The Mask of Command

by Ian Ross

  ‘The first letter comes from Rome,’ Diogenes said. ‘From the senator Latronianus.’

  Castus jerked upright, his face tightening into a snarl. He had heard nothing from Sabina’s cousin since he was last in Rome, six months before, and had hoped he was rid of the man for good. ‘What does he want?’

  ‘It appears that at last the complex administration of your late wife’s inheritance has been decided.’

  ‘They’ve been discussing this for nearly a year?’

  ‘Well, yes. It appears the lawyers of Rome have had much employment from the Domitii family. As you know, your wife died intestate and by the Orphitian legislation her inheritance should pass to her offspring – your son, of course. However, much of her patrimony came from her father, and after his execution it was seized by the tyrant Maxentius.’

  Castus gave an irritated rumble. He remembered hearing a great deal about that from Latronianus himself. ‘What of it?’

  ‘Also, it seems that Honoratus had made provision in his own will that a portion of the inheritance was only to pass to his daughter’s husband – her first husband, at the time. Now, however, that means... you. Congratulations, brother: you seem to have become a very wealthy man.’

  ‘How much?’ Castus asked, after a heavy pause.

  Diogenes dipped his head over the tablet. ‘Townhouses in Rome and Fidenae, three insulae in Rome, estates in Africa and Campania totalling eight hundred iugera of arable land, a villa on the coast of Dalmatia and two in Africa with all associated lands, rents and slaves... the list goes on.’

  Castus barked a laugh. His head was reeling slightly; it was hilarious, unreal. ‘Tell him he can keep it,’ he said. ‘The bastard just wants to bribe me. He still hopes I’ll give my son up for adoption by his cursed family...’

  ‘Yes, he does lack an heir himself... But could I suggest that you keep the villa in Dalmatia? A very pleasant part of the world, so I hear...’

  Standing up, Castus paced once more to the far wall. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Ignore it for now. What about the other message?’

  ‘This one’ – Diogenes picked up the second tablet – ‘comes from Piavonius Magnius Rufus. He repeats his invitation to stay at his villa. In fact, he is holding a banquet on the kalends of October and desires that you attend as guest of honour. Apparently he wishes to express the great admiration felt by all the citizens of the province for your recent prompt action against the barbarians...’

  ‘Does he indeed?’ Castus said in a low breath. He snorted a laugh, remembering that Rufus had once described himself as a ‘plain-speaking Gaul’. But Castus had suspected for some time that the landowner held the key to a great deal in the Rhine provinces. He also knew that he could only ignore his invitations for so long. He needed some idea of what had happened to his predecessor, and what Bassus had meant by his strange warning about the provincials. Magnius Rufus was possibly a dangerous man, but Castus had never been shy of confrontation. And if he wanted answers he would need to get them from the man himself.

  ‘Tell him I accept,’ he told Diogenes. ‘Put it politely though – you know how.’

  Diogenes gave the slightest of knowing smiles, then picked up a fresh tablet.

  *

  It was late that evening when Ganna came to his room. Castus was sitting alone, wrapped in thought, and she stood behind him and began to massage the bunched muscles of his shoulders. For a while he said nothing, closing his eyes and enjoying the familiar pressure of her hands.

  ‘I saw you earlier today,’ he told her. ‘In the city. You were talking with two men.’ The rhythm of her hands stalled for a moment, then resumed.

  ‘They were of my people,’ she said quietly. ‘From across the river.’

  ‘What was it they told you?’

  Again she stopped, and he heard her sniff. ‘They told me that my son lives. My brother has taken him into his household. He is a great man, now, my brother. The high chief’s bodyguard.’

  Castus turned in his seat, looking up at her. He took her hand. ‘You want to go back to them?’ he asked.

  Ganna dipped her head, unable to answer for a few heartbeats. When she spoke, he heard the break in her voice. ‘I don’t know. They told me they could take me away, across the river by boat. But I refused. I didn’t want to leave... what I have here.’

  Standing up, Castus took the woman in his arms. Her back was stiff and hard, her whole body tense, but he could feel the shudders running through her. ‘I meant what I said,’ he told her. ‘I would give you freedom any time you wished for it.’

  ‘Even if I left you?’

  ‘Even then.’

  She pressed her face against his neck. ‘What would Sabbi do if I went away?’ she said, her voice muffled. ‘He would have nobody.’

  Only me, Castus thought. But the idea gave him no pleasure. He thought again of Latronianus’s offer: how much better it would be, how much easier, if he sent Sabinus back to Rome, back to the place he knew and felt comfortable. Then Ganna could go back to her people with a clear heart. And then, Castus thought, I would be alone here. All that remained of the life that he had tried to build would be gone. The only thing left to him would be the stark demands of duty.

  Ganna stepped away from him. ‘Come to bed now,’ she said. ‘We will speak of this another time.’

  CHAPTER XI

  The villa of Magnius Rufus was four miles south of the town of Juliacum, set in a shallow valley on the banks of a stream. Quite different, Castus thought as he rode towards the villa, to the abandoned country only twenty miles north. The gravelled track he had been following from Juliacum was lined with trees, breaking in places to wide views across the valley, and the wooded slopes on the far side were bright with the colours of autumn.

  ‘How soon until we reach Rufus’s land?’ he asked Dexter. The tribune was riding beside him, with two mounted bodyguards.

  Dexter laughed. ‘We’re in it already,’ he said. ‘His estate boundary’s right outside Juliacum – all of this country’s his for miles in every direction. Everything you can see.’

  Castus whistled between his teeth, glancing around with renewed interest. Rufus’s estate was truly vast, and he knew that the landowner possessed several like it. By contrast, the lands offered by Latronianus as part of Sabina’s inheritance seemed paltry. Now, as he looked between the trees along the road, he saw the fields and orchards lining the valley, the plantations on the low hills surrounding it. There were slave labourers, too, working in the fields; many of them had blond or reddish hair, and although they were all clean-shaven Castus recognised them as Franks. Prisoners of war, like the ones he had captured himself just over a month before. Some of the slaves paused to watch as the horsemen rode by, staring up from their work with hostile eyes, until the overseers closed in with their sticks raised.

  ‘Does Rufus always keep his slaves chained when they’re working?’

  ‘Not all of them,’ Dexter said with a wry tone. ‘Only the ones that try and run away. I believe he thinks of it as a deterrent to the others...’

  The sound of hooves came from along the road, and Castus instinctively tightened his grip on the reins. Four riders appeared from the shadows beneath the trees, all of them wearing grey tunics and the conical felt caps of freedmen. Castus noticed at once that they were armed – with hunting spears, but each carried a sword at his side too. Whether they were ex-slaves or free citizens, it was illegal to keep armed men on a private estate, but Castus decided to say nothing of it for now.

  ‘Excellency!’ the lead rider cried, throwing up his hand in a military salute. The other men handled their horses well, and had a lean and experienced look. Ex-soldiers, Castus guessed. ‘The dominus is waiting for you at the villa,’ the rider went on. ‘He’s instructed us to accompany you for the last mile.’

  ‘A friendly ambush, luckily,’ Dexter said under his breath as the four riders turned their horses and formed a vanguard ahead of them. They set off at a quicker pace, the t
wo bodyguards bringing up the rear.

  The road passed through a tunnel of trees, then burst from shadow into full sunlight. Castus blinked, and saw the villa on the far side of the valley. It was an impressive sight: the red-tiled roofs glowing in the afternoon sun; the white pillars of the front portico standing proudly above terraced gardens that dropped to the river. As they descended the track Castus saw that the stream had been dammed here to create a series of artificial lakes and pools; he assumed they were ornamental, but as the riders crossed the low wooden bridge between the larger two pools he glanced down and saw the flicker of plump red-backed fish close to the surface. Something else caught his eye as he looked up towards the villa; off to the left, beyond the humped roofs of the bath annexe, was a much cruder-looking structure of grey stone. It closely resembled the military watchtowers that stood along the frontier roads of the empire.

  Before he could study it more closely, a figure appeared on the lower garden terrace. One of the riders blew a curved horn to announce their arrival.

  ‘The hunters return!’ Dexter said quietly. ‘And it seems that we are the catch...’

  Magnius Rufus raised both arms as the riders climbed the slope towards him, greeting them as if he were saluting the rising sun. He was dressed in a tunic and cape of spotless white embroidered with gold.

  ‘Friends!’ he called as Castus and Dexter dismounted in the gravelled courtyard outside the stables. ‘Friends, you grace my house with your presence!’

  Castus had not forgotten how much he disliked Magnius Rufus. Distrusted him too, more importantly. But seeing him now, displayed before his own palatial residence at the heart of his expansive estate, Castus had to admit that he was an impressive figure. Rufus came striding down the path from the terrace. He was beaming broadly, his teeth gleaming in his muscular face, and Castus once again experienced that sense of chilled malevolence from the man. Standing stiffly, he allowed Rufus to embrace him.

  ‘Come, follow me, excellency,’ the landowner declared, taking Castus by the arm. ‘A brief look over the house, then a bath – I’ve had the water heated for you. No doubt you’re aching after the ride from Colonia?’

  Castus had to agree. He had left the city at daybreak, and ridden over thirty miles. Climbing the steps from the courtyard to the front portico, he paused to admire the view across the valley. The sun was low in the western sky, and the trees opposite were glowing with colour, gold and fiery copper.

  ‘Splendid, is it not?’ Rufus said, spreading his arms as if to encompass the scene and display it to his guest. It was, after all, his possession.

  They moved along the broad shadowed portico and in through the main doors to the central hall of the house. A huge open space, gloomy under its high ceiling, the floor flagged with marble and the walls set with objects on plinths. A tall water clock dripped quietly in the far corner. Beside it, Castus noticed a life-sized statue in black marble, a lumpy-looking heroic nude figure. The head had been removed at some point, and replaced with a slightly lighter-coloured portrait of Magnius Rufus himself.

  ‘Who’s this?’ Dexter asked, pointing at another bust that stood on the opposite side of the hall.

  ‘Ah, my illustrious ancestor!’ Rufus said. He paused to dip his eyes and touch his forehead in reverence. ‘The emperor Victorinus. A usurper, of course... but a great man nonetheless, I hope we can agree. He did marvellous things for the western provinces, back in the time of troubles.’

  ‘Did you ever meet him?’ Castus asked, exchanging a quick glance with Dexter.

  ‘Me? Oh no... He was treacherously murdered before I was born. I am only forty-five years old, you know!’

  Castus shrugged, nodding politely. He would have given Rufus a decade on that at least. But the landowner’s expression of intense self-satisfaction had not altered. He gestured, leading the two men through to the rear portico and along to the door of the bath annexe.

  ‘You’ll find fresh towels in there, oils, and a very capable masseur!’ Rufus said, bowed once, and then left them.

  The masseur was capable indeed, but Castus was wary of talking too much in his presence; it was only half an hour later, as he and Dexter reclined in the wide sunken pool of the warm bath, that he asked the cavalry officer what he made of their host.

  Dexter smirked, propping his lean muscled arms along the rim of the bath and glancing over his shoulder before answering. ‘He’s a distillation of all the worst aspects of the Gallic landowning class,’ he said. ‘But you’ve got to allow, he lives well by it.’

  ‘He does,’ Castus agreed, gazing up at the vaulted ceiling above them. Painted boats bobbed on a painted sea, the naked figures of fishermen hauling in extravagant catches. The warm water poured into the bath through a bronze spout shaped like a gaping lion’s mouth, and flowed away again down a channel. The villa could not compare to the splendours of the houses Castus had seen in Rome – nowhere in the world, he thought, could do that. Nor was it as palatial as the imperial quarter in Treveris, or even the Praetorium in Colonia. It was a country house, that was all, but set in such a landscape, and so close to the disputed frontier of the empire, it seemed an oasis of civilised calm and refinement.

  However, Castus had not forgotten that other building he had seen as he rode up towards the villa. He was just about to mention it to Dexter when a familiar voice boomed from the changing room. Moments later, Magnius Rufus strode through the archway, flinging off his robe.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind if I join you?’ he said, stepping down into the pool with a hefty sigh of satisfaction. No reply seemed necessary; Castus and Dexter shifted to opposing ends to give their host room. With slight amusement, Castus noticed that the naked Rufus did not particularly resemble the heroic statue he had seen in the hall. He was a big man, but heavily belted with fat. The water rose considerably as he settled himself.

  ‘We should have wine, maybe?’ Rufus said. ‘Water for the outside, wine for the inside, isn’t that the way?’

  ‘Later, perhaps,’ Castus said. He knew that there were things Rufus wanted to tell him, things that he would need a clear head to judge. He also knew that Rufus was the sort of man who liked to talk, and who expected to have people listen and agree with him. Many years as a soldier had proved to Castus the benefits of remaining silent, expressing few opinions, leaving it to others to expose their intentions. He had been planning to draw Rufus out slowly, hold back and let the man reveal what he would; now he was here, he felt unwilling to remain so reserved.

  ‘I notice you have a fortified tower at the end of your house,’ he said.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ Rufus replied, his smile dropping just for a moment. ‘A sad necessity! When I first bought this villa, you know, it was all but a ruin. The barbarians sacked the place during the time of troubles. Luckily the owners had already fled. But I was determined that such a fate should not befall my property, so I ordered the tower built. It’s a meagre sort of fortification, perhaps, but it serves as a lookout and a redoubt, should the barbarians once more ravage this country.’

  ‘You have your own private militia too, it seems.’

  Rufus shrugged, the water slopping around his shoulders, then spread his hands and grinned. ‘Illegal, I know! But there are only a few dozen of them. I use them as overseers on my land, mostly. Sometimes laws that are made in imperial capitals do not account for the demands of frontier life!’

  Castus inclined his head, as if conceding the point. ‘But my army is short of men,’ he said in a level tone. ‘We need recruits. If I have to, I’ll order a general conscription, and you’ll have to provide your share.’

  Rufus pursed his lips towards the ceiling, shifting so the water slopped against the lip of the pool. ‘We have much to discuss, you and I,’ he said in a more confidential tone. ‘At some... later stage of the evening.’ He glanced at Dexter, who was managing to appear totally disinterested. ‘Yes, much to discuss... but some of my other guests have already arrived, I think, and all will be eager to gre
et you, I’m sure!’

  *

  There were more guests, in fact, than Castus had been anticipating. As he walked out onto the front portico, freshly dressed in a clean tunic, breeches and soft shoes of red leather with smooth unstudded soles, he found them all waiting for him. A mass of civilians, it seemed at first, with a greater mass of slaves and attendants behind them, all turning to him as he appeared from the doorway.

  ‘His excellency the Commander of the Frontier! Defender of our province!’ Magnius Rufus declared, throwing out a meaty hand, and at once the whole assembly clapped and cried out their greetings.

  ‘You’ve emerged just in time for our evening entertainment,’ the landowner said, and then guided Castus through the crowd, introducing the other guests. No doubt, Castus thought, he was enjoying appearing in control here. He kept his expression neutral, wary in this company, responding with the barest of nods to each new greeting.

  ‘My good friend Fabianus – my neighbour, in fact,’ Rufus said, introducing a lean-faced man, thin-lipped and narrow-eyed, who smiled like a snake. ‘Fabianus and I have known each other a long time! And this is Julius Dulcitius, one of our most prominent import merchants – you must speak to him about the grain supply from Britain...’

  Rufus was steering Castus steadily through the crowd towards the balustrade, where several cane chairs had been placed, as if they might sit and admire the view. The valley and the fishponds had fallen into evening shadow, but the autumn colours still blazed along the crest of the hill.

  On the steps below the portico was a party of musicians; beyond them, on the upper garden terrace, several of Rufus’s grey-clad mercenaries were stationed around the perimeter of a grassy area. As Castus seated himself, the musicians began to play: tambourines fizzed and tapped, flutes whined and a bagpiper set up a rhythmic honk and skirl. All along the portico the guests gathered between the pillars, some seating themselves on the balustrade, all gazing down at the scene below them.