‘Can you see what it says?’
Allectus nodded and peered closely at it. ‘There’s been three different draws of pugio this past week. A man called Urbicus needed a replacement. Brought in his old one, broken near the hilt due to a fault in the steel.’
Rufinus nodded.
‘Then there was a substitution for a lost one, full replacement charge applied, to a man called Scopius.’
Rufinus nodded at the confirmation.
‘There’s another one to Numerianus. Partial cost applied as it was damaged during training.’
‘Thank you,’ Rufinus said quietly. I’ve got enough now.’
Allectus straightened, grasped the sheet and replaced it in the cabinet, in its proper position. ‘Anything else?’
Rufinus shook his head and smiled. ‘That’s it. Thank you for your help.’
Allectus nodded again. ‘No problem. Just for you – and for Merc. Off the book enquiry.’ Pausing, he frowned. ‘I take it you’re off duty, Rufinus?’
‘For now.’
‘Care to help me out’ Allectus smiled. ‘Favour for a favour? I’m two men down on my cart escort. Perennis commandeered the men I had assigned.’
Rufinus was about to decline as politely as he could manage. Still sore from the punishment, he was looking forward to some recuperative cot-time, but quite apart from now owing Allectus a favour, Mercator had suggested that the quartermaster was a useful person to get on the good side of, and a stroll out across the city might be as good as a rest in barracks.
‘Give me a moment to run and kit myself out.’
‘Good man.’
Smiling grimly at his confirmation that Scopius had lost a dagger, Rufinus exited the office and strode along the street to his block, where he quickly dipped into his room, pulled on his armour with a hiss of pain and some wincing, threw on his sword baldric, and then collected his helm and shield, fiddling with the armour ties as he made his way back to the quartermaster’s.
By the time he reached the headquarters once more, Allectus was already out front with an empty cart hooked up to a snorting donkey. A guardsman he didn’t know was watching with a bored expression as the quartermaster checked the yoke.
‘Where are we going?’ he asked. ‘I can’t be back late.’
‘Just a quick run to the Castra Peregrina to collect a supply load. Won’t take long, and I’ve signed you out in the admin office. Given the rain, the faster we get going the better, I’d say. Come on.’
Rufinus nodded and fell in next to the quartermaster who was unarmoured beneath his heavy rain-cape as he goaded the beast into motion. The other guard gave him a tedious look and fell into step as the column crawled laboriously down the main thoroughfare and passed into the shadow of the gatehouse. Blessedly out of the downpour, Rufinus waited for the briefest of pauses as the guardsmen on duty glanced at Allectus’ orders without paying any real attention. The duties of clerks and couriers were so regular and mundane that only the most thorough of men even gave them a second glance. Indeed, the other guard took the job of leading the cart and didn’t even slow his plodding charge down, continuing to roll toward and through the opening gate even as the quartermaster presented his chit.
Rufinus felt the patter of rain as they passed once more into the open ways of the city. This short road ran only a few hundred paces from the camp before meeting the great Vicus Patricius, which led down to the heart of the city, and as soon as they were moving downhill Allectus moved from goading the beast to applying the braking pole as necessary.
The quartermaster began to tell the other guard a surprisingly lewd story about his cousin on her first visit to Rome, but eliciting little reaction from the man turned his wit on Rufinus. The young man smiled and glanced around, only half-listening as the cart passed along the street and turned the corner. Rufinus’ sharp eyes suddenly picked out three shapes moving among the crowd and the unbelievable sexual exploits of Allectus’ cousin faded into the background.
He stared at Perennis as the prefect strode down the wide street, the two men he had commandeered from the quartermaster at his shoulders. Scopius! The sight of his nemesis with the prefect raised unpleasant questions and he turned to the guard at the other side of the cart to see if the man had noticed. Apparently not – he still bore the same stupendously bored expression.
His heart drumming out a fast beat, Rufinus turned back to look at the prefect, but the three Praetorians had disappeared. The long, wide road descended the slope almost continually from the outskirts on the Viminalis hill to the forum – one of the longest thoroughfares in the city. Squinting, Rufinus’ heart sank. No figures in guard uniforms could be seen. He sagged.
‘Where are we going again?’ He asked Allectus wearily.
‘Castra Peregrina. They’ve some supplies to transfer to us, apparently.’
‘The castra what?’
‘Castra Peregrina’ repeated Allectus, frowning. ‘You don’t know the city well, do you?’
‘Not had much time to look around yet. What’s the Castra Peregrina?’
Allectus’ face took on an exaggerated look of suspicion and slyness. ‘Home of the spies and assassins, my friend. Spooky place.’
Rufinus stared at the small man, who suddenly burst out laughing and shoved his shoulder playfully. ‘It’s the barracks for the Frumentarii and the Speculatores. Very few people get inside and even they only get to visit the offices or stores. What goes on in there behind locked doors no one but them and the emperor knows.’
Rufinus nodded. The Frumentarii particularly had a reputation for questionable activity that had spread throughout the army. They were to be found in uniform, for sure – certainly in the city, but people said they hid among other units, gathering information for the emperor. You never knew who or where they were. The man serving alongside you could be one of them, or any merchant you spoke to in the street.
‘Where is it?’ he asked, irritation at having lost the guards mollified a little by this sudden interesting turn.
‘You know the Caelian hill well?’
‘Not really.’
Allectus sighed. ‘Well from here, we go around the great amphitheatre, up past the temple of Divine Claudius on its left hand side, where the nymphaeum is, and keep following that road. We’ll pass under the Claudian aqueduct at the top of the hill and then the road comes between two high walls. Right side is the local station of the vigiles; left is the Castra Peregrina.’
Rufinus frowned as he tried to picture the route in terms of what he had managed to see of the city – not a great deal – combined with his father’s scant descriptions. Still, the directions sounded straightforward enough.
‘I think…’ he began, but stopped dead. Ahead, a glimpse of glinting armour had drawn his attention, and he could now see white tunics. ‘The Castra Peregrina’s easy to find?’
‘If you can find the amphitheatre and the great temple, then yes.’
‘And how long will it take to load the new supplies?’ Rufinus watched the white figures as they dipped behind a crowd and then reappeared, gaining distance on the cart.
Allectus frowned. ‘Perhaps half an hour. Certainly by fourth watch we’ll be heading back. Why? I’ve signed you out.’
Rufinus felt guilt wash through him. Allectus had been nothing but friendly and helpful, and he hated risking this potential friendship – and his entire career – but the sight of Perennis and Scopius together in the streets was too suspicious to let pass.
‘I’m really sorry, Allectus.’
‘For what?’ the man asked suspiciously, but Rufinus had already burst into a run, away from the cart to the side of the road, where he ducked and charged between two small groups of people, catching a blur of silver and white ahead.
The rain battering down on him, soaking him to the bone and saturating his white crest so that it sagged idiotically, Rufinus hurried along the paving as fast as he could, dipping between the members of the public who had braved the weather. Beggars reached out from shadows at the side, from urine-soaked alleys between buildings, desperately calling for alms, their stumps and rotten, gangrene-eaten limbs in horrifying evidence. Paying them no heed, Rufinus kept his eyes locked on the white figures moving down the street’s centre. Slowly, he was catching up with them; they seemed unhurried, talking in a conspiratorial huddle as they moved.