The Great Game (59 page)

Rufinus swallowed nervously as he entered. He had nothing to profess but the truth, and no intention of falsity but, regardless, a vow on the altar of Apollo was no small matter. The weight of a God pressed down upon him, making him feel small, crushed beneath the power of this place. Commodus, conversely, seemed taller and all the more impressive here.

Curious.

All doubt and fear evaporated from Rufinus as his eyes fell upon the face of Paternus. Back on the frontier, they had called the
prefect ‘The Vulture’ and the epithet had never suited him more than it did now. His drawn, pale features and pointed face were stark against the dark of his cloak and his decorative leather armour. One glance at his face was enough.

Rufinus felt the man’s stare stab into him and rake his soul. The look conveyed distrust, anger, disgust and hate. It was suddenly clear that Paternus had crossed the line so many times that he was nought but a shadow of Aurelius’ Praetorian Prefect and close friend.

Good.

Despite everything that had happened, now that it had come to levelling accusations at the man who had raised him from the rank and file, he had wavered. As he had entered this great temple, he’d begun to wonder if the man deserved a second chance.

But he’d
had
that second chance.

First Dis, and then Saoterus.

Commodus gestured to the altar. ‘Make your statement.’

Rufinus took a deep breath and strode across to the altar with a steady gait. He ignored the malicious glare of the older prefect and refused to meet his gaze. With a clear and expressive motion, he slapped his hand down on the cold marble of the altar.

‘In the sight of Apollo Palatinus, diviner of truth, lord of the sun, of healing, and of light, I give my word that I reported the presence of master Saoterus at the palace of the lady Lucilla as a side matter, clearly stating my opinion that he was there on official business and not in any way in a conspiratorial manner. I have not at any time listed him among the conspirators I identified in my time there.’

Paternus exploded in a flurry of motion and angry grumbling, hurrying across and slapping his own hand on the altar. ‘Lying peasant! Apollo should burn you down where you stand. I have never involved myself in the death of an innocent man, and I deny these accusations.’

Prefect Perennis had hurried across in his counterpart’s wake and now stood a few paces behind him. Commodus waited in the centre of the temple, his expression unreadable, while the priest tried to blend in with the rear wall’s decoration.

Rufinus smiled and Paternus jerked as if struck, taken aback by the feral fury in that grin.

‘I would also state in the sight of Apollo Palatinus, diviner of truth, lord of the sun, that it is my solemn belief that prefect Paternus
is the man who ordered six Praetorian cavalrymen, who I can later identify if required, to murder in cold blood a member of your majesty’s Frumentarii who was working undercover at the same villa, purely to keep him out of my way.’

He looked across at the emperor and then back to Paternus, whose face had paled to the same colour as the marble columns behind him.

‘A Frumentarius?’

Rufinus nodded. ‘Yes, majesty. I know not his real name, but he went by the name of Dis at the villa. He had saved both my cover and my life prior to his offhand execution.’

Commodus’ face had taken on a dark look and Rufinus could see the danger rising, grateful that, for the first time in so many months, the peril was not his.

Paternus made a spluttering sound, apparently unable to find adequate words for what he was trying to say. He turned to the emperor, but flinched at Commodus’ face as the man gave a single nod. The pale prefect frowned in confusion and realised too late that the nod had not been meant for him.

Perennis’ blade appeared through Paternus’ chest, punching through the decorative leather breastplate with remarkable ease, the crimson tip pointing up at Rufinus’ face. Paternus’ eyes went wide.

The younger of the two Praetorian prefects leaned in close to his victim’s ear. ‘It’s an offence to the Gods to lie in their presence, friend Paternus.’

Paternus gasped and reached up to the tip of the blade protruding from his chest, touching the point in apparent confusion. Rufinus stepped towards him.

‘A nobler death than you gave the Frumentarius, sir.’

The blade suddenly swivelled from vertical, through horizontal and back to vertical, shredding the black heart through which it passed. Paternus’ mouth opened in a pleading look, but all that emerged was a long stream of dark blood that ran down his chin and neck, spattering his breastplate.

Rufinus leaned close and watched the life pass from his eyes, his spirit departing the broken shell on the other prefect’s sword. He shivered slightly at the memory of his brother’s last look: that desperate, sorrowful gaze that had suddenly blanked and cleared as body and spirit became separated.

A spell had been broken.

And in the presence of his commander, and the emperor of Rome, and Apollo Palatinus, the lord of healing and light, Rufinus wept.

Epilogue

‘Ah….’

Pompeianus leaned back on the dark red cushion of the couch and sipped from his wine, pondering for moment before adding more water. ‘It would appear that everything has worked out remarkably well, except for poor Saoterus, of course.’

Rufinus nodded sadly as he sat on the less comfortable wooden chair. Lounging in the manner of his host would probably reopen a number of his gradually healing wounds. Besides, lying on something blood red somehow didn’t appeal this evening.

‘I have to say that, despite everything, and despite the conversations we’ve shared in the past, I have high hopes for Commodus,’ Rufinus said, reaching for his own glass and taking a small sip. It was becoming apparent that wine did not agree with the painkiller the Praetorian medicus had prescribed, so he was indulging in only a small quantity. He desperately felt like drinking himself into insensibility despite the danger.

‘How long will your wife remain in exile, and what will you do?’

Pompeianus shrugged. ‘She will not be in exile for long. The gesture was a magnanimous one for the look of the thing. She and her co-conspirators will be dead soon enough, I’m sure. It will be quiet and private and entirely escape the notice of the public. And then I will be freed of any entanglements. Perhaps the emperor has plans.’

‘Perhaps he will keep you here as an advisor?’

‘No. Not after this. I may have to disappear from Rome entirely for a while. My name is too closely linked with the plot, and many will seek my fall.’ He smiled. ‘Fear not though, young Rufinus. I have many country villas of my own, a son whom I can train and guide, and more pieces yet on the great board. My game is far from over; indeed it may only just be beginning.’

The door opened and a slave bustled across the room, refilling the wine jug. Rufinus paid little attention, pondering the sad truth of his host’s words.

‘Besides,’ Pompeianus went on, ‘I live in hope that my young friend, the guardsman Rufinus, will visit me regularly to keep me informed and entertained. I have wide swathes of land on which you
can exercise that dog of yours. And perhaps other pursuits?’ Pompeianus laughed.

He grinned and winked, gesturing toward the wine jug that had just been refilled. Rufinus turned with a frown, just in time to see a very familiar face closing the door next to it.

‘Senova? But how?’

Pompeianus took another swig of wine and grinned again. ‘My brother-in-law sent only the dourest, least helpful and pleasant slaves with my wife. She is, I fear, in for a poor life in the short time she has left. While I, it appears, have inherited the best of her estate.’

For the first time that day, Rufinus smiled with genuine pleasure. ‘Then it really does appear that things have worked out well.’

Pompeianus narrowed his eyes and shook his head with a sly smile. ‘Do not relax yourself, my friend. The game has been complicated and tough, and you won it with courage and style, but you know as well as I that it doesn’t end there. There are always more games to be played; always more opponents to face.’

Rufinus sighed and leaned back.

There
would
be other games
and
other opponents.

But not today.

He drained the wine glass and reached to refill it. Maybe he’d just risk insensibility after all.

END

Author’s note

This book has been a long time in the works. It began a number of years ago as a very different project that sadly became untenable, and in the end was committed to ‘File 13’. For some time I was cast adrift, unsure what to do. Then, from the ashes of that project a new idea rose. I had been browsing my research books (as I do from time to time for relaxation) and ran through the complete list of western emperors, picking out the ones that I would like to write about. I have long had the urge to try and tackle some of the most famous or infamous ones but from a new angle. Perhaps one could try and write Gaius Caligula as a good guy, all the tales of his madness and wickedness twisted from truth and cooked up after his death. Or possibly Domitian who, while he fell foul of the Senatorial class and died for it, remained popular with the people and the army to the end. But my gaze fell upon Commodus.

Now, he’s an interesting figure, isn’t he? He’s easy to vilify. The things he’s noted to have done place him truly in the same ‘madmen with ultimate power’ category as Nero. But how people actually reach that situation is interesting, too. Nero was too young to handle ultimate power, and the result was catastrophe. But Commodus was not so young and had been groomed for the position. Given the fact that this infamous character was clearly so influenced by certain sections of his court – especially a sequence of disastrous Praetorian Prefects – it seems reasonable to lay a hefty proportion of the blame for his decline at their feet.

So… to write about Commodus, without falling into the villainous mould of
Christopher Plummer
or
Joaquin Phoenix
and being influenced by
Fall of the Roman Empire
or
Gladiator
… And if I was not going to vilify Commodus, then that raised the question of his various relationships, particularly with his sister, portrayed so sympathetically in movies as an ousted heroine, struggling with her evil brother. A sister who in reality considered herself too good for her lesser-ranking husband, felt cheated out of power, and even formed a conspiracy to murder her sibling.

And
there
was my plot. It was in fact
her
plot. Lucilla’s attempt to remove Commodus in only the second year of his reign has been conveniently glossed over by the big movies, and yet felt to me a story worthy of telling. It so nearly succeeded, and was stopped by one of Commodus’ guards. Wouldn’t it be something to tell
his
story?

And so the idea of Rufinus was born.

In choosing my character I found an interesting candidate. Gnaeus Marcius Rustius Rufinus is only noted from history in two inscriptions (one rather fragmentary), and other than that his entire family seem to be a complete mystery, their name never arising elsewhere. This is interesting, given the apparent social class he belonged to and the fact that he clearly achieved a number of high positions in the Empire in his career. So I had an intriguing and fresh plot to tackle and a blank canvas of a character to paint, with a very convoluted but fascinating career path to integrate.

The beginning of this tale is set against the great Marcommanic Wars of Marcus Aurelius so well-known from the opening scenes of Gladiator. And for those familiar with the common view of events, among the other new angles I have had the opportunity to take was
not
having Marcus Aurelius assassinated, as is generally the assumption. Although such a prospect is not beyond belief, there is no direct evidence to support the theory that Commodus murdered his father, just accusation and circumstance. And so in this tale, the great emperor dies of an old wound.

The fact that the last decisive Roman victory of these wars was won under the generalship of the Praetorian Prefect Paternus gave me the chance to introduce my new character to the Praetorians. And there I had the chance for another new angle, for throughout history the Praetorian Guard has repeatedly been vilified and made an object of suspicion. And yet despite being a sought-after military service with great benefits, close to the corridors of power, there must have been many soldiers who took their duty as imperial guards very seriously, even their highest officers. Similarly, the frumentarii, who seem to have become a shadowy, untrustworthy group over the years, must have had decent men among them.

The opportunity to tell a great tale, build a new, fascinating character and turn many commonly-portrayed situations on their head was too good to miss. The idea had formed of something of a
secret service
caper in the service of the emperor. Now to throw in a cool dog too…

Many of the characters in this tale are historically real, including the rather fascinating Pompeianus and the Praetorian Prefects, and with only minor adjustments, all locations are also real. I cannot recommend highly enough a visit to the Villa Hadriana at Tivoli, where much of this story is set. As a complex, it is something of a match for Pompeii, the forum of Rome, or the ancient town of Ostia. Parts of the complex, such as the slave tunnels and the
northern theatre, are not open to the public, but are preserved regardless. And, of course, the colosseum in Rome is a must-see. The settling tank in the aqueduct that is the setting for my favourite scene in this book is not now extant, having disappeared long ago, but sections of the aqueduct are visible atop Monte Celio, close to the church of Santo Stefano Rotondo, which sits atop the Castra Peregrina of the frumentarii. The Praetorian fortress is gone – destroyed by Constantine after the Guard were disbanded – but its walls remain intact on three sides, in an area still named
Castro Pretorio
, north of Termini station. And, of course, the Palatine remains are breath-taking.