Praetorian: The Great Game

by S. J. A. Turney

  Approaching the door at the narrow end of the triangle, he stepped aside as a servant hurried from it carrying sheaves of parchment, rushing through the cold air to the palace doorway, which the guard dutifully opened for him.

  As he made his way through the doorway into the corridor beyond, Rufinus wondered momentarily at the wisdom of taking his suspicions to the major domo. He could imagine how Phaestor was going to react to having one of his men implicated in treachery and the entire matter being taken over his head to the villa’s chief servant. Still, there was no other way. If Rufinus wanted to be noticed and rise in the villa’s echelons, he had to utilise the suspicious nature of the major-domo and hope Phaestor would not take it out on him afterwards.

  The short corridor within led to another decorative door ahead, also guarded, and two office doors, one to each side. With a steadying breath, Rufinus strode across and rapped on the left door.

  ‘Come.’

  With a last moment check that his purse was still hanging at his belt, he opened the door and walked into the office of Vettius, the villa’s major domo. The swarthy man looked up from his desk where he continued to make marks on the wax with his stylus despite his eyes being on the visitor. His black hair and pointed beard were freshly oiled.

  ‘Make it quick or close the door. It’s cold.’

  Rufinus nodded and closed the portal with a quiet click before stepping forward and standing opposite the man, impressed at how he continued to write without even glancing at the tablet, the neat row of marks not even drifting. ‘Well?’ the man snapped. ‘I’m busy, you know…’

  Rufinus swallowed.

  ‘I wasn’t really sure who to bring this to, master Vettius, but given the nature of what I have to say, I felt that it should be yourself rather than captain Phaestor.’

  The scribbling stopped and the man frowned. ‘Out with it, soldier.’

  ‘It’s about one of the other guards, sir. I think he may be trouble.’

  ‘Troubling guards is a matter for the captain, not me.’

  Rufinus nodded. ‘Normally I would agree, sir, but I fear we have a spy or traitor to the empress in our midst.’

  Granting the lady Lucilla that title galled him, but this was time to play the loyal follower and in her demesne she could call herself anything she wished. ‘A traitor? You have evidence of this?’

  ‘Only circumstantial, sir, but strong enough to be more than mere suspicion.’

  Vettius leaned back in his chair, gesturing to the seat opposite before cradling his fingers. Rufinus sat uncomfortably. Silence fell for a moment and the major domo gave him an impatient look.

  ‘Well, sir’ Rufinus said quietly. ‘It’s the recent hireling that joined the same time as me: Fastus. He claimed to have been an auxiliary soldier who’d fallen on hard times, come from the Danubius front via the mountains. I have plenty of reason to believe that’s not true.’

  Vettius narrowed his eyes. ‘A man may lie about his background for many reasons that do not make him a traitor, but I shall indulge you nonetheless. What have you seen?’

  ‘Well sir, if the man was from an auxiliary unit he’d know more about weapons, armour and maintenance. I served in the legions myself and I can spot a soldier, auxiliary or no. The man can flail about with a sword, of course. I’ve seen him at practice, but it’s not the thrust and block of a soldier. I’d say he learned from a private tutor; either a gladiator or a street fighter of some sort. But he didn’t maintain his mail for the first week and a half after we arrived and it became ridiculously rust-pocked before the captain told him to get a barrel of sand on it. He seemed surprised. An auxiliary soldier would know all about the need for keeping armour rust free. He’d have been straight on it to save himself from all that work later.’

  ‘Circumstantial, as you say. There’s more?’

  ‘Much more, sir. The unit he claims to have served with seems to shift between the First Bracaugustorum and the Second Bracaugustorum, depending on the tale he tells. At one point he told me an anecdote about the journey south that took place in Interamnia, yet he claims to have lost his kit in Asisium. I cannot see a conceivable route from the north to Tibur that would pass through both unless he was hopelessly lost and spent a few months wandering up and down Italia.’

  Vettius nodded, starting to look bored rather than intrigued. Rufinus felt his heart lurch. He was losing the man.

  ‘It’s all fascinating,’ the major domo replied, stifling a yawn, ‘but few men join a private mercenary force without some darkness in their past. That he manufactured a false history is no surprise and certainly no reason to bother me if captain Phaestor is satisfied.’

  ‘There’s more to it, yet, sir.’ Rufinus said quickly. ‘He claimed not to read, but I have seen him do so. His hands are soft, like a man not used to manual labour. I have heard him swear in Greek when he thinks no one is looking. Greek, sir!’

  ‘Unusual, I’ll grant you, for an uneducated soldier, but you are wasting my time, man. I have work to do and so do you, now leave.’

  Rufinus shook his head and rifled in his purse.

  Vettius fixed him with an irritated look but said nothing as Rufinus slapped an old, faded, charred fragment of parchment onto the desk’s surface.

  ‘Tell me where an ordinary, poor guard would get expensive parchment. Why he would have it if he can’t read or write. Tell me why he read it alone at night by the light of a solitary torch when he thought no one was watching. Tell me then why he burned it after reading, save this single scrap I managed to salvage.’

  The major domo’s brow furrowed and he reached out, carefully picking up the scrap and examining it.

  ‘Tell me about it, sir? It was that very fragment that started me watching him. I couldn’t come to Phaestor. Only an educated man such as yourself would understand the significance of the language and the man’s behaviour, and of this: I had no idea what the letters on it meant, so I spent every moment I could listening to Fastus when he thought no one was around. I’ve listened to him talking about someone called ‘Cleander’, and I’ve heard that name mentioned before alongside the emperor’s. Some sort of friend?’

  A lie there, but it would have been hard to explain away how he could make the connection from his own knowledge without arousing suspicions about himself. Vettius turned the fragment slightly and Rufinus was satisfied to note the man’s eyes widen.

  ‘’ANDE’…Cleander? The soldier you speak of is in touch with that snake? Why did you not start by telling me this?’

  Suddenly the man was all action, snapping shut the wax tablet and dropping the stylus next to it, rising from his chair and straightening his tunic.

  ‘You have done well, soldier…’

  ‘Marcius, sir. Gnaeus Marcius. I don’t trust the man, sir.’

  ‘With good reason it seems, Marcius. Do you know where he is now?’

  Rufinus shrugged. ‘When I rose this morning, he was still in his cot. If he’s not still there, he’ll be at the baths for his morning ablutions. He’s not on duty today.’

  Vettius nodded and padded past him to the door, flinging it open and looking along the passage to the muscular man guarding the far door.

  ‘You! Come with me.’

  The big man, a Gaul named Atracus if Rufinus remembered correctly, blinked in surprise, but quickly gripped the pommel of the longsword hanging at his side and strode forth, his wool cloak flapping behind him. Rufinus followed him out as the major domo beckoned and turned away toward the door through which he had arrived.

  The big Gaul frowned at Rufinus suspiciously as they fell in behind the small, thin man with the oiled, blue-black hair. Walking out of the corridor into the triangular portico, Vettius gestured to the man guarding the door to the palace baths.

  ‘You too. Come with me.’

  On they strode, back through the small door, across the paved area, where Rufus was careful not to fall foul of that ice patch again, and into the guard barracks. Three of the men were
milling about, chatting in the courtyard.

  ‘None of them?’ Vettius said quietly. Rufinus shook his head and the major domo cleared his throat and addressed the small gathering.

  ‘Two of you come with me. The other: go find captain Phaestor and ask him to report to the council chamber at once.’

  Surprised, the three men dithered for only a moment before two of them hurried across to fall in with the small party, the third charging off toward the door.

  ‘What was his name again?’

  Rufinus took a deep breath. ‘Fastus. I think its Publius Fastus, but he’s not been very forthcoming with his name.’

  Vettius nodded. ‘Guardsman Fastus? Would you be so kind as to step out here?’

  The general murmur of background noise fell away and faces appeared in the various doorways on both levels. After a pregnant pause, the pale face of Fastus appeared at the rail above, the curious shape of their flatulent roommate Glaucus behind him, scratching himself unceremoniously.

  ‘Yes?’ Fastus said quietly and innocently enough, though Rufinus could almost see the tension in the man.

  ‘Down here, please.’

  Fastus, a look of baffled innocence plastered across his face, shuffled across and padded lightly down the stairs in soft boots, a recent and surprisingly expensive acquisition.

  ‘What’s the problem, master Vettius?’

  The major domo frowned. ‘Seize him’ he said sharply and, without need of explanation, the two guards who had accompanied them stepped forward and grasped Fastus’ arms, forcing them behind his back.

  ‘What the…?’

  Vettius turned away. ‘Take him to the council chamber, all four of you. Don’t let go of him even for a moment.’

  As Fastus was hauled, protesting, from the barracks, Rufinus felt the sudden lurch of guilt he had been dreading all morning. Had the man been a bit more subtle and observant it might well have been Rufinus that was now being dragged away while Fastus wrung his hands guiltily. Biting his cheek, Rufinus told himself once again that any man being secretive and doing Cleander’s bidding was far from innocent. It didn’t help relieve an ounce of the guilt. The major domo looked up at the doorway of their shared room and mused.

  ‘Is the brute up there trustworthy?’ he asked.

  ‘Glaucus? Absolutely.’

  ‘You’ the major domo said, addressing their room-mate at the top of the stairs. ‘Make a very thorough search of Fastus’ things and bring everything but clothing and armour to the council chamber as soon as you can.’

  Glaucus, surprised, finished rummaging down the front of his breeches and nodded, turning back and disappearing into his room.

  ‘Come on.’

  In the blink of an eye Rufinus was being escorted through the door at the far end of the office corridor and down passages he’d not seen before, finally entering a large chamber, well-appointed and with an apse containing statues of the great emperor Hadrianus and his family. A throne occupied the centre of the curved end, while the rest of the perfect marble floor stood empty. Even the walls were of priceless porphyry and expensive black and Numidian yellow marble, the ceiling coffered and leafed in gold.

  In the centre of the floor stood Fastus, arms still jammed painfully up behind him as the four guards held him tight. While Rufinus was hardly one of the most readily accepted members of the villa’s mercenary force, thankfully Fastus had been even more solitary and quiet than he, and no one else was inclined to lend the man the benefit of any doubt.

  Once more the guilt rose in Rufinus and he had to swallow hard and force it back down.

  ‘Marcius?’ the restricted man said in confusion. ‘What’s happening? What have you done?’

  Rufinus tried not to flinch and met the man’s desperate gaze with an expressionless face. As Vettius strode over to the group, beckoning to Rufinus, another door smashed open, bouncing off the marble of the wall with a crash that echoed repeatedly around the room. Phaestor marched into the room angrily, the hulking, terrifying figure of Tad behind him, gripping one of his skinning knives in a huge, meaty paw.

  ‘What is the meaning of this, Vettius? All issues with my men should come directly to me, you piece of weasel shit!’

  The major domo stood impassively as the irate captain stormed across to him, looming over the small man so that their faces were only a few fingerwidths apart. Rufinus had to admire the little man’s calm, given the needle-toothed menace also hovering close to him.

  ‘Calm yourself, please, captain. Had there been more time I would have come to you first, but your man Marcius here seems to have uncovered a conspirator and it seemed prudent to put him under guard as fast as possible before going through the appropriate channels.’

  Phaestor turned his unpleasant gaze on Rufinus.

  ‘Conspirator? Explain yourselves!’

  Rufinus was busy hoping he wouldn’t have to speak up, not trusting his voice, when Vettius answered calmly and quietly. ‘There is some evidence to suggest that this man, who I believe to be one of the most recent recruits, is actually in the employ of that loathsome eel Cleander and, given the slippery bastard’s connections to Commodus, I felt it necessary to have him placed under guard immediately. Now please calm yourself.’

  Fastus struggled in the grip of the other guards. ‘Cleander? I’ve nothing to do with the man. He’s never even out of the emperor’s presence, anyway!’

  The other guards were reaching around to put their hands across his mouth and shut him up when they blinked at the outburst. Fastus blanched, suddenly aware of just what he’d said.

  Phaestor deflated slightly and turned to Rufinus. ‘You must have sharp eyes. Even Dis hasn’t mentioned him, and my friend can spot an untruth instinctively.’

  Fastus had now started to babble quickly, backpedalling, trying to explain away his knowledge of Cleander and the man’s habits as rumour and hearsay. Rufinus heaved a deep internal sigh of relief at the confirmation that at least the man was actually guilty of something, even if not treason, condemned by his own words. The chattering stopped abruptly as a large, meaty hand was clamped across the man’s mouth.

  ‘Now, now’ said Phaestor quietly. ‘Plenty of time to talk later.’ He turned to Vettius. ‘What do you intend to do about it?’

  The major domo shrugged. ‘I shall inform the mistress of course, and she will decide on a course of action, with my guidance. Certainly the man will have to be questioned.’

  Phaestor nodded and smiled very unpleasantly. ‘Agreed. However, I would suggest we wait on that. Dis is in the city on one of his trips and there’s no one more qualified to extract information than he.’

  Vettius nodded. ‘Very well.’ He turned to the men holding Fastus. ‘Take him to the amphitheatre and have him locked in one of the cells. Make certain that the place is secure and under constant guard by trusted men.’

  The four men glanced across at their captain, and he nodded his assent, watching as the four men dragged the prisoner away in a flurry of muffled protests.

  ‘Phaestor?’ the major domo said quietly. ‘I think we’ll want to check through his things when the man I assigned comes with them, but I also think we need to interview the entire staff and see it we can piece together more of a picture of this traitor’s activity.’

  Phaestor nodded as Vettius turned to Rufinus. ‘You can write, yes?’

  Rufinus nodded.

  ‘Then go and write down everything you know about him; everything you’ve seen, observed, or heard, and bring it all to myself and the captain when you’re done.’

  Rufinus nodded and turned to leave.

  ‘Dis is going to want to speak with you, Marcius’ the captain added, looking at Rufinus with interest. ‘He’ll be fascinated to find out how you rooted out someone he missed.’

  Rufinus nodded nervously, aware of the looks the giant, needle-toothed Tad was giving him. Something in that look held the promise of trouble, and Rufinus swallowed again, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck ri
se. Trouble was certainly coming, and Tad, for all his mountainous evil, was less of a worry than the possibility of having to deal with Dis and his hounds.

  XVI – Secrets within secrets

  THREE days passed in a strange limbo for Rufinus. He had returned to the routine drudgery of slogging around the estate, crunching the white grass beneath his freezing boots, blowing on his hands and watching the frost form on his mail, almost as though nothing had happened. It was illusory, he knew. Soon he would be sent for, whether for good or ill, by either Vettius or Phaestor, and things would change. But until that happened, patrolling the grounds remained his most important task, interspersed with a series of looks received from the other men varying from grudging respect to downright hostility - that last particularly evident from the needle-toothed Tad.

  Strolling past the abandoned academy towards the so-called ‘gold wing’ with its amphitheatre and stadium, he chewed his lip thoughtfully. The past three days he had extended his circuit of the estate to loop around the amphitheatre in an attempt to spy out the caged Fastus and learn what he could of recent events.

  The arena was constantly under the guard of three men, one inside and two patrolling the perimeter, and consequently Rufinus had only dared come close enough to nod at one of the guards in passing. Given his involvement in the affair, an aloof distance seemed to be the way to play it, though inside he burned to know what was happening behind the closed doors of the palace. Not once had he seen Fastus and, despite stepping forward conspicuously during duty assignments, he’d not yet been chosen to patrol the arena. Nor would he, he supposed, given his connection with the prisoner.

  Still, another trip would likely do no harm, since the other guards clearly assumed that his route already took in the amphitheatre and nothing appeared untoward.

  ‘Marcius!’

  His reverie interrupted, Rufinus looked up in surprise. It had taken a lot of concentration in his first weeks here to react so appropriately to his pseudonym. His mother, brother and sister had always used his forename, Gnaeus, his superiors in the military calling him Rufinus, and his father simply ‘boy’. No one, of course, used the family name. The Rustii were still hardly a name to advertise in exalted circles.