Praetorian: The Great Game Page 5

  ‘See how our family business makes these brave soldiers uncomfortable.’

  The prefect straightened. ‘A phalera then, Caesar?’ he prompted, nudging the conversation back to its original purpose. ‘To be presented before the legions in Vindobona?’

  Commodus leapt energetically from his couch and walked across to the two soldiers. Rufinus, distinctly uncomfortable with his gaze lowered, became aware that the young co-emperor was standing less than a foot away from him.

  ‘Look at me, legionary Rufinus.’

  The voice was not sharp or angry, though there was a steel in it that he’d not yet heard from the whimsical young man. Before he’d even thought about it, in response, Rufinus had looked up, straight into the piercing, grey-blue eyes of Commodus.

  ‘This man is a lion, father, not a peacock. Baubles are pretty, but they will hardly satisfy a lion.’

  Rufinus blinked and the man before him grinned.

  ‘What think you of phalerae, legionary Rufinus?’

  His mouth had suddenly gone so dry that, had he a clue what to say, he would have had great difficulty making it heard. Instead, his mouth opened and a scratchy, hoarse sound emerged. Commodus’ grin widened.

  ‘This man deserves more than a phalera. Look at him! He’s wasted in the shield wall of a cohort. A man who breaks an ambush and kills five men single-handedly, only moments after having fought hard, no doubt, in the front lines of a major battle.’

  Rufinus could sense the tension in the Praetorian prefect next to him. This new prized playing piece in the great game was in danger of being suborned by another player. His gaze passed over Commodus’ shoulder and fell on the emperor, who was watching intently. The old man propped himself up on an elbow.

  ‘What have you in mind, my son?’

  Commodus turned his mischievous, beaming smile on his father.

  ‘Why what else, but to elevate him to the Praetorians? I am certain that Paternus can make good use of him. The increase in pay and benefits is more suitable reward than simple trinkets.’ He turned back to Rufinus and his brow furrowed. ‘Besides, I think I like the idea of having this man in our bodyguard where his talents are not wasted.’

  The emperor was nodding his head thoughtfully. ‘The notion has merit. What are your thoughts, Paternus?’

  There was a strange silence. Rufinus could almost hear the prefect’s mind churning over every aspect of this sudden turn of events, trying to identify each advantage and potential problem that could arise. In the end, his shoulders relaxed a little and he shrugged. ‘It seems to me a fine idea, Caesar. I do think we need to hold off on any announcement of his transfer until the presenting of his decoration when the Tenth are back in garrison. It may do the morale of the legion good to see one of their own so honoured.’

  Commodus laughed lightly. ‘We have yet to ask Rufinus here what he wishes for himself? Perhaps he feels that the scorpion shield is not for him?’

  Again, Rufinus’ throat caught and he stuttered a strange sound.

  ‘Come on, man. Speak up.’

  Finding a reserve of courage somewhere deep inside, Rufinus straightened. ‘It would be my honour to serve the emperor and his household in whatever capacity they see fit, my Caesar.’

  ‘Well said’ Commodus laughed, clapping his hand on Rufinus’ dirty, slightly rusty shoulder plate.

  Paternus cleared his throat. ‘Very well, Caesar. If all is agreed, then, legionary Rufinus should head to the barracks and rest and bathe. The coming days will be busy for him.’

  As the emperor nodded, Paternus turned to him.

  ‘Go to the Praetorian barracks and find Perennis and the men who escorted you. They will see to everything. I must stay and apprise the emperor of the full details of the campaign.

  On her couch, Lucilla rolled her eyes. ‘Father, if you insist on talking battle with Paternus, I beg leave to return to the villa. I fear a headache is looming.’

  Aurelius waved his daughter away with an indulgent smile and Lucilla stood, pausing, looked down meaningfully at her husband. The Syrian suddenly became aware that everything had gone quiet and looked up in surprise.

  ‘Are you coming?’ she snapped acidly.

  ‘Of course, my dove’ he replied with an ingratiating smile and hauled himself from the couch, turning to the emperor. ‘Caesar.’

  Commodus squared his shoulders.

  ‘If you will excuse me too, father, I feel the distinct need of a bath. I have spent too much of the day in sword practice. I’m sure I will hear all the pertinent news in due course?’

  Aurelius nodded to his son, some apparent disapproval of the young man’s martial activities giving the look a dark overtone, and the young co-emperor clapped his hand on Rufinus’ shoulder plate again, turning him away from the emperor.

  ‘Come. I myself am feeling weary and grimy. We will make use of the bath house before you return to the Praetorian barracks.’

  Rufinus’ heart skipped a beat again as he felt himself being urged from the room. At the door, opened on cue by the olive-coloured slave, he paused and bowed as Lucilla and her husband passed them, neither sparing him a look. Behind them hurried the slave girl, so close he could almost touch her. Her scent was something spicy and sweet, heady and aromatic. She glanced at him for a fleeting moment and his world warmed; and then she was gone.

  Nervously, Rufinus waited until Commodus gestured for him to exit, following on behind. The co-emperor wore a mischievous grin. The two men passed though the antechamber and out into the basilica, where the huge statue of Mars towered over them. Rufinus’ gaze fell on the figures of Lucilla and her entourage as they crossed the enormous hall. He almost jumped as Commodus’ hand appeared on his shoulder again and drew him to a stop, turning him to face the God.

  ‘You would do best to avert your eyes from my sister’s slaves. You will find no comfort there.’ His grin widened even further. ‘Though she is fascinating, I have to concur.’

  Rufinus’ gaze fell to the marble tiles once more.

  ‘Legionary Rufinus, I cannot have a conversation with a man who will not meet my gaze.’

  ‘Caesar’ he answered weakly, looking up into those piercing, intelligent eyes.

  ‘You may be a lion on the field of battle, but in the snake-pit that is the imperial court, you are yet a sacrificial lamb.’ He frowned. ‘I mix my animal metaphors, but you follow my meaning. What do you make of all of this?’

  Once more, Rufinus’ vocal chords seized and he felt himself choke. Commodus’ smile disappeared and his face became stern.

  ‘Out with it!’

  The same steel as before: almost identical to the commanding tone of Marcus Aurelius as he had cautioned his daughter. A tone that could make a statue snap to attention.

  ‘Caesar, I really do not know. I have been told that all men of power play games. I fear I am a piece to be played, though I am not sure to whom I belong.’

  Suddenly all the sternness and steel was gone and the young co-emperor was smiling again. ‘Very astute, Rufinus. But the game has not yet begun and the players are busy assembling their pieces. My father’s health declines at an ever-increasing rate and the auguries are not good. By all rights there should be no issue when the old charmer rises to join his illustrious forebears. I am already his co-emperor and the succession to my sole rule is clear. However, camps are forming, as they inevitably will.’

  He quickly glanced over his shoulder. Lucilla and her companions had gone. With a sigh, he turned and gestured for Rufinus to follow.

  ‘Sadly, there will be trouble. I expect difficulties from a number of sources when the day comes, though I hope the Praetorians will remain secure. Paternus is as loyal as any man to my father and I hope that his loyalty will continue on seamlessly with me, but I am not so naïve as to assume it.’ He shook his head. ‘Such gloomy thoughts are for other times. Tonight should be a night for celebration. This seemingly-eternal war is finally over and we will soon return to civilization. We have heroes
to honour and wounds to lick. Come. Let us to the baths.’

  As the pair walked on, Rufinus became aware that Commodus was watching him out of the corner of his eye.

  ‘Caesar?’

  The man laughed. ‘You really killed five of them on your own?’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘Perhaps you are wasted even in the Guard. I should perhaps have you a slave that I could watch in the arena.’

  Rufinus’ heart tightened and he tried to speak, though all that emerged was a slight strangled noise. The young emperor laughed. ‘Fear not. I mean you no ill, Rufinus, though I am an aficionado of the games, and I would love to see you fight.’

  Somehow, he found his voice somewhere deep inside again. ‘I box for my century, Caesar. Such fights are less… fatal, but skill is skill.’

  ‘Indeed. I shall have to watch you fight. I do not believe the Praetorians involve themselves in such activities, though perhaps it is time they did.’

  The two men walked out into the courtyard of the headquarters and, on the threshold of the basilica’s grand entrance, Rufinus caught just an echo of the slave-girl’s heady fragrance. Not strong, but enough to make his head feel light.

  It was almost surreal. Two days ago he was a duplicarius legionary in the Tenth Gemina, standing in the shield wall and watching half the population of the barbarian steppe run at them, roaring defiance and hatred. He had flinched at being addressed directly by a centurion and told to raise his shield in line. Now here he was in the crisp early evening air with the clear sky denying the threat of fresh snow that everyone expected, striding across the courtyard at the power centre of the Danubian front alongside Commodus himself, golden son of the emperor and co-ruler of Rome. Each time he remembered who it was that walked beside him, he felt a little jolt of fear and had to glance across at the man to reassure himself he was truly awake.

  Commodus had clearly noticed and understood. ‘This makes you uncomfortable?’

  For the first time this evening, Rufinus’ voice presented itself correctly for the reply without hiding behind croaks and groans and he was extremely grateful. ‘I fear it is inappropriate, Caesar?’

  ‘Inappropriate?’

  ‘You should travel with your family, sire, with an escort of the guard. With…’ he suddenly connected the beautiful woman on the extra couch; ‘with your wife, Caesar.’

  Commodus threw back his head and let out a genuine laugh. ‘I am not entirely sure Bruttia should attend the bath house of a legionary fortress. Certainly the event would raise eyebrows and suspicions, don’t you think?’

  Rufinus felt irritation rise unbidden. The young emperor was playing with him. ‘With respect, Caesar, you know what I mean.’

  Again the smile slid from Commodus’ face and Rufinus worried he’d stepped too far out of line. This was exactly the sort of thing that made situations like these so unbearable. It was impossible with no experience of court life to know where to draw the line. Besides, with Commodus, he suspected the line had a tendency to move from time to time. Finally, the golden-haired man smiled.

  ‘It does a leader good to speak with the people he purports to rule, don’t you think, Rufinus? Some say I am destined for the purple through my lineage and divine origins.’ He gestured to the bronze mounted statue of Marcus Aurelius in military garb. ‘I for one am sceptical about my family’s divine origins. And don’t forget that emperors have come from families that worked hard for Rome’s benefit rather than simply descending from a ‘divine’ line: Vespasian the farmer, Nerva the senator and Trajan the soldier, to name but three. To rule Rome one does not have to have fallen from the womb of Venus. One simply needs strength of arm, strength of will and the wisdom to temper the two.’

  Despite everything, Rufinus found himself nodding. The notion that any man could be emperor if he had the simple ability to rule had been Nerva’s great new tenet for the purple and had ushered in an era of unsurpassed prosperity. There was a great deal of sense in what the man said.

  ‘What is to become of me, Caesar?’ he asked suddenly.

  Commodus pursed his lips. ‘You are to be assigned to the guard, of course. Not the cavalry, though. There is always a waiting list for the Praetorian cavalry as it’s the clear step into the imperial horse guard. I have a mind to ask that you be assigned to my escort. I have a century of Praetorians that travel with me. It is possible that you would blossom among them.’

  ‘It would be an honour, Caesar.’

  He had actually been wondering what would happen to him in terms of his masters and allegiance; his role in the great game that Commodus believed was soon to begin. The possibility of serving the young man directly, however, answered such questions to an extent.

  ‘However,’ Commodus continued, ‘that is a matter I will have to discuss with Paternus, Perennis and my father. Sometimes even an emperor must defer to others.’

  Rufinus looked up and realised they had reached the bath house already. His mind had been so centred on the conversation that he had barely noticed as they had left the headquarters and strode across the wide street.

  The young co-emperor pushed the heavy wooden door inwards and strode inside, Rufinus following along behind. The dressing room within was a welcome sight for the tired legionary. It had been long months since he had set his eyes upon the blue walls with their painted dolphins, fish and various divine beings. The niches for the clothes were half-occupied, so there would still be room in the pools. His boots steamed as he stepped onto the heated floor, the icy water that clung to the hob nails evaporating immediately.

  Though the chamber was empty, they could hear the shouts, laughs and splashes of the men in the numerous other rooms. Rufinus stopped near the entrance and waited patiently, his arms by his side in imitation of an attentive military stance. Commodus, having strode to the side of the room and located a free alcove, and already beginning to remove his military tunic and baldric, turned to him and laughed. Dropping his sword and tunic onto the stone plinth, he began to unfasten his enclosed, decorative leather boots.

  ‘A number of my friends still swear by caligae as the great military footwear. They say that the empire was forged with such sandals and what was good enough for men like Agricola should be good enough for a soldier in the modern age. Those same idiots spend their time in Rome wrapped in a toga and have no concept of the unpleasant reality of passing through snow and swamp in sandals.’

  Slipping off the boots, he carefully stood them with his clothes and whipped off his breeches, standing in only his subligaculum, bronzed and muscular.

  ‘I am even considering adopting the full-length trousers of the Celts, despite the connotations. Good Roman breeches leave too much flesh exposed in these harsh climes.’

  He glanced at Rufinus, who was still standing to attention and fully dressed, and rolled his eyes. ‘For the love of Venus, Rufinus, will you relax and disrobe. In the baths all men are equal, after all.’

  With a grin and a flourish, he let his underwear drop to the floor. ‘Almost all men, anyway!’

  Rufinus tried not to look at the naked, grinning form of Commodus as he hobbled over to the nearest free alcove and began to remove his armour and clothing. His muscles screamed at him as he stretched to reach his feet, and an overwhelming desire to sink into warm water overcame the desires to eat and sleep, both of which were starting to infect his thoughts.

  By the time he had shoved his armour and clothes into the alcove, which was not quite large enough to accommodate such bulky kit, Commodus was wrapped in a towel at the waist and held out another for him. With a nod of thanks, Rufinus took the proffered towel and wrapped it around his waist.

  ‘I have to admit that I’ve been looking forward to a shave and a haircut for a number of weeks, Caesar.’

  Commodus’ mouth turned up into a humorous sneer. ‘Only babies and women have clear faces, Rufinus. Your beard and hair are perfectly suitable. They remind me of me!’

  Rufinus swallowed nervously.
He hated beards. They were itchy and uncomfortable. They made it hard to eat broth without saving half a pint for a future day. When your hair became wet it was like wearing an extra helmet and took more than an hour to dry. And at times he was beginning to worry that things were living in his hair and beard.

  ‘I prefer to be shaved and shorn after the fashion of the old days, Caesar.’

  ‘Well the matter is moot for now, Rufinus. The barber only works the baths until sundown. You will have to remain hirsute and Godlike for at least another night. Come.’

  With a powerful stride, Commodus stepped through the door and into the cold room with its large pool in the centre and two small half-moon plunge-pools at the edge. Doors led off to the steam rooms and the hot pools, the exercise yard and the outdoor pool. Shouts and laughter echoed from every aperture.

  Two soldiers who were ducked beneath the cold water in the central pool burst through the surface, laughing at one another and looked up to see the new arrivals.

  It took only a moment for the two men to fall silent and bow their heads in deference. Rufinus frowned. If he had been them and a blond, bearded man in a towel had entered, he would never have guessed the man was the young emperor of Rome. It seemed that Commodus’ visit to the fortress baths was far from his first.

  ‘Behold! Commodus intoned in an oratorical fashion, striking a flashy pose. ‘Thus enters Hercules in all his golden glory to brighten the dull evenings of the men of the First legion!’

  Still grinning like a lunatic, the emperor swung his hips in an expert move that allowed his towel to drop to the floor without changing his heroic pose. The two legionaries cheered and Commodus took a single step and leapt into the water, flailing his arms and landing heavily with a splash.

  Rufinus watched with a mixture of awed pride in the man whom he served, and a niggling worry at what he perceived to be a changeable personality. Commodus was clearly a great man, but would likely be quick to anger.

  With a sigh, aware that he was now sliding down a career slope to an uncertain fate but also that there was no point in worrying about things over which he had no control, Rufinus also dropped his towel and walked over to the table where the oil and strigils lay. Commodus may be clean enough to jump straight in but, without a good scrape first, Rufinus would likely leave a grey slick in the water.