S.J.A. Turney - The Great Game

Perennis had turned his back and was marching towards a door when it swung open ahead of him. Rufinus, already half-turned on his heel to head for the baths, stopped in his tracks.

Commodus was drained and pale. Gone was his sprightly mischievousness, his boundless enthusiasm. His hand was clenched around something so tightly that the entire fist had gone white.

Perennis stopped dead. Behind Commodus came Paternus and a man in a white medicus’ robe, shaking his head sadly.

‘My father rises to sit with the Gods’ the young emperor announced, his voice cracking with emotion. His fist opened to reveal the emperor’s signet ring, lines and grooves dug into his palm from where he’d been gripping it too tightly.

Rufinus lowered his eyes to the floor. Though he’d known it was coming this past half hour, the news still hit him like a physical blow.

Perennis, his face dark yet missing its usual bitterness, straightened and came to a smart salute, facing Commodus.

‘Hail, Caesar, my emperor.’

Commodus barely met his gaze, but simply nodded as though the tribune had been announcing nothing of more import than grain prices. Walking slowly across the room with a slight wobble, he collapsed into one of the decorative chairs at the periphery and dropped his face into his hands.

Rufinus wondered whether this would be a good moment to slip from the room as he had been ordered. It felt wholly inappropriate for him to be here in this very private moment of grief. Still, another six guardsmen stood in the room, flanking the doors; he was hardly alone in his discomfort.

‘How dare you!’

Every face turned to the open doorway in surprise. Lucilla was livid, her face a mask of fury, almost purple in colour beneath the thin layer of white lead. Her hand, pointing at Commodus, was shaking. Close behind her, her husband trailed, having the grace to look sheepish and embarrassed.

Commodus raised his face from his hands, red-rimmed eyes dark.

‘What?’

‘Father slips away into the abyss and you have the gall to stride out of the room and proclaim yourself to the purple, just because father let you share with him for a few years! You presume too much, little brother.’

The young emperor seemed to be genuinely baffled, the confusion cutting through his grief and making him sit up straight.

‘The succession is clear, Lucilla. Father has been grooming me for years for this day. But I have claimed nothing yet. Today is not the time for such announcements. Today is a time to grieve!’

‘You snivelling wreck. Look at you! All gone to pieces because father isn’t here to hold your hand any more. The empire can hardly function with a blubbering mess at its head.’

Rufinus drew in a sharp breath as he saw the sudden cold anger pass across Commodus’ eyes.

‘Have a care, sister. Grieve for father as you should.’

‘There is no time for grief, you idiot. Rome cannot be without an emperor, even for a day. You should continue your role as it is , while I step in to replace father, as was intended when I was married to my beloved Verus.

Her second husband barely blinked at this insult. Clearly her low opinion of him was hardly news. He simply looked tired and uncomfortable, much how Rufinus felt and, for the first time, he started to feel a little sorry for the Syrian.

Commodus rose from his seat and crossed the room to stand before his sister. They were of a height and curiously similar when seen so close. Rufinus had the sudden epiphany that there had been many battles of wits between these two over the years and that they were roughly equally matched in both intelligence and will, though the elder sister appeared to have become detached from her emotions; something Commodus seemed unable to do.

‘You think to take the purple with me? To guide me as that benighted bitch Agrippina guided Nero? As wicked Cleopatra steered Antonius to his doom? I think not, sister. Your claim to power died with that alcoholic lunatic, Verus. The succession is clear, and I will not sully this day with further argument.’

Lucilla’s eyes blazed and she stepped forward, her mouth opening, spittle at the corners, ready for a fresh tirade. Commodus turned and, seeing the look in his eye, Rufinus lowered his gaze urgently.

‘Perennis’ the young emperor said quietly and calmly, ‘draw your sword and, if my sister utters a single syllable, you will give her cause to regret it. Clear?’

Without comment or pause, Perennis took two steps toward the furious woman and drew his gladius with a bone-chilling rasp. Rufinus risked a quick glance. The tribune’s face was emotionless. He was clearly both quite capable and willing to carry out his master’s orders without a second thought, regardless of the earthshaking consequences.

The world hung in the balance for one heartbeat and another as a chill pervaded the room.

‘Caesar?’

Paternus stepped between Perennis’ gleaming blade and the furious Lucilla. ‘Caesar, this is not the way to honour your father’s so-fresh memory. There will be many challenges to meet, but not today.’

Commodus continued to glare at his sister for a long moment and finally turned his head to the Praetorian prefect. With visible effort, he calmed, his shoulders sagging.

‘You are right, of course. Perennis, sheath the blade.’

Lucilla was shaking with rage, but silent.

‘There will be much to do, but not yet. We must attend to father for a time, while good Paternus makes the arrangements for the funeral. At the fourth watch I will make the appropriate announcements in the forum. We will hold the funeral tomorrow morning, on the parade ground.’

He flashed a glance at his sister before turning back to the two Praetorian officers.

After which, Lucilla will be returning to Rome along with father’s ashes to see them safely interred, while I tie up the matters in Vindobona with the aid of father’s close advisors.’

Once more, Lucilla’s mouth opened but a warning hand went up from Commodus and Perennis’ fist gripped his sword hilt and drew it out just a couple of finger-widths, enough to make a horrible metallic slithering sound. Silently, she glowered at her brother.

‘Paternus,’ he continued, ‘you will take most of the guard with you and escort her back to Rome. There will likely be troubles and a great deal to do and it will take your knowledge of my father’s business and all your legendary tact and diplomacy to see it done. I am relying on you to prepare Rome for our return. Perennis, I’m granting you the powers of Praetorian Prefect, alongside Paternus. You will remain in Vindobona with me and the First cohort until we are ready to return to the city.’

Rufinus felt his heart skip a beat. He was to stay in Vindobona for a time yet, in Commodus’ personal guard. It would be a great honour – tempered, however, by having Perennis as his direct commander for the duration.

Lucilla turned and stormed away through one of the other doors, the guard by the side rushing to open it for her. Her husband hurried away behind her, giving the room a last apologetic look. Commodus stood still as a statue for a long moment, taking deep, ragged breaths. At least his anger had returned some colour to his pallid, grief-drained cheeks.

Paternus and Perennis shared a look and Rufinus realised just what had happened there. The prefect, the former emperor’s most trusted man, had just had half his power ripped away and passed to his underling. Somehow, through a superhuman effort, Paternus managed to maintain his steady, reasonable expression as he bowed and moved out into the garden.

Commodus watched him go and gestured wearily at Perennis.

‘Make arrangements for a public announcement in the forum at the fourth watch. I’ll want the First cohort in dress uniform with me, so have everyone scrubbed up well.’