Praetorian: The Great Game Read online

  ‘Hey… Marcius!’

  He spun around, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the slope on his way past the arena. One of the amphitheatre guards was waving his arms.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Vettius wants to see you. He’s been looking for you for over an hour.’

  ‘Someone should have told him I was on patrol, then!’

  The guard grinned at him. ‘No one ever knows where the hell you are, Marcius. Always got your head in the clouds and pissing around in the undergrowth. I swear you must have a woman and a jug of wine hidden out there somewhere!’

  Rufinus laughed. ‘Just make sure you leave me some of both when you find them. Where’s Vettius now?’

  ‘Probably back in his office.’

  Rufinus waved his thanks and glanced once more at the amphitheatre, unable to spot any sign of the prisoner. He would be in an underground cell. Rufinus felt the same cold shudder go through him as each time he thought on the unfortunate captive. Dis would be back today, apparently. And then the torture would begin and, given what Rufinus had seen of the hollow-eyed deputy, the victim would probably scream out every last thing he knew within an hour of first knife-stroke

  He shuddered. Anything Fastus underwent was directly his fault, regardless of any level of second-hand culpability on the captive’s side. Trying to push down his guilt and shame, he fixed a grim smile to his face and made for the villa proper. Acknowledging the various folk he passed with a half-aware nod, he made his way through the arches and doors, across flags and along corridors until he reached the major-domo’s office.

  ‘Come!’

  His hand stopped short of the door upon which he was about to knock. Shrugging, he reached down and eased the door open, entering with a straight back and expressionless face.

  ‘Glad you found time to come and see me, Marcius. Follow me.’

  The small man was already walking past him, carrying an armful of wax tablets and sheets of bark covered in scribblings. Falling in at the man’s shoulder in a very manner, Rufinus turned and followed Vettius along the passage to the door at the end, the one that led to the more opulent areas of the palatial villa. The guard on duty opened the door and stood aside.

  ‘I am forced to push matters faster than I would like, Marcius, as I have already been delayed too long by the absence of Dis from the barracks. I appreciate everything the man does for the empress and the danger in which he places himself at regular intervals, but the timing of this particular absence is most unhelpful. I need every trustworthy man available and I need to confirm that you belong in that group.’

  Rufinus opened his mouth to answer but it was clear that the major domo was rattling out a stream of information without expecting replies, continuing with barely a breath.

  ‘Dis will be back shortly and will begin working on the prisoner. As soon as he is able to confirm the truth of matters and interviews you to both his and my satisfaction, I will be utilising you along with every other resource at my disposal. In order to speed the process up, I am giving you your instructions now and as of the morning, you will begin to follow them, pending Dis’ confirmation of your suitability.’

  Rufinus started to speak, but the little man was already off again as they turned a corner.

  ‘This is the ‘water villa’. Hadrianus apparently used it when he sought the kind of solitude that is not readily available in the rest of the villa… the sort of solitude he could only find with his young man, if you get my meaning.’ The major domo waggled his eyebrows suggestively, but Rufinus’ entire attention had been stolen by the structure in front of him.

  As they made their way through the short entrance corridor, the doorway ahead revealed what, to Rufinus, had to be the pinnacle of the architect’s art. A huge circular space lay beyond, surrounded by a high wall sporting a delicate, beautiful colonnade with a vaulted ceiling that, itself, surrounded a narrow circular canal of emerald green water. That in turn surrounded a circular island upon which stood a tiny villa with its own colonnaded atrium and marble-floored rooms. Rufinus blinked, unable to take in the sheer genius of the design and the magnificence and opulence that it represented.

  He’d seen the palace on the Palatine and it was a sad, dull, brown shape compared to this delicate structure, circle within circle within circle. Why anyone would choose to live elsewhere when his family owned this place baffled Rufinus.

  ‘It’s fantastic!’

  ‘Don’t get carried away’ the major domo admonished, deflating the moment with his civil-servant’s manner. ‘This will be your duty for the next few days. We are to entertain an important visitor, though not one whom the mistress wants wandering freely around her private residence. Thus he will be accommodated in the water villa. The moat is crossable by means of wooden bridges that can be placed into position and removed. Your task will be night duty here, making sure no one enters or leaves. Most of the doors will be sealed anyway, but you will patrol the colonnade in the hours of darkness. If the visitor wishes to leave his secure villa for any reason, you will be the one to place the wooden bridge allowing him to cross. You will then escort him to wherever it is that he wishes to visit until you arrive in an area patrolled by another man, at which point you will deliver the guest into his keeping and return to your post. I cannot imagine he will want to go anywhere other than perhaps to the baths, given that there is a latrine on the island but no bathing facilities.’

  He stopped and turned. ‘That is the assignment. It is very simple. Do not allow anyone in unless escorted by one of the guards, or out except escorted by yourself. Do not speak to the guest unless spoken to and then only platitudes. You will be reprimanded for anything you say that unnecessarily enlightens the guest. Understand?’

  Rufinus’ heart skipped a beat. It was a low responsibility and a relatively unimportant task, but it was inside the palace complex. Things were starting to come together. He frowned.

  ‘If the empress doesn’t want or trust her visitor, why is she allowing the visit?’

  Vettius shrugged. ‘Some people you simply cannot turn down. Saoterus is the favourite of Commodus, and so we must bend over backwards to accommodate him; though only so far.’

  Rufinus tried to keep his face impassive as he nodded his understanding while inside, his pulse raced. Saoterus, according to the general, the only man keeping the emperor from disastrous courses of action while his other advisors plotted and schemed. Saoterus was coming here! Finally, some news worth delivering to the prefect back in Rome, and by coincidence tomorrow morning Constans would be here making his weekly delivery.

  ‘Are you alright, Marcius? You look a little dazed.’

  ‘Sorry sir.’ For effect, Rufinus rubbed the bruised lump on his forehead, still faintly purple and bulbous even after three days. ‘I understand. I report here at sunset tomorrow then?’

  Vettius nodded. ‘Assuming all is well with Dis and the prisoner.’

  Rufinus ducked through the gate in the garden wall, leaving the open area of the villa and entering the enclosed world of Pompeianus’ residence. The garden was deserted, though as well-tended as ever, each hedge and plant trimmed with delicate white frost. His footsteps were almost silent as he walked across the gravel, each individual chip welded to the next with winter’s chill.

  Quickly, aware not only of the dissipation of his body’s warmth in the cold breeze, but also of the position he could be placing himself in, visiting the general, he hurried to the door and rapped on it three times in sharp succession. A few moments passed before there was an audible click and the door swung open half way to reveal one of Pompeianus’ servants, who Rufinus vaguely recognised.

  ‘I would like to see the dominus’ he asked quietly.

  The servant nodded but kept the door only half open to prevent too much cold air from penetrating the building. ‘I am sorry, but the dominus is in the other wing, speaking with the domina. She sent for him almost an hour ago. Would you like to wait upon his return?’

 
Rufinus thought for a moment, but decided that he could be waiting for some time and a prolonged absence from duty might be noticed and frowned upon. ‘Thank you, but no. I shall drop by again this evening, if you would be so good as to tell the master when he returns.’

  The servant bowed and waited for Rufinus to move away before shutting and locking the door.

  Rufinus scratched his chin. It was a surprise at any time to hear of Lucilla and Pompeianus consorting. This was only the third time since his arrival at the villa that husband and wife had even spoken to his knowledge but then, with an important - and dangerous to Lucilla - figure like Saoterus visiting, plans would have to be made and orders given. If only he knew why the emperor’s favourite advisor was deigning to visit this viper pit…

  As he passed back through the gate in the garden wall, the first blow took all the breath from him and left him staggering and dazed. Bent double by the strike to his sternum, he tried to look up and all he could see was meaty legs in wrapped skins.

  Tad.

  His gaze slid slowly upwards to that face with the wild eyes and the needle teeth, just in time to see the second blow coming, but not fast enough to do anything about it. The first, unexpected, punch had felt like being struck by a speeding cart.

  The enormous, hairy, sweaty paw struck him on the side of the chin, spinning his head round to the left with an audible crack which for a moment had him believing that his spine had snapped. The force of the blow took him off his feet, spinning him in the air until he landed face first on the gravel, scraping his cheek raw and biting through his lip.

  Two punches and he was down and starting to lose control. If he’d been prepared… if he’d known the attack was coming…

  Rolling back, his mind whirling, he sprang rather unsteadily to his feet. It was almost unbelievable just how strong the Sarmatian was. Rufinus had been punched by some big bastards in his time, but he’d never felt such raw force exerted in one blow. Moreover: in a blow swung from the side and without any built-up momentum.

  Swaying slightly, he backed away, wondering for a moment which side of the garden doorway he was on. Still on the inside. The brute had knocked him back into the garden and there was little hope of getting away from here.

  With a start he realised that he’d backed up against the curve of the garden wall and the huge Sarmatian had now entered through the arch and was stepping maliciously toward him, only two paces away.

  He’d had a bad start, because Tad had all the surprise and initiative.

  Time to take the fight back and make it his own. First step: use every advantage you can get your hands on. Reaching down, his right hand closed on the hilt of the gladius sheathed at his waist.

  Unbelievably, the giant was there immediately, grasping the wrist and hauling it away from the hilt, pushing back the resisting arm as though Rufinus had the strength of a babe and pinning it roughly against the bricks.

  Desperately, Rufinus turned slightly in order to shield his left arm from the same treatment and used it to somewhat uncomfortably draw the sword in his off-hand. The blade felt unwieldy there. Lucius, his damned brother had been naturally good with both hands, which had made sword practice when they were children rather uneven. Rufinus knew just how poor he was with his left. Somehow he managed to waggle the blade out into the open, but the huge barbarian was already only a foot from him and there was precious little room to bring the weapon to bear.

  Desperately, he tried to turn the blade to ram into the man’s back. Fetid, stinking breath blasted into his face and he winced as those sharpened teeth grinned evilly at him. Without being able to see it, he felt Tad’s other enormous hand close around his own left and squeeze.

  The pain was instantly unbearable. The man could squeeze life from a brick!

  A bone in his hand cracked and another crunched and white hot agony lanced up his arm. He yelped as Tad broke two fingers with consummate ease, ripping the blade from his failing grip.

  The other huge barbarian hand let go of the wrist it held up against the wall and dropped to grasp Rufinus’ throat. The hand was so inexplicably large that it completely engulfed his neck, the tips of thumb and fingers reaching around until they touched the wall behind him.

  Yet the giant exerted no pressure.

  Rufinus stared into that inhuman maw and suddenly became aware that his gladius was rising into view. As he goggled helplessly, Tad pushed the sword into the mortar of the wall, jamming it deep until the blade was half-hidden between bricks. Then, with a simple jerk, he pushed down, snapping the blade as though it were a wooden stylus. Grinning, the huge man threw the hilt over his shoulder, where it came down somewhere in a bush.

  Rufinus realised with a sinking feeling that it was over. There was simply no way he could beat this thing. Tad clearly had more strength than anyone he had ever faced and, to add somewhat unfairly to the man’s advantage, he was tall, broad and ridiculously fast for a man his size.

  Grunting, Rufinus tried to swing with his right hand, but there wasn’t enough room to gain any power and all he managed was a light tap on the brute’s upper arm. Desperately, he tried to call for help but as soon as his mouth opened, that inhuman grip tightened and all that came out was a gasp. His sight blurred and he felt a sluggishness begin to fill him.

  The Sarmatian almost effortlessly pulled Rufinus away from the wall once again and as Rufinus’ left arm came back for another blow, the beast pushed him back, trapping the arm against the wall behind him and exerting enough force to keep it there.

  Rufinus blinked. The man was a born fighter. He’d never seen such effortless ease in combat. What a soldier the man could have made. Or a gladiator… He was aware that his mind was wandering. The pain was intense and his brain was compensating by trying to take him somewhere else. He tried to shake his head and clear it, but failed due to the grip on his neck.

  With another wicked grin, Tad let go of his neck, Rufinus dropping a foot to the gravel as the monster stepped into him, turning so that he immediately began to grind his victim against the wall with the meaty bulk of his shoulder, his knees slightly bent to put him at the right height. It was like being crushed beneath a rock. Rufinus felt his ribs straining, the air forced from him by the tremendous pressure of the giant.

  A horrible realisation dawned on Rufinus. Tad could have killed him a dozen times over by now, but clearly had no interest in his death… yet. But the man was not just a killer, was he? He was something else. Something far worse.

  Rufinus’ heart skipped a beat as he heard a bone-chilling rasp and his eyes swivelled downwards to see the huge fist drawing one of the skinning knives from its sheath.

  ‘No!’

  It was a weak cry and pointless, of course. The only people who would hear would be the servants in Pompeianus’ residence and none of them would dare interfere. Whatever Tad wanted to do he was going to have the opportunity. Rufinus was helpless.

  His eyes filled with tears and then squeezed shut as he bit clean through his lip when the skinning knife made the first slice on his forearm. He opened them again, feeling as though his arm was on fire, burning in the heat of a furnace. A short strip of skin hung from his arm and the bastard was grinning as he reached down and bit the strip off, tearing it away with his needle teeth in a jerk of agony.

  Rufinus stared at the glistening pink patch on his arm, the true horror of what the next moments would likely hold suddenly sinking in. Barely able to think logically, his mind whirling in pain and darkness, Rufinus found that his damaged hand had managed to close on the huge man’s belt. Desperately, he shuffled it along until he found the pommel of the other skinning knife.

  With as deep a breath as he could manage past his bruised ribs and the pressing weight of the Sarmatian, he pulled the knife free of the sheath.

  For a moment he dithered, not sure what to do next: try and gain back some advantage by jamming the blade into the beast, or cut his own throat to end it before he was skinned raw. No. He was a fighter. A
nd a survivor. If there was any chance, even the smallest one, he had to grasp it with both hands! There was no way, with Tad’s shoulder and back against him, and the size of the man, to get the blade to the face or chest. The most he could hope for was the side of the man’s torso or his upper arm.

  With a grunt, he thrust the knife into the big man’s ribs. Again, he stared in disbelief as the Sarmatian simply stepped away and yanked the blade back out carelessly, allowing a huge gout of blood to gush out onto the white gravel. Rufinus was momentarily free of the man’s grip, but he had no strength left. He was unarmed, breathless, trapped and with broken fingers, battered head, bruised ribs and a partially-skinned forearm that burned more with very moment.

  The Sarmatian grinned and held up the two skinning knives with a flourish, scraping the blades along each other menacingly. Rufinus shuddered and fell back against the wall. With a dramatic gesture, Tad swept his arms out to both sides, a blade in each and, standing like a crucified man, he bowed slightly, mocking his victim.

  A dark blur from the corner of Rufinus’ eye caught his failing attention and he blinked in shock.

  Acheron, the larger of Dis’ huge dark hounds, leapt from the shadow of the gate, his huge, slavering, serrated jaws closing around Tad’s wrist and snapping shut with an audible crunch.

  Rufinus stared. The huge cannibal turned in surprise to see the dog hanging from his outstretched arm, the knife already falling away to the floor as the animal swung back and forth from the limb, blood spraying from a torn artery and fountaining up into the air.

  Almost as if playing with a rag doll, Tad swung his damaged arm sharply, the dog coming away in another spray of blood and tattered skin, its large paws skittering across the hard, icy gravel before turning, hackles up and snarling as though on a hunt, facing the stag.