‘Thanks,’ Rufinus replied drily. ‘Who is it?’
‘Hello, brother,’ murmured a soft voice from the doorway. Rufinus snapped around in surprise to see a new figure standing beside Icarion, who now stepped back to let the new arrival in.
‘Publius?’
‘Gnaeus,’ the visitor smiled warmly. He looked just as Rufinus remembered, which was idiotic, of course. It had been eight years and Publius had been a boy when last they’d spoken. But then, he was just a boy now, wasn’t he? Rufinus tried to do a quick mental calculation of his age, based on his own, but his stewed brain wouldn’t recall how many summers he himself had seen, so the whole thing was clearly a monumental waste of effort.
Mercator cleared his throat. ‘We almost refused him when he said he was your brother at the gate. We both thought your only brother died while he was out hunting?’ Mercator nudged, his voice calm and soothing, both friends knowing how strongly that event had coloured Rufinus’ life ever since.
Rufinus nodded. ‘That was Lucius. He was the eldest. Publius here’s the younger, with me in the middle.’ He turned to the new arrival. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’ve come to live in Rome,’ Publius replied with a smile. He was clean-shaven – but then he was still a boy wasn’t he? His hair was similar to Rufinus’, though better cut and better styled. His eyes were a deep sea green and he had a light frame, compared to Rufinus’ muscular one, and as for his dress sense... suddenly Rufinus realised his brother was wearing a toga. How had that passed him by?
‘What?’
‘Father sent me.’
Rufinus tried to wrap his head around the idea, but nothing seemed to fall into place. ‘You’re… you must be… how old are you?’
A look of petulant rebelliousness drifted across Publius’ face, ‘I am sixteen summers. I took the toga virilis this spring. I’m not a boy any more, Gnaeus.’
Sixteen? Good grief.
Over in the corner, Dexter chuckled. ‘Beats pushing a cow, eh?’
Publius frowned in confusion and looked to his brother for an explanation but Rufinus just shrugged. ‘We have no idea. He transferred to us last month from the Second Traiana in Aegyptus. We think it’s an Aegyptian thing, but he only makes proper sense about once a day.’
Dexter snorted and gave him an odd, inscrutable look.
‘Anyway,’ Rufinus turned back to his brother. ‘What’s Father doing sending you to Rome? At sixteen you should be looking at a nice civil position in the provincial government in Tarraco. Or maybe even as a military tribune with one of the legions?’
Publius shook his head and fished in the leather satchel at his side, producing three scrolls. Rufinus took them when proffered and turned them around. They had not been wax sealed. His father was slipping in his old age. Wordlessly, and with Merc and Icarion craning their necks to get a glimpse, he unrolled the first, letting the other two drop to the bed. It took a few moments for his addled brain to force his vision into proper focus, and then he read down the spidery text.
‘Letters of introduction? And to Publius Atilius Aebutianus no less? What’s the old goat thinking?’
Publius’ face fell and Rufinus dropped the scroll and picked the others up, scanning them in quick succession. ‘And to the Quintilius brothers too? He’s an idiot.’
Again, his little brother’s face slipped a little. ‘But they’re leading lights in Rome, Father says. And the letters are endorsed by Aulus Valerius Propinquus and Marcus Minatius Suro. They’re really important!’
‘In Tarraco,’ Rufinus snorted. ‘But important in Tarraco is the same as unheard of here. I doubt you’ll find anyone within the pomerium of Rome who’s even heard of either of them. These are useless. They’re less than useless. They might even be dangerous. Father’s an idiot. What’s he doing sending a boy with such dangerous letters into this place?’
He glanced across at Publius and realised the lad’s lip was starting to tremble. Damn it! He glanced around at the others. Icarion’s face was a mask of concern. Mercator was thoughtful with pursed lips, clearly thinking on the names in the documents. Dexter was glaring at him as though he’d kicked a puppy.
‘Listen, Publius. It’s not that I’m not glad to see you. I really am. It’s just… this whole idea is so totally ill-conceived. Father should have spoken to me first.’
‘Why would he? You’ve not spoken to him in eight years. Only the occasional message from your legion or the Praetorian commander about your successes let us know you were still alive.’
The realisation that his brother was right came like a physical blow, and Rufinus leaned forward, cradling the young man’s hands in his own. ‘I’m sorry, Publius. I am truly, really, happy to see you. Did Father at least arrange funds for you in the city?’
Publius nodded and gave the satchel at his side a jiggle. The sound of hundreds of well-packed coins shushing against each other hinted at a small fortune within.
‘Don’t tell me he gave you dangerous letters and a bag of cash and then sent you to wander the streets of Rome alone looking for me? You’re damned lucky you’re not lying in an alley with your insides out and an empty satchel.’
‘I’m young, Gnaeus, not an idiot. I took a hired litter with four guards all the way from the docks to the gate of the fortress. I didn’t even stop to look at the amphitheatre where I’m told you saved the emperor’s life.’
Rufinus smiled. ‘Good. And good thinking, too. But these,’ he picked up the three scrolls and waggled them at his brother. ‘These are worse than useless.’
‘But the people in them…’
‘Sextus Quintilius Condianus and Sextus Quintilius Valerius Maximus have been dead for over a year. They were loosely tied to the Lucilla plot. The whole family was executed and their property confiscated. The emperor now spends half the summer living in their villa. Letters bearing their names are not going to win you any friends in Rome these days. And Atilius? He’s a snake. One of Cleander’s cronies. About as trustworthy as a Turdetani wine merchant and a lot more dangerous. You’d be better taking a letter of introduction to an angry bear. Sorry, Publius, but they’re worthless.’
His brother’s expression slipped again. Rufinus had to do something. If his face kept falling like this the lad would be standing on his own bottom lip soon.
‘So what do I do?’ the young man murmured quietly.
‘What else can you do? Buy passage on the next available ship and go back to Tarraco. Tell Father to stop making mad plays for influence.’
‘Go home?’
‘Yes.’
Publius’ lip stopped quivering for the first time and set in a tight expression of defiance. ‘No. I can’t. I won’t. You don’t know Father these days. He drinks and loses his temper. He beat two slaves to death last month because he lost his favourite stylus! He will be furious if I go back.’
‘I’ll give you a letter to take explaining it all.’
‘Oh yes,’ snapped Publius. ‘A letter from you refusing his wishes after eight years is really going to smooth the waters.’
Rufinus sighed. ‘Publius…’
‘No. I won’t go, Gnaeus. I won’t go back. You don’t know what it’s like. Since Lucius died and you left it’s been like living in a Greek tragedy. I hate it. I hate it so much I would rather stay here and join the Guard like you. I’d rather face the Marcomanni than Father.’
With another sigh, Rufinus leaned back against the wall. It would be little use pointing out that you didn’t just join the Praetorians. You had to distinguish yourself in the legions first. But what else to do? He couldn’t just abandon the lad to the streets of Rome, and clearly there would be no sending him home.
‘He needs a friend.’ Rufinus looked around at the thickly-accented voice. On occasions Dexter would come out with a sensible sentence amid his bizarre torrent of gibberish, and for the first time this evening, Rufinus nodded his agreement.
‘He does,’ he murmured. ‘In the city.’
&nb
sp; ‘Can I not stay here?’ Publius muttered.
‘This is a military fortress. They don’t have guest rooms for friends and family. Even ones with letters of introduction from leading councillors in Tarraco. But Dexter’s right: you need a civilian friend to lodge with while we work it all out and I can only think of one choice.’
‘You think you’ll be welcome?’ Merc put in. ‘You’ve not shown your face in a long time.’
‘One way to find out,’ Rufinus replied quietly. ‘And it’ll mean he doesn’t have to go back to our father.’
‘It’s only temporary anyway,’ added Publius. ‘Father will be here soon enough.’
‘What?’
‘He’s trying to sell the villa to come to Rome.’
Rufinus sat bolt upright. ‘Say that again?’
‘He’s selling the villa. Actually, no one seems to want it, but he keeps lowering the price, so someone will take it soon.’
The villa. All three brothers had been born and brought up there, in that sprawling estate by the sea a few miles from Tarraco. It was an old villa with a distinguished history, and had been in the family as long as anyone could remember. Grandfather had said it once belonged to the commander Longinus who had died in a cavalry charge in Caesar’s wars. It was worth a mediocre fortune. When his family had fallen foul of the wrath of the emperor Antoninus, their houses in Rome had been confiscated and the branches of the family back in Abellinum had distanced themselves. Only an old property in Hispania that had long been the residence of an ailing cousin survived to become their home. How could the old man sell their only remaining property? Was he mad?
‘Surely, he can’t be serious?’
‘He is, Gnaeus. He thinks to make enough money to return to Rome with a good fund behind him and he’s expecting me to be a client of someone influential by that time. Then he’ll come and start to build the family’s reputation again. He’s obsessed, Gnaeus. I think if you hadn’t gone, he’d have had you married into some great household by now.’
No home. The very idea jarred him to the bone. And on that estate, not far from the azure waters, stood the modest mausoleum that held the ashes of their older brother. How could the old man leave the place? For the first time since the fight, Rufinus could feel his blood beginning to pulse. The drug was forgotten now, its pleasant suppression overridden by ire.
‘I must write to him. He needs to be stopped. That’s our home. Lucius is buried there!’
‘I know. And Grandfather and Grandmother. But it’s no use, Gnaeus. I argued with him until I went blue, but he won’t listen, and if he won’t listen to me, be absolutely certain he won’t listen to you.’
Rufinus huffed. ‘I’m due plenty of leave. I never take time off and I’m sure with the help of Allectus I can wangle a few weeks’ furlough. I should go home and speak to him.’
‘I would be no use.’
‘Besides,’ Mercator cut in, ‘all leave has been confirmed and logged until the end of Saturnalia. You’d really have to argue to change it now. And Perennis is unlikely to consider you wanting to argue with your father adequate grounds to upset his winter personnel rosters.’
Outside, the sound of a horn putting out the call for the second hour of night made Rufinus sit up and shake his head. ‘The important thing right now is to get Publius settled so we can think on what to do. I’m not on duty ‘til the morning, so I should have no trouble getting a pass out for a couple of hours.’
‘Where are we going?’ Publius enquired as Rufinus rose and changed his tunic, throwing on a cloak against the autumn chill.
‘To see an old friend who’s currently, fortunately, in the city.’
*
The villa of the Gordiani was an extensive complex crowning a gentle slope to the north of the Via Praeneste some three miles from Rome, low walls encircling its grounds with several external cisterns and nymphaea dotted around the periphery. The tombs lining the road outside the city limits had petered out half a mile back and the villa maintained a magnificent view to both the north – out across the plain to the Anio River – and south, toward the gathered aqueducts and monuments of the Via Appia. Despite an apparently open invite, Rufinus had declined to visit the place all year.
Publius sat astride a borrowed Praetorian horse beside him, his eyes wide with amazement. The villa was perhaps twice the size of their own back in Hispania and considerably more ornate and graceful. But then, this was the display of old names and old money on a Roman scale.
‘Who is this man?’
Rufinus urged on his horse with his knees, approaching the gate. ‘Marcus Antonius Gordianus owns the place. He was a relation of Lucius Verus, the co-emperor of Marcus Aurelius. He’s a good man, I’m led to believe.’
‘You’ve not met him?’
‘No. I’ve not… been very social this past year or so. But it’s not Gordianus we’re here to see. It’s his house guest.’
Reaching the high, closed gate, Rufinus grasped the chain and yanked it several times, the heavy bronze clonging of the bell ringing out across the grounds beyond the wall. They heard a small lodge door open and close and a hoarse muttering accompanied by the crunch of feet on gravel and the jingling of keys. After a few moments and some fervent muffled swearing there was a clunk and the gate crept open a hand-width.
‘Yes?’ grunted an old man with a face like a sick prune.
‘I am a friend of Tiberius Claudius Pompeianus and would like to speak to either he or the master of the house, please.’
‘At this time of the sodding night?’ grunted the old man.
‘Indeed. At this time of, as you say, the sodding night.’
The man opened the gate a touch more and looked them up and down. The fact that one sat astride his horse wrestling with the folds of a nobleman’s toga and trying to keep it in place while the other wore Praetorian uniform, if not the armour and helm, registered on his face alongside a great heap of displeasure, and he opened his mouth to grudgingly admit them when his eyes bulged.
‘What the fuck is that?’
Rufinus smiled as Acheron padded round to stand beside his horse, panting from the journey. ‘That is my dog. He’s quite obedient, but don’t make any sudden moves just in case, and try not to smell like meat.’
The old man closed the gate to a fraction and Rufinus caught a waft of extreme body odour. No fear of this one smelling like fresh meat. He chuckled. ‘If you would care to admit us, the evening chill is starting to settle.’ It would be true for Publius, even if the poppy juice was still coating Rufinus’ insides with a nice insulating layer. There was a pause while the old man tried to decide what to do, but finally the gate opened, the porter hiding safely behind it as Acheron padded past. ‘Go to the main door. The major domo will see to you there.’
The young Praetorian nodded as they walked their horses through the portal and along the path of chipped limestone toward the grand entrance. Somehow the occupants of the villa had become aware of their arrival before they reached the place. The door swung inwards as they approached and two slaves scurried out toward them, stopping and recoiling as the menacing shape of a Sarmatian hunting hound emerged from the night. Rufinus whistled. ‘Acheron? Go wander around. Find something to eat but try not to make it a gardener.’ He reached into his belt pouch and threw a piece of dried salted pork across the grass. Acheron bounded after it and was soon lost in the dark.
‘Will he be alright?’ Publius asked.
‘He will be fine,’ laughed a figure silhouetted in the doorway.
Rufinus fought a turmoil of emotions. The man in the door had been a close friend for over a year, his only confidante and ally while he’d languished undercover at the villa of Hadrianus. He was one of the oldest players of the game in Rome. And yet Rufinus had more or less shunned him and his company since the fall of Lucilla and her conspirators. Of course, Pompeianus had spent much of that next year keeping a very low-profile as senator after senator fell to the executioner following the extrac
tion of further names from the guilty parties, but still, it had been Rufinus who had deliberately stayed away, not the general. How could he face the man? He was suddenly all too aware of the blurring, fuzzy effects of the poppy juice still in his system. He could feel the colour rising to his cheeks. Damn it. This sort of thing was exactly what had kept him away all this time.
He caught sight of a curious look from his brother and swallowed his discomfort.
‘General, it is good to see you again.’
‘Hardly a general these days, young Rufinus,’ Pompeianus smiled. ‘You have been busy I presume? Senova mooches about the servants’ quarters and through the villa’s corridors like a pet abandoned by her master. I think she fears you have forgotten her. You haven’t forgotten her, have you?’
The guardsman felt the blush deepen unbearably and tried not to meet the curious, slightly humorous gaze of his brother.
‘I…’ His throat suddenly seemed dry and Pompeianus chuckled in the doorway. Another figure appeared next to him, a heavy-set young man about Rufinus’ age with short, neat hair and a close-trimmed beard. His eyes gleamed in the torchlight at the villa entrance and his clothes were wealthy and well-cut. ‘Claudius, for the love of Vesta invite the fellows in and close the door. That chill cuts right through the house.’
Pompeianus laughed again.
‘Rufinus, allow me to finally introduce my cousin, Marcus Antonius Gordianus. Marcus, this is Rufinus – the lad who saved the emperor a few years back and… I would say a brother, from the face?’
Rufinus nodded. Nothing got past Pompeianus – he should have remembered that. He forced himself to dismount carefully, trying not to display any effect of his intoxication, and gestured for Publius to do the same. Barely had his feet touched the gravel, his sore ankle giving way momentarily, before the slaves had taken the horses and begun to lead them away.
‘Will they need overnight stabling?’ Gordianus asked.
‘They are Praetorian steeds, sir,’ Rufinus shook his head, ‘and I must be back in camp in a little over an hour.’
Praetorian: The Price of Treason Page 3