The Great Game (11 page)

On they rushed, his eyes picking out every detail, trying to keep his mind off where they were heading and what might await him there.

A small suite of rooms led off the immense garden, more or less a miniature villa within the main complex. Once again, Praetorians stood by the entrance; they nodded at him as he
approached, presumably already apprised of his presence. Somehow, despite their judiciously blank faces, they managed to convey a sense that they looked down on him. In some circumstances it would have been very disconcerting; in the
current
situation there were far more important things to think about.

The large chamber into which they strode was decorative and pleasant, gleaming white and gold marble underfoot accentuating the crimson-painted walls. Chairs and cabinets stood around the edge and a gurgling fountain complete with leaping dolphins and well-endowed Gods occupied the centre. Three doors led off into the more private areas, each with its complement of guardsmen. Today, the Praetorians were ever-present, leading him to wonder yet again where he was expected to be.

He’d hoped to find Paternus here, waiting to give him some sort of instruction, but was a little dismayed to find the room empty apart from the guards. The slave bowed to him and retreated from the room, leaving Rufinus once more alone and confused, unsure as to why he was here, other than the fact that the entire complement of the First Praetorian cohort, to which he would become attached, appeared to be on duty at the imperial residence.

Almost as if his thoughts summoned the man, a door opened to the right hand side and Perennis, the tribune of this cohort strode out.

‘Guardsman Rufinus, good.’

Defying his words, the tribune’s face suggested that the young man’s presence was anything
but
good.

‘Sir!’ Rufinus snapped to attention, silver spear at his side.

‘There’s a small bath house at the far end of the gardens. Get back there and get yourself suitably attired. Those red breeches are hardly appropriate for a member of my cohort. And find somewhere to secure that spear. This is the imperial household. We don’t carry unsheathed weapons, no matter what they’re made of!’

Rufinus saluted, irritation beginning to mount. Why was he even here? Should he not be standing by one of the doors with a sour expression like the rest of the cohort?

Perennis had turned his back and was marching towards a door when it swung open ahead of him. Rufinus, already half-turned on his heel to head for the baths, stopped in his tracks.

Commodus was drained and pale. Gone was his sprightly mischievousness, his boundless enthusiasm. His hand was clenched around something so tightly that the entire fist had gone white.

Perennis stopped dead. Behind Commodus came Paternus and a man in a white medicus’ robe, shaking his head sadly.

‘My father rises to sit with the Gods’ the young emperor announced, his voice cracking with emotion. His fist opened to reveal the emperor’s signet ring, lines and grooves dug into his palm from where he’d been gripping it too tightly.

Rufinus lowered his eyes to the floor. Though he’d known it was coming this past half hour, the news still hit him like a physical blow.

Perennis, his face dark yet missing its usual bitterness, straightened and came to a smart salute, facing Commodus.

‘Hail, Caesar, my emperor.’

Commodus barely met his gaze, but simply nodded as though the tribune had been announcing nothing of more import than grain prices. Walking slowly across the room with a slight wobble, he collapsed into one of the decorative chairs at the periphery and dropped his face into his hands.

Rufinus wondered whether this would be a good moment to slip from the room as he had been ordered. It felt wholly inappropriate for him to be here in this very private moment of grief. Still, another six guardsmen stood in the room, flanking the doors; he was hardly alone in his discomfort.

‘How
dare
you!’

Every face turned to the open doorway in surprise. Lucilla was livid, her face a mask of fury, almost purple in colour beneath the thin layer of white lead. Her hand, pointing at Commodus, was shaking. Close behind her, her husband trailed, having the grace to look sheepish and embarrassed.

Commodus raised his face from his hands, red-rimmed eyes dark.

‘What?’

‘Father slips away into the abyss and you have the gall to stride out of the room and proclaim yourself to the purple, just because father let you share with him for a few years! You presume too much, little brother.’

The young emperor seemed to be genuinely baffled, the confusion cutting through his grief and making him sit up straight.

‘The succession is clear, Lucilla. Father has been grooming me for years for this day. But I have claimed nothing yet. Today is not the time for such announcements. Today is a time to grieve!’

‘You snivelling wreck. Look at you! All gone to pieces because father isn’t here to hold your hand any more. The empire can hardly function with a blubbering mess at its head.’

Rufinus drew in a sharp breath as he saw the sudden cold anger pass across Commodus’ eyes.

‘Have a care, sister. Grieve for father as you should.’

‘There is no time for grief, you idiot. Rome cannot be without an emperor, even for a day. You should continue your role
as it is
, while I step in to replace father, as was intended when I was married to my beloved Verus.

Her second husband barely blinked at this insult. Clearly her low opinion of him was hardly news. He simply looked tired and uncomfortable, much how Rufinus felt and, for the first time, he started to feel a little sorry for the Syrian.

Commodus rose from his seat and crossed the room to stand before his sister. They were of a height and curiously similar when seen so close. Rufinus had the sudden epiphany that there had been many battles of wits between these two over the years and that they were roughly equally matched in both intelligence and will, though the elder sister appeared to have become detached from her emotions; something Commodus seemed unable to do.

‘You think to take the purple with me? To guide me as that benighted bitch Agrippina guided Nero? As wicked Cleopatra steered Antonius to his doom? I think not, sister. Your claim to power died with that alcoholic lunatic, Verus. The succession is clear, and I will not sully this day with further argument.’

Lucilla’s eyes blazed and she stepped forward, her mouth opening, spittle at the corners, ready for a fresh tirade. Commodus turned and, seeing the look in his eye, Rufinus lowered his gaze urgently.

‘Perennis’ the young emperor said quietly and calmly, ‘draw your sword and, if my sister utters a single syllable, you will give her cause to regret it. Clear?’

Without comment or pause, Perennis took two steps toward the furious woman and drew his gladius with a bone-chilling rasp. Rufinus risked a quick glance. The tribune’s face was emotionless. He was clearly both quite capable and willing to carry out his
master’s orders without a second thought, regardless of the earthshaking consequences.

The world hung in the balance for one heartbeat and another as a chill pervaded the room.

‘Caesar?’

Paternus stepped between Perennis’ gleaming blade and the furious Lucilla. ‘Caesar, this is not the way to honour your father’s so-fresh memory. There will be many challenges to meet, but not today.’

Commodus continued to glare at his sister for a long moment and finally turned his head to the Praetorian prefect. With visible effort, he calmed, his shoulders sagging.

‘You are right, of course. Perennis, sheath the blade.’

Lucilla was shaking with rage, but silent.

‘There will be much to do, but not yet. We must attend to father for a time, while good Paternus makes the arrangements for the funeral. At the fourth watch I will make the appropriate announcements in the forum. We will hold the funeral tomorrow morning, on the parade ground.’

He flashed a glance at his sister before turning back to the two Praetorian officers.

After which, Lucilla will be returning to Rome along with father’s ashes to see them safely interred, while I tie up the matters in Vindobona with the aid of father’s close advisors.’

Once more, Lucilla’s mouth opened but a warning hand went up from Commodus and Perennis’ fist gripped his sword hilt and drew it out just a couple of finger-widths, enough to make a horrible metallic slithering sound. Silently, she glowered at her brother.

‘Paternus,’ he continued, ‘you will take most of the guard with you and escort her back to Rome. There will likely be troubles and a great deal to do and it will take your knowledge of my father’s business and all your legendary tact and diplomacy to see it done. I am relying on you to prepare Rome for our return. Perennis, I’m granting you the powers of Praetorian Prefect, alongside Paternus. You will remain in Vindobona with me and the First cohort until we are ready to return to the city.’

Rufinus felt his heart skip a beat. He was to stay in Vindobona for a time yet, in Commodus’ personal guard. It would be a great honour - tempered, however, by having Perennis as his direct commander for the duration.

Lucilla turned and stormed away through one of the other doors, the guard by the side rushing to open it for her. Her husband hurried away behind her, giving the room a last apologetic look. Commodus stood still as a statue for a long moment, taking deep, ragged breaths. At least his anger had returned some colour to his pallid, grief-drained cheeks.

Paternus and Perennis shared a look and Rufinus realised just what had happened there. The prefect, the former emperor’s most trusted man, had just had half his power ripped away and passed to his underling. Somehow, through a superhuman effort, Paternus managed to maintain his steady, reasonable expression as he bowed and moved out into the garden.

Commodus watched him go and gestured wearily at Perennis.

‘Make arrangements for a public announcement in the forum at the fourth watch. I’ll want the First cohort in dress uniform with me, so have everyone scrubbed up well.’

As Perennis nodded and strode out into the large garden, the emperor turned to the medicus who seemed to have been ignored throughout the confrontation and who stood by the door to the emperor’s resting place, his face ashen and embarrassed.

‘Do what you must with my father to prepare him and then have the city’s chief priests sent here. I’ve not studied the matter, but I’m sure the priests will have to do something before father can take his place with the Gods.’

The medicus, grateful for the opportunity to flee this uncomfortable room, bowed and retreated through the door, closing it as he went.

Commodus stood still for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut.

‘Jove, drive this damned headache away’ he muttered and opened his eyes, apparently surprised to see the mismatched red and white guardsman standing in the centre of the room with a gleaming silver spear.

‘Rufinus?’ he said quietly. ‘I quite forgot that I’d sent for you, though for the life of me I can no longer remember why. My sister’s machinations seem to have driven every useful thought from my mind.’

Rufinus took a deep breath and looked up, wondering whether it was a terrible breech of etiquette to meet the emperor’s gaze. Commodus had a strange sad smile on his face.

‘See to what horrors I have introduced you by dragging you into the guard? I told you that night on the way to the baths that camps were forming and that I had to be sure of where the loyalties of my men lie. What say you of loyalty, hero of the Quadi wars?’

Rufinus frowned. Somehow the dry throat and inability to speak that he’d felt that other night were no longer affecting him. He sighed.

‘I am your man, Caesar.’

Commodus gave a sad little laugh and nodded.

‘This is good. I will have need of such men in the coming months and years. Now get yourself back to barracks, get changed and requisition whatever you need. You will be needed in the forum this afternoon. And bring the ‘trinkets’ too. Anything that helps put a positive note on this afternoon’s tidings is a good idea.’

Rufinus saluted and turned to leave, casting a last glance at the young emperor.

He was capricious and mischievous, flighty and changeable, but he was also intelligent, witty, thoughtful and, apparently, kind. What an emperor he could make.

Despite everything the day had brought, Rufinus couldn’t help but smile as he strode out into the newly-falling flakes of snow in the precious garden.

Quickly, aware of the press of time, he stepped around the doorway and hurried along the garden, a fresh dusting of white sprinkling his shoulders, and ducked back inside, following the reverse of the route that had brought him here. The corridor filled with the busts was blocked with people and an argument seemed to be in full flow.

Squinting into the gloom of the corridor after the bright white of the beautiful garden, he tried to pick out the details of the small crowd.

The figure of Paternus was clear enough, his hands resting on his hips in a pose of defiance. Two guardsmen, clad in white, stood at his shoulders, blocking the passageway. Beyond was a crowd of half a dozen men in tunics and togas. Rufinus paused and concentrated on the raised voices.

‘Go back to your quarters and wait. The emperor will send for you when he needs you.’

A tumult of voices greeted Paternus’ statement.

‘So Aurelius is truly gone?’

‘I need to see him!’

‘Commodus will require my counsel desperately!’

‘Let us past!’

‘QUIET!’ bellowed Paternus, the noise ceasing immediately at the steel in his voice. ‘Announcements will be made in due course. None of you, no matter how important, has any business with the imperial family until they request it! Go to your quarters before I have you forcibly ejected!’

Sounds of indignation and clearing of throats filled the corridor.

‘GO!’

Half the group were already disappearing down the corridor, their sandals slapping on the marble, before the two guards behind Paternus put their hands meaningfully on their sword hilts, a move that sent the rest scurrying away.