Lions of Rome

by S. J. A. Turney

  Rufinus sighed and retreated from the room, defeated.

  October 188 A.D.

  Rufinus stepped out of his door and nodded his head in greeting to the three men on the front step. Flanked by two marines, so fresh off the ship that they still smelled of brine and fish, stood a man in the tunic and with the satchel of the imperial courier service.

  ‘From Lugdunum?’

  The courier nodded and fished in his bag, producing a scroll case bearing the seal of the governor, Septimius Severus. Rufinus breathed lightly. Word at last. He smiled at the three men.

  ‘Thank you.’

  As they turned to depart, he left his doorman to close up and strolled back into the atrium, peering at the unopened scroll case. Senova stood there, for once devoid of reports and letters.

  ‘From him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Open it.’

  Rufinus nodded and strode over into his office. Senova followed and closed the door behind them. He leaned back against his desk and snapped the seal, opening the case. A single vellum sheet was rolled up within.

  Aulus,

  I write to inform you with great joy and jubilation that Julia has given me a son. Lucius Septimius Bassianus was born in the spring, and already Julia’s belly swells with a sibling. Upon my return to Rome, I shall be hosting a grand celebration in our town house and I extend a happy invitation you yourself and your wife.

  Rufinus sagged. All that wait, and it was a letter filled with family matters.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Severus has had a son.’

  ‘How wonderful.’

  ‘And unimportant.’

  He drifted back down to the letter and skipped over other mundanities involving his province and family matters, and was so bored with the inanity of it all that he almost missed it.

  I have heard, by the way, from an old friend, Pollienus Auspex, the governor of Hispania Tarraconensis. He is so perturbed by the ongoing Mauri raids on his coastline that he has arranged for the African fleet to concentrate on saving his lands. Would that he had your ear, eh, with your powerful fleet. Still, perhaps the move will finally end the Mauri problem for him.

  He then went on to drone about trade routes in the Rhodanus and price fixing in Gaul, but Rufinus lost interest. He had what he wanted.

  ‘I take it from that beaming smile that you got what you were waiting for?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So I can look forward to your new pirate friends moving east to the rick pickings of the Carthage straits and sinking all my ships?’

  Rufinus huffed. ‘Don’t get so involved in your little trade game that you forget our true purpose. Every one of those ships that fails tightens the grain rations and puts pressure on Rome. That is what we’re about.’

  He looked up, but realised that Senova was grinning. He chuckled. ‘Sorry. Strain has been making me tetchy.’

  ‘I hadn’t noticed, dear. And as you yourself pointed out recently, the grain ships are not where we’re making our money anyway. We can stand to lose the entire fleet and still turn a healthy profit. Indeed, that is the very situation towards which I have been working.’

  Rufinus laughed. ‘You’re a damn marvel. When Cleander came calling I thought you’d slipped up, you know? I thought something you’d done had us all for the chop.’

  She smiled. ‘Will it ease your fears, dear, if I assure you that absolutely everything I have done from the outset is actually legal, in the strictest sense. Some of it may not be ethical, and it was certainly bending the rules at times, but there is nothing for which we could be prosecuted.’

  The humour slid from Rufinus. ‘In the Rome of Cleander, innocence is no defence. If he has reason to believe you’re doing something against him, he’ll have us picked up and taken to the Palatine cellars regardless.’

  ‘Then I had best continue to be careful,’ Senova said. ‘I assume you are confident that the Mauri will try their luck with the grain fleet?’

  ‘They would be foolish not to. They’ve never had a chance like this before, and they might never again. Just one of those ships, if they can capture and divert it, will pay more than half a year of raiding coastal villages.’

  ‘Will the emperor expect you to do something about it?’

  Rufinus nodded. ‘A month, maybe two, after the first time they hit the fleet, I will be told to secure the sea lanes. I will have to start providing trireme escorts from the African coast to Portus. Of course, before then I shall have had to send more ships to Gaul to help secure the grain from Arelate, and probably more to Hispania to aid the African fleet. Given the number of men the emperor needs me to provide for the awnings and suchlike of his amphitheatres and the need to keep the Italian ports secure, I will not have enough ships to provide escort for every vessel. I would estimate that each month up to a third of the grain fleet will be at risk, and yet I will appear to be doing everything I can to prevent it. And with luck I will be able to sink a few Mauri pirates and make a good show of it all. Yes, I think we can safely say the grain shipments are about to dwindle a little faster.

  Senova smiled. ‘Only you could be so enthusiastic about sinking our own people and starving Romans.’

  Rufinus felt his smile slip. Damn it.

  He spent the rest of the day at the castrum, finding cunning ways to second his best ships to other duties around the western empire, gradually depleting the pool of vessels from which he would be able to draw when the time came to protect the grain ships. By the time he’d finished, satisfied that every posting was both realistic and justifiable, it was already dark and he knew that Senova would be getting twitchy waiting to eat. Locking up, he found Philip in his office, bade the strange man good night, and left for home.

  It was a cold night, and he was for once grateful to climb into the litter and let his mismatched bearers lurch him home, surrounded by loyal marines. He wondered idly if this was what it was like to be a consul or suchlike, always having transport and an entourage. One day perhaps even Rufinus might be preceded by a column of lictors announcing his importance. He grinned at the thought. His father would kill to have that, and yet despite everything, Rufinus felt certain he was closer to that than his father. He wondered momentarily what his father was doing. Time had worn on, and Rufinus had not seen the old man again. Probably his father was expecting Publius to appear at any time. Soon he would become impatient and make some demand on Rufinus.

  That was a worry he would deal with another time.

  Slowly and uncomfortably, but with a new and unusual sense of progress and determination, he bounced his way back home. Outside his house he dismounted from the litter as his marines rapped on the knocker and had the domus door opened. He dismissed the litter back to its yard and his men back to the castrum, telling them he would need them at dawn the next day, and stood, shivering in the night air for a moment as they all departed, his doorman waiting patiently for him to enter.

  A movement caught his eye for just a moment, and he turned to peer across the road. A public fountain with a grotesque head spouting fresh water stood in a small triangular park of stone chippings with three lovely flower beds, all overlooked by three beech trees that were now shedding the last of their leaves, which lay as a damp carpet on the stone below.

  There was no one there. Perhaps it had just been the trees in the breeze?

  He turned back and entered his house, the doorman closing up behind him, but as he did so he felt that strange tingle and the hairs on his neck stood proud. He could feel someone watching him. He paused for a moment in his entrance hall, his eyes on the small altar to the household gods. It made him smile a little to see that Senova had added her own statue of Minerva she’d bought in the forum and scratched the letters BRIG into, to make it her own foreign goddess.

  His smile faded once more. There was only one window on the side of the house where the front door was. He was wealthy enough not to have shops occupying either side of the door, but still his house pre
sented a plain façade to the street as was normal, all openings and windows generally looking inwards to the atrium and the garden. There was one, though. Nodding to the confused doorman, he moved past to the man’s little cubbyhole beside the door. It was dark in here, as the man had been dozing when the door went, and Rufinus carefully approached the small window, just a hand-span across and barred with iron. There he paused and let his eyes adjust.

  The small triangular park remained empty. He wondered if there was someone in one of the trees, but decided it was unlikely. There were not really enough leaves to conceal someone. Then he saw it. Just a tiny movement. Someone was crouched behind the fountain, and he kept seeing just the crown of their head. He dismissed out of hand the possibility it was a plague-ridden beggar. There was something just too suspicious about the figure.

  What to do about it? He fretted again. He’d been watched since the beginning – that had been clear – but he’d not seen signs of it recently and had assumed that Cleander’s men had decided he was unimportant and had lifted their surveillance. Certainly for well over a month or two he’d seen nothing, and he’d been looking, too. Why now? Why had he attracted new watchers?

  He tried not to connect it to Senova’s work with civilian shipping or his own deployment of his fleet, or even his subtle shifting of the African ships to the west. He failed. He could see no reason for fresh surveillance unless it was as a result of Cleander’s recent visit. And if they were on to him…

  The chamberlain had certainly seemed uncharacteristically friendly. Was that him trying to catch them off-guard? Was this whole thing with hiring ships for the emperor’s beasts just a way to probe their businesses? Push hard and see if something springs out of place?

  Damn it. Whatever the case, he couldn’t afford to be watched right now, just as he’d finally started to do something after months of inactivity.

  Taking a deep breath, he left the little room, passed the still-baffled doorman, and pulled open his door. He was wrapped in his toga and unarmed, like any Roman gentleman. For a moment, he considered taking the doorman’s club, but reasoned in the end that his own fists were far more dangerous. As he crossed the street towards the small park, he sized up the situation as he’d always done, as though he were about to meet someone in the ring.

  The man had to be lithe and probably small to be so well concealed behind the low fountain. He might be strong, but probably not too much. He was a watcher. He’d been chosen for speed, subtlety and observational qualities, not the ability to kill, probably at least. That being the case, he would probably try to run rather than fight. Back would lead him into a narrow alley that ended in a small square between houses. The man would know that and know that it was a dead end. To the north he would be moving further out of town and into areas in which he’d be more visible. So he would go to his left, Rufinus’ right, heading back into town, where he could get lost among the crowds. He would probably be fast enough to get away, but not if Rufinus got the jump on him.

  He crossed to the fountain, clearing his throat.

  ‘Come on out,’ he said in a threatening tone.

  Readying himself, he took a pace to his left, as though rounding the fountain, but shifted his weight in the process. Predictably, the man burst out the other side, but Rufinus was ready for him. With his weight thus shifted to brace, he launched himself at the man. He was fast, this fellow, but not fast enough. Rufinus’ arms wrapped round his thighs and brought him down with a bang to the ground.

  ‘Who are you working for?’ he grunted, already knowing the answer but needing to start the questions somewhere. There was no reply and he pushed himself up, allowing room to turn the watcher over. His heart fell as he did so. The lady Fortuna was clearly not with him tonight. He had tackled the man safely enough, but when they fell, the watcher’s head had struck a boulder protruding from the leafy carpet. His head was a mess, and blood was pooling in the fallen foliage.

  ‘Vesta’s knockers!’

  He reached down and felt the man’s neck. There was a pulse, but it was slower than it should be, and faltering. Even as he worried, he felt the throb slow further. He pulled an eyelid open in the smashed face, and could see the pupil shaking. The man’s brain was broken anyway. He would be dead in a few heartbeats.

  Cursing, Rufinus rose. He’d only meant to question the man. He needed to know why he was being watched, that was all. He hadn’t wanted to kill the man. He was within his rights to confront someone spying on his house, and nothing untoward might come of it. But having accidentally killed one of Cleander’s spies watching him was unlikely to make the problem go away. In fact, it was likely to become a lot worse.

  Perfect timing, now that he was actually planning to do something at last.

  Chapter Twelve – Sailors and soldiers

  Off the coast of Sicilia, June 189 A.D.

  Herennius Buco leaned on the rail of his ship, the Korinthos, his steersman heaving slowly on the great oar, turning the heavy, laden vessel slightly more northerly in line with the other ships. They had departed Carthage yesterday morning and made the nail-biting run across to Sicilia, overnighting at Lilybaeum, in the usual manner. Despite the increased threat of pirates, who had been ravaging these seas all-but unchecked for the past half year and had claimed several vessels, the master and crew of the Korinthos had spotted nothing yesterday. The Misenum fleet had managed to assign a trireme to this little flotilla, which perhaps accounted for the peace of the journey, but still one trireme might not be enough. There were a lot of ships to protect, and the rumour was that the pirates were also numerous.

  This morning the six grain ships had put to sea once more from Lilybaeum, hugging the coast of Sicilia until they were in a position to make the jaunt across open water to the Italian coast. There they would be relatively safe. The Misenum fleet had that coast secured, and the pirates went no further than Sicilia at the moment. This small fleet had been several days late departing due to staffing issues in Africa’s farms and trade stations, but they hoped to rendezvous with the rest of the Africa and Sicilia fleet on the Italian coast south of Puteoli.

  Hoped...

  Buco sighed. He’d leapt at the chance to sign a contract with the Triarii. His business had been more than a little uncertain of late, what with the plague and endless troubles in the provinces, and he’d faced ruin a couple of times, barely scraping by. Then he’d been offered a permanent contract for the grain fleet by the factotum of the Triarii. Grain shipping was almost always safe and a guaranteed earner, and he’d leapt at the chance. Then the African fleet had been called west, the Mauri pirates had made the most of the freedom, and suddenly being a grain ship was horribly dangerous.

  Why was he pondering so on the perils of his life?

  Some preternatural sense made him turn, shivering, his hair standing on end, almost crackling with static. Sure enough, he saw them just as the lookout bellowed his warning. Four triangular sails, and from the angle bearing down on the Korinthos and its companions.

  ‘Enemy sighted.’

  The steersman cast Buco a look leaded with questions.

  ‘How far to Lipara?’ Buco bellowed to his navigator.

  ‘Two hours at current speed, sir.’

  Buco fumed. The Korinthos was built for capacity and stability, not speed. She could carry more than most and stood a better chance in the occasional storms, but she would ever be in danger from faster ships.

  ‘We’ll not make it.’

  Lipara might only be a small island, but it had the benefit of being occupied, including a small military installation armed with several pieces of artillery. The pirates would not get too close to the place, and it would provide a haven for the beleaguered grain ships.

  Not for the Korinthos, though.

  He looked ahead. The warning had gone up among the other ships, too, and they were putting every effort into forging east, towards Lipari. Each of them would be faster than this sow, and the Korinthos, slow as she was, was already
bringing up the rear.

  He could perhaps coax extra speed from her is they tipped the cargo over the side. But even before he made quick calculations in his head he knew that it would make no difference. By the time they had lost enough grain to pick up adequate speed, the pirates would be on them anyway. The Korinthos was doomed. The best they could be was a decoy to save the other ships.

  ‘What do we do?’ the steersman asked in a tight breath.

  ‘We prepare for trouble. We can’t outrun them and the rest of the ships are leaving us behind.’

  ‘But the trireme?’

  Buco looked ahead once more. The military vessel had dropped back from its vanguard position, but was making no sign of turning to come to the defence of Korinthos, simply falling back to the position of the other ships where it could protect them.

  ‘The trireme knows we’re done for, but he can still see the other ships to Lipari and they’ll be safe from there.’

  Buco marvelled at how calm he sounded. He didn’t feel it, but it was important to keep a controlled, level head at times like this. They were doomed. He had a potential way out, or so he understood, but it would only be useful for a few of them. It was only supposed to be for him in reality. There were sixteen men on board. The Korinthos was at least blessed with a lifeboat, but it would take only ten men. Probably twelve would fit uncomfortably for a short distance. That might work.

  ‘Alright. Everyone except Gallio, Vetus and Papus get that lifeboat in the water. Get inside and row as though Hades himself were nipping your arse. I don’t know whether you’ll make landfall, but with luck once this is over the trireme will make a sweep back and find you.’

  The crewmen, relieved beyond measure despite the unknown peril they still faced, went about their task, hurrying to get their means of escape into the water. Buco turned to the steersman. ‘I’ll take over there. You and the other two help the rest get that boat in the water.’