S.J.A. Turney - The Great Game

Rufinus turned back to the three shit-shovellers and raised his eyebrows questioningly.

‘Go on, argentulum. Fuck off and kiss Paternus’ arse while we get on with real work.’

The two men next to the speaker sneered. Rufinus made a step toward them and all three took a shovel full of dung and hefted it.

‘Come on lad. Piss off. Don’t start anything you can’t finish.’

Rufinus stopped for a moment, weighing the three men up and came to the conclusion that he could possibly take all three with little difficulty. He shook his head, took a deep breath and turned, walking his horse on toward the central courtyard. Now was not the time. Behind him the three men jeered and yelled names, flinging more dung in a futile gesture, given that they’d have to clean it back up.

With a sense of foreboding and weariness, he led the horse out into the large open area. The stables were massive with stalls for three hundred horses, more than enough mounts for the Praetorian cavalry force. Briefly he wondered whether they also played host to the riders of the imperial secret service who carried out the will of the emperor with authority greater than that of any mere military officer.

No. Such men would not quarter themselves with the Praetorian Guard. Their barracks would be elsewhere. He became aware that he was standing foolishly in the courtyard’s entrance with his horse waiting patiently while every other beast had already been led to their stall. Grumbling and aware that a dozen men were watching him with amusement, he spotted an empty stall and led his horse toward it.

A short while later he had settled the beast, stripped it of its tack and saddle, brushed it hastily down, hooked a feed bag over its head, and wandered back out into the bright sunshine with his kit. An optio, white helmet crest and feathers still pristine somehow despite all the dust, stood a few paces away, deep in conversation with Mercator. Rufinus paused, momentarily panicking that he had done something wrong. As Rufinus closed the stall door behind him, the officer broke off his chat and peered at him.

‘You need to be assigned quarters and get familiar with the camp. Leave your kit with the horse for now. There’ll be little time for you to rest, lad, but try to fit in a bath.’ His staff of office wavered toward the brown gloop that clung to Rufinus’ leg. ‘You’ll need one after that almighty slip, and you’ll have to wash your uniform.’

For a moment, Rufinus faltered, trying to decide whether to bring up the matter of the three insolent dullards in the archway, but decided against it. An open confrontation could lead to disciplinary measures, but reporting them to an officer would end any hope of peace and would likely lose him the few friends he had.

‘Mercator here has been uncharacteristically selfless and offered to show you around. I suggest you take him up on the offer.’

Ignoring the new recruit’s sharp salute, the optio turned back to the veteran. ‘Make sure he stays out of trouble, Mercator, and for the love of Venus get that shit washed off him. He smells like a mare’s rectum.’

Mercator grinned and clasped hands with the optio, who turned and strode off through a doorway. As Rufinus relaxed again, he fixed his friend with a helpless look.

‘Three brainless bastards in the arch threw all this at me!’

Mercator nodded, his smile fading. ‘Your fame has preceded you. I’ve heard people muttering.’

‘But none of them even know me!’

The veteran shrugged. ‘That’s what makes it easy for mouthy shitbags like Scopius to turn them against you. I fear you’ve not seen the end of unpopularity. In fact I’d be very careful in these first few months. These lads all know each other, and they know the camp and the city, while you’re hopelessly out of your depth.’

Rufinus sighed miserably. ‘How the hell has he set so many people against me so quickly?’

‘ Quickly ?’ said Mercator in surprise. ‘What makes you think he hasn’t been sending letters to his favourite thugs for five months? Scopius is not the sort of man to let the beating you gave him go unpunished.’

Rufinus looked up sharply. ‘The culprit was never found.’

‘Piss off, Rufinus. We’re not daft. Your big mistake was stopping while he was still alive. You’re a good soldier; you should know never to leave an enemy alive behind you.’

Rufinus nodded. ‘To be honest I had to stop myself from finishing him off. Murder is the sort of thing that gets a man a very permanent punishment.’

Mercator simply nodded. ‘Well you bought yourself some time with Scopius in the north, but he’s back on his home turf. Keep one eye open even when you sleep. Come on. Let’s get you sorted.’

Rufinus sagged again as he followed his friend across the courtyard and towards the arch. ‘Stables of the Praetorian cavalry and courier services’ Mercator announced, waving an arm expansively at the large building. ‘You’ll probably only see this place once in a handful of months, when you’re sent on courier duty. Stabling for three hundred and sixty horses, with accommodation above.’

Rufinus nodded professionally as the two men strolled back into the shade of the archway. The floor was once more clear of detritus, though a wet circle showed where a pile of dung had recently lain. The bulky thug and the dangerous one were resting on their shovels again next to the huge heap of manure while the insolent guard filled a bucket from a water trough to swill the cleared floor. All three men looked up as Rufinus entered, and then looked away sharply as Mercator met their glances with a steely gaze. Clearly the veteran had a reputation; a fact that suited Rufinus very well.

‘Manlius’ Mercator said quietly. ‘If I hear there’s been any more trouble from you, I shall make it my goal to spend every denarius I can lay my hands on paying for filthy, brutal German slaves to go to that brothel you like and have their violent way with that Judean whore you’re so fond of. Do I make myself clear?’

The mouthy guard, Manlius, frowned. ‘No need for you to get involved, Merc.’

‘Every denarius, Manlius! Now get out of my sight.’

Turning his back, Mercator strode out into the camp. Rufinus momentarily caught the look in the thug’s eye and worried that the man might actually fling the bucket of rank water at the veteran. Instead, he turned a baleful glare on Rufinus, who sighed as he hurried out after his friend. It was possible that Mercator had just made things worse, for all his good intentions.

Hurrying along, he fell into step alongside the veteran and cleared his throat. ‘I might have to break a few skulls if I’m going to make it here.’

Mercator grinned. ‘Just don’t leave any evidence. And don’t have a go at one of the veterans. These little shits who’ve only been in a couple of years occasionally need knocking into line. You lay out a veteran though, and even Paternus’ patronage won’t help you.’

Rufinus shrugged. ‘The veterans don’t seem to be the problem’ he said, sagging again.

‘Come on.’

The pair wandered back toward the main street, Mercator gesturing as they went. ‘Campaign stores. You’ll find all the tent sections, stakes, mess kits and so on there. Still need to see a quartermaster and get a chit if you ever want to draw anything, but a word to the wise: the quartermaster is called Allectus and he’s a good man. If you get a broken mess tin or a cracked marching pole or anything, have a word and he’ll probably sort you out a swap off the books, so long as you’re good to him.’

Rufinus nodded. Minor corruption was hardly new among quartermasters, but it was always good to know who to approach.

‘That’s uniform storage. You’ll find everything there from spare socks to scarves, tunics and even baldrics.’