The Great Game (43 page)

Rufinus felt the colour rise in his cheeks and lowered his face to hide the fact.

‘Now go and prepare yourself. You’ll continue to follow assignments Vettius hands you until the captain returns with my new people, and then we will look to your new role.’

Rufinus turned his lowered gaze into a bow, then straightened and spun on his heel, striding from the room with his head high; a moment of unaccustomed pride, marred only slightly as his boot slid on the smooth marble floor and he almost pitched forward into the doors.

Recovering himself in a flurry of movement that caused chuckles from the throne area, Rufinus pushed open the door and rushed through, before his blush became noticeable. The door swung
shut behind him and he pushed it the last fraction until it closed with a click. The veteran guard who attended the door stood to one side, leaning against the wall in a relaxed fashion.

‘You alright, Marcius?’

‘Yes. Why?’

‘You’re bright red.’

Rufinus harrumphed and his shoulders sagged a little. ‘Wish I was going off duty’ he said with feeling. ‘I could use a strong drink.’

The other man grinned. ‘I’m off in fifteen. I’ll have it for you.’

‘Thanks.’

Turning away, he strode along the corridor, past the water villa, nodding to the guard patrolling there, and into the courtyard that separated the twin libraries from the palace, its colonnade reflecting the morning sun from dazzling white marble columns and painted walls, the decorative garden in the centre well-tended and perfect. Most perfect of all: it was entirely devoid of people.

Rufinus, still walking with head high and back straight, glanced this way and that and, noting his solitude, slumped against the wall and let out an explosive breath. That had been a challenge he had been neither expecting nor prepared for. He realised with a small wave of sadness that he was becoming an accomplished liar through necessity, and the fact was anathema to him.

He needed to think. Fortunately, patrolling the Pecile garden with its ornamental ponds and tree avenues would be the perfect situation to consolidate his thoughts on these latest developments. He realised that he could have passed through the circular colonnade of the water villa and headed straight for the garden, but his mind had been whirling as he’d left the room, and he’d automatically exited the way he’d originally arrived. Now he would have to stroll through the library terrace and across the slope to the beautiful garden.

The sound of footsteps echoing from the corridor out of which he had just emerged pulled him straight and he squared his shoulders to move off when he realised that these were not the hob-nailed steps of a guard, but the gentle slap of feminine sandals on an ‘opus sectile’ floor of marble and glass. The tinkle of female laughter sent a shiver down his spine.

Senova.

The breath-taking creamy face of the British slave girl, framed with elegantly waved sable hair, appeared around the door frame, her mouth turned up at the corners with a delicate smile. Next to her, the
other slave girl from the council chamber breezed along, recounting some tale of amusement, charcoal hair hanging to her shoulders, displaying the signs of recently having been tightly curled atop her head, her hazel eyes only a few shades lighter than her bronzed skin.

Trying to push a relaxed smile onto his face as he stepped away from the wall, he cleared his throat.

Both women squeaked and started away from him in surprise, Senova leaving the floor by a fraction.

‘Apologies, ladies.’

Senova narrowed her eyes as she straightened and a flash of irritation passed across them. ‘What are you doing lurking in shadows and jumping out at women? Has Phaestor stopped bringing whores in for his men?’

Rufinus felt irritation rise parallel to the ruddy colour that rushed to his cheeks and, to make matters worse, as he tried to snap out a comeback, he found his mouth was dry and all that emerged was a curious rasp.

The swarthy-skinned girl gave him an impish grin.

‘No’ he finally managed to trot out in a hoarse voice. ‘Though actually, Phaestor
has
stopped bringing in such women as a security risk.’

He realised how idiotic it sounded, harshly countering a sarcastic jest. ‘But…’ he floundered for a moment and felt the colour blush hotter on his face. With a sigh, he let his shoulders droop in defeat. ‘I was recovering. Came as a bit of a shock, all that.’

Senova nodded, an expression of calm understanding replacing the irritated smile. ‘I can believe it, given your talent for keeping secrets.’

Rufinus felt his heart start to pound faster and a cold wave brushed the hair on his arms making them stand straight. He had not seen this intoxicating, wondrous woman for weeks, or even months, barring a quick sighting across the grass, and other, more immediate events had conspired to push her from his thoughts. It was only now, standing face to face with her, that he remembered just how much she knew about him. One word from her in the council chamber could have seen him crucified within the hour.

‘Relax, Gnaeus Marcius… Rustius, is it? You’re free of such worries now.’ She winked from an angle that kept the gesture hidden from the other girl and Rufinus felt his pulse slow to a steadier pace.

‘Maybe you can walk back with us?’ the other girl asked, and something in her voice caused Rufinus to turn his gaze on her, tearing it with regret from the grey eyes of Senova. The second slave smiled sweetly, her eyes creasing in a pleasant manner.

‘Of course’ he replied evenly. ‘I have to patrol the Pecile, so I’ll drop you both off at the quarters on the way.’

‘Thank you, though I am only travelling to the entrance complex. You can drop me there before you walk on to the chambers with Senova.’

There was a hint of a knowing smile on her face and Rufinus snapped back to glance at the pale-skinned taller slave, only to see her flash a quick admonishing glance at her companion. His heart soared at that one tiny accidental admission.

‘Come on’ he said, his voice cracking slightly as they walked.

It was certainly the longest way round to the Pecile garden, but he needed the time to recover from the interview and as they strode past the barracks, Rufinus looked up at the building, wondering whether, as a newly-promoted junior officer, he would no longer be quartered there? Would Phaestor move him into the Praetorium? It was quite possible, particularly given Dis’ departure and the coming influx of new men. Or possibly he might even be moved into the palace proper, given his new role?

The security of the empress. It would have been a thing of great pride, were it not for the fact that he embodied the very thing he had been promoted to prevent; that his priority was the security of the emperor.

His wandering gaze fell upon the other slave girl as they walked, and he noted that her eyes darted out across the villa’s grounds nervously when she believed no one was looking. Curious.

Past Pompeianus’ palace they strode and Rufinus felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth at the sound of a deep, ferocious growl somewhere in the huge garden. The noise of one of the former-general’s servants admonishing it in a panicked voice completed the job and his smile widened. Circumstances had not allowed for him to keep Acheron by his side and so he’d left the giant Sarmatian hunting hound within Pompeianus’ household, at least until the wound was fully healed. He had heard rumours of several other injuries appearing among the staff as they tried to feed, contain, or simply tend to the beast.

Perhaps if he moved quarters, he would finally be in a position to make room for the dog. Curiously, he found that even in such a short time, he had grown to enjoy the company of the great black beast in the scant moments he’d managed to spend with it. Somehow, providing Acheron with a stable life and a new, caring master seemed like the honourable thing to do, given his culpability in the events that had robbed Dis and Cerberus of their lives.

His mood threatened to darken at the recollection and he was once again vowing revenge against those murdering Praetorians when the slave girl paused at the top of the steps leading into the servants’ tunnel and he almost walked into her, making her lose her footing and have to grasp the side of the entrance, flashing an angry glance.

Shrugging apologetically, he followed them into the dim tunnel.

A few moments later they emerged into the garden and the girls paused at a junction in the path, exchanging pleasantries before the bronzed slave hurried into the huge entrance vestibule to attend to her duties. Rufinus swung open the door that led to the staircase, ushered Senova through and then closed it behind her, falling into step as they descended the stairs and strode along the lengthy, dimly lit corridor toward the slave chambers and the Pecile garden above.

He rolled a series of questions over his tongue before drawing breath to ask one of them.

‘Your friend…’

‘Galla?’

Rufinus nodded. ‘She’s been at the villa a while?’

‘A little longer than you, I suppose. Vettius bought her from Diogenes the slaver on one of his trips through Tibur. Why do you ask?’

Rufinus frowned and pursed his lips. ‘Is she alright? She’s not in any trouble, is she?’

Senova stopped and Rufinus had to backtrack a few steps to fall in next to her once again. ‘Again, why do you ask?’

‘She seems nervous, but she hides it well.’

Rufinus watched the girl carefully and saw almost exactly what he was expecting as she shrugged and replied ‘I hadn’t noticed.’ Her voice protested innocence, but her eyes spoke volumes. There was a moment in every boxing match, sometimes several, when the bout could be won or lost on anticipating an opponent’s
move. Most fighters had a ‘tell’ when they were about to execute a feint, and if you didn’t know what to look for, the next thing you knew you’d be on your back with your mind swimming in black soup.

That ‘tell’ was almost always in the movement of the eyes. Senova’s had narrowed slightly and then flicked to the right for just a moment. Not a certain thing, but worth basing the possibility of a lost bout on.

‘Then you might want to keep an eye on her. I think she might be in danger somehow.’

Again, the flash of hidden understanding, covered over with a veil of innocence. ‘I will.’

They reached the bottom of the staircase that led up from the slave quarters to the Pecile garden and Rufinus opened the door open. ‘I enjoyed speaking to you again, Senova. Wish we could…’

She smiled. ‘I know. Enjoy your newfound authority.’

Rufinus watched as she turned toward the slave quarters and whatever business she had there, opening his mouth to reply but not knowing what words to use.

He watched her shapely sway until she disappeared from view into the wooden staircase assembly, and then turned back to his own duty.

Finally, clambering over the bodies of two innocent dead men, he had a foot on the ladder and could reach high enough to see over the wall of secrecy Lucilla had constructed. Extra care was now required. Nothing must slip if their sacrifice was to have had any worth.

XXI – The turning of seasons

TIME at the villa rolled on, the uncharacteristically mild late-winter giving way to a spring bursting with life. A positive attitude flourished throughout the complex, even down as far as the slaves. More attention was paid to the restoring and maintaining of the numerous gardens and even the dilapidated Canopus, whose only regular visitor in more than four decades was Pompeianus, had been returned to its former glory, the detritus of the years cleared out from the nymphaeum’s fountains and channels, the long pool cleaned and replenished, wooden arbours repaired and replanted with vines.

The guard had been bolstered with strong and loyal gladiators and Rufinus had quickly discovered, much to his relief, that the bulk of the new arrivals were good men who were happy to take on whatever duties their commanders assigned them.

Rufinus had initially revelled in the chance to run the security of the main palace area, though it had quickly become a humdrum task of assigning patrols and guards, dealing with supply of equipment, and complaints. It had also become apparent to him that, though Lucilla continued to hold her private gatherings, even close security were kept distant from all such private matters.

He had, however, taken as close an interest as possible and watched the arrivals roughly once a month, learning the names and positions of the regular visitors.

Marcus Ummidius Quadratus Annianus, generally referred to simply as Annianus. Some sort of cousin of Lucilla and Commodus, a middle-aged senator and former consul and a man who had clearly once been powerful and athletic, his body now gone to seed and his hair and beard were flecked heavily with pale grey, matching his sad eyes.

Ummia Cornificia Faustina, oft referred to with the moniker ‘Stina’ by her family. Sister of the aforementioned Annianus, she was also a cousin of Lucilla’s, a slightly-built woman in her early forties with a face battered and worn by years of troubles.

Quintianus, nephew of Pompeianus and recently arrived from Syria to take a position in the senate, was an eager young puppy who clung to Lucilla whenever the two were together as though he might drop dead if left to his own devices. In truth, Rufinus could not understand the presence of the apparently wet and weak-willed
young sycophant among these older, more world-weary and experienced people. He seemed an odd companion for any of them, particularly given his connections with the estranged and solitary Pompeianus.

Plautia, the daughter of Lucilla and her first husband - a surprise for Rufinus as he had no idea such an offspring existed. Plautia was a petulant and arrogant fourteen-year-old, almost a perfect adolescent reflection of her mother, and Rufinus had taken an instant dislike to her.

Annia Aurelia: the only sibling of Commodus and Lucilla who had emerged from the country estates in the south to rise into the public eye. Though nothing was said, Rufinus felt certain that the other children of Aurelius – there were apparently a number of them – had been warned to remain in distant obscurity and not to interfere with the business of the elder brother and sister in the capital. Annia was a graceful, ash-blonde lady whose eyes reflected both calm and wisdom, and who took the moods and unpredictability of Lucilla in her stride, dispelling inevitable anger with a knowing smile. In almost every way, she reminded Rufinus of the old emperor he had met in Vindobona and he found himself wondering whether all this subterfuge could have been avoided, had Annia been able, and selected, to inherit the purple.