‘To the litter. Quickly,’ Rufinus commanded, and his men surged through the crowd, now giving no care to the health and safety of the throng, pushing and shoving and barging and elbowing. The wounded marine, blood matting the hair on the back of his head, was being helped along. Rufinus kept his head down. That would look natural, given what had just happened, but it also made him very difficult to spot. With the crowd thrumming and roaring, his men pushing hard, brandishing their stout cudgels but restrained from actually using them as anything more than a deterrent, they heaved through the crowd. It seemed like hours, though could not have been more than a hundred heartbeats, and Rufinus expected more thrown missiles at any moment, but to his immense relief they reached the litter without incident. The anger all around them was reaching a critical level. If they stayed, they would certainly be in trouble. He hauled himself up into the litter and shouted loudly down to his bearers.
‘Back home!’
Even as the litter began to move at the periphery of the huge mob, Rufinus was busy inside disentangling himself from the heavy white wool folds of his toga. He twitched aside the curtain on the far side, away from the mass and the horrea, and looked out. They were almost at the edge, ready to move into a different street. The marine optio looked up at him.
‘Straight home and inside, with the litter and all. Got it?’
The marine nodded, brow furrowed.
Rufinus waited only a moment until they were in the shadow of a tall warehouse, and lithely dropped from that side of the litter, opposite to that which he’d entered, ducking between his own guards and, staying low, slipping in among the crowd. Those who’d been closest to the litter had shouted in surprise, but he was fast and strong and in mere moments he was far enough into the crowd that those around him had no idea that he was the man who’d been in the litter, and he could only see the roof of his vehicle as it bounced away home.
He simply had to trust that he’d got away from his watchers, who would, with any luck, follow the litter back to Rufinus’ townhouse and lurk there as usual, observing. Steadying himself, he pushed and threaded his way between the figures in the crowd until he reached a side street, where he emerged into open ground, breathing heavily.
In just a tunic, though he was relatively well-dressed, he was entirely unremarkable and would blend in unless anyone looked too closely. Everything now was a matter of luck and of brazen nerve. As he hurried through the streets, in his head he vowed an altar to Fortuna if she would just look after him for the next hour or so. He meant it, too.
And he would need every bit of luck the goddess could spare to visit the Urban Prefect. The man had two offices in Rome, and his own town house of course. That last was the easiest place to visit, but would most certainly be under Cleander’s scrutiny every bit as much as his own, and so he would put that last on his list. Moreover, at this time of day, Fuscianus would almost certainly be in one of his offices. One of those was located, rather inconveniently, on the Palatine. And despite that, this location was still the second easiest to visit. Yet Cleander’s eyes and ears would be everywhere there, and so he had to try and avoid that, too.
That left only the man’s other office. This had two benefits as a visit. Firstly, Fuscianus would spend the vast majority of his time there, so it was most likely he would be found in that place. Secondly, it was in one location where Cleander could not simply have men lurking on a corner watching it.
There was a downside, of course. The Urban Prefect’s main office was in the fortress of the Praetorian Guard. The Urban Cohorts had no fortress of their own in the city, and occupied a set of barracks in one corner of the Praetorian camp, their number being only a quarter that of the Praetorians. And because of the almost permanent low-lying distrust and animosity between the two units who shared a base, they kept almost entirely to themselves. That was the one redeeming feature in this plan. The Urban Cohorts were not directly under Cleander’s control, and his Praetorians would be prevented from keeping them under too close scrutiny, even though they shared a fortress.
Still, this was going to take balls.
Rufinus crossed the city on foot, pausing only briefly to buy a cloak despite the heat of the Roman summer. By the time he had descended the Aventine, crossed the valley of the Flavian amphitheatre and then climbed the Oppian and Viminal hills, his feet hurt and he was feeling parched. He decided that perhaps he had spent far too much time being ferried around in a litter and not enough time exercising. Still, perhaps with Severus’ next stage of the plan he might not require a litter.
He angled his direction of approach so as to arrive at the Castra Praetoria at its southern gate – the porta principalis dexter, rather than the most common porta praetoria to the west, which admitted ninety percent of all traffic. With a last exhortation to Fortuna, he approached the gate.
‘Halt,’ called a voice from atop the wall as he neared, and he came to a stop, looking up, praying over and over that those men in the Guard who would remember him were elsewhere on other duties. The last thing he needed right now was to bump into Icarion or Mercator.
‘State your business.’
Rufinus shrugged back his cloak, largely to show that he wasn’t armed, and stood proud. ‘I am here to see the Urban Prefect, Seius Fuscianus.’
‘Do you have an appointment?’
Rufinus swallowed. Brazen. Luck. Balls. ‘No, but he will want to see me.’
‘Oh? Why?’
‘Because Albinus sent me.’
The man shrugged, clearly disbelieving him. Rufinus took a deep breath.
‘Escort me to the prefect and he will see me.’
There was some deliberation at the wall top and Rufinus stood still below, praying over and over to Fortuna. He was almost ready to turn around and leave when he heard the thuds and clunks of the gate being opened and finally the inset wooden portal within the huge main gate swung outwards.
‘You’d better not be wasting our time, fella, else I’ll put my foot up your big arsehole to the ankle.’
Rufinus bowed his head. ‘Please, trust me.’
Two Praetorians inside were waiting to escort him. They were at the gate closest to the Urban Cohort’s barracks yet the walls, gates and all patrols were carried out by the Praetorians, for this was still their fortress as far as they were concerned, and the Cohort were just rabble that had been foisted upon them. Once more it came as a great relief that neither of the guards were men Rufinus recognised.
He tried not to look too familiar with the place, though in truth he could have found his way to the office of the Urban Prefect with his eyes closed. No normal civilian knew the layout of the fortress, after all. He followed quietly and carefully as the two Praetorians led him to the Urban Cohorts’ barracks, where another couple of men, this time in the madder red of ordinary soldiers rather than the white of Praetorians, moved to intercept.
‘Where are you lot going?’
‘Visitor for your commander,’ one of Rufinus’ escorts replied in an aloof tone.
‘We’ll take it from here.’
‘Gladly. Just try and remember to deliver him back to the porta principalis and not just leave him wandering the fortress.’
The two men of the Urban Cohort gave the Praetorian withering looks and, as the guardsmen marched off, turned to Rufinus.
‘Name and business?’
‘Aulus Triarius. Business is private, but you can tell the prefect that Albinus sent me.’
The two soldiers paused for a moment, then shrugged and set off towards their commander’s headquarters with Rufinus in tow. In his time serving in the fortress, Rufinus had never been in this quarter. The Cohort and the Guard had always had a professional rivalry. One saw themselves as proper soldiers rather than gilded pretty-boys, the other as superior to ordinary soldiers like the Cohort. Still, the atmosphere Rufinus had encountered thus far had been more tense and spiteful than he remembered from his own time here. Perhaps Cleander’s control of the Guard had drive
n an even deeper wedge between the two. If so, it was a good sign, for that meant the Cohort might be trusted to do the right thing.
Within moments they were outside the prefect’s office. Rufinus waited with one soldier while the other went inside. He returned swiftly. ‘Surprise, surprise. The prefect will see you.’
Rufinus thanked the goddess under his breath. Despite what he still had to do, simply getting away from Cleander’s agents and gaining access to the prefect was always going to be the most troublesome part. Now all he could do was hope. He had to rely on a few things being just how he imagined, and if they were, then this should be possible. He followed the soldier to the prefect’s office. Outside the door he was checked for weapons. The soldier was quickly satisfied that Rufinus was unarmed, though he had noted with some surprise the network of scars and wounds. He was then ushered inside and the door was closed behind him. As Rufinus looked across the office at the Urban Prefect, one of perhaps the top six most important men in Rome, he heard the retreating footsteps of the soldier leaving. They were alone. Naturally, given who Fuscianus must think he was.
‘Albinus can demand of me anything he wants, I’m not playing his game any more,’ the prefect spat with no preamble. ‘I only let you in so I could tell you that myself and you can pass it on to your prick of a master.’
Rufinus felt his nerves twang. He hadn’t banked on that dubious relationship having crumbled. Still, his plan remained the same.
‘In actual fact, I haven’t come from Albinus at all,’ Rufinus said in flat tones.
‘Then who are you?’ Suspicion ranged across the prefect’s face and Rufinus could see the notion forming that he might be part of Cleander’s web.
‘No, I’m not the chamberlain’s man either. In fact, I’m something entirely different. I’m a blackmailer.’
‘What?’
‘Interested parties would like to see you resign the office of prefect before the year’s end. You will be permitted time to enact any last rules and regulations should you wish, and to get your affairs in order. You need to be very clearly resigning of your own free will. I would suggest that perhaps you are doing so before the chamberlain gets his claws into the Cohort as he has the Guard. I care not, but you need to step down before Saturnalia.’
The man stared at him in disbelief.
‘I’m quite serious, Prefect,’ Rufinus added.
‘You are a comedian, clearly,’ snorted Fuscianus.
‘Far from it. My sense of humour is somewhat distant these days. But you will comply with this request, and in return your reputation will continue unsullied and you can move on to fulfil whatever military or political position you like from here.’
‘I don’t know what you think you have on me, man, but…’
Rufinus took a step forward. This was his gamble. This was what he was relying upon.
‘You remember that shipment from Dacia that never arrived?’
His gamble paid off. He watched shock and then dismay sink into the prefect’s face. He’d bet on the fact that the gold bar he had found in the mines in Dacia that was bound for Fuscianus in Rome had never turned up. He’d taken it, and Pescennius Niger had taken it off him. But he had been fairly sure that Niger was the sort of man to keep the gold, as potential evidence or blackmail stock should he ever need it. Rufinus had apparently read the man right. That case of gold had never been sent to the prefect in Rome after all.
‘Yes,’ smiled Rufinus. ‘A bar of gold from the Dacian mines controlled by Clodius Albinus, all nicely boxed up and meant for Rome, right down to having your initials on it. Imagine the deep shit you could find yourself swimming in if that little piece of evidence turns up in Cleander’s hands? Or perhaps even the emperor’s?’
Fuscianus had gone pale. ‘I am not working for Albinus. In fact, I quickly regretted ever becoming involved with the man. What gold he sent has been moved, melted, recast and given as gifts to the emperor and his court. I am a loyal officer of Rome.’
‘Nevertheless, there is still evidence to the contrary. I watched Paternus die. I watched Perennis die. I have no wish to watch another prefect executed. I give you my word that the moment you step down that evidence will disappear and there will be no danger of it falling into the wrong hands.’
‘You bastard.’
‘I am very sorry about this. And I am but the messenger,’ Rufinus sighed. ‘But be assured that the reasons for this are the very best and Rome will benefit in the end. Would you not rather face a career change than ruin?’
‘You bastard,’ Fuscianus repeated, his tongue dripping with spite.
‘I shall leave you to contemplate your options. I trust we shall not see each other again. Good day.’
Chapter Fourteen – Changes
Rome, September 189 A.D.
The announcement from the doorman came as something of a surprise.
‘The proprietor Lucius Septimius Severus to see you, Domine.’
Rufinus looked up from his breakfast, meeting the eyes of Senova, who seemed equally surprised.
‘Show him in.’
Severus strode into the room at the doorman’s heel, impressive and tall, a clear warrior even in a toga and soft sandals. He inclined his head in greeting to the pair of them and then gestured to the doorman. Rufinus nodded and the slave left the room, closing the door behind him.
‘I presume your house is safe and you trust those within it?’
Rufinus nodded.
‘Good. And while I must apologise for my general absence during most of the recent months, I am also going to be largely absent for the near future. I have laid down my imperium in Gaul at the request of the senate, only to be appointed to another province.’
Rufinus sagged. He’d hoped that when Severus finally put in another appearance their plans would suddenly leap forward. It seemed now that was not to be the case.
‘Another province?’
‘Yes. It would appear that I did such a sterling job of Gallia Lugdunensis that I am required to turn my hand to Sicilia. It seems that the current grain crisis has put extra pressure on Sicilia to fill the granaries in place of lost cargo from Africa and Aegyptus. I am not unaware of the irony of me being sent to solve the grain crisis, either. But no matter what the senate hope I will do, everyone is aware that whatever extra I can squeeze out of Sicilia will make precious little difference in Rome. I foresee my tenure on that island not lasting past winter. A short appointment. And in fact I intend to make it so, for I have been put forward for a suffect consulship next year, and I intend to see that I have it, whether it comes from the hand of Cleander or his successor. It would open many doors.’
Rufinus felt a lurch there, and hope trickled back into him. ‘Successor? You see Cleander’s end coming soon?’
‘Conditions are almost right. The grain of our plot is almost ripe for harvest. Rome simmers and seethes. It is visible in every street as one passes through, and soon it will explode. I have set Dionysus to work already with the next step.’
Rufinus nodded. ‘He is already persuading the chamberlain that stockpiling the grain is the answer. Cleander will be the man to sign the deed and it will be into his granaries it goes.’
‘Better still, while Dionysus can fall back upon a defence for as yet withholding the grain dole, we shall see to it that Cleander has no such cushion. No matter how angry the public get, at the moment they know that there is not enough grain in storage anyway. Dionysus cannot be held accountable for starving the people.’
‘But Cleander can?’
‘He can, once the lovely lady Julia Triaria here makes her last business deal for me.’
‘Last?’ put in Senova, and Rufinus was frowning but not about her cessation of business. ‘What can she do?’ he asked. ‘The ships of ours in the grain fleet are almost all gone thanks to the storm. The few that are left sit in Carthage waiting for grain that probably isn’t coming.’
Severus gave him an infuriatingly knowing smile. ‘How are your oth
er ships faring, mistress Julia?’
‘Very lucrative, thank you Governor.’
Rufinus turned narrowed eyes upon his wife. He knew she had some other business going, for the grain fleet was not making them rich, but other ships? He’d not heard about this. Where were these other ships?
‘I am afraid,’ Severus said, ‘that it will be time shortly to abandon your guise and your businesses, my dear. But for that last deal I mentioned, I would like you to send every ship you have to Arelate on the Rhodanus in Gaul. As soon as Cleander has given the order and our paltry grain supplies are moved into his granaries, your ships will carry the extra supplies governor Cilo and I have been hoarding in secret in southern Gaul, and add them to Cleander’s stockpile. It will all be done according to his orders, but he will not know that the quantity being secured in his buildings is a great deal more than is currently in Rome’s horrea. In fact, it would be enough to alleviate all Rome’s hunger for a time. I expect you can imagine where things will go from there?’
Rufinus, wide-eyed, nodded vigorously. ‘If word gets out that while Rome starves Cleander has stockpiled enough grain for all and is not distributing it, the whole city will turn on him.’
‘Quite. And therein lies our goal. Our game is approaching its last move. This is all a matter of delicate timing. The grain must be shipped in secret into Cleander’s stores once he has given the order and before the city erupts, but we want it there the shortest time possible in case the unexpected high quantity is discovered and all comes undone. Fortunately for you both, I will take on that responsibility myself. Once the lady Julia sends her ships to Arelate, my factotum there will deal with matters under my regular instruction. The sad truth is that the lady Julia Triaria and her husband the prefect will be leaving the city.’
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