Rufinus nodded. ‘Better than prisoners could normal hope for. I’m actually being well looked after. The lads guarding me are all good men. We’re sort of friendly already.’
Senova shook her head with a smile. ‘It’s you, Gnaeus. You make friends easily. Shame you make enemies even easier, but still, we can’t have everything.’ Her nose wrinkled in distaste. ‘You smell a little like Acheron.’
‘I’m not getting to bathe. And they won’t let me have a knife, so I can’t even shave. Sounds ridiculous, but in the cart today I started to pull the beard out hair by hair. Then I decided it was taking too long and I did a clump in one go. Never again. I’ll have a bald spot on my chin forever now.’
‘The guards aren’t letting Celer near you are they?’
‘No. Luckily. I think if he came too close I might kill him with my bare hands. I could, too.’
‘I know. Don’t. You’re in enough trouble already. Niger is keeping a close eye on the tribune and Daizus. Doesn’t let them out of his sight. Celer repeatedly demands your death and both he and Daizus have threatened to kill you personally.’
‘Be careful around him, Senova. He might just go for you to annoy me.’
‘Legate Niger has assigned me a pair of his personal guard. No harm will come to me or Luca, or Acheron. I’ve been staying with the legate’s wife last night and tonight, too. So I’m quite safe. Paccia Nigri is a lovely woman. Quiet and pleasant. From somewhere called Capua.’
‘That’s where Spartacus started his gladiator war,’ Rufinus said, absently.
‘Who?’
Rufinus smiled. ‘I’ll have to get you a good history to read sometime.’
‘Anyway,’ Senova went on, Paccia is travelling with her husband and she has her niece with her, too. A girl called Septimia Apera. Nice lass. Reminds me of me when I was free, back in Britannia.’
‘Gods help the world, then,’ said Rufinus, rolling his eyes.
Senova gave him a hard glare, then sighed. ‘I think Niger is beholden to Clodius Albinus in some way.’
‘I felt that might be the case,’ Rufinus agreed.
‘I tried to wheedle it out of the girls, but they become very tight lipped on the subject of Clodius Albinus. Neither of them seem to like him. And Septimia’s father apparently despises him. You’ve met her father, I think. I have. I remember him at a party at Pompeianus’ house. I was serving the drinks at the time, but Septimius Severus was there. He was a governor, I think?’
Rufinus’ eyes bulged. ‘Severus? He was a questor for Sardinia at the time, but yes he’s a governor now. Last I heard he was in charge of Gallia Lugdunensis. He hated Cleander, I remember, so he certainly can’t be all bad.’
He frowned for a moment in silence. ‘You mean Severus is Niger’s brother?’
‘In the loosest possible sense,’ Senova replied. ‘It was complicated. I’ll see if I can remember. Severa is Severus’ daughter by his old wife who died last year. That wife was Paccia’s sister. So Severa is Niger’s niece-in-law, which I suppose would make Severus his brother-in-law-in-law?’
‘That’s not a real thing,’ Rufinus flicked his eyes skywards. ‘But there is a connection between Niger and Severus. Severus liked me, too, I think. If only we could get word to Lugdunum, he might be willing to help.’ He sighed. ‘Dreams. That’s all. Lugdunum is a month away even by courier. By then Albinus and Celer will have found a way to dispose of me.’ His frown returned. ‘What is Severus’ daughter doing here anyway?’
‘Apparently, after her mother died, her father sent his daughters to distant relations while he hunts a new wife. Severa is here with her aunt. Her sister is with a cousin in Hispania.’
Rufinus sagged back. ‘All fascinating, but nothing that can help me right now.’
‘I will continue to do what I can,’ Senova said. ‘Niger may be indebted to Albinus in some way, but his wife has his ear, and she is sympathetic. We will continue to work on it, and I will keep going with my attempts to unpick what it is that Albinus holds over him.’
Rufinus smiled. ‘If you really want to help, ask Niger if someone can give me a shave.’
‘And a bath. You smell like you’ve been rolling in a fuller’s trough.’
She left shortly thereafter. The night passed peacefully and with blissful quiet, and even though only two blankets lay between Rufinus and the turf, it was still more comfortable than the cart and so lulled him to sleep with ease. He awoke early, dawn still glimmering on the horizon, to the sound of the Fifth Macedonica striking camp.
The second day was much the same in terms of travel, though the weather had warmed and the sky remained clear blue. The wagon continued to bounce across the stones and flags and pits in the road, adding bruise after bruise to Rufinus’ growing collection. The terrain changed, the high hills and deep valleys of the borderlands falling behind to leave low, rolling green hills and shallow vales with farmland everywhere, from terraced hillsides full of crops to roaming herds of sheep, goats and cows.
There was no visit from Celer or his men that day, which suited Rufinus fine. It seemed that Senova’s influence, via the lady Paccia, was having an effect. At the noon meal break, that supposition was confirmed when one of the legion’s expert barbers came round and shaved Rufinus, trimming his hair back once more. He felt a hundred times better that afternoon, climbing into his cart. He might not be so fashionable now, but at least he didn’t itch, and he’d started to worry that something had been living in the tangles, too. The only thing that marred his fresh appearance was the patch of raw skin on his chin where he’d torn out a piece of beard. It was still sore to the touch.
The column moved on south, staying the night at a place called Colonia Aurelia Napoca, a sizeable town with a very traditional Roman feel, all the great buildings one might expect of such a place and very little sign of native Dacian influence. Once again, the legion camped on the green slope across the river from the town, while Pescennius Niger, his family and all the senior men were wined and dined by the senior councillors of the town. Rufinus noted another temple on the periphery as they passed and half expected to find more dead animals and witch goddess statues. His relief at not finding them was brief, however, as his eyes lit on the statue of Charon, the boatman of the final river the dead crossed. What was going on with this place. Witches and death and dog’s corpses and dragon towns. Weird.
That night Senova did not visit and Rufinus worried that something untoward had happened to her. A troubled night beset by dreams of witches riding dragons left him feeling groggy and tired, and he climbed into the cart the next day somewhat dispirited. He assumed in the end that, with so many of the Fifth feeling sympathy toward him, he would have been told if something had happened to his companions. But it still irked him that Senova had not visited. He had missed her last night in his solitude, and found that he was missing Acheron achingly too. Even Luca popped into his thoughts every now and then, though that only served to annoy him all the more. As they set off and rumbled and lurched along the road on the last leg of the journey, he fell into a deep grump, irritated that Senova was living the high life with the officers and their ladies, probably drinking good wine and lounging by fires and had not given thought to visiting Rufinus in his lonely prison.
He was thoroughly disgruntled by the time they reached Potaissa toward the end of the third day. His bad mood had only worsened, and the way he had snapped at the men guarding him had driven them away, severing their friendly interaction, which only served to make him all the more irritable.
Potaissa was huge; as large as Apulum had been, and rather reminiscent in many ways. The fortress of the Fifth Macedonica sat huge and powerful atop a spur of land that fell away on three sides, the civilian town clustered around the northern and eastern slopes, hugging the contours between the fortress and the river. At first glance, it looked more run down and basic than Apulum had, though Rufinus changed his mind as the column passed by its northern edge and to the great fortress. The place
was actually no dirtier or less organised or maintained than Apulum. The difference was that Apulum seemed to give weight to appearance, the fortress whitewashed, the town neatly painted and adorned. Potaissa was different. More care had clearly been paid to its usage and organisation than to its appearance. If the differing aspects were any indication of the men now controlling the two great fortresses, it made Niger look good.
All this, of course, only sank into Rufinus’ mind unnoticed and ignored, filed away for later, for his foul mood was still upon him. The cart clattered through the west gate and into the huge fortress, between rows and rows of barrack blocks. He felt his temper fraying further as the cart was pulled up in front of a solid-looking building that lay between the headquarters and what appeared to be cavalry barracks. Similar structures seemed to be workshops, though this one had clearly been fitted out as a prison, with no windows and a solid lock only on the outside of the door. To add to the misery of the situation, Rufinus was unimpressed at the sight of Celer, Daizus and their cavalrymen loitering close by with no sight of Niger or his officers to restrain them.
The door to Rufinus’ new home was unlocked and he was helped down from the cart by the men of the Fifth, allowed to pace around for a moment and let the life return to his legs, and was then ushered through the door. The interior was extremely gloomy, and for a moment Rufinus was worried that there was no light source at all. In fact, there were small apertures below the roof tiles that let in just enough light to make out basic details once the eyes adjusted from the open daylight. As Rufinus was marched in and the bonds removed from his wrists, his rapidly adjusting eyes picked out half a dozen shapes in the room, three at each end. Other prisoners of the Fifth, and all legionaries, clearly.
‘Orders from the Legate,’ announced the man who’d removed the ropes, addressing the prisoners. ‘This man is not to be harmed. Any man who damages him in any way can look forward to the kiss of the scourge.’
Rufinus felt a slight touch of relief. This was unknown territory for him, and he could do with any advantage offered. The soldiers retreated outside once more, and suddenly the shapes of Daizus and Celer blocked out the light as they moved into the room. Rufinus turned just in time to catch a gobbet of phlegm full in the face. Snarling and wiping it away with the back of his hand, he flexed his knuckles. Daizus, whose spit it had been, drummed his fingers on the pommel of his gladius.
‘Please do, Rufinus. It’s all the excuse I need, especially with all these witnesses.’
Rufinus deliberately and slowly unfolded his fists and held them by his sides. The former optio laughed and then pushed his head back and hawked up more phlegm.
Celer, standing beside him, suddenly barked out ‘Centurion!’
Daizus snapped to attention.
‘There is no need for such demeaning behaviour,’ the tribune hissed. ‘Spitting at him just makes you look uncouth. That is not how a centurion behaves. Daizus, sneering, retreated through the door, making throat-cutting motions at Rufinus behind the tribune’s back. Rufinus, helpless, stood still and careful as Celer came so close he could smell the man’s breath.
‘Your loyalty is to be commended, Rufinus. You’re wrong, and because of it you are dangerous. But despite everything, I do respect your loyalty. You took an oath with the guard and you are living by it, even in the face of a horrible death. But what you have to remember is that an oath to a weak and corrupt man is not worth the breath it takes to repeat.’
‘Corrupt like your master?’ Rufinus spat, nastily.
‘He is strong,’ Celer said flatly. ‘He is strong, he is clever and he has the good of the empire at heart. What an emperor he would make. But you are wrong on so many levels, you fool. You favour a weak ruler and his corrupt chamberlain, and you think you serve them by trying to undermine us. But you are wrong, even there. You think Albinus plots against the emperor, and you are wrong. We are not traitors. Just prudent men. The time of the Antonines is coming to an end, young fool. Their glory has faded and now only a self-interested, deluded boy sits on the throne. None of us are disloyal. None of us will lift a sword against the emperor. But his time is marked. He will fall. He is a Nero. A Domitian. And when he falls, with no heir, the empire will be plunged into chaos as it was after Nero took his own life. Only a fool does not prepare against such a thing. Albinus is a loyal subject, but with no heir in place, he prepares, and he will be the next emperor. Do not doubt it.’
Rufinus stepped back, this revelation knocking him somewhat. Was it possible? Of course it was. And Albinus was exactly the sort of man to do such a thing. Did that make Albinus’ crimes less, though? Did it stop him being labelled a traitor?
He shook his head. ‘You almost moved me there, Celer. But he still stole gold from the emperor. He still killed a procurator. He still started a small war that butchered and burned innocents to hide his crimes. It matters not whether he raises a blade, he is already condemned. I will see him fall.’
‘This, Rufinus, is why you cannot be left alive. Why I hate you so much. You are too rigid in your thinking and you would ruin the world to uphold your misplaced loyalties. But this is Dacia, and Dacia is in the hands of the great Clodius Albinus. He let you live once rather than risk upturning the apple cart in the capital. But he is strong and well-protected enough that Cleander cannot damage him, and after your recent escapades I have little doubt that he will order your death with a clear conscience. And before you argue, Niger cannot stop such a thing. He might fight me, but he will bow to Albinus.’
He took a step back. ‘Enjoy your quarters, Rufinus. Other than the lash and the blade, they will be the last thing you see.’
‘Fuck off, traitor,’ snapped Rufinus, his mood as low as he’d ever experienced.
The tribune, stony faced, turned to glance out through the door. The legionaries outside were deep in conversation with Daizus. Taking the opportunity of their distraction, Celer gestured to the other shadowy shapes in the room. ‘I am Governor Albinus’ second. Niger might be your legate, but ponder on my power. I might be tempted to find a complete pardon for the man who makes Rufinus’ life most miserable tonight.’
With that he ducked out of the room and was gone. Two heartbeats later, the door was shut, plunging the prison into semi-darkness. Rufinus stood where he was, breathing heavily. There was a shuffling noise in the darkness.
‘Forget what he said. I’m no easy mark.’
Another shuffle at the other side. Rufinus regulated his breathing carefully. He could make out the shapes in front of him. Three men at the far end, though one of them had pushed himself to his feet and begun to pace slowly forward. The young praetorian’s ears twitched. Two men were moving in on him from behind. One was advancing with cat-like steps, nimble and quiet. The other was a solid man but with a short stride. Small and stocky, then, his friend wiry and light-footed. The man in front was a very average size and shape with a big head. Their eyes were probably better adjusted to this place, but they might have been here for some time. They were probably all poorly-nourished and weaker than they should be.
‘Last chance. I’m in a pisser of a mood, and I’ve a good mind to take it out on someone.’
The heavier footsteps faltered and then stopped. The stocky one had taken note and changed his mind. Good. That made things easier. He heard that man returning to his seat at the edge. The cat-like one behind him was now moving almost silently on the balls of his feet. The one in front came on confidently with plodding steps, trying to mask the sound of the one behind Rufinus. They were working together like hunters.
Rufinus tried to picture the men he’d seen in that single moment when they’d entered. Three men off to the right. Yes, a stocky one, and close by a reedy, tall one. Couldn’t be him from the size of the strides he could just about still hear. The third man, then. Not memorable, which suggested that he was indeed average size. Wiry and light, but of average stature. That would put him about Rufinus’ height. Height was important in placing blows unseen
…
The young praetorian stood perfectly still, flexing his fingers silently in the gloom. The one in front was moving deliberately slowly, allowing a sneak attack from behind first. Clever enough, if you weren’t a man weaned on the inter-unit boxing circuit.
The man behind him was close now. He felt the unseen assailant tensing, ready to leap. At the tell-tale whisper of a foot finding purchase, Rufinus ducked and thrust out a grasping hand behind him. The man had gone to throw his arms around Rufinus’ neck from behind, only to find that Rufinus was already ducking. Simultaneously, the praetorian’s fingers closed on his assailant’s crotch and he gripped the testicles hard, squeezed and pulled, all in one fluid motion.
The scream that issued from behind him cut through his nerves like serrated steel, and went on and on and on. For a moment, Rufinus wondered if he’d actually torn the attacker’s manhood clear from the body, but his fingers released and the man fell away, landing on the board floor with a thud and continuing to shriek and wail like nothing Rufinus had ever heard.
The man in front of Rufinus had stopped, his hands raised, and now he was backing away.
Good. Lesson learned.
The door was ripped open a moment later and two of the legionaries on guard were silhouetted in the doorway, swords drawn.
‘What was that?’ one of them demanded, somewhat redundantly as the meagre light that burst in illuminated a figure lying on the ground, tunic up around his middle, coddling his privates as though they were an egg that might break. One of the guards hurried over to the injured man and crouched.
‘Move out of the way, Titus,’ he called to his friend at the door, who stepped aside to let in more light. Rufinus almost laughed. In the extra daylight he could see the man’s crotch. His scrotum was the size of a cabbage and already going a deep purple colour.
‘What in Hades happened to him?’ the man beside the whimpering prisoner breathed.
‘Fell over and hit his balls on something,’ Rufinus said in an emotionless, dark tone, casting his eyes round the other prisoners in the gloom.
Eagles of Dacia Page 26
