S.J.A. Turney - The Great Game

‘The legions are busying themselves with the inevitable tasks following battle, but will return to Vindobona in due course, leaving only a caretaker garrison of auxiliary troops in temporary forts to oversee the settling of the conquered tribes and begin the process of introducing them to civilisation.’

‘Was it bad?’ Aurelius asked quietly and with genuine concern.

‘Surprisingly not, Caesar. Casualties were reasonably light and we had them on the run within a few hours of committing to the field. The legions and my own Praetorians fought like lions, Caesar. The clawed paw of Rome has swatted the Quadi and the Marcomanni for the last time.’

Lucilla straightened and cast a meaningful look at her father.

‘Must we endure a blow-by-blow account of legionaries beating barbarians to death, father. I for one have heard enough tales of military prowess in the past year to last me for three lifetimes.’

The emperor flashed her a sympathetic smile. ‘Indulge me for just a moment longer, daughter. Paternus has ridden a long way in adverse conditions to bring us these great tidings.’

The prefect bowed curtly once more and opened his mouth to continue, but was suddenly overridden by a hitherto unheard voice:

‘Indeed!’

The two soldiers’ heads jerked to the right at the new speaker. The figure of a tall, athletic man rose from a seat which had been so placed with its back to the entrance that the occupant had previously gone unnoticed.

Commodus, the son of Marcus Aurelius and co-emperor of Rome, strode forth into the brighter light near the couches. The old emperor may have failed to live up to the image formed in Rufinus’ head from the addresses he had made, but Commodus instantly filled the room with his voice and personality, every inch the soldier and orator. His hair and beard, naturally curled like his father’s, shone gold in the light, but this hair framed a face that was tanned and healthy, with a quirky smile and eyes that seemed to contain every bit of the genius of the father.

Commodus, dressed in the tunic and breeches of an officer, with a sword at his side, though lacking the armour, strode across the room and placed his hands on the back of one of the free couches, leaning forward, his face breaking into a wide grin.

‘It has been a cold and forbidding few days, father, filled with the monotony of camp and the wittering of women’ his mischievous eyes wandered across the room and fell on his sister. ‘I long for tales of adventure and bravery, loyalty and strength. Let us hear how good Paternus and his men strangled the barbarian with their boot on his throat.’

The look of sheer malice that his sister shot him escaped no one in the room, though the young co-emperor, not yet twenty years of age, simply laughed it aside.

‘Your sense of humour withers as an olive branch with no water, beloved sister. I fear that if we stay in Vindobona much longer, your face will fall in on itself without a smile to help prop it up!’

‘ Enough !’ snapped Aurelius with a voice that carried boundless authority and gravitas, born of the decades he had both ruled and served the troublesome mistress that was Rome.

The outburst was delivered so sharply and uncharacteristically that Rufinus had jumped and was relieved beyond measure to note that Paternus had suffered a similar reaction. Commodus nodded his head and turned to his father, a modest expression of contriteness plastered across his features.

‘Apologies, father. I fear there is something in the air here that does not agree with me.’

Lucilla made no attempt to apologise and simply tore her glare from her brother and rested it instead on the two men before them.

‘Very well. If we are to listen to the exploits of the army, riveting as they are, I would first know who this lowly, hairy, dirty soldier in his sodden cloak is, given how his eyes rest so easily on the fine forms of the ladies of the household.’

Rufinus started and felt his legs beginning to tremble as he dropped his gaze to the floor.

‘Have a heart, sister’ Commodus replied with what sounded like genuine feeling. ‘Can you not see that the man is tired, cold and wounded, no doubt in the defence of our great empire and in the face of the Quadi with their gnashing teeth?’

Next to him, Rufinus heard Paternus draw in a deep breath. The two men had clearly interrupted the Imperial family at a bad time, with tempers fraying. The argument must have precipitated very quickly, with Lucilla so freshly arrived. Perhaps they should have waited until everyone was rested and freshly risen in the morning.

‘I beg leave to present to you legionary Gnaeus Marcius Rustius Rufinus of the Tenth Gemina, chosen man of the action and hero of Rome.’

Aurelius’ eyes sparkled and some colour returned to his pallid cheeks as Rufinus desperately tried to land his eyes on the emperor without raising his head.

‘Indeed? Do go on.’

Paternus cleared his throat. ‘My lord Caesar, this man saved my life and that of a number of Praetorian cavalrymen, single-handedly. He pushed me from the path of the arrows of hidden Quadi archers and, I am led to believe, killed five of the ten ambushers himself. All this, I am fairly certain, was done without the knowledge of who it was he was saving. Such selfless bravery is deserving of recognition, Caesar.’

‘Indeed’ the emperor said again, a quirky smile touching the corner of his lips. ‘It has been some time since the name Rustius has been spoken at court. Since before my reign, for certain. One wonders where the family has been hiding all these years while breeding their new clutch of heroes?’

Involuntarily, Rustius looked up into the emperor’s searching eyes and quickly averted them, only to find Paternus looking at him in surprise. The prefect suddenly seemed uncertain. Was his new playing piece not what he thought? Rufinus should have expected Aurelius to remember the events that surrounded the exile of the Rustii; he would have been at court then himself as a young man, heir to Antoninus.

He was fighting the urge to address the emperor directly in defence of himself and Paternus when Aurelius smiled and swept the matter aside with his hand. ‘Very good. A hero in battle, then? You have already had thoughts as to an appropriate reward, Paternus?’

The prefect nodded.

‘I felt that phalera were too small an offering, but a crown is clearly too much. I thought perhaps a phalera awarded by the emperor himself before the army?’

Marcus Aurelius leaned back on his couch.

‘Pomp and ceremony is always good for the morale of the men. It is a good thought, Paternus. We shall need to wait until the rest of the army returns to garrison, of course. There will be other decorations to be awarded then.’

Rufinus’ eyes widened as he stared at the floor. Decorations presented by the emperor were a rarity indeed. He wouldn’t have to pay for a drink among his contubernium for weeks.

Lucilla, a flash of something that looked like hope crossing her face, looked up sharply.

‘If the barbarians are finally quashed, we should return to Rome, father. You can enter in triumph and decorate as many war heroes as you wish in front of the people.’

Aurelius turned to face Lucilla. From his position Rufinus couldn’t see the emperor’s face, but he did see Lucilla flinch.

‘Father’ she added defensively, ‘it is time we returned to Rome. This cold, damp air is doing none of us any good. You have been ill for months and your chest…’

Again, she flinched.

Commodus let go of the back of the chair upon which he leaned and strode round to take the seat next to the stunning blonde woman. The look they exchanged briefly opened a whole new set of questions in Rufinus’ mind, but he brushed it aside. His place here, in the middle of what appeared to be a family argument, was to stand still and quiet and not intrude.