S.J.A. Turney - The Great Game

‘Father,’ Commodus said placatingly, ‘you know how rare an occasion it is when my dear sister and I are in concord, but in this particular case, she is correct. Your health suffers in this environment. It is time we returned to Rome, as soon as the immediate business is over. Your legates and civil administrators can take on the task of turning this place into a province.’

The emperor turned his gaze to his son and Rufinus caught a glimpse of his face and the softening of his features.

‘It is heartening to an old man to see his children show so much care for his well-being. My decision has already been made, however. We stay here through the summer to see the matter settled and return to Rome before winter brings her chill. To abandon our fresh conquest so soon would be to invite further rebellion.’

Paternus cleared his throat meaningfully and the emperor looked up and smiled.

‘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.’