‘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.’
Another nod and they strode out into the cardo maximus where they had first dismounted. Mercator gestured left and right.
‘Temple of Augustus and temple of Victory. Once a week you’ll be required to do duty in one or the other.’ He lowered his tone. ‘It’s boring unless you’re very pious. If you’re lucky you’ll land duty when Passus is on. He tends to bring a jar of wine with him and there’s a dice school that runs in the back room.’
Mercator stopped and straightened with a sniff and a sour look. ‘Are you really bothered about a full tour now, or shall we get you rooms assigned and then head to the baths so you can stop smelling of shit?’
Rufinus nodded wearily. ‘I think so. If we’re going to be required to get up so early tomorrow, we should maybe get settled in. Why do you suppose the Prefect wants us mustered before dawn?’
Mercator shrugged. ‘First day back in the city. The emperor’s going to have to do a tour; show his face to the people, talk to the senate, get the blessings of Gods, do a bit of judicious donating to the most important priesthoods, announce a couple of meaningless but popular laws. You know the sort of thing.’
Rufinus nodded. Even the council members of the city ordo at Tarraco were lavish with gifts and public appearances when they were raised to office. To be made emperor would require a correspondingly huge display of largess, and the guard would accompany him on his tour.
The two men wandered along to the impressive headquarters building, where Rufinus was left examining the painted pediment which appeared to display a scene of the emperor Tiberius granting the camp to the Praetorian prefect, while Mercator disappeared inside for a while and organised matters with the clerks. When he returned, he was nodding, and gestured to a barracks two blocks down. He walked off, Rufinus falling in beside him again.
‘This is the one’ the veteran said with a wave of his hand, indicating the central of three identical huge blocks, built on two levels with a portico at the roadside. ‘Room twenty four will be the last one on the left. Turn left through the door and follow it round to the back.’
Rufinus nodded. ‘Where will you be?’ The idea of spending his first night in this huge, unfamiliar fortress on his own was not an attractive one.
‘I’m going to get someone to bring you your stuff from the stables and then I’m going back to my room for now. The baths are at the end of the Decumanus on the right, just before the south gate. Shall I meet you there in an hour? Then I’ll show you to the First cohort’s mess hall.’
Rufinus nodded. ‘See you there. Thank you, Mercator.’
With a wave, the veteran disappeared up a side street back toward the stables. Rufinus took a deep breath, looked up at the door, above which a sign read ‘Cohors I’ and, bracing himself, walked inside. Ahead, through another arch, a peaceful courtyard formed the centre of the structure, a pleasant little garden, decorative pool and fountain, half a dozen stone benches occupied by sunbathing guardsmen. It seemed a million miles from the camp life he was used to.