One good thing had come out of it, though: he knew now that Perennis’ name would likely motivate Scopius into doing whatever he needed.
Nodding to himself, the bare bones of a plan beginning to form in his head, he recalled Allectus’ instructions and ran through them in his head. He would have to hope he could persuade the quartermaster not to report his absence. Making for the high, curved marble facade of the great Flavian amphitheatre, he passed the huge structure and headed for the impressive square bulk of the temple of Claudius on the hill opposite. A large, monumental nymphaeum stretched along the side wall of the temple, marching up the slope of the hill, great curved niches sporting statues of Gods and heroes. Sadly, the fountains seemed not to be flowing at the moment, though plenty of water ran in torrents down the stonework, graciously supplied by the lead-grey clouds.
Nodding appreciatively as he scurried past, he made for the crest of the hill, where he could see the great arches of an aqueduct crossing the road, an impressive monument to the skill of the engineers that had supplied Rome with its enviable water supply.
The crowds thinned out as he moved away from the city’s centre. Excited now at the prospect of a peek into a hidden military world that even most officers would never see, he hurried beneath the arches of the great aqueduct and out the other side, his eyes fixed on the high walls of the Castra Peregrina, where even now he could see Allectus’ cart passing through the gate. Amazingly, given the slowness of the carts, he had caught up with them before they’d arrived.
‘Watch out!’
Something hit Rufinus in the side and knocked him flat. As he lay floundering on the ground, he looked up. A man in a legionary tunic with a stylus behind his ear and a curly, blond beard lay on top of him, a great wooden pulley swinging back and forth on a rope roughly where his head had been.
As Rufinus’ mind swam, the assaulting man stood and grasped his arm, hauling him upright and raising his other hand to restrain the swinging block.
‘Sorry about that, sir. Civilian labourers. Ten of ‘em ain’t worth a single legionary, eh?’
Rufinus stared at the man and then turned his head to take in the aqueduct. The structure was clearly undergoing some kind of repair, wooden scaffolding climbing the piers of the great bridge, covered in men, buckets of mixed mortar, piles of bricks and coils of rope. Part of the water channel at the top of the structure was dissembled, though most of it had already been put back into place with fresh mortar.
Rufinus turned back to the man. ‘Sorry. Miles away. What’s going on?’
The military engineer shrugged. ‘Repairs. Channel had blocked in a couple of places and the water pressure at the palace had dropped. We’ve had a mandate for a week’s work to clear it, but it only took three days, so we’re clearing out the crap from the settling basin while we’re at it.’
Rufinus’ gaze followed the pointed finger and took in a large, square, featureless structure that stood astride the aqueduct just to the east of the road crossing, the water channel passing into the far side and then emerging once more at this one.
‘Sorry. Don’t know what you’re talking about?’
‘Settling basin?’ the engineer repeated, slowly and patiently, as though he’d had this sort of conversation a thousand times. In Rufinus’ experience, no one liked to talk about their work more than an engineer. Obsessives, the lot of them. ‘Settling basin separates out all the dross from the flow so that only fresh water reaches the terminus, but the basin fills up over time and occasionally needs clearing.’
Rufinus eyed the large square, brick building. ‘So you’re busy clearing it out now? It’s full of mud and stuff?’
The man laughed. ‘No. Done it. Too fast for these people, me. If I’d had some of my lads from the Third with me, we’d have done it in half a day, mind.’ He took a deep breath. ‘No more work after this. Tomorrow we finish the outer facing and take down the scaffold, and then the day after, we can remove the block and let it flow again. I daresay the emperor’ll be pleased. They’ve had to rely on the three springs on the Palatine for the past few days for their fresh water. You see…’
But Rufinus wasn’t listening any more. His eyes strayed back and forth across the building. A thought occurred to him. ‘Is there a smithy anywhere nearby? A hardware store?
The man shrugged. ‘No idea, but I expect so.’
Rufinus nodded. ‘Thanks for saving me a blow to the head. Had enough of those recently.’
Ignoring the strange look on the man’s face, he turned his back and strode off toward Allectus’ cart as it entered the camp of the Frumentarii.
His plan was coming together nicely, with the aid of Fortuna.
X – The dark places of men’s souls
PITCH blackness. A curiously echoing silence was broken by a low groan.
‘Ah… the beast awakens.’
More grumbling, then a clank and a squawk.
Flick – flick – flick.
Sparks flew like shooting stars, dispersing wildly.
A glowing ember on dried grass became a small flame.
Rufinus’ face swam into focus, demonic – lit from beneath with an eerie red-orange light.
The figure in the darkness recoiled with another clank and more groans.
Rufinus busied himself lighting the four small terracotta oil lamps, three in an arc around them on the floor, the fourth on a ledge in the wall.
Scopius groaned again.
Wherever he was, the place was cavernous and dark as Nero’s heart. There was a faint smell of mould and decay and a cold, dank chill ran up the burly guardsman’s spine. The light still wasn’t enough to illuminate their surroundings, even with four oil lamps flickering. Not trusting his voice enough to speak, Scopius stared at the cloaked figure of Rufinus, white tunic flashing occasionally beneath the cheap wool of the covering.
His eyes strayed back down to his own figure. Naked as the day he was born. No wonder he was cold. No apparent wounding, mind. His eyes fell upon the heavy iron shackle on his wrist and followed the chain up to the deeply embedded iron ring in the green, slimy wall. His heart started to pound in his chest and his blood ran cold.
‘How did I get here?’
Rufinus, finished with the lamps, returned to crouch opposite the naked guardsman.
‘Guile, subterfuge, and a few judicious prayers to both Fortuna and Nemesis.’
‘I had a message from the prefect? Went to the Lucullan mausoleum by the second milestone?’
‘Sadly, it was not Perennis who sent your orders. I’m glad you’re awake. I was about to have to rouse you – I was beginning to worry the branch I used was too heavy; that it had smashed your brains, such as they are.
Scopius narrowed his eyes. ‘You know you’ll die for this, argentulum?’
Rufinus shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. No one’s seen us together. I left about an hour ago on a courier job to the Castra Peregrina, while the last time you were seen was early this morning when you left camp and headed out of the city toward Praeneste. All very neat, really.’
With an unpleasant rasp, Rufinus drew a dagger from his belt. Scopius stared at it. The blade was not a military one, but a plain, straight knife with one sharp edge. Placing the point on the dank, green floor, Rufinus idly twirled the weapon in his fingers. Scopius sneered.
‘Torture? And you hold yourself so high and mighty. You’re worse than any of us!’
Rufinus smiled a predator’s smile. ‘I do not do anything lightly, Scopius. I don’t even take barbarian life unless driven to it by necessity. I certainly wouldn’t torture even a Goth, let alone a Roman, no matter how base, loathsome and deserving of it he might be. But I’ve had to push my boundaries a little in your case. You’re a disease, Scopius.’
Again, the naked guardsman’s eyes narrowed.