Without further delay, he jogged on past the market, ripping the ostentatious crest from his helm, tucking it under his belt, hauling the cloak over him and pulling it tight. The sensation of crushing his sodden armour to his skin beneath the dry wool was unpleasant to say the least. He tried to keep his shield concealed beneath the cloak and briefly considered disposing of it and asking Allectus for a replacement later, but he had probably burned that bridge already, so he struggled on with his bulky equipment beneath the voluminous sodden drab wool.
On he hurried, down the slope of the street, watching the pavement beneath his feet for slippery cobbles and keeping an eye on the three figures ahead. Moments passed and the press of people thickened as they approached the heart of the city. A brief glance back revealed that Allectus and his cart were far enough behind that they had vanished from sight. For a long moment, he lost track of the three figures in white and shining silver and worried that they had ducked into a doorway unnoticed.
As he reached a short, flat stretch of the road, his head swung this way and that, trying to locate his quarry. A sudden flash of reflective steel caught his eye and he ducked back to peer down a side street he had almost passed. Perennis and his two men had turned off the main street and were making for the bulk of the baths of Traianus.
A social outing? Surely not.
Hurrying along the shiny, wet street, the wool cloak becoming heavy as it soaked through, Rufinus tried to keep step with the three men, just thirty paces or so back among the crowds of people.
He had been paying so much attention to the slippery paving beneath his feet, trying not to make a spectacle of himself, that he was almost on them before he realised that they had stopped. Not far from the grand, triple arched entrance to the baths where former bathers huddled, reluctant to move out into the rain, the three men stood in a huddle.
Realising that they were scanning the street, Rufinus dropped his shield to the ground at the street’s edge and sat heavily on it, his heart pounding as he pulled the sodden cloak tight around him, holding out his arm in the manner of a beggar. Scopius’ gaze passed over his hooded form as it peered suspiciously at the entire street, and Rufinus was surprised that the man couldn’t hear his heart beating even from there.
What were they doing?
The crowd parted as they passed the three men like a river round an island. It didn’t do to jostle a Praetorian - unless he was a young, accident prone one, apparently.
Rufinus was beginning to wonder whether he should move, his backside becoming soaked, freezing and numb on the uncomfortable wet shield, when the guard he didn’t know pointed away down the street and said something to Perennis. The three turned to look and Rufinus followed their gaze.
His heart lurched.
Lucilla, the emperor’s sister, was striding down the road towards them, her sandals sending up small splashes of rainwater, while the most radiant, most unexpected figure in the world hurried along behind her, holding a wide parasol above and keeping the rain from touching the noblewoman.
Rufinus stared, his mind whirling. The crowd was parting as she moved and he realised that the most powerful woman in the empire was not alone. A dozen or more heavy thugs with mail shirts and swords belted at their waists accompanied her like a moving wall of sour-faced muscle, keeping the public a good ten feet from their mistress.
Lucilla? Why was she here? Meeting with Perennis in a crowded part of the city, away from both Praetorian camp and palace? Suspicious and peculiar.
Sadly, any hope of a logical thought process involving the strangely clandestine meeting was driven from his head by the intoxicating presence of the slave girl who had supplied him with endless pleasant dreams in the cold nights of Vindobona. However much he wanted to focus on the emperor’s sister, his eyes refused to be drawn from the girl’s alabaster face, framed by lush, black hair, the smile on her lips making his skin tingle.
Then, suddenly, she was lost from sight as the two parties met and Lucilla’s hired men fanned out, giving them plenty of room and obscuring Rufinus’ vision. For an irritating moment, he sat playing the part of miserable beggar while a big man with braided hair effectively blocked his view of everything interesting.
He was lost in an inner reverie when he realised the man had moved and, slowly and carefully, so as not to be too obvious, he stood, managing with only partial success to secrete the shield beneath the cloak as he rose. The party had entered one of the shop fronts that lined the wall of the baths - a tavern according to the sign, four of the thugs standing at the entrance and blocking access. As Rufinus watched, the other occupants were unceremoniously ejected by the mail-clad hirelings.
A moment longer Rufinus stood, loitering in the doorway and wondering what to do next. Was there a way he could overhear the meeting?
Clearly not.
With a start, he realised that he had been staring at the tavern and that one of the thugs had met his gaze. Uncomfortably, he looked away, hiding his face quickly in the folds of the cloak. The big man’s hand dropped to the hilt of his sword and he stepped out of the doorway. Panic rising, Rufinus turned and hurried away along the street, only glancing back as he reached the far corner of the bath complex. He had not been followed. Taking a deep breath, he walked on, putting distance between himself and the strange meeting before tucking the ragged sodden cloak into his belt, replacing his crest and hefting his shield into place.
As he dropped down a sloping street he’d not seen before and emerged near the ludus magnus, where ragged captives were forged into magnificent gladiators, his mind turned over all this new information. No matter how he thought about it, he could come up with no answer as to why Perennis might meet with Lucilla in such a manner that boded well for anyone.
One good thing had come out of it, though: he knew now that Perennis’ name would likely motivate Scopius into doing whatever he needed.
Nodding to himself, the bare bones of a plan beginning to form in his head, he recalled Allectus’ instructions and ran through them in his head. He would have to hope he could persuade the quartermaster not to report his absence. Making for the high, curved marble façade of the great Flavian amphitheatre, he passed the huge structure and headed for the impressive square bulk of the temple of Claudius on the hill opposite. A large, monumental nymphaeum stretched along the side wall of the temple, marching up the slope of the hill, great curved niches sporting statues of Gods and heroes. Sadly, the fountains seemed not to be flowing at the moment, though plenty of water ran in torrents down the stonework, graciously supplied by the lead-grey clouds.
Nodding appreciatively as he scurried past, he made for the crest of the hill, where he could see the great arches of an aqueduct crossing the road, an impressive monument to the skill of the engineers that had supplied Rome with its enviable water supply.
The crowds thinned out as he moved away from the city’s centre. Excited now at the prospect of a peek into a hidden military world that even most officers would never see, he hurried beneath the arches of the great aqueduct and out the other side, his eyes fixed on the high walls of the Castra Peregrina, where even now he could see Allectus’ cart passing through the gate. Amazingly, given the slowness of the carts, he had caught up with them before they’d arrived.
‘Watch out!’
Something hit Rufinus in the side and knocked him flat. As he lay floundering on the ground, he looked up. A man in a legionary tunic with a stylus behind his ear and a curly, blond beard lay on top of him, a great wooden pulley swinging back and forth on a rope roughly where his head had been.
As Rufinus’ mind swam, the assaulting man stood and grasped his arm, hauling him upright and raising his other hand to restrain the swinging block.
‘Sorry about that, sir. Civilian labourers. Ten of ‘em ain’t worth a single legionary, eh?’
Rufinus stared at the man and then turned his head to take in the aqueduct. The structure was clearly undergoing some kind of repair, wooden scaffolding climbi
ng the piers of the great bridge, covered in men, buckets of mixed mortar, piles of bricks and coils of rope. Part of the water channel at the top of the structure was dissembled, though most of it had already been put back into place with fresh mortar.
Rufinus turned back to the man. ‘Sorry. Miles away. What’s going on?’
The military engineer shrugged. ‘Repairs. Channel had blocked in a couple of places and the water pressure at the palace had dropped. We’ve had a mandate for a week’s work to clear it, but it only took three days, so we’re clearing out the crap from the settling basin while we’re at it.’
Rufinus’ gaze followed the pointed finger and took in a large, square, featureless structure that stood astride the aqueduct just to the east of the road crossing, the water channel passing into the far side and then emerging once more at this one.
‘Sorry. Don’t know what you’re talking about?’
‘Settling basin?’ the engineer repeated, slowly and patiently, as though he’d had this sort of conversation a thousand times. In Rufinus’ experience, no one liked to talk about their work more than an engineer. Obsessives, the lot of them. ‘Settling basin separates out all the dross from the flow so that only fresh water reaches the terminus, but the basin fills up over time and occasionally needs clearing.’
Rufinus eyed the large square, brick building. ‘So you’re busy clearing it out now? It’s full of mud and stuff?’
The man laughed. ‘No. Done it. Too fast for these people, me. If I’d had some of my lads from the Third with me, we’d have done it in half a day, mind.’ He took a deep breath. ‘No more work after this. Tomorrow we finish the outer facing and take down the scaffold, and then the day after, we can remove the block and let it flow again. I daresay the emperor’ll be pleased. They’ve had to rely on the three springs on the Palatine for the past few days for their fresh water. You see…’
But Rufinus wasn’t listening any more. His eyes strayed back and forth across the building. A thought occurred to him. ‘Is there a smithy anywhere nearby? A hardware store?
The man shrugged. ‘No idea, but I expect so.’
Rufinus nodded. ‘Thanks for saving me a blow to the head. Had enough of those recently.’
Ignoring the strange look on the man’s face, he turned his back and strode off toward Allectus’ cart as it entered the camp of the Frumentarii.
His plan was coming together nicely, with the aid of Fortuna.
X – The dark places of men’s souls
PITCH blackness. A curiously echoing silence was broken by a low groan.
‘Ah… the beast awakens.’
More grumbling, then a clank and a squawk.
Flick – flick – flick.
Sparks flew like shooting stars, dispersing wildly.
A glowing ember on dried grass became a small flame.
Rufinus’ face swam into focus, demonic - lit from beneath with an eerie red-orange light.
The figure in the darkness recoiled with another clank and more groans.
Rufinus busied himself lighting the four small terracotta oil lamps, three in an arc around them on the floor, the fourth on a ledge in the wall.
Scopius groaned again.
Wherever he was, the place was cavernous and dark as Nero’s heart. There was a faint smell of mould and decay and a cold, dank chill ran up the burly guardsman’s spine. The light still wasn’t enough to illuminate their surroundings, even with four oil lamps flickering. Not trusting his voice enough to speak, Scopius stared at the cloaked figure of Rufinus, white tunic flashing occasionally beneath the cheap wool of the covering.
His eyes strayed back down to his own figure. Naked as the day he was born. No wonder he was cold. No apparent wounding, mind. His eyes fell upon the heavy iron shackle on his wrist and followed the chain up to the deeply embedded iron ring in the green, slimy wall. His heart started to pound in his chest and his blood ran cold.
‘How did I get here?’
Rufinus, finished with the lamps, returned to crouch opposite the naked guardsman.
‘Guile, subterfuge, and a few judicious prayers to both Fortuna and Nemesis.’
‘I had a message from the prefect? Went to the Lucullan mausoleum by the second milestone?’
‘Sadly, it was not Perennis who sent your orders. I’m glad you’re awake. I was about to have to rouse you - I was beginning to worry the branch I used was too heavy; that it had smashed your brains, such as they are.
Scopius narrowed his eyes. ‘You know you’ll die for this, argentulum?’
Rufinus shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. No one’s seen us together. I left about an hour ago on a courier job to the Castra Peregrina, while the last time you were seen was early this morning when you left camp and headed out of the city toward Praeneste. All very neat, really.’
With an unpleasant rasp, Rufinus drew a dagger from his belt. Scopius stared at it. The blade was not a military one, but a plain, straight knife with one sharp edge. Placing the point on the dank, green floor, Rufinus idly twirled the weapon in his fingers. Scopius sneered.
‘Torture? And you hold yourself so high and mighty. You’re worse than any of us!’
Rufinus smiled a predator’s smile. ‘I do not do anything lightly, Scopius. I don’t even take barbarian life unless driven to it by necessity. I certainly wouldn’t torture even a Goth, let alone a Roman, no matter how base, loathsome and deserving of it he might be. But I’ve had to push my boundaries a little in your case. You’re a disease, Scopius.’
Again, the naked guardsman’s eyes narrowed.
Somewhere high above in the dark, cavernous space, a heavy thud sounded, echoing repeatedly.
‘What was that?’
‘The spirits of vengeance winging their way towards us.’
For the first time a hint of fear appeared in the guardsman’s eyes. Before, they had been filled with a mixture of disbelief, anger and scorn. Scopius swallowed loudly.
‘Look… this is something we can sort out between ourselves, Rufinus!’
‘I agree entirely, Scopius. That’s what we’re doing now.’
The naked man reached up and grasped the chain leading from his wrist. ‘But this?’
Rufinus nodded. ‘I hope you like it. It cost me an arm and a leg from a reputable ironworker on the Aventine. Strong enough to restrain an ox, the man reckoned, so I wouldn’t bother pulling too hard.’
A look of defeat bled into Scopius’ eyes.
‘What did I do to you? A few pranks was all!’
Rufinus blinked, genuinely taken aback. ‘Trying to beat me to death? Blackening my name and having me disciplined and dishonoured in front of the officers for things that you did? A knife in the back by a barbarian is a prank?’
Scopius shrank back. Rufinus was grateful that confirmation of the man’s guilt was plastered across his features. For a moment he’d doubted whether he’d been thorough enough; whether he was right. His resolve had almost given. He had to stay strong.
‘There comes a time, Scopius, when this sort of thing has to stop. I’d hoped back in Vindobona that the lesson I taught you had stuck and we’d have no further troubles. I would happily have gone through my entire life paying you no further attention, but you’re not capable of letting things lie, are you?’
Rufinus twirled the knife in his fingers once and shuffled a step closer, laying the blade on the floor out of the reach of the restrained man, where it glinted and threatened in the prisoner’s field of view.
‘That’s the problem with bullies. You’ll never truly learn. We teach you a lesson and it just escalates the whole thing. I have to end it here, because who knows what you’ll try next? I cannot spend my days looking over my shoulder for the next knife or checking my bedclothes for scorpions.’
‘Then fight me like a man!’ Scopius snarled, leaping for Rufinus’ throat and stopping a foot out of reach as the chain jerked tight. He dropped to the floor, trying to reach for the knife, but it remained just out of reach
.
Rufinus shook his head sadly. ‘I could kill you in a fair fight, but I have better plans for you.’
‘Scum!’ Scopius spat. ‘You’re going to murder me? What makes you better than me, then? Don’t fool yourself, boy. You’re no hero.’
Rufinus laughed lightly, a sound that was cut short by a heavy echoing boom far above. Scopius looked up in fear again.
‘What is that?’
‘That’s option three.’
Scopius stared in confusion at his captor and Rufinus grinned.
‘I never claimed to be a hero. I’m a soldier. I like to think that I’m a good and fair man, but it’s Paternus and Commodus who make me out to be a hero.’
Again a look of panic flashed into Scopius eyes, intensifying as a deep groan like straining timbers far away echoed in the chamber.
‘So what are you going to do?’ he asked, his voice cracking.
Rufinus shrugged. ‘I’m going to give you a chance to redeem yourself, and buy yourself option one and two.’
With a smile he stood and walked slowly around the dark space, staying on the edge of the circle of low light.
‘Tell me everything about Perennis and Lucilla and you expand your options.’
Scopius frowned. ‘What is option three?’
Rufinus smiled and shook his head.
‘Alright. Let’s approach this from another direction. Option three: I leave. Then those bangs and groans stop and you hear a roar. That will be the engineers removing the final block from the Aqua Claudia and letting the water flow again. It’ll begin to pour into this settling basin and will, I think, fill the building in a little less than quarter of an hour before flowing on to the Palatine.’
Scopius’ eyes widened.
‘Needless to say, the shackles will hold you here and you’ll just have to see if you can hold your breath for a couple of years until the next time the basin’s scheduled for emptying.’
Scopius began to scrabble at the shackle.
Praetorian: The Great Game Page 15