Saoterus gave him a look that he found unsettling. ‘May I?’ he asked, gesturing to the numerous scroll racks around the room.
‘I’m sure the domina won’t mind.’
The young man began to stroll round the edge of the room, squinting in the low light as he examined the labels beneath each aperture, occasionally pulling a scroll from a compartment, glancing at it briefly, then sliding it back.
‘If it’s not a forbidden subject, may I ask your opinion of the mood in the villa?’ Saoterus saw Rufinus’ eyes darken as his guard came up and smiled disarmingly. ‘I only ask as I have matters of import to discuss with Lucilla and, while two days in such luxurious surroundings is a respite after the scuffle of the city, I begin to wonder if she has any intention of speaking to me.’
Rufinus took a deep breath. ‘Why are you here?’
He was aware of the bluntness of the question, but he’d spent a lot of the last few hours wondering how he would approach the subject should he find the opportunity, and no solution had presented itself. Sometimes, as a boxer knew, there came a time to stop dancing from foot to foot and plant a blow, even if it can’t be a powerful one.
The man turned with that same knowing smile. ‘Ah, such directness. You would never make a politician, my friend.’
‘I know of you, Saoterus. Everyone does. You are the emperor’s man; his favourite. What possible business can you have with Lucilla?’
Saoterus’ eyes narrowed. ‘You mean ‘domina’ or ‘the empress’? I cannot see you advancing in these ranks with such familiarity. Lucilla is not easy-going.’
‘Answer the question.’
Something about Rufinus’ tone caused that smile to falter for just a moment. ‘My business with Lucilla is private, not to be discussed with even that fidgety major domo, let alone one of the guard.’ His eyes narrowed suspiciously and something about his smile changed, though Rufinus couldn’t have said quite how. ‘That is, unless there’s something I don’t know? Am I talking to one of the guard?’
Rufinus sighed. ‘The world is becoming a dangerous place, master Saoterus. Here and in Rome. It’s always well to be prepared.’
‘Tell me about yourself. You ask penetrating questions and think outside your station… on the assumption this is your station.’
‘We are dancing around two different questions here, master Saoterus. I am not about to answer yours, I’m afraid, but it’ll be to everyone’s advantage if you answer mine. There is a flood of violence building and the struts that hold the dam come in all shapes and sizes, even that of a simple guard. Why are you here?’
Saoterus folded his arms and leaned back against the wooden racks. ‘Very well. I am here to try and avert the looming crisis. Commodus and his sister must be reconciled before they tear Rome apart.’
Rufinus frowned. ‘Laudable. I’m not sure I see how such a thing could happen. You’ll be more aware than most of the lady’s attitude to her brother, and there are those in Rome who feel the same in the other direction.’
‘I am here to put a proposal to the lady Lucilla. It has taken me months and every argument at my disposal to get the emperor to agree to it, and he has imposed his own conditions, but it can be the only solution if this is to end peacefully.’
Again, Rufinus frowned and Saoterus shrugged, arms still folded. ‘Lucilla believes her line carries the direct line of descent for the purple. Even with her children by Verus dead, she believes that Tiberius, her son by Pompeianus, should inherit, a point that a good rhetorician could argue. But, possession being nine-tenths of the law, and Commodus sitting on the throne, no rhetoric will change things now.’
He stood straight and unfolded his arms. ‘I am here to offer Lucilla that her son Tiberius be named Commodus’ co-emperor.’
Rufinus stepped back in surprise, and Saoterus smiled. ‘Good. I’m very much hoping to elicit the same response from the lady should she ever see me. Quite simply, Commodus will make young Tiberius Claudius Pompeianus Quintianus his junior co-emperor in the same way he himself was his father’s co-emperor. Commodus will remain the senior partner, of course, and the decision on matters of succession will still be his, but Lucilla’s son will have the power she thinks he deserves.’
Rufinus shook his head, taken aback. ‘It’s generous beyond reason.’
Saoterus’ face darkened slightly. ‘I said the emperor had imposed his own conditions.’ He started to stroll slowly round the racks again, scratching his scalp. ‘Young Tiberius will have to take an oath of fealty to Commodus in the Capitoline temples, very publically vowing never to move against Commodus or stand opposed to him. It would be an embarrassment, as no such demand has ever been made of a co-emperor. And…’ He paused and sighed deeply. ‘And Lucilla and the rest of her family will have to agree to exile. Pompeianus will be made governor of Syria for life and will have to take Lucilla and stay there until the day she dies. The emperor was immovable on that. He wants her and her family as far from Rome as they can be.’
Rufinus’ face fell. It had sounded too good to be true. His memory skipped back to that first time he had met the siblings in the headquarters of Vindobona. Lucilla was every bit as strong-willed as her brother. ‘Do you think she will agree to the terms?’
Saoterus stopped his wandering and let his arms fall by his sides. ‘No, sadly I do not. But it is my duty to try, and I can be quite persuasive, so there is still small hope.’
Rufinus regarded the sad eyes of the man opposite and could not help but well up with respect for the man who appeared to be single-handedly standing at the centre of the political storm in Rome and trying to guide the winds to keep all houses equally safe.
‘Then I wish you luck and, in the interest of peace, I’ll offer you two pieces of information. Firstly, tread carefully with Lucilla. More than you would normally. There have been… incidents… and she will be jumpy and difficult. On the other hand, recent events might push her to seeing you tomorrow, as soon as she can.’
Saoterus frowned, but Rufinus pointed at the man. ‘Secondly, be equally careful back in Rome. I suspect there are knives being sharpened for you and I cannot help but feel that your loss would be a bad thing for the empire.’
Saoterus smiled with those sad eyes. ‘I am flattered, but the dice will fall as they may.’
Rufinus watched as the man turned and strolled off along the scroll racks once again. He too was thinking of dice. Of the most famous general in history as he crossed the Rubicon and claimed the die was cast. ‘And look what happened to him’ he muttered beneath his breath.
XX – A higher rung
RUFINUS hurried along the unfamiliar corridor, nervous tension and eagerness coursing through his veins. The marble busts of the Aelian dynasty of Hadrianus watching him with stony aloofness. It had been a fraught morning with few chances for a breather.
First light had brought the assembly call and all the guards who were not currently on patrol had gathered behind the barracks, the servants undergoing a similar assembly elsewhere. Phaestor had addressed his men calmly and in measured tones, but with a hint of tension that could be seen readily by those who knew where to look.
He told them of the death of Dis and the fact that the once-trusted second may well have been an agent of the Frumentarii sent to spy on the villa. The guards’ reaction was predictably disbelieving and confused, but Phaestor hammered his words into their brains: Trust. Honour. Loyalty. These were things he expected from his guards. That Dis had managed to fool everyone for so long was a matter of personal disgrace for him and public shame for the rest of them. He would not be fooled again.
In short order he began to read out names from a tablet in his hand: those men who he had reason to be concerned over, those who had had cause to be reprimanded more than once, those who he simply didn’t like the look of.
Of the villa’s remaining sixty-eight guards, fifty-eight of whom were present at the briefing, Phaestor summarily dismissed thirty-one with no further pay. They were simply
told to gather their things and be on the road away from the villa by the next watch and that any of them found on the premises after that time would be considered a spy and dealt with.
Even Rufinus, who had an inkling that something like this was coming, was staggered by the number of men who were ejected from the villa that morning, among them: Atracus the Gaul, a man as stalwart as Rufinus could possibly imagine. The Gaul had held his head high and left the villa proud and straight, making Rufinus feel no better about the part he had played in this horrible shake up that had lost the jobs of so many innocent men when the real enemy within - himself - remained to rise through the ranks.
Phaestor then went on to outline his plans for tightened security: the villa’s outer patrolled perimeter would be drawn back to contain just the buildings and their immediate surroundings, abandoning the vineyard, the olive grove and the woods, the fields and the banks of the stream. All guards would be paired to share duty, meal breaks and all free time. This way no one would have the opportunity to commit underhand acts.
When someone had pointed out how restrictive that would be for staffing levels, Phaestor had fixed the man with a hard glare and continued, explaining that guards would be given greater leeway and freedom only when both he and Vettius were in agreement over their competence and loyalty. The guards were then placed under the command of Vettius for a few days while Phaestor left the villa for Rome on a recruitment drive.
The pace of life had changed and would soon change again.
Now, pacing through corridors on his way to see the major domo, Rufinus happened to look out of a high, west-facing window and saw an expensive carriage leaving the villa along the tracks left in the frost by Phaestor’s cart hours earlier. Saoterus had been summoned by the mistress at dawn, the very time that the orders for the new regime were being delivered to the staff. Collected from the water villa by two of the guards on duty, the imperial advisor had been hurried into the empress’ presence.
According to one of those guards who Rufinus had spoken to at shift change half an hour ago, Saoterus had been quiet, calm, gentlemanly and eloquent. The phrase the guard had used was ‘could talk a Vestal out of her underwear’. The young politician had offered Lucilla the deal he’d explained to Rufinus: half the world’s power for her son, on the understanding that she would disappear.
Lucilla had replied with invective and bile, vicious words spat at him from her lofty throne. She had told him, apparently, that her brother was simple and child-like, without the balls to run a whorehouse, let alone the empire, that the name Commodus would soon be gone and forgotten drifting along in the wind, while her family would usher in a golden era for Rome.
When the guard told him of these things, Rufinus had actually stopped in his tracks, astounded. Recent events and conversations with Phaestor and Vettius had clearly taken her to the edge for her to lose such control. The words were treasonous in themselves, but they also hinted heavily at plans to remove her brother.
In a way, it had brought a wave of relief. After so long slogging through duty in the villa, and given the lack of concern the Frumentarius had shown over the possibility of a coup, he’d begun to wonder whether the whole thing had been cooked up from the fears and imaginations of the Praetorian prefects and whether in fact Lucilla was innocent of everything other than simply being a cold-hearted and sour bitch. Her words to Saoterus, assuming they were true and not some invention of the guard, seemingly confirmed the fact that a plot was forming, albeit slowly.
Saoterus had been told that he was lucky he was being dismissed alive and not skinned so that his flesh could fly like a warning banner above the villa while the pig farm in the valley fed on his raw corpse.
And so the emperor’s advisor had been sent on his way in the carriage in which he had arrived. Rufinus watched the carriage trundle off along the private track toward the main road with a certain sinking sensation, albeit a thoroughly expected one. With that carriage and its occupant went any hope of a peaceful reconciliation of the imperial family and any chance of avoiding confrontation and bloodshed.
Alea iacta est… the die is cast.
Vettius’ door stood ajar and muttering could be heard within. Rufinus listened quietly for a moment, but the man was chattering too quietly and fast to be intelligible from the corridor. With a deep breath, Rufinus rapped twice on the door.
The rattle of quiet chatter stopped abruptly. ‘Come!’
Striding in, Rufinus left the door ajar behind him and came to a halt in front of the large walnut desk. Vettius looked stressed. His hair and beard glistened with sweat, his eyes focussed, squinting, as he pored over piles of wood sheets and wax tablets, the fingers of his left hand drumming a constant irritated rhythm on the desk.
‘Master Vettius?’
The man held up a silencing finger as he continued to mumble, running his finger down a column of figures. Rufinus stood patiently, waiting for the man to finish his calculation. Finally he looked up. ‘Marcius. Yes. List one. Both wings of the palace, golden house area, water villa, libraries and palace baths. You’re to be assigned to the central areas. Phaestor has left me to work out a rota for the current guards, bless his black heart. It’s a nightmare of organisation the likes of which no man has ever attempted. But for the next three days at least, until Phaestor returns with recruits, you’ll be on two shifts a day, with six hours of free time.’
His finger ran down a different sheet. ‘First watch, ‘til noon you’re on Pecile garden, libraries and terrace. You’ll cover both areas due to the shortage of men, so there’s a lot of walking.’
Rufinus smiled to himself. Perhaps to a man perpetually knee-deep in paperwork, who rarely left the confines of the villa, such a duty would be onerous. Given the change in the weather - the frost had failed to touch the ground this morning and the sun was already beginning to blaze with a warmth uncharacteristic for so early in the year - a morning strolling around the garden and the library terrace would be a blessing, and with a few places to shelter, should the weather become inclement.
‘I shall endeavour to keep the villa free of vagrants and enemies’ he said brightly, earning himself a black look.
‘Then you will have half an hour to eat before you report to the empress’ palace, where you will relieve Harrapus the Cappadocian. Understood?’
Rufinus nodded, his heart racing. The central area and Lucilla’s palace. It would be a tiring regime, with little free time, but it was what he had been working for these past months.
A thought struck him. ‘Who am I to be paired with?’
Vettius gave him a surprised look. ‘Paired?’
‘All guards are to be paired off to prevent treachery.’
‘Only those who haven’t proved themselves, Marcius’ he replied with an exasperated sigh. ‘List one: those who can be trusted. I swear I thought you were brighter.’
Rufinus smiled. ‘Too daft to be dangerous, I suppose.’
Again, Vettius flashed him a black look. ‘Anyway, you’re almost halfway through the first duty, so as soon as you can, you’ll need to report to the Pecile, since there’s no one patrolling that area. But…’ he added as Rufinus turned, ‘there’s something else you need to do first. The empress wants to see you.’
Rufinus’ heart skipped a beat.
‘The empress?’
‘Yes. She’s wanting to speak personally to all those who’ll be patrolling her palace. She’s a lady who likes to be aware of her surroundings. But interestingly, she asked for you by name as soon as I could send you. So run along. You’ll find her in the council chamber, if you remember the directions, and then make your way to the Pecile when she’s done with you.’
Rufinus nodded, pulse still pounding like a chariot hurtling round the Circus Maximus. He thanked Vettius, but the man was already involved once more with his lists, paying no further heed to the guard.
Turning quickly, Rufinus hurried out into the corridor. It took him but a moment to recall the route to the
council chamber, jammed between the Pecile, the imperial baths and the water villa, tucked away almost forgotten in a corner. The last time he had stood in its echoing marble hall had been following the accusation of Fastus that had precipitated this sequence of events.
A hundred heartbeats later, he approached the open door of the chamber, the apsed end to the black and yellow marble room visible through it and lit by bright sunlight flowing through the huge triple arch, white marble statues in their niches almost shining with a strangely lunar glow. The door stood wide, one of the veteran guards he knew by sight to the side. Rufinus nodded to him and the man returned the gesture, ushering him in with a sweep of the arm. Inside, the room warbled with the sound of quiet conversation which died away as he entered.
Lucilla was every bit the monarch in her crimson stola and golden shawl, hair bound with a fine gold net, complemented by gilt earrings and necklace, any one of which would pay his wages until the day he went grey. She sat upon a throne of dark wood which still bore inscriptions that carried the words AELIVS and HADRIANUS. Clearly she already considered herself the inheritor of the imperial title.
A tall man with a lean face and grave expression, made-up like a painted woman, stood to one side and slightly behind, in the manner of a chamberlain. The man tried to smile and the effect was like a crocodile sneering. Rufinus took an instant and almost pathological dislike to the man. His wandering gaze as he stepped inside also took in the four slaves standing quietly in the corner, waiting to attend their mistress. Rufinus felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck as he saw Senova, and warmth thrilled through him.
Remembering himself just in time, Rufinus came to a sharp halt some five paces from the throne and sketched a deep bow.
‘Guardsman Marcius, I believe?’
Rufinus straightened and nodded. ‘I am, your imperial majesty.’
The title seemed to please Lucilla and he saw the corner of her mouth lift just a little. ‘You look familiar, Marcius.’ She frowned for a moment and then something passed. ‘I expect I’ve seen you around the grounds.’ She turned to the slaves. ‘Cesta? Valla? Go prepare my bath, and shut the door on your way out.’
Praetorian: The Great Game Page 32