Praetorian: The Price of Treason

by S. J. A. Turney

  ‘Who are these enemies you seek?’

  ‘Er… three rogue Praetorians and a dog, senator, but…’

  The tribune faltered again and Rufinus almost felt sorry for him. Almost…

  ‘A dog? You seek a dog who is an enemy of the empire? I must say that you men of the urban cohorts lead a fascinating life. When I was commanding the Tenth and the Fourteenth against the Marcomanni we met many an armoured barbarian war-dog in battle, but I’m not sure I could ever have termed them enemies of the empire.’

  ‘Well, senator. I… It’s just that…’

  ‘Rest assured, tribune, that if we spot three savage Praetorian rebels and an empire-defying dog at the empress’ domus, I will report them immediately.’

  The tribune had lost, and they all knew it. The officer heaved a resigned sigh. ‘Apologies for the disturbance, senator. Please be on your way.’ He leaned back and waved to his men. ‘Stand aside!’

  Almost as an afterthought, he turned back to the general. ‘Unless you would appreciate an escort, Senator? The empress’ domus is just a short distance away, but there are some bad areas on this hill, and I wouldn’t…’

  ‘No, no, no,’ smiled Pompeianus. ‘We will be fine, thank you, Tribune. And you have savage canines to hunt.’

  Again, the tribune sagged slightly as he stepped back and bowed, before jogging off to his men. He paused only to throw a foul glance at Publius and was then on his way, dragging his smirking men off into a side street.

  At Publius’ command, they hefted the litter once more and bore it on down the street toward the Palatine, which lay beyond the Caelian hill where the emperor’s sister lived. Rufinus waited until they were safely out of earshot of the patrol and hissed at his brother. ‘What possessed you to mention the lady Annia? That could have landed us neck deep in the shit.’

  ‘But it didn’t,’ Publius muttered. ‘We’re playing for the highest stakes now, and common explanations will just not pass the test. We must out-authority anyone who stops us. Pompeianus has explained the rules of this game to me many times, Gnaeus. I know what I’m doing.’

  ‘Just be careful.’

  ‘I am always careful,’ answered Publius in a hurt tone, and Rufinus let his opinion of that particular statement hover as a leaden silence in the chilly, increasingly damp evening air. On they trod, past the junction of the Via Tuscolana, the temple of Hercules the Vanquisher, and the well-guarded drive that led back to the villa of the emperor’s sister Annia. They were so close now. Little more than half a mile to go, and then they would have to send the others back while the five of them went on.

  Here the aqueduct, and therefore the road they followed which ran alongside, turned twice in a shallow dogleg and, as it straightened again, the great structure’s arches, both upper and lower, were lit with low lamp light, making the whole thing a grand sight – if you didn’t think too hard on why they were lit, anyway.

  His teeth clenched tight as he spotted a small group of white tunics outside the offices of the regulator of the brothels. An area often thriving with off-duty soldiers, the offices that dealt with all taxes, records and financial matters concerning the city’s huge number of prostitutes naturally gave rise to a healthy population of local brothels. Some were even operated from the same complex as the office, the rent being taken directly by the regulator, many others crowding around in the surrounding streets. Indeed, it was said that every arch of the aqueduct opposite held its own individual delight, and if one peered closely at any of those lit curves, one might just see some of them happening. Here, the aqueduct was alive with activity. Rufinus had been here a few times and only thus far in the line of duty, since even being here made him picture Senova’s disapproving face, which would inevitably wrack him with waves of guilt. But most of the others in the Guard were to be found here at the very least once a month, around payday.

  His heart began to race as they closed on the small group of Praetorians, but it became increasingly apparent as they approached that the guardsmen were not here in any official capacity. They were not armoured, nor were they wearing the toga that was official standard wear when in the city and not directly on a protection detail. In just tunics and belts, they were here after prey of a different kind, and even as they neared the men, Rufinus saw one of them secure his quarry and disappear with her, giggling, beneath an arch of the aqueduct.

  It was only as they passed by that Rufinus realised he was looking directly at the Praetorians, something no true litter slave would dare do. As if his realisation had triggered it, one of the bigger men glared angrily at him and snarled ‘what are you looking at, prick?’

  Before Rufinus could drop his head deferentially, the man next to the brute looked up, and Rufinus felt a chill of fearful recognition rush through him. The second figure was Manlius, one of Rufinus’ own cohort and a man who knew him well enough. Manlius it had been who had slung a shovel full of horse dung at him on the day he arrived at the Castra Praetoria, and the two of them had retained a frosty relationship ever since, yet they were well enough acquainted. Moreover, the man would recognise Mercator and Icarion’s faces in a heartbeat. Sure enough, Rufinus’ friends had their heads down low, deferentially, faces turned away from the men in white. Rufinus did the same and bit his lip, hoping against hope that he looked sufficiently unkempt and different that his colleague would not recognise him.

  The small party passed, and behind them he heard Manlius launch into a crude joke with his friend, the pair of them roaring out with laughter as the litter bounced on down the road.

  Slowly, gradually, and with increasing tension, they neared the end of the street and entered an area of the city very familiar to Rufinus – precisely the destination he had in mind. As the street widened, approaching the location of the frumentarii’s barracks, a familiar heavy structure loomed into view on the line of the aqueduct. Rufinus looked up at the settling tank with a supressed shudder. Years had passed, but had in no way diminished his memories of that awful fight in the building with the bastard Scopius, whose bones would still be clattering around inside somewhere.

  ‘That’s it.’

  Mercator, hefting the pole next to him, frowned. ‘Looks tough to me.’

  Rufinus shook his head. ‘There are access rungs in the side wall for engineering works. I’ve been up there myself. It should be easy enough.’

  His friend continued to glare with distrust at the heavy brick tower as they approached. As Rufinus had expected, at this time of night and with the city in the tense, unsettled state that it was, the street around the settling tank was deserted. Beyond, round the bend, the arch of Dolabella and Silanus would undoubtedly be guarded, arterial access point that it was, but there was no line of sight from here. They were safe.

  Picking up the pace slightly, nearing the end of their dangerous journey, the four men conveyed the litter to the edge of the tower and then ported it under the nearest arch into a shadowed, pitch-black area.

  ‘This is where we depart,’ he hissed, as Pompeianus opened the curtains and began to emerge.

  ‘Gordianus will want his litter back,’ the general murmured.

  ‘We can collect it when we’re finished,’ Rufinus replied. ‘The task at hand takes precedence.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Where will you and Senova wait?’ he asked quietly as the group began to retrieve their weapons.

  Pompeianus shrugged. ‘There is a tavern on the slope down to the amphitheatre, opposite the nymphaeum. We shall visit them and dine there. Find us there when you are successful. And if you are not successful, forget you ever met us.’

  A solemn nod. ‘Of course. Even the cellars of the Palatine couldn’t drag that from me.’

  Pompeianus smiled indulgently. He had good reason to believe Rufinus’ ability to stay silent under torture, after all. ‘Senova and I shall wait until you are safely gone, lest we draw attention to you.’

  Rufinus clasped the old general’s hand. ‘Thank you again for e
verything you’ve done. A favour to me and a service to Rome.’

  ‘Pray I do not feel the need to call in all these favours, young Gnaeus Rufinus,’ the old man reminded him with a quizzical eyebrow.

  Wearing a troubled expression, Rufinus turned to Senova, who threw her arms around him. ‘Be careful. And come back to us.’

  ‘I always do,’ Rufinus smiled.

  ‘This is all very touching,’ Vibius Cestius muttered, handing Rufinus his blades, ‘but we are in a hurry.’

  The young Praetorian stepped across to the access rungs of the brick tower with a last, sad glance at Senova, buckling his belt in preparation. The rungs started perhaps ten feet up to prevent beggars and urchins climbing them, but with a boost from Mercator, he reached and began to clamber up with ease. Behind him came Publius, Mercator and Icarion, with Cestius bringing up the rear, leaping to catch the Greek’s proffered grasp. Hand over hand the young Praetorian scrambled to the top. It was a relatively simple plan. It held its dangers, of course, but still it was the best way. The only way.

  The decision had been made by the lack of alternatives. The Palatine would be impossible to sneak into along any road or path or through any door, just as Pompeianus had said. As the residence of the emperor himself, the complex on the hill was guarded day and night with extreme care. And with the current situation, Cleander would have more than doubled the men on patrol. There were a few underground ways into the Palatine, through the old Neronian palace that lay ruined beneath, or various servants’ or slaves’ ways, but they would all be similarly sealed shut to potential assault. Every subterranean tunnel would be as closely monitored as those on the surface, given how many emperors and other notables had perished in those very passages.

  What other way than from above could they even hope to approach the imperial hill? If they couldn’t access the palace on the ground, and underground was sealed tight, then only one route remained. And barring Pompeianus’ facetious suggestion of a helpful eagle, only one course of action could take them to the Palatine from above. The Aqua Claudia ran from outside the city to the very heights of the Palatine, where it split and filled reservoirs – castellum divisiorum – which divided the flow into numerous channels to feed the various requirements on the hill. And a brave man could cross the valley below the Palatine atop that aqueduct and find himself within the bounds of the imperial palace without having encountered the guards in the streets.

  A climb to the top of the settling tank, and then a run along the flat stones of the wide aqueduct all the way to the imperial palace, passing the arch of Dolabella, the temple of Claudius and the Caelian hill before striding high over the valley to the Palatine. They would have to move carefully, and keep low so as not to be seen by patrols on the ground, but it was possible, and it was the only way that was.

  With a combined sense of relief and achievement, he emerged onto the roof of the tower and looked ahead. He could see the line of the aqueduct marching off to the west, over the arch, past the temple and the cistern nearby, over hill and valley, right the way to the palace. As the others clambered over the edge behind and rose to join him, he smiled with relief. A smile that faltered for a moment, and then slipped into an expression of disbelief.

  ‘It’s clear all the way,’ Merc grinned, and Icarion clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder, nodding. But Cestius had stepped next to Rufinus and was looking at the same thing as him.

  ‘I fear your plan has been torn apart, young man.’

  Rufinus nodded, confused, trying not to give way to despair. The others frowned their incomprehension, but the obstacle slowly insisted itself upon them, and after twenty heartbeats they were all staring down at the channel in front of them in hopelessness.

  At some point in recent months engineers had been here again, and the flat stones that covered the water channel had been replaced with ridged, gabled ones. The whole line marched off in front of them with a sharp point facing upwards. Even an acrobat would think twice about attempting such a dangerous path, especially for a distance like that.

  ‘Two hundred paces, would you say?’ Cestius mused as if reading his mind.

  ‘And more, I fear. The channel is flat again beyond the arch, look,’ Rufinus sighed. ‘They’ve replaced this section. Damn it.’

  ‘It’s a common practice now,’ the frumentarius put in. ‘Areas where there are few or no inspection hatches on aqueduct bridges, they often put gabled stones in to stop people doing exactly what you’ve planned. I’m afraid we’re sunk. Even in the dry I wouldn’t want to try that. With it wet underfoot and the impending threat of more rain, only an imbecile would make the attempt.’

  Merc stamped on the stone lid of the tower angrily. ‘What do we do now, then?’

  The young soldier stood for a long moment, looking back and forth along the length of the aqueduct. ‘We can’t even attempt this section,’ he said, confirming the opinions of all present. ‘And from the top of the Caelian all the way to the Palatine the thing gradually gets higher and higher. When it gets down into the valley it’s about sixty feet, on two tiers.’

  ‘And what if they’ve replaced the top there too?’ queried Merc.

  ‘Then Perennis dies because we cannot reach the palace. But I stood on guard duty there not three months ago, right next to the palace’s south distribution tank, and I remember looking back across it. It was flat-capped then. The curator aquarum only authorises work on the aqueducts between Aprilis and November, so there should have been no work done there. And being so high it’d be a major job to replace them anyway. I figure it will still be safely flat.’

  ‘So,’ Cestius mused, ‘we need to ascend somewhere between the arch of Dolabella and Silanus and where the hill starts to fall away. A distance of maybe three or four hundred paces in total. That cuts down our options rather drastically.’

  Mercator shook his head, snorting in derision. ‘That would mean getting through the arch. It’ll be guarded, and there’s no easy way around.’

  They all contemplated the truth of his words. In one of the many examples of the genius art of the engineer, the odd junction and arch of which Merc spoke formed a hub. Once a gate in the now crumbling and intermittent ancient walls, the arch of Dolabella and Silanus had been re-purposed to carry the lofty heights of the Claudian aqueduct across the road. And because of the nature of its re-use and its orientation, the entire aqueduct here dog-legged sharply right and then left to make use of it. With a remaining stretch of the old wall reaching out south from it, and the great Neronian nymphaeum stretching to the north, it was a rather arterial access point. It would certainly be watched by someone.

  ‘But beyond the arch,’ Rufinus said quietly, ‘is aquaeductium – the giant cistern of the Caelian. I remember walking past it a few times, and it has a set of nice, easy steps up to it. That’s our access point. At the cistern.’

  ‘That doesn’t negate the difficulty of sneaking through an arch and past a patrol,’ Merc grunted. ‘Unless you mean to fight your way through, which I wouldn’t recommend. The barracks of the fifth cohort of the vigiles is only a few dozen paces from the arch, and you can bet they answer to Cleander.’

  ‘Unless,’ Rufinus mused, tapping his lip, ‘we can draw them away. Some sort of distraction.’

  ‘And just how do we do that?’

  ‘We call on an old friend,’ Rufinus grinned. ‘Come on.’

  Full of fresh purpose, he lowered himself over the edge once more and clambered down the rungs at speed, dropping the last few feet to the street and scurrying round the corner into the shadows as his friends followed.

  ‘Trouble?’ Pompeianus asked in a whisper from the darkness.

  ‘Of a sort. Need to find another way up, so I’m going to call on an old friend. If you’d like to jump back in the litter, we’ll take you somewhere safe in the process.’

  By the time the five men had descended and returned their blades to concealment in the litter, Rufinus had explained his plan, and the group he
fted the litter once more. Leaving the sheltering gloom of the arch, they bore the vehicle back out into the street and on along the line of the aqueduct, emerging around the corner into full view of the arch of Dolabella and Silanus. Just as they had anticipated, three men of the urban cohort stood on guard there, alert and attentive. Though it was no longer visible from ground level, beyond the hill the Palatine was only perhaps six or seven hundred paces away, now.

  It could be done. He looked up at the thick, threatening clouds and cast up a quick prayer to Jupiter Pluvius. It could be done, as long as the rain that made everything so treacherous held off, anyway. At the corner, they drew the passing attention of the small urban cohort patrol, but as the litter turned right and began to make its way down the slope alongside the great nymphaeum, the guards immediately lost interest and returned to their private conversation. As he’d thought, the small patrol guarded their arch carefully, and cared little for things that lay outside their remit. If the five insurgents were to get to the stairs at the aquaeductium cistern, they had to get past those three guards entirely unobserved. A short way down the street, Rufinus and his friends turned sharply into a side alley, and then passed through an arch and into the familiar courtyard of Benitus’ livery stable.

  Even this late in the evening the lamps were lit as apprentices and servants hammered and polished, brushed and bustled, looking after the numerous steeds lodged there both long- and short-term. As the arrivals reached the centre of the courtyard and lowered the litter to the ground, a young man scurried over.

  ‘Apologies, Domine,’ he said respectfully to the curtain, ‘but the master has left for the night and no animals are to be released until the morning, now, even with proper documentation.’

  The fellow stepped back in surprise when instead of the nobleman from within the vehicle replying, one of the burly litter-bearers rose, stretched and nodded. ‘Is Peteos here?’

  The young man frowned for a moment, but scurried off into a back room, and by the time Pompeianus had exited the litter and joined them, the lad was returning with the familiar figure of the twelve year old who had so helped Rufinus a few years earlier. The young Praetorian had visited and made use of Peteos’ talent for procurement from time to time in between, especially during his year of addiction, though now that he was seeing the lad with truly clear eyes for the first time in so long, he was surprised at how Peteos had grown. He was still recognisable from his white-blond hair and twisted arm, but he was almost a man now, muscular and lean.