could sit and think through the coming days with all their upheaval and danger. He tried to picture the villa he would be visiting, built by Hadrianus, an emperor noted for his great constructions.
In the villa would be the cold, bitter Lucilla, spinning her webs and spitting bile over her brother’s accession. And probably her husband, the Syrian Pompeianus. At least he might be reasonable. And the captivating slave girl…
Rufinus realised he’d stopped suddenly as Mercator walked into the back of him.
‘What’s up?’
Rufinus couldn’t help but break out into a curious smile. ‘Oh nothing. I’ve just had a thought. I think a sea voyage might be just the thing after all.’
PART THREE: VILLA HADRIANA
XII – Descent into intrigue
‘SHOW me your teeth.’ Rufinus blinked. He’d heard such requests at the slave market, of course. It was a standard check for the health of potential purchases and allowed a buyer the opportunity to gauge the level of acquiescence and servitude he could expect. A captive who’d barely been broken would resist or grind his teeth: all things to watch for in matters of long term suitability.
But he wasn’t a slave. He was a mercenary. One of four lined up against the wall where the copy of the acta diurna of Rome was displayed, giving the small portion of the literate public the opportunity to keep abreast of matters of public record in the capital. He was a mercenary: a citizen and a free man and being treated like human cattle.
He opened his mouth to the man’s probing fingers and gave serious consideration to biting them off. The fingers tasted of sour wine, which came as no surprise, given his breath.
The man in the green tunic turned to look at the three men behind him. The one who was in charge looked to the men at his shoulders and, as they nodded, he joined them.
‘You’ll do.’
Rufinus glanced over the man’s shoulder at his three companions. The old goat who had checked his teeth was clearly either a slave himself or a recent freedman, some sort of senior servant. The other three were equally obviously hired swords.
The one nominally in command, in the centre, had the swarthy look of a man of Bithynia or Pontus or some such eastern nation. He had, against the odds, an engaging smile and a pleasant manner, his voice friendly and welcoming. Rufinus was not fooled for a moment. There was a hint of steel in those deep brown eyes and the short beard and equally cropped hair barely covered a criss-crossed network of old scars. His arm had a patch of pink replacement skin in the position one would expect a gladiator’s mark, though whether a rare recipient of his freedom or an unrecovered escapee remained to be seen.
The ’thing’ at his left was pale enough as to almost appear green when he stood in the shade of the nearby stall. He stood a head taller than the tallest man Rufinus had ever seen, long, braided black locks hanging down one side of his head, the other side
brutally shaved and scarred. His muscles were the size of small dogs and appeared to live an independent life, moving about their own business beneath his thick, scarred skin. The few times he’d opened his mouth, Rufinus had goggled at the needle teeth, filed down to jagged points. Unlike the leader, who bore a long blade slung on his back, this brute had what appeared to be two hunter’s skinning knives on his belt. The sight of him made Rufinus’ blood run cold, not least because the sight of the hunting gear brought sudden, unwelcome memories of Lucius on that last morning of his life.
But despite the naked brutality of the ‘thing’ and the snake-like charm of the leader, it was the third figure that, if pushed, Rufinus would say was the one to watch. He’d met them all in the ring from time to time. The brute was usually the easiest for all his size. Huge and strong was no excuse for slow and stupid. The snake was alright as long as you were always alert and watched every move, prepared for the unexpected. There were other types he could easily categorise too. But the rarest was the hollow man.
The third man, a Gaul, German or Briton by the look of him, was short and thin, dressed in plain grey tunic and breeches, with unremarkable short, naturally wavy hair and a beard of long stubble. An unremarkable legionary-pattern gladius was slung at his side and he stood casually. His eyes marked him, though. Rufinus had looked into them and immediately realised this third man would be deadly even unarmed. Those eyes were the eyes of the hollow man; the eyes of a man who had suffered so badly some time in his past, had lost everything in one turn of a knife. They were eyes that held no fear, no love, no warmth and no hope. A man like that would disembowel the world if it were possible.
‘Yes. You’ll do.’
‘Hold’ said ‘Hollow-Eyes’ quietly.
The others stopped in their tracks and the leader turned to look with amused interest at his friend. ‘Hollow-Eyes’ took a single step forward.
‘How did you come to leave the eagle?’
Praetorian: The Great Game Page 18
