Lions of Rome

by S. J. A. Turney

‘Seven years ago you were a cavalry trooper serving in the Castra Praetoria,’ he said quietly. ‘On the orders of the prefect Paternus, who proved to be a traitor in the end, you murdered a loyal frumentarius – a servant of the emperor, at the villa of the lady Lucilla. And now you serve Cleander as though he were the man to whom you took your vow, and not the emperor. But it is for Dis, the frumentarius, and your crime that day in the villa grounds, that this has happened to you. You are the fifth. Only one remains. I shall place no coin in your mouth. If you are lucky and the fates are kind, your men will find you and do just that before the ferryman turns his back on you and condemns you to an eternity among the ghosts. Either way, you are paying for your crime and your time among men is done.’

  Arvina gasped something pleadingly, and as an oddly peaceful look descended on the man’s rosy face Rufinus had a strange moment’s epiphany. Though there was no way to be sure, he felt certain that Arvina’s drinking had begun that day after the murder of Dis. The man had been haunted by his deed ever since and now, as the centurion collapsed to the ground, twitching, his breathing halted for the last time, he looked content, as though he’d been waiting for this moment for years.

  Rufinus felt an odd wrench of pity.

  He couldn’t forgive Arvina for what he’d done, but a show of remorse went a long way. With a new resolve, Rufinus crouched, removed a coin from his purse and, despite what he’d said, slipped it beneath the centurion’s tongue, closing his mouth and sliding his eyelids shut.

  Rising, he turned his back on the latrine and its sad occupant and made his way back along the winding corridor with its open windows and its welcome breeze, and into the bar. The two soldiers at the table looked up and, realising it was not Arvina, returned to their conversation. Rufinus hurried past them and out into the street. Back to the nearby alley, he turned and ran, taking the most complex and obscure route he could find back into the city’s centre.

  Five down, one to go.

  Chapter Eleven – Traders and watchmen

  Rome, September 188 A.D.

  ‘Will you stop pacing?’ snapped Senova, counting the figures on her list for the third time in a row, and with a different total each time. It was bad enough that she still had to concentrate to work in the Romans’ written language without having her ‘husband’ stomping back and forth across the room and harrumphing impatiently like a goat, constantly distracting her.

  ‘I’ve got nothing else to do. The fleet is at rest, the seas are calm and safe, and unless I want to watch sailors hauling canvas this way and that, I’ve nothing to do.’

  ‘Go and read or something. Go to the games. There’s always games on these days.’

  Rufinus nodded. It was true. The emperor, periodically closeted away with his mistress and then suddenly in the public eye being his golden self at times, seemed to have races and games on every week now, such was his love of them, or so it was said. Rufinus had a private suspicion that the constant flow of gladiatorial fights, animal hunts and chariot contests was as much about keeping the public happy and their mind off the plague-ridden misery of the streets as anything. Panem et circenses, as the saying went.

  ‘I wish we could move on the plan.’

  ‘What plan?’

  Rufinus harrumphed again. ‘The plan I don’t know, that Severus seems to be shuffling along at snail’s pace.’

  ‘Darling, everything is in order. Every day things change just a little. And perhaps Severus will approve your scheme today. Just be patient.’

  But Rufinus was past patience now. Every day he waited for a letter from Severus, agreeing to his request. Dionysus had said that the only thing that would push the plan forward in a leap would be if the grain fleet failed to arrive at all in a month. Rufinus had latched onto that. And since he could not control the weather and no matter how much wine he poured into the altar of Neptune the seas failed to swallow the grain ships, the only chance was piracy.

  There would be no feasible way to get pirates to intercept the grain fleets from their hideouts in the Euxine sea, past Dacia, and similarly the infamous pirates of Cilicia were out of the picture. That left the Mauri, that race of people who lived along the African coast from Sicilia all the way to the pillars of Hercules in the south of Hispania. The Mauri had always spawned raiders, from desert horsemen who ambushed caravans to bandits who ravaged undefended villages, and in more recent decades, the plague that made much of their land non-viable had driven them to sea to hunt. Mauri corsairs had caused endless trouble for the governors of Hispania, especially in the south, but they were broadening their horizons all the time, perhaps driven by boldness, and perhaps by the fleet that had moved to pen them in and suppress their piracy.

  The African fleet, run by a prefect out of Caesarea Mauretania, had been given carte blanche to stop the raids, but had managed only to minimise the trouble, rather than ending it. The people of that land were insular and protective of their own and the forces there, including the Third Legion, had failed to root out the sources of the pirates. The fleet had managed to contain the worst of it, and had caught a few vessels at sea, sinking them, but the pirates were managing to get across the water to Hispania. It was Rufinus’ suspicion that the prefect of that fleet, given a difficult task and inadequate ships to take care of it, had concentrated on keeping the pirates away from the eastern end of their region, where the important provinces of Africa and Sicilia lay, and the critical passage of trade routes between those two. The prefect had almost certainly placed most of his fleet there and left the west poorly covered, enabling the pirates to operate towards Hispania. In fairness, it was what Rufinus would do.

  He had initially been surprised on learning all of this that the prefect of the African fleet had not come to him and asked for support, but then that would be tantamount to admitting his failure in dealing with the matter himself, which would be a poor career move.

  Rufinus had reasoned that the grain shipments from Africa and Aegyptus, which between them constituted perhaps eighty percent of all grain doled out in Rome, were perfectly safe from harm while the African fleet was concentrated in that area. The only thing that would put them at risk was if the African fleet were re-deployed. Rufinus had no authority to arrange that. In fact, only the emperor or the senate – or Cleander – could really order the prefect to move his fleet, though a powerful governor might have enough clout. And so, having no other ideas and nowhere else to turn, he had sent to Severus, asking the governor to see if he could somehow have the African fleet ordered west, to concentrate on Hispania. That way, the east would be easier pickings for pirates.

  But for now, he would simply have to wait.

  ‘Perhaps we should go out. Both of us. To the races maybe?’

  Senova shot him an irritated look, and then began again, pointedly. ‘Twelve. Twenty one. Forty seven…’

  ‘I’ll leave you alone.’

  He turned, feeling as frustrated and impotent as ever, and found himself face to face with one of the house’s slaves. The man’s face was ashen, the sight of which formed a lump in Rufinus’ throat.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Visitors, Domine. It’s… er…’

  ‘Spit it out, man.’

  ‘It’s the imperial chamberlain, master.’

  Rufinus felt terror settle upon him, his feet rooted to the floor. Cleander? Here in his house? But he’d done nothing. He was so damned innocent right now that it ached. Had the man somehow caught wind of one of the communiques with Severus?’

  ‘Tell the chamberlain I’ll see him in the summer dining room.’

  The slave, still terrified, added embarrassed to the looks on his face. ‘I’m afraid it’s not you he’s here to see, Domine. It’s the mistress.’

  Rufinus’ brow creased in confusion. ‘My wife?’

  ‘Yes, Domine.’

  Senova turned and Rufinus was astonished to see a calm and collected face, if stung with a little irritation that her accounting had been interrupted once again
.

  ‘Show him in, Albius.’

  ‘Listen…’ began Rufinus.

  ‘Be polite,’ she interrupted. ‘Be calm, and try to wipe that expression off your face. You look as though someone put a knife to your manhood.’

  Rufinus was just considering disappearing entirely, hiding in the back rooms somewhere, when the sound of approaching footsteps made escape impossible. He attempted to brush away the panic that he would be recognised, despite the beard and hair, and tried to pull on an easy smile that felt incredibly fake and embarrassing. He also felt a small nervous fart sneak out and prayed that it didn’t smell.

  As the footsteps grew closer and louder, he snatched up a tablet and concentrated on it, trying to be so boring as to be entirely invisible. At the very last moment as the visitor arrived, he remembered to shuffle the folds of his toga over his nail-less left hand.

  Cleander strode into the room with a confidence that Rufinus wished he himself could count upon. A slave followed at his heel and Rufinus heard the distinctive clatter of half a dozen pairs of Praetorian boos as the man’s escort settled in the atrium.

  Cleander looked a little older than Rufinus remembered, even since that evening of the party at the grain commissioner’s house. Was the strain of power getting to him? The chamberlain had such an easy, pleasant smile that Rufinus almost had to shake himself to remind himself how dangerous and unpleasant this man really was.

  ‘Lady Julia Triaria, it is my profound pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, and it is somewhat remiss of me having left it so long.’

  Cleander bowed politely to Senova, who flashed him a winning smile. He turned to Rufinus.

  ‘Prefect, when we met at the party you never told me you’d had the fortune to marry a goddess.’

  Rufinus tried to jack up his fake smile, though in his mind’s eye he had grabbed the seal-knife from the table and slammed it repeatedly into the bastard’s face until the whole room swam in Cleander’s blood. For a moment, he wondered whether he could do it. Could he manage to kill Cleander before the Praetorians outside ran to stop him? He would die for it, of course, but that didn’t matter.

  But Senova would die for it too. And all his contacts would be unpicked. Severus would die. Publius would die. Gods, but the aftermath would be appalling. He drove the idea from his mind and tried to look welcoming.

  ‘Can I offer you wine, Chamberlain?’ he asked, wondering if only he could hear the shakiness in his voice.

  ‘Thank you, but no,’ Cleander replied. ‘To my eternal regret I am here on business and in something of a hurry.’ He turned back to Senova. ‘The emperor continues to request games be held. I’m sure this will come as no surprise. And while supplies of gladiators continue to be a concern between the plague and the drafting of such men into the armies of the former emperor, we continue to source men for the arena. What we are finding trouble with is exotic beasts.’

  Senova nodded sagely. ‘I would imagine the hunters must range far and wide for them.’

  ‘Quite, but it is not the capture and containment of such beasts that concerns me. It is the transport of the creatures.’

  Rufinus felt a lurch of worry. What had she been up to?

  ‘They are troublesome?’ she asked.

  ‘Indubitably. I assume you have seen the beasts we supply for the public’s edification in the arena? Cameleopards, one-horn beasts, elephants and the like.’ He smiled oddly. ‘Even mongoose. I’m sure with your business concerns you can appreciate the impressive requirements of a vessel to carry elephants across the water. We can hardly divert a trireme with little or no hold space, and the vast majority of merchant ships are inadequate. Obviously some beasts are brought in by merchants and we simply buy them in Rome for the games, but the increased quantities we require these days has required a certain level of state involvement. We usually arrange temporary contracts with certain merchants in the African ports or in Ostia or Puteoli. We pay well, after all.’

  Senova nodded, and Rufinus tried not to quake. This sounded as though it were leading somewhere dangerous.

  ‘The issue I am coming across is that the people we usually use are currently contracted to others in what appears to be lucrative and, sadly, entirely legal business. The ships simply are not available for the task. Very little enquiry was needed to learn that one mercantile venture in particular seems to have the vast majority of large traders. The house of Triarius seems to have something of a monopoly currently, supplying much of the grain fleet’s vessels. Only those large ships are of real use to us. You are contracted to the grain shipments, but I must assume that you have other vessels that are engaged in more private ventures?’

  Rufinus felt the edge of panic again, but Senova simply nodded. ‘Yes, there are a number of vessels that I use in private enterprise outside state contracts. Do I presume you wish to bid for their use?’

  Rufinus blanched. What was she doing? He wants ships! Give him the bloody ships so he’ll go away.

  Cleander gave an indulgent smile. ‘I would like to charter three large vessels on a semi-permanent contract if you have the ships available. They would be required to be available at any time for the transport of beasts, supplies, and men for the arena.’

  Rufinus saw a flicker of distaste and defiance in Senova’s eyes, and he realised with horror that she might be about to refuse. It was the damn gladiators. She had such a thing against slavery that she could conceivably ruin everything right now by refusing to ship gladiators to their deaths. He shook his head as subtly as he could manage behind Cleander’s back and felt a flood of relief as Senova noticed and that defiant flame ebbed.

  ‘You will understand, I hope,’ she said, ‘that my ships are our house’s livelihood, and are engaged in very lucrative trade. To take them out of that and sign them over for a long period will not only impact on our finances, but also might impinge on my reputation, if I can no longer supply my merchants?’

  Rufinus’ eyes widened. She was haggling. With the most powerful man in the empire, who could snap his fingers and have them both peeled of skin. He began to shake his head again.

  ‘I will, of course, assure you of adequate recompense,’ Cleander said smoothly.

  Senova’s mouth curved into an odd half-smile. ‘I have been in business long enough to know that one man’s “adequate” is another man’s “poor”, Chamberlain. Might we discuss specific terms before I agree?’

  Cleander laughed, a chilling sound. ‘Gods, but it’s no wonder your commercial empire is growing in a world where everyone else’s is shrinking. I’ve half a mind to second you to the treasury.’ His face became very serious so suddenly that Rufinus started to panic all over again. ‘You are aware of the power I wield? I could, of course, simply impound your ships.’

  ‘But that would damage your reputation, of course, Chamberlain. Rome is still reeling from the many deaths of that last conspiracy. The emperor and the court can scarce afford bad feeling among the people right now.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘Besides, you know I’m in the right.’

  Again, Cleander laughed. ‘Gods above and below, but you drive a hard bargain, lady Julia. And yet I find myself feeling more and more indulgent as we talk. You are, of course, correct in all you say. And I would be pleased to contribute to your growing empire. The emperor and I always try to support the equestrian class in their endeavours, for this is the age of the common man, and the old guard of patricians are reaching the end of their days. Name your price.’

  Senova smiled again, while Rufinus privately filed away that little dig at the patrician class to which he belonged when he used his real name.

  ‘Forty denarii for every hundredweight of cargo hauled, plus fifty denarii a day per ship when idle.’

  Cleander straightened suddenly. ‘Domina, you are either joking or deluded. No trader would ever consider such a price.’

  ‘It is, as you might note, Chamberlain, a seller’s market.’

  Rufinus shook his head as hard as he could and Se
nova chewed her lip, thinking it over. She smiled. ‘I must remain competitive. Just as you have your reputation to maintain, Chamberlain, so do I, and I cannot afford for my competition to see me as a pushover. I am willing to accept thirty two denarii per hundredweight and forty a day when idle. Per ship, of course. And please bear in mind that twelve denarii of that is the port fee I have to pay. Though for stooping so low, perhaps you will sweeten the deal?’

  Rufinus’ eyes bulged at her insolence, but Cleander appeared to be chuckling.

  ‘Thirty a hundredweight. Thirty five per idle day. And access to the senatorial seating with reserved place for all events in every theatre, amphitheatre and circus in the city for the duration of your contract.’

  Senova frowned for a moment, and then sat back. ‘Agreed. You drive a hard bargain, Chamberlain.’

  Cleander snorted. ‘And between your trade fleet and your husband’s command of the strongest classis on the sea, the Triarii have become a family to watch. I appreciate your time, Domina. I will send the appropriate documentation and an instalment with one of my secretaries later today.’

  Senova simply bowed her head, and Cleander turned, his clerk scribbling notes at his side.

  ‘Your wife is a commercial lion, Prefect. If she continues as she is, soon the state will be coming to her for a loan.’

  He smiled at his own humour and then strode out, gathering his guard, and departed.

  Once he heard the outer door close and the military footsteps were no longer audible, Rufinus exploded as all tension drained from him.

  ‘What in Hades were you doing?’

  ‘Bartering, dear. It’s what pays the bills.’

  ‘Severus pays the bills,’ he grumped.

  ‘Don’t be foolish, dear. I have repaid the governor his investment. As of a month ago we are working purely on our own profit.’

  Rufinus boggled. ‘But you undercut everyone for the grain contracts. How can you be making so much money?’

  ‘Come, dear. You do not surely believe the grain ships are our only investment. But best not to pry too deeply into other areas. I doubt you’ll like what you find.’