Rufinus nodded sagely, conscious of the small purse of coins at his belt that would easily tide him over for a couple of months. His mercenary pay may be a month delayed, but he’d been given a month’s advance on his guardsman’s pay just in case. It struck him for a moment that few people would be in the position to receive two full wages simultaneously, let alone one from the coffers of the emperor and another from his sister.
The far door of the small office complex led out into another decorative garden, smaller but fully restored, its neat box-hedges and flower beds perfectly aligned to complement the curved wall at the rear, decorated with small, slender, white columns and hanging baskets of red and orange blooms.
Between the central two columns a corridor led off into the darkness, covered with a decorative coffered ceiling, and it was toward this strange tunnel the group headed. Rufinus peered into the dark passage as they neared it and realised the interior was illuminated periodically by small square skylights.
Phaestor led them into the passage and they climbed the stair within, emerging, blinking, into the light. They were now on a higher level, structures both around and below them and even higher up along a slope to the south.
Rufinus looked back across the passage they had followed, invisible from above, and the small complex with the gardens and offices, the road beyond. Huge structures to either side of the curved garden where they had entered the tunnel sported numerous domes and chimneys, high large windows and aqueduct channels leading into them, both clearly immense bath houses. The one to the north, slightly smaller, belched out smoke, evidencing its continued use, while the other appeared now to be abandoned.
‘Baths,’ Phaestor announced, then pointed to other structures as he labelled them: ‘The Canopus garden. Not in current use. The Praetorium - former barracks for Hadrianus’ Praetorians and now my quarters and that of my adjutant, Dis. Don’t find yourself anywhere near there unless you’re sent for, and pray you’re not sent for.’
He turned again, gesturing up a slope dotted with laden olive trees, almost overripe now for the harvest. Likely such duties were no longer observed. As Phaestor opened his mouth to say something, a dog’s bark interjected, then another - deep, powerful barks, suggestive of large animals.
Rufinus peered among the olive trees and spotted two black shapes moving between them. The barks came again. Not happy barks; not playful. These were the barks of dogs on the hunt.
Rufinus found himself shrinking back behind the needle-toothed giant as the two creatures bounded into view between the gnarled trunks, snarling and snapping as they slowed from a run to a hunter’s stalk.
‘Acheron! Cerberus! Sit!’ said Dis, surprisingly quietly.
The dogs almost injured themselves attempting to halt their forward momentum and sit straight, bolt upright, eyes locked on the newcomers, white drool dripping from their jaws as they panted. Though they acted like dogs, they were far more reminiscent of wolves to Rufinus’ mind, reminding him of the ones he used to find while hunting in the woods of Hispania, though with more of a blue-grey look than the Hispanic brown.
Phaestor turned with a smile. ‘Dis keeps his Sarmatian beasts free to roam. So long as you have no reason to fear Dis, you’ve no reason to fear these two charming little puppies.’
The huge needle-toothed man leaned down to pat one of them and the dog turned its head slowly toward the approaching hand and issued a low growl of warning, lips drawing back from its fangs. Even the giant who had accompanied them from town quickly pulled his hand back from the dogs.
Phaestor’s finger fell upon a sprawling complex that covered the slope down to the bath house. ‘That’s the other wing of the main residence. That’ he added with a sly grin, ‘is where master Pompeianus lives in virtual seclusion.’ The guard captain lowered his voice and the smile disappeared from his face. ‘Remember this, and remember well. You are hired, and paid, by the Empress Lucilla; not the master. Offer aid and all due deference to the master, but always remember where your loyalties lie.’
Rufinus narrowed his eyes at the pleasant-looking villa and made a mental note that, given its owner and his obvious ‘second-class’ nature at the palace, it would be a good place to disappear for a while if the need arose. His memories of Pompeianus from Vindobona were of a quiet, intelligent man; a man of courage and strength playing the role of a virtual prisoner to his high-profile wife. He became aware suddenly that Phaestor was speaking again.
‘…where you will both be quartered.’
Rufinus followed his finger and took in the square structure he had recently omitted.
‘Now come on.’
Rufinus and Fastus fell in with the three regulars, aware of the noise of eight, large, padding feet behind them and the heavy breathing of the clearly-dangerous beasts.
The building they were approaching was considerably less grand than most of the structures of the huge complex, constructed of basic brick and concrete, with no decoration and only small windows in the exterior walls at first and second level. A recently-repaired tile roof covered the structure, which sat at an awkward angle in the space that opened up between the main bulk of the Imperial residence and the separate wing that the Empress’ consort currently occupied. Rounding the outer walls of the structure, they passed through a low arch into a porch. Here, corridors and passageways led off to the more important parts of the palace, while a wider arch gave access to the barracks.
To Rufinus’ great relief, Dis paused at the outer arch with his two dogs and allowed the rest to go inside without him. As soon as they passed through the entrance and into the building proper, the point-toothed monster left them too, disappearing through a side door.
The barracks consisted of a two-storey structure surrounding three sides of a courtyard, with the access arch in the fourth. Doors opened off the courtyard onto ground floor rooms, with a landing accessed by a staircase leading to the upper ones. Three small rooms to each side, and a full-wing one straight ahead. That meant fourteen rooms and since none were occupied by the officers, who resided in the former Praetorians’ quarters, at military occupation levels, with four in a room: a minimum of fifty six men.
Rufinus whistled through his teeth. Allowing for guards stationed at the praetorium and possibly in places he hadn’t yet seen, Lucilla might have a small army building in this place, a short hop from the capital.
‘You two can share the first room on the top floor with Glaucus. No one else will, ‘cause of his problems.’ Phaestor pointed up to the door above them on their left. ‘It would seem neither of you has any gear to stow?’
Fastus shook his head and Rufinus gave the captain a rueful grin. ‘Used to have, ‘til I had to leave Asisium in a bit of a hurry.’
Phaestor barked out a laugh. ‘I’ll have Glaucus show you round the grounds in a couple of hours when it cools off. Right now it’s too hot to think straight and you don’t want Glaucus getting too sweaty, with his problems.’
Fastus shared a questioning look with Rufinus.
‘Right, you two. Best get yourself settled in and get some rest. You’ll be on duty tonight, as soon as you’ve had your orientation and a bite to eat.’
Fastus started to climb the stairs to the second level. Rufinus, however, levelled his most accommodating gaze at the captain and rolled his shoulders. ‘With respect, sir, it’s been a long, hot morning and it’s been days since I’ve had a good scrub and scrape. Any objections if I use the baths first?’
Phaestor shrugged. ‘Up to you, Marcius. So long as you’re in this courtyard at fourth bell.’
The captain turned and strode back through the arches and out the way they had come, meeting with Dis and his hounds outside. Rufinus gave them a few moments' head start before he left the archway, not wanting to be too close to that hollow man and his Hades-born dogs. Once the officers were shrinking figures disappearing toward the praetorium, Rufinus strolled out and headed for the line of smoke belching up into the sky, the sign that the floors of t
he bathhouse would be nicely warmed through.
It took only moments to reach the sprawling complex and locate the entrance. Striding wearily inside, he paused in the doorway to remove his boots, tsk-ing at the lines of dirt and white skin where the straps of his military-issue caligae had left his feet in such a state. Pausing in the doorway and rubbing them to get the worst of the muck off, he strode inside, grateful that the changing room was blessedly empty, though one of the alcoves contained clothing, so the baths were clearly currently in use by someone.
‘Pissing sandals. If you wore these in Vindobona your feet’d rot off.’
‘Master legionary Rustius Rufinus, if I am not mistaken!’
Rufinus nearly jumped through his skin at the soft-spoken words, his eyes zipping left and right in the empty changing room, seeking out the source of the voice. His hand went instinctively to the pommel of the sword at his side.
‘Who…?’
But as he spoke, a figure swung round the side of the small doorway that led to the latrines. General Pompeianus was naked apart from a towel wrapped around his waist, his dark, oily hair wet and pulled back with a band of white linen. His swarthy features were split with a conspiratorial smile.
‘Not sure what you mean, sir’ Rufinus replied desperately, his voice cracking under the strain.
‘Even minus the beard and the lion’s mane, you’re fairly recognisable, young man. To those who pay attention, anyway. I might still have been unsure but… let’s say you would be unwise to mention places like Vindobona if you are hoping to fool anyone as to your identity.’
Rufinus felt the panic rising again. He’d been in the villa less than an hour and already his cover had been seen through.
‘General, I…’
‘Cease the panicked prattling, young fellow. I’m the least of your worries. Interesting, though; from decorated war hero to Praetorian guardsman to hired thug in such short order. Did you piss on the emperor or something?’
Rufinus felt the colour in his cheeks rising and cursed silently. ‘No sir, it’s just that I…’
Pompeianus laughed. ‘Oh calm down.’
He paused.
‘RUFINUS!’ he bellowed at the top of his voice.
Rufinus felt his blood run cold and rushed toward the betowelled figure.
‘PRAETORIAN GUARDSMAN RUFINUS!’ the general yelled again.
As Rufinus reached the general, he put out a restraining hand and laughed. ‘There’s no one here to learn your secret, young Rufinus. No one dares come in when I’m here. And equally no one pays the slightest attention to anything I say. I might as well be a ghost.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Paternus, yes? Your presence reeks strongly of Paternus.’
Rufinus, suddenly and painfully aware just how much on the back foot he was, nodded meekly, hoping he hadn’t just ruined everything and signed his death warrant.
Pompeianus laughed lightly. ‘It is a very Paternus move. The man is a soldier through and through. Needs more information so he sends a soldier to find it for him. Perennis is a much more devious character.’
Rufinus blinked. ‘Perennis?’
‘He’s the one who asked me to stay here, when I was about to leave my wife’s loving side and return to Syria for a year of peace and quiet. He recognises the relative ease of corrupting the powerful compared with the difficulty of eavesdropping on them. Much more subtle. I have to say, though, that Paternus may very well have chosen the right path, for all its military inflexibility. You will likely get into places from which I am forbidden. I would ask, though, for the sake of professional courtesy, that you share anything you discover with me?’
Rufinus’ mind reeled. Once more, just when he thought he was getting the hang of things, the rules had changed. The coming weeks were beginning to look more complex with every discovery he made.
XIII – Settling in
THREE days after his arrival at the villa the rains came, and came with Neptune’s vengeance, dropping half the Mare Nostrum on the plains of Latium, flooding irrigation channels, leaving fields under shallow lakes and driving the population indoors. Six days now the rain had battered the land incessantly, day and night.
The people hid in their homes, those with money relaxing on their heated floors, those with none huddling around fires that belched black smoke, fed with damp wood in the ever saturated environment.
Except for the guards of the Villa Hadriana.
Rufinus stepped in from the pounding rain, tipping his head forward and ruffling his short hair before smoothing his hands through it, squeezing the water out in torrents to the floor where it joined the constant dripping of his clothes. He had been given a mail shirt from the villa’s storeroom and had the cost deducted from his first month’s wage, though today he had foregone the armour, due to the weather.
More than the cost, Rufinus confirmed to himself, casting a soldier’s eye down the battered item. The shirt had certainly seen better days, small sections having been repaired by a man with little talent for armoury and no eye for neatness. Plus the damn thing had never been particularly well cared for by its doubtless half-dozen previous owners. The links were already pitted with the marks of old rust when he’d received it and he’d spent a good hour of every evening rolling the mail in a barrel of sand to abrade the rust.
He grasped the old red military scarf at his neck and wrung it, watching the water pour onto the floor amid the growing pool.
One of the villa’s inviolable rules was that no new staff, whether servant or slave, guard or gardener, was to be alone and unescorted through their first month. Ostensibly, the rule was to prevent people becoming lost in the complex or falling foul of the wolves that occasionally forayed into the grounds in winter when the pickings were meagre. In truth it was a matter of security. Lucilla and her people were an untrusting group - with good reason, Rufinus being here secretly as he was.
The rule, however, had proved to be more of a guideline than a law when the rains began in earnest. Rufinus, assigned for six days of each week to patrol the grounds, alternating weekly between day and night shifts, soon realised that wandering the soggy grass in the downpour was a task he would be performing alone. Fastus was assigned to the same duty but, with alternating different weeks, they rarely even saw one another.
They wasn’t the only two patrolling the estate, of course, but the others moved around the grounds sporadically, sheltering here and there in abandoned buildings or arched substructures, stamping their feet in the cold while supping from jars of imported Greek mead, watching the endless rain and occasionally laughing as the figure of Rufinus passed by like a drowned rat somewhere below.
He’d briefly given thought to following suit and sheltering from the weather most of the time, keeping one eye on the landscape, but he was new and had to earn a basic level of trust. Being found hiding from the rain in the south theatre’s arches would hardly do his reputation good. What he needed most of all was not to stand out in any way, good or bad.
Blend in with the rest.
With a little judicious investigation, Rufinus had discovered that he could follow a route from the bath house around the periphery of Pompeianus’ residence, all the way back to the barracks’ entrance, with only perhaps thirty heartbeats of hurrying through the rain between covered areas. As such, he’d now ended each day’s patrol with an hour-long visit to the baths where he could leave his clothes on the heated tiles to dry while warming and cleaning himself. It was a workable routine and negated the worst of the cold and damp.
He’d been quite grateful not to bump into the lady Lucilla’s somewhat estranged husband again since that first afternoon. The conversation they had shared that day had been stilted and uncomfortable, Rufinus unwilling to discuss too much of the little he knew, Pompeianus clearly with a great deal more inside knowledge of the estate and his wife’s dealings, but unwilling to share with a recalcitrant newcomer. Since then they had mercifully missed one another on their bath house visits.
Finishing wringing out his clothes, Rufinus stepped inside the bath house proper and shuffled across to the alcoves, four of which were already filled. Quickly, as he unbelted his tunic, he checked them. Phaestor’s clothes he recognised, and the other three clearly belonged to members of the guard or servants. No sign of Pompeianus’ costly tunic and toga.
He exhaled with relief and stripped down, leaving his hobnailed boots and sword in an alcove and bundling his sodden clothing under his arm before strolling through the doorway into the octagonal chamber at the centre of the baths, corridors radiating off to the different rooms.
Naked, bedraggled and shivering, Rufinus padded down the corridor toward the caldarium, the hot room with the heated floor and two small warm pools. Near the doorway stood several pairs of the wooden sandals bathers wore to protect their feet from the heat. He ignored the footwear. The last thing his freezing toes needed right now was protecting from heat!
Finding the room blessedly empty, he laid his tunic, breeches, cloak, scarf and underwear on the floor to dry and stood in the doorway for a moment, pondering his first move in the baths. He would, of course, be foregoing the option of a cold plunge in the current conditions. But lounging in a warm pool or sitting in the steam of the sauna first? He wasn’t dirty. Anything but, in fact, given the quantities of water that had washed him over the past ten hours. His feet were wrinkled and white from the cold wet grass, but not dirty.
Steam would be best to start.
Picking up a pair of wooden sandals in case the steam room was too hot, and leaving his clothes to dry, hoping that no one would come in and simply trample all over them, he returned to the octagonal hall with its beautiful marble floor and concave wall surfaces and turned towards the steam room. The warmth was quickly returning life and vitality to his body and he smiled with relaxed happiness as he strolled down the corridor toward the billowing white of the sauna ahead, the gentle slapping of his bare feet on the warm floor almost lost among the hissing of the steam. The floor was becoming warmer with every step closer. Soon he would have to don the sandals.
Praetorian: The Great Game Page 20