S.J.A. Turney - The Great Game

As Perennis nodded and strode out into the large garden, the emperor turned to the medicus who seemed to have been ignored throughout the confrontation and who stood by the door to the emperor’s resting place, his face ashen and embarrassed.

‘Do what you must with my father to prepare him and then have the city’s chief priests sent here. I’ve not studied the matter, but I’m sure the priests will have to do something before father can take his place with the Gods.’

The medicus, grateful for the opportunity to flee this uncomfortable room, bowed and retreated through the door, closing it as he went.

Commodus stood still for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut.

‘Jove, drive this damned headache away’ he muttered and opened his eyes, apparently surprised to see the mismatched red and white guardsman standing in the centre of the room with a gleaming silver spear.

‘Rufinus?’ he said quietly. ‘I quite forgot that I’d sent for you, though for the life of me I can no longer remember why. My sister’s machinations seem to have driven every useful thought from my mind.’

Rufinus took a deep breath and looked up, wondering whether it was a terrible breech of etiquette to meet the emperor’s gaze. Commodus had a strange sad smile on his face.

‘See to what horrors I have introduced you by dragging you into the guard? I told you that night on the way to the baths that camps were forming and that I had to be sure of where the loyalties of my men lie. What say you of loyalty, hero of the Quadi wars?’

Rufinus frowned. Somehow the dry throat and inability to speak that he’d felt that other night were no longer affecting him. He sighed.

‘I am your man, Caesar.’

Commodus gave a sad little laugh and nodded.

‘This is good. I will have need of such men in the coming months and years. Now get yourself back to barracks, get changed and requisition whatever you need. You will be needed in the forum this afternoon. And bring the ‘trinkets’ too. Anything that helps put a positive note on this afternoon’s tidings is a good idea.’

Rufinus saluted and turned to leave, casting a last glance at the young emperor.

He was capricious and mischievous, flighty and changeable, but he was also intelligent, witty, thoughtful and, apparently, kind. What an emperor he could make.

Despite everything the day had brought, Rufinus couldn’t help but smile as he strode out into the newly-falling flakes of snow in the precious garden.

Quickly, aware of the press of time, he stepped around the doorway and hurried along the garden, a fresh dusting of white sprinkling his shoulders, and ducked back inside, following the reverse of the route that had brought him here. The corridor filled with the busts was blocked with people and an argument seemed to be in full flow.

Squinting into the gloom of the corridor after the bright white of the beautiful garden, he tried to pick out the details of the small crowd.

The figure of Paternus was clear enough, his hands resting on his hips in a pose of defiance. Two guardsmen, clad in white, stood at his shoulders, blocking the passageway. Beyond was a crowd of half a dozen men in tunics and togas. Rufinus paused and concentrated on the raised voices.

‘Go back to your quarters and wait. The emperor will send for you when he needs you.’

A tumult of voices greeted Paternus’ statement.

‘So Aurelius is truly gone?’

‘I need to see him!’

‘Commodus will require my counsel desperately!’

‘Let us past!’

‘QUIET!’ bellowed Paternus, the noise ceasing immediately at the steel in his voice. ‘Announcements will be made in due course. None of you, no matter how important, has any business with the imperial family until they request it! Go to your quarters before I have you forcibly ejected!’

Sounds of indignation and clearing of throats filled the corridor.

‘GO!’

Half the group were already disappearing down the corridor, their sandals slapping on the marble, before the two guards behind Paternus put their hands meaningfully on their sword hilts, a move that sent the rest scurrying away.

‘Idiots!’ snapped the prefect as the men beside him relaxed again. ‘Come on.’

Rufinus, breathing slowly, hurried to catch up. ‘Sir?’

Paternus glanced over his shoulder and spotted the new guardsman.

‘Rufinus? Where are you bound?’

‘The emperor wishes me to return to barracks and get myself prepared for his announcement this afternoon.’

‘Yes?’

Rufinus shrugged uncertainly. ‘Respectfully, sir, I’ve not been allocated quarters or told where to go?’

The prefect nodded wearily. ‘Go to the headquarters and find the Praetorian clerk’s office. He can sort you out.’

Rufinus bowed and then strode along behind them at a respectful distance. The four Praetorians passed through the light-well and into the richly-decorated corridor, only to find two more figures waiting half way along. Rufinus saw the prefect’s shoulders rise and slump as he sighed in resignation.

A young man, perhaps the same age as Commodus and wearing a deep blue tunic and expensive sandals, sat in a decorative chair by the wall, a look of sorrowful concern on his face. His dark hair was oiled and tightly curled, a two day growth of stubble on his face apparently an affectation rather than an accident. Blue eyes the colour of the sea below Tarraco stared out from beneath bushy black eyebrows that furrowed slightly.

Behind him stood a man considerably older, wearing tunic and breeches of plain grey, a practical cloak about his shoulders. His face was full and slightly chubby, lined with the cares of years and wrinkled around eyes that were disconcerting: a steely grey with a slight, peculiar shine. His brown, wavy hair was giving way to white at the temples and beginning to thin at the front, while his beard, fully grey, was clipped neatly. There was something about the man’s expression that instantly put Rufinus on his guard.

‘Ah, Paternus. How is our young master bearing up at this most unfortunate time?’

The prefect fixed the speaker with a flinty look, meeting those shiny grey eyes as though negotiating with an enemy commander. Rufinus, close enough to hear Paternus’ teeth grinding, paid careful attention. ‘ Master Cleander. I should have known you would be hovering at the edge of today’s events, waiting to swoop down and take the richest pickings.’

The older man, a wealthy or important freedman judging by the dress, simply smiled indulgently. ‘Don’t play games with me, Paternus. You haven’t the wit. Is Commodus open to visitors or have you sealed his quarters shut as tightly as that arse of yours?’

Paternus’ teeth were grinding again and suddenly the young man stood, holding his arms up placatingly.

‘Gentlemen, this is hardly the time for such vitriol.’ His voice was silken, smooth and quiet, like listening to well-played lyre music. Rufinus felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck in response.

Paternus turned his gaze on the slight young man and Rufinus was surprised to find that the baleful glare the prefect had cast at ‘Cleander’ had been replaced by a look of such scornful contempt that it barely registered the speaker as human.

‘I have no doubt you will squirm your way into his presence soon enough, but not yet. Give the family time to deal with today’s events before you start injecting your poisons.’

The young man’s face fell. He looked genuinely hurt by the comments and stepped back, lip quivering. Cleander smiled a slightly feral smile.

‘Your hold over the empire is weakening, Paternus. Commodus will not indulge you as his father did.’

‘What the emperor chooses to do in the wake of his loss is his affair and no more mine than it is yours. Get out of this house before I lose my temper.’