Praetorian: The Price of Treason

by S. J. A. Turney

  Perennis shook his head. ‘I remain steadfast in my decision, Rufinus. Those cavalrymen are all busy on duty and do not have the leisure to seek petty revenge upon you. Besides, you will be absent from the city and far from their reach for a while. Your request is declined for the very last time, guardsman.’

  Rufinus ground his teeth, but straightened and nodded.

  ‘Good. Return to your rooms and prepare. I will have your travel documents delivered to the office of the chief equisio at the stables. You can collect them there when you pick up your mounts. Needless to say, your mission and your destination are to remain a tightly kept secret, and those scrolls must reach my sons in Pannonia unopened and undamaged. I place the future of my entire line in your hands. I trust they will remain loyal ones. Dismissed.’

  The guardsmen saluted and while Icarion collected the two scroll cases, Dexter opened the door for the four of them to file out. As they emerged into the corridor and Merc closed the door behind them, they finally deflated.

  ‘What do you make of that, then?’ Icarion muttered as they began to walk back toward the basilica itself.

  ‘Shouldn’t be much trouble,’ Merc noted. ‘After all, we know Pannonia pretty well.’

  ‘Pannonia?’ enquired a voice close by, and the four men halted abruptly, startled. As they stepped one pace further into the basilica hall, a familiar figure stood around the corner. His greying hair was freshly cut and his toga immaculately clean and draped.

  ‘Chamberlain,’ greeted Mercator with no hint of pomp or respect.

  Cleander!

  Rufinus felt his heart jump. Mere moments ago they had been sworn to secrecy by the prefect and already, one corridor later, they had unwittingly revealed their destination to the commander’s most bitter enemy. Something about the crocodile smile on the chamberlain’s face made him twitch. Made him want to beat the smirk off it, in fact. It was the smile a lion gives its helpless prey.

  ‘Just musing on past assignments, excellency,’ Icarion threw in quickly.

  Well done…

  ‘Do I understand you are bound for Pannonia?’

  Again, Rufinus’ spirits sank. The man would not be diverted. Clearly, he had heard enough. Merc had obviously come to the same conclusion: to deny it further would be to add layers of suspicion to what might otherwise seem an innocent duty. The senior guardsman smiled disarmingly at the chamberlain. ‘A simple courier duty to Carnuntum, sir.’

  Good. No mention of Vindobona. Carnuntum being the provincial capital, their duty could remain a mystery, misleading despite being essentially the truth. A visit to Carnuntum did not need to involve the legions at all, strictly speaking.

  Cleander’s smile slipped upwards at one side, slyly.

  ‘Perhaps you would be good enough to do me a favour?’ the man asked amiably.

  Rufinus realised he was shaking his head, but Merc was quicker. ‘We cannot allow ourselves to be diverted from Guard business, excellency, no matter the reason.’

  ‘Of course,’ Cleander replied placatingly. ‘I would not seek to delay or divert whatever official duty you find yourself upon for the good prefect. By chance, I have an official package that I need delivering to Carnuntum, and was hoping to secure a Praetorian escort for the courier, given the tales we hear of officials disappearing en-route to that province. It seems Fortuna smiles upon me. I am sure you would not wish to refuse a request of the imperial court? Such decisions have a tendency to haunt a man’s career…’

  A bitter taste rose into Rufinus’ mouth. He was used to threats, but those that came soaked in honey like the smooth words of the chamberlain revolted him in particular.

  ‘We do not…’

  He stopped mid-sentence as Merc trod heavily on his toes.

  ‘We should be glad to effect your delivery, excellency,’ the veteran said quietly.

  ‘Good,’ Cleander smiled. ‘You are in an enviable position, gentlemen. Perennis considers you to be his best men and as such, naturally, I prefer to put my faith in you too. You sit between two men, holding the trust of both, but sooner or later, you will be forced to turn against one of us. Do not make the wrong choice. Do not have too much conviction in your prefect, for he is a traitor, a would-be usurper and a villain. He will fall from grace very soon and when he does, those who cling to the hem of his tunic will fall with him. I offer you a hand, and advise you heartily to take it if you wish any certainty to your future.’

  Rufinus again opened his mouth to defy Cleander, but Mercator put a great deal of weight onto his foot and ground the hobnails hard into the top of Rufinus’ boot, causing a slight squeak of pain to escape his compressed lips.

  ‘Thank you for your concern, chamberlain,’ Merc nodded. ‘Where is this package, and to whom should it be delivered?’

  Cleander gave them a welcoming smile again and snapped his fingers. The sound echoed around the largely empty hall, the only other occupants two Praetorians on guard by the chapel of the standards and a couple of clerks in miscellaneous grey tunics half way along. At the sound, those two administrators scurried over. One was carrying a leather case that measured perhaps two hand-spans by one and was only a couple of finger-widths thick. The functionary held out the case and Cleander took it and passed it to Merc, who turned it over and around, his eyes registering surprise at the clasp which was sealed with purple wax and a very unusual design.

  ‘This should be placed only in the hands of the quaestor Alfenus Avitianus at the praetorium of Carnuntum. There is no specific time limit, though I should prefer it delivered as soon as possible. I would rather it travel with the safety of a Praetorian unit than it be entrusted to the cursus publicus, which habitually loses one tenth of its deliveries each year.’

  ‘We will see it delivered, sir,’ Icarion said firmly.

  ‘Excellent. See that it finds no hands other than those of Alfenus. Good luck to you all. Know that you go with the thanks of the court and the treasury.’

  With a last lingering look at the package and a calculating glance at each of the four of them, Cleander unleashed yet another oily smile, then turned and left, snapping his fingers to bring his clerks to heel. The four soldiers stood still until the chamberlain had left the building, and finally Merc lifted his foot and released the pressure from Rufinus, who hissed and bent to rub his sore appendage.

  ‘What was that for?’

  ‘In days like these,’ Mercator muttered, ‘when a powerful man asks an official favour, only a short-sighted idiot refuses. This is an above board duty with an official seal, not some grubby personal ploy. And be you Praetorian or not, that man could have you in a chamber beneath the Palatine losing your remaining fingernails in half a heartbeat.’

  Rufinus shuddered at the thought and instinctively reached out and rubbed his maimed fingers.

  ‘But the prefect will be furious if he learns we are helping Cleander.’

  ‘And that,’ Merc murmured, ‘is why we shall speak no more of this until we are well on our way. What Perennis doesn’t know cannot harm us.’

  ‘You don’t believe that any more than I do,’ muttered Rufinus.

  ‘Perhaps. But the fact remains I would rather stay on the good side of both men at the moment. Jupiter alone knows what might happen in the next few months, but I would be very surprised if both those men were still drawing breath by next summer.’

  ‘You trust Cleander enough to do his wishes?’

  Merc shook his head. ‘But right now neither do I trust the prefect. And all the parcels and documents we’ve been given are fastened with an official seal, either of the Praetorians or the treasury. We have a duty to the emperor, and therefore his court, that might arguably take priority over a personal task from our prefect. Do you feel like arguing with either of them?’

  Rufinus subconsciously rubbed his nail-less fingers. ‘Hardly.’

  ‘Then the matter is settled,’ the veteran stated. ‘We ride for Pannonia on behalf of both the prefect and the imperial chamberlain.’
>
  *

  ‘You must be joking.’

  Rufinus shook his head. ‘Sadly, I’m not.’

  ‘But surely carrying out the wishes of a suspected traitor is bad enough without adding a task for one of Rome’s most dangerous men in the process? I wish you would tell me what it is you’re carrying.’

  Publius fell silent, his lips tight, and Rufinus sighed. ‘When did you start getting wise to the ways of the court, brother?’

  ‘You were the one who delivered me into the house of astute nobles, Gnaeus, and I’ve been there four months now. It’s hard to sit and converse with men like Pompeianus and Gordianus without learning a thing or two.’

  ‘They are good men and they’ll look after you.’

  ‘Hades, brother, but they won’t need to. Wherever you’re going, I’m coming with you.’

  Rufinus set his face in a stern expression. ‘You are not. That simply is not possible.’

  ‘Of course it is. I managed to get to Rome from Hispania with no difficulties. I’m not going to let you get yourself into trouble without me to watch your back.’

  ‘Listen,’ Rufinus rounded on his brother, ‘there are four of us going. We have travel documents granting us passage on the Ravenna fleet and use of official mansios all along our route. Those documents to not extend to hangers-on. You would not be allowed on the ship. You would not be able to stay in the mansio with us. It just isn’t possible.’

  ‘Ravenna?’ Publius murmured. ‘So you’re heading east, then?’

  ‘Forget I said that,’ grunted Rufinus. ‘Our destination is to remain secret, as is our cargo. Just knowing those things will open you up to all sorts of danger. We should be back within a month at the very latest. If you don’t see me before Lupercalia then something has gone wrong and you should cleave tightly to Pompeianus. He is a master at navigating the waves and whirlpools of the imperial court. He survived the proscriptions after his wife’s plot, so he can keep everyone safe in the coming months, I’m sure.’

  Publius pursed his lips irritably but nodded. ‘I suppose it’s not really feasible. Be very careful though, brother, and I expect to see you again within that month.’

  ‘One last thing, Publius. Watch the grounds at night. If you see anyone watching the villa, tell Pompeianus immediately. Perennis claims he knows nothing of it, but the man was hiding something and I fear you may be in as much peril here as I will be… where I’m going. Pompeianus will keep you secure, but help him as much as you can.’

  ‘You could leave us Acheron,’ his brother smiled.

  ‘A month without my dog? You jest!’

  With a grin, he clasped his brother’s hand and pulled him into a tight hug. ‘Be safe, Publius.’

  ‘You too.’

  With a last smile exchanged, Rufinus turned to the door, opened it and strode out. Pompeianus and Gordianus stood in the main room, both wearing very serious expressions.

  ‘You are all set?’

  ‘I think so, thank you,’ Rufinus replied quietly. ‘And thank you for allowing Publius to remain with you. I will sleep better knowing he’s here.’

  ‘Go swiftly,’ Pompeianus sighed, ‘and return even more so. Rely on your friends but trust no one else.’

  ‘You echo my own thoughts.’

  ‘One last thing. Stop by in the tablinum before you go.’

  Rufinus frowned but clasped their hands and thanked them, turning and walking away through the atrium. The master of the house had his well-appointed office off the atrium’s west side, decorated with bright reds and yellows. Senova sat on a low couch there, her face bleak. She started to rise as Rufinus entered, but he waved her back down again.

  ‘I know. It will be for less than a month, I promise.’

  ‘You’ll be in terrible danger. You do the work of the two most powerful men in Rome, and they hate each other. How do you think you can achieve this without disaster?’

  ‘Even you?’ Rufinus sighed. ‘Everyone is full of advice on the politics of the situation, but no one is able to provide an alternative. We are simply couriers, and Mercury watches over couriers as they are his own. I’ll be back before the winter icicles melt. Then we can settle and try and avoid further politicking.’

  ‘I have just got you back,’ Senova muttered. ‘And now I’m to lose you again.’

  ‘That’s life in the military, Senova. But I will be back, and Merc, Icarion and I are very familiar with where we’re going. We have a ship set aside for us and rooms in official mansios along the way, so we are in a lot less danger than the average traveller. Plus we’re all veterans and well-armed. It’ll be a foolish bandit who thinks we are an easy target.’

  Senova’s expression established her opinion on the matter, and Rufinus would have admitted privately that he felt more at risk from the men who had sent them than from random violence upon the road.

  ‘We will be back in a few weeks. Look after Publius while I’m away. He’s getting wiser, but he’s still young and fairly impressionable.’

  He stepped back as the slave girl rose to her feet. His frown of incomprehension turned to an expression of startled surprise as she grasped his head behind the ears and kissed him, hard and for what felt like the passing of seasons. When she let him go he felt faintly dizzy and almost sank to the couch, his knees trembling slightly.

  ‘Do not forget me,’ she said quietly as he drew back.

  ‘Hardly. After that? No, I think not.’ He blossomed into a red-faced grin. ‘Look after yourself and save up. We’ll be home soon.’

  She regarded him placidly, and he could see from the way she was nibbling her lip that she was staving off tears but was starting to fail. He wouldn’t be able to cope if he didn’t go now. Momentarily he grasped her hand and squeezed it. ‘We’ll be back sooner than you know it.’

  With a last smile he turned and walked out, along the corridor to where a small entourage waited outside the villa’s door. Merc and Icarion and Dexter were already mounted and Acheron padded around them impatiently while two of the villa’s slaves held Atalanta by the reins. Rufinus sighed and cast a brief look over his shoulder. The villa’s occupants were hidden within, but he could picture Publius’ sour, worried face and Senova’s tears. He prayed quickly that he would see them all again soon and then turned back to his horse, grasping the reins.

  Pannonia. The Tenth Legion.

  Home…

  PART TWO: THE GEMINA LEGIONS

  VIII – Calm seas

  January 8th 185AD

  Rufinus looked ahead at the docked ship and felt himself relax – as far as he was capable of relaxing, anyway. The last time he had journeyed to Pannonia, the better part of a decade ago, he had marched across the bleak and unforgiving Alpes in a winter like this with several dozen new recruits destined for the Tenth at Vindobona. The expedition had been fraught with troubles and danger, the mountain passes clogged with snow, bandits hounding them in the more remote areas, rock falls, sudden storms, biting icy winds and every imaginable misery. Though they had eventually arrived in a place where they would be put through gruelling training on the very periphery of the empire in preparation to face the barbarous enemies of Rome, it had still been a welcome sight after the difficult journey.

  Not so this expedition. The trip over the spine of Italia along one of Rome’s oldest and most arterial roads had been relatively calm, despite the season, the lodgings well-kept, clean and warm. And now, rather than a treacherous crossing of the Alpes, they were facing a leisurely journey in a fast, well-appointed bireme of the Ravenna fleet. Not so leisurely for the crew, of course, who would have to cover a little over a hundred miles of open sea with the constant risk of winter storms, and could not afford to delay lest they be caught at night in freezing conditions. But while they heaved at their oars in the sharp winds of an Adriatic winter, the freezing sweat clinging to their skin, or struggled to control the large, square sail in bellowing gales, their passengers would remain safe and warm under the awning raised at the rea
r of the deck near the steering oars.

  Already the crew looked disgruntled as they prepared for the voyage, resenting being drawn from their winter quarters in Ravenna to undertake a difficult journey for the Praetorian Guard. Rufinus and his three friends walked their tired, sweating mounts down the sloping street past row upon row of seemingly identical warehouses, their high, brick facades plain and business-like, languishing in winter’s quiet. Ahead, the port similarly wallowed in the seasonal lull, few ships present at all, none of those preparing to sail apart from a single large military vessel amid the small traders and fishermen.

  Beneath Rufinus, the latest in a series of difficult steeds tried to pull away ahead, refusing to walk in line with the others. Once more he cursed the need for alacrity that required them to change horses at each mansio they visited, forcing him to leave his precious Atalanta at the first stop in soggy, cold Ocriculum. From there to proud Mevania a beast called Cronus had taken him sideways as often as forward – though some of the reason for that could be the proximity of the great hulking black shape of Acheron, who kept all the horses at the height of nerves. And from there to unlucky Tadinum, once destroyed by Hannibal, a horse called Praxides had been somewhat twitchy, ready to bolt at even a sneeze or a fart – inevitable trouble in Dexter’s windy company. Finally, from Tadinum to the coast Calora had been dancing away, wanting to race whenever Rufinus allowed any slack in the reins. They had moved at only half the pace the courier system truly allowed, but it was the fastest Acheron could cope with for extended periods, and no one had seemed inclined to suggest the great Sarmatian hound stay behind.

  ‘It’s like a gull’s fart,’ muttered Dexter, grimacing at the grey sky as they neared the dock. The other three drew up their mounts, paying no real attention to the latest in the stream of random non-sequiturs that issued from their companion. Seeing the four men in Praetorian kit arrive at the dock and begin to dismount, the vessel’s trierarch came to the stern and gestured at them.