S.J.A. Turney - The Great Game

Perennis rolled his eyes at this smooth claim to success by his counterpart at the expense of Rufinus’ reputation.

Commodus frowned. ‘I know this man from somewhere.’

‘Guardsman Rustius Rufinus, your majesty’ Paternus said, slickly. ‘You may remember I raised him from the legions in Marcomannia.’

‘Because he saved your life’ retorted Perennis with a sneer. A quick glance from Commodus at the two prefects made them cast their eyes down respectfully.

‘I remember him, yes. And his silver spear. It would appear that your man truly does have the stuff of a Praetorian. Saving lives seems to be habit-forming.’ He straightened and took a deep breath, eyes flicking to the wounded assailant. Lips pursed, he strode forward, crouching halfway to collect the blade that had so recently been levelled at his own chest.

‘A legionary sword,’ he said, conversationally, turning the weapon over in his hand. ‘Functional and plain. One has to wonder how such a martial weapon would find its way into the hand of a young senator of Rome with only a year’s experience as a tribune. Surely a weapon meant for the heart of an emperor should be grander, somehow?’

The young man winced as the two soldiers holding him pulled him up straighter. ‘The blade is symbolic. It represents the empire you’re ruining.’

Commodus nodded slowly as he turned the blade over once more and then jabbed out with it, driving it into the young assassin’s sternum, pushing with a good deal of force until the bone shattered and the sword plunged deep into the chest to find his heart and impale it. The young man’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in a soundless ‘O’.

With a curious look as though figuring out how it worked, Commodus twisted the blade first left and then right, and then released his grip, leaving the hilt protruding from the chest.

‘It would appear that justice has been served.’

He turned to the Praetorian prefects, both of whom wore carefully blank expressions. ‘Paternus: have all the known conspirators rounded up and taken into custody. My sister and extended relations are to be taken to the carcer prison while I decide what’s to be done with them. The rest: the mercenaries and the rabble, deal with as you see fit.’

As Paternus saluted, a grim smile of satisfaction on his face, and turned to carry out his orders, Commodus gestured for the two attendant guardsmen to take the assassin’s body away, then turned to the other prefect and the three blood-spattered soldiers.

‘Perennis: The games must go on. I have promised the people, and a delay cannot be countenanced. As soon as Paternus has the conspirators and their men out of here, open up the corridors to the people again, then come and find me in the imperial box. There will be a seat there for you.’

The prefect bowed as Commodus raised an eyebrow at the three combatants.

‘As for you men, you’re a mess and a brutal reminder to anyone who sees you of what almost happened here. Go back outside to my carriage and get out of sight. Tell them to take you back to the Castra Praetoria and get yourselves seen by a medicus and cleaned up. I shall want to see you all tonight, after the last showing. If you’re adequately cleaned up by this afternoon, I urge you to come back to the amphitheatre. I have arranged some spectacular pairings.’

With a wave of dismissal, the golden haired emperor turned and strode off into the tunnels.

Mercator and Icarion shared a grin. ‘A bath, then a cup of wine, then an afternoon at the games? Don’t know about you, but that sounds fine to me.’

Changing his grip, Mercator slung the limp form of Rufinus over his shoulder, raising an unconscious groan from the young soldier.

‘I’ll take that as agreement.’

Rufinus sagged. ‘It’s going to take me months to get fit after all this.’

The chief medicus of the Castra Praetoria smiled benignly. ‘That’s some of my best work. You’ll be on light duties within a week and full training in three according to my schedule. The wounds may hurt like Hades’ fork, but they’re all small and fast-healing. The man who initially patched you up did a damn good job. Pity you had to then open it all up again, but you’ll just have a few scars and burn marks to show for it in a month or so.’

Rufinus nodded. Given what he’d been through, it was a better result than he could have hoped. It had been a day and a half since the event that had shaken Rome: the first attempt on an emperor’s life since the days of Domitianus a century ago. Mercator and Icarion had apparently escorted him back to the camp as intended but, while their wounds were dealt with in moments and an hour later they were bathed and ready to return to the games, Rufinus had not surfaced from his drug-induced slumber until dark had fallen.

His apologies had been made to the emperor while Mercator and Icarion had been presented and praised appropriately, if briefly, the emperor extremely weary following the day’s drastic events.

The medicus had worked on Rufinus’ wounds that evening and had checked and rebound them the next morning, nodding with appreciation of his own work. Now, as the sun slid cold and watery toward the western horizon, the man had given him another once-over, cleaning and replacing every wrap.

‘You’ll have to come back every two days for the next week for a change of dressings, then once a week after that for a check and change, until I decide bandages are no longer required. Other than that, I presume your time is your own. I have certainly confirmed with the prefects that you are to be excused all duties this week, but I see no reason to keep you cooped up in the ward during that time.’

‘Thank you.’

With just a sharp breath to tell how the wounds were still pinching and pulling, Rufinus slid off the bench and onto his feet, retrieving the cloak from the desk and fastening it about his shoulders.

‘Don’t forget’ the medicus said, wagging a finger at him ‘the day after tomorrow.’

‘I won’t.’

With a nod of thanks he turned and strode from the room, along the access corridor and out of the hospital block into the chilly air. The weather had remained dry but the temperature had dropped again, and the numerous armoured Praetorians bustling around the fortress did so wrapped in wool cloaks, socks protruding from their boots. Mercator and Icarion lounged outside, blowing on their hands, and looked up as their friend emerged.

‘I thought you two were still on duty?’

Mercator nodded with a smile. ‘Interesting duty, though. You’re overdue a meeting with the emperor, and he still wants to see you. Perennis sent us to get you half an hour ago.’

Rufinus shivered in the cold and pulled the cloak about him. ‘I’m sure it’s a great honour, but I’d really rather just collapse into my bunk with a mug of unwatered wine and a soft cushion. Besides, Acheron is waiting for his evening feed.’

Icarion punched him playfully on the upper arm and immediately regretted the act as Rufinus winced and drew a sharp breath.

‘Sorry.’

‘It’s alright. Actually the thing I want to do most of all is talk to Pompeianus. Any idea where he is? He hasn’t gone back to the villa at Tibur, has he?’

The two veterans frowned at one another. ‘The emperor’s brother-in-law? What would you want with him?’

‘He’s… he’s a friend’ Rufinus said, lamely.

‘Well you’re in luck. He’s staying at the palace as a guest of the emperor. I suppose it’s until he decides what to do next. It’s not like he’ll be following Lucilla, after all.’

Rufinus stopped and furrowed his brow. ‘Following her where?’

Mercator laughed. ‘Of course, you’ve been a bit out of things today. The emperor announced his decisions this afternoon. The whole of Rome is talking about it.’