S.J.A. Turney - The Great Game

Suddenly all the sternness and steel was gone and the young co-emperor was smiling again. ‘Very astute, Rufinus. But the game has not yet begun and the players are busy assembling their pieces. My father’s health declines at an ever-increasing rate and the auguries are not good. By all rights there should be no issue when the old charmer rises to join his illustrious forebears. I am already his co-emperor and the succession to my sole rule is clear. However, camps are forming, as they inevitably will.’

He quickly glanced over his shoulder. Lucilla and her companions had gone. With a sigh, he turned and gestured for Rufinus to follow.

‘Sadly, there will be trouble. I expect difficulties from a number of sources when the day comes, though I hope the Praetorians will remain secure. Paternus is as loyal as any man to my father and I hope that his loyalty will continue on seamlessly with me, but I am not so naive as to assume it.’ He shook his head. ‘Such gloomy thoughts are for other times. Tonight should be a night for celebration. This seemingly-eternal war is finally over and we will soon return to civilization. We have heroes to honour and wounds to lick. Come. Let us to the baths.’

As the pair walked on, Rufinus became aware that Commodus was watching him out of the corner of his eye.

‘Caesar?’

The man laughed. ‘You really killed five of them on your own?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Perhaps you are wasted even in the Guard. I should perhaps have you a slave that I could watch in the arena.’

Rufinus’ heart tightened and he tried to speak, though all that emerged was a slight strangled noise. The young emperor laughed. ‘Fear not. I mean you no ill, Rufinus, though I am an aficionado of the games, and I would love to see you fight.’

Somehow, he found his voice somewhere deep inside again. ‘I box for my century, Caesar. Such fights are less… fatal, but skill is skill.’

‘Indeed. I shall have to watch you fight. I do not believe the Praetorians involve themselves in such activities, though perhaps it is time they did.’

The two men walked out into the courtyard of the headquarters and, on the threshold of the basilica’s grand entrance, Rufinus caught just an echo of the slave-girl’s heady fragrance. Not strong, but enough to make his head feel light.

It was almost surreal. Two days ago he was a duplicarius legionary in the Tenth Gemina, standing in the shield wall and watching half the population of the barbarian steppe run at them, roaring defiance and hatred. He had flinched at being addressed directly by a centurion and told to raise his shield in line. Now here he was in the crisp early evening air with the clear sky denying the threat of fresh snow that everyone expected, striding across the courtyard at the power centre of the Danubian front alongside Commodus himself, golden son of the emperor and co-ruler of Rome. Each time he remembered who it was that walked beside him, he felt a little jolt of fear and had to glance across at the man to reassure himself he was truly awake.

Commodus had clearly noticed and understood. ‘This makes you uncomfortable?’

For the first time this evening, Rufinus’ voice presented itself correctly for the reply without hiding behind croaks and groans and he was extremely grateful. ‘I fear it is inappropriate, Caesar?’

‘Inappropriate?’

‘You should travel with your family, sire, with an escort of the guard. With…’ he suddenly connected the beautiful woman on the extra couch; ‘with your wife, Caesar.’

Commodus threw back his head and let out a genuine laugh. ‘I am not entirely sure Bruttia should attend the bath house of a legionary fortress. Certainly the event would raise eyebrows and suspicions, don’t you think?’

Rufinus felt irritation rise unbidden. The young emperor was playing with him. ‘With respect, Caesar, you know what I mean.’

Again the smile slid from Commodus’ face and Rufinus worried he’d stepped too far out of line. This was exactly the sort of thing that made situations like these so unbearable. It was impossible with no experience of court life to know where to draw the line. Besides, with Commodus, he suspected the line had a tendency to move from time to time. Finally, the golden-haired man smiled.

‘It does a leader good to speak with the people he purports to rule, don’t you think, Rufinus? Some say I am destined for the purple through my lineage and divine origins.’ He gestured to the bronze mounted statue of Marcus Aurelius in military garb. ‘I for one am sceptical about my family’s divine origins. And don’t forget that emperors have come from families that worked hard for Rome’s benefit rather than simply descending from a ‘divine’ line: Vespasian the farmer, Nerva the senator and Trajan the soldier, to name but three. To rule Rome one does not have to have fallen from the womb of Venus. One simply needs strength of arm, strength of will and the wisdom to temper the two.’

Despite everything, Rufinus found himself nodding. The notion that any man could be emperor if he had the simple ability to rule had been Nerva’s great new tenet for the purple and had ushered in an era of unsurpassed prosperity. There was a great deal of sense in what the man said.

‘What is to become of me, Caesar?’ he asked suddenly.

Commodus pursed his lips. ‘You are to be assigned to the guard, of course. Not the cavalry, though. There is always a waiting list for the Praetorian cavalry as it’s the clear step into the imperial horse guard. I have a mind to ask that you be assigned to my escort. I have a century of Praetorians that travel with me. It is possible that you would blossom among them.’

‘It would be an honour, Caesar.’

He had actually been wondering what would happen to him in terms of his masters and allegiance; his role in the great game that Commodus believed was soon to begin. The possibility of serving the young man directly, however, answered such questions to an extent.

‘However,’ Commodus continued, ‘that is a matter I will have to discuss with Paternus, Perennis and my father. Sometimes even an emperor must defer to others.’

Rufinus looked up and realised they had reached the bath house already. His mind had been so centred on the conversation that he had barely noticed as they had left the headquarters and strode across the wide street.

The young co-emperor pushed the heavy wooden door inwards and strode inside, Rufinus following along behind. The dressing room within was a welcome sight for the tired legionary. It had been long months since he had set his eyes upon the blue walls with their painted dolphins, fish and various divine beings. The niches for the clothes were half-occupied, so there would still be room in the pools. His boots steamed as he stepped onto the heated floor, the icy water that clung to the hob nails evaporating immediately.

Though the chamber was empty, they could hear the shouts, laughs and splashes of the men in the numerous other rooms. Rufinus stopped near the entrance and waited patiently, his arms by his side in imitation of an attentive military stance. Commodus, having strode to the side of the room and located a free alcove, and already beginning to remove his military tunic and baldric, turned to him and laughed. Dropping his sword and tunic onto the stone plinth, he began to unfasten his enclosed, decorative leather boots.

‘A number of my friends still swear by caligae as the great military footwear. They say that the empire was forged with such sandals and what was good enough for men like Agricola should be good enough for a soldier in the modern age. Those same idiots spend their time in Rome wrapped in a toga and have no concept of the unpleasant reality of passing through snow and swamp in sandals.’