Across the basilica they strode, past the chapel of the standards and to the office next to it. Without needing instruction, Rufinus stopped at the doorway, the clerk motioning him to wait as he entered.
‘Guardsman Rustius Rufinus, sir.’
There was a murmur of assent and the clerk reappeared, gesturing to Rufinus to enter before rushing off about his own business. Rufinus took a deep breath, adjusted his tunic, and entered.
His heart sank. In the best of possible worlds, the coming interview would be carried out by Paternus with Mercator or Icarion present to give some level of support.
Instead, the sour-faced, monobrowed form of Perennis sat behind the desk, his fingers steepled on the oak surface, alone in the room.
‘Rufinus. Good.’ His tone suggested that it was anything but good.
Aware of what could be riding on the next quarter of an hour, Rufinus strode to the centre of the room, as full of confidence and innocent respectability as he could manage, came to attention and snapped off the sharpest salute of his life, marred only slightly by the hiss of pain and the tensing as his neck and shoulder twinged.
‘Very smart. I suppose you expect me to be impressed and swayed by your military precision, your stance and the clear nobility of your line? Is that it, Rufinus?’
Carefully maintaining his blank expression and keeping his eyes straight, locked on a point half way up the wall behind the prefect’s left shoulder, Rufinus cleared his throat. ‘No sir.’
Perennis leaned back in his chair, cupping his chin with a hand while the forefinger of the other drummed out a military beat on the desk’s edge. ‘I am unimpressed. You will be well aware, I have no doubt, that I opposed your raising to the guard when I served beneath Paternus, though I relented when he asked me to indulge his foibles.’
Rufinus remained still, though the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach only deepened. Perennis was no friend of his and the prefect may well use this as an opportunity to undo the actions of his counterpart. A return to legionary life seemed unthinkable now. Strange how things had changed so much in seven months.
‘However,’ Perennis said, the beat of his tapping finger changing slightly to a more insistent thump, ‘it is not fitting for a senior officer in the service of the emperor to let his personal feelings cloud his judgement in a situation that would, in civilian life, warrant a trial.’
The cold ball of worry in Rufinus’ stomach juddered. Was that a hint of hope? It seemed too unlikely to reach for.
‘Some investigation has turned up a long-standing feud between yourself and a guardsman named Scopius. I am led to believe that this ‘trouble’ has been going on since the day you were reassigned in Vindobona. As such, it is hard to believe that you have absolutely no connection to the man’s disappearance?’
Again, Rufinus kept his gaze locked on the wall, immobile.
‘Barring anything that might turn up in today’s investigations and interviews, Scopius will go into the lists as that most ignominious of things: a deserter. It would not be the first desertion in the history of the guard, for certain, but generally they’re new recruits who quickly discover they’re not up to the job, frail old men who are tantalisingly close to retirement and don’t want to risk their neck in a fight, or unfortunates whose personal circumstances tear at the heartstrings. Even then, desertions are rare. I doubt we have one a year.’
He narrowed his eyes and the fingers ceased drumming, both hands coming down palm flat on the table with a slap.
‘We never, and I mean never, have desertions with no discernible cause among longstanding guardsmen who have served for half a dozen years and fought in the front lines. Scopius was perhaps not the sharpest gladius in the stores, but he was a solid soldier. That he might choose to simply walk away is laughable.’
The prefect’s eyes strayed down to a wooden tablet on the desk before him. ‘It would appear that Scopius was last seen signing out of the fortress with a permission chit from myself, clearly forged, and heading along the road for Praeneste. Cavalry troopers have done a recce for me as far as that town and have found no evidence of the man. As I said, Scopius was a solid soldier, but I would hardly say he was clever enough to disappear so thoroughly.’
Rufinus remained still, his breathing tightly controlled.
‘Although records attest to your presence in camp on the morning of his departure, I note that you somehow acquired courier duty within the city for the afternoon? That’s not a task commonly given to recent recruits, particularly when it involves private correspondence with the officers in the Castra Peregrina. And somehow you managed to return to camp wounded?’
Finally, silence descended as Perennis clearly expected some sort of comment. Clearing his throat, Rufinus spoke steadily.
‘I was attacked by opportunistic brigands on the Caelian hill, sir. One of them managed to get in a lucky blow. It was all reported on my return.’
Perennis’ gaze remained cold and suspicious. ‘Brave footpads to attack an armed and armoured Praetorian in a public place in bright daylight in Rome? One might say hardly credible, even? I gather an investigation by the local station of vigiles has turned up no sign of the bodies. Curious, wouldn’t you say?’
Rufinus kept his peace, not sure of whether to answer.
‘And you decided to visit a local doctor and have the wound bound before returning to the camp?’
‘I worried about blood loss, sir, and thought it best.’
Perennis sneered. ‘There is no evidence that you had any involvement in the disappearance of Scopius and, as such, I am unable to bring any disciplinary measures to bear, much as I would love nothing more.’
A weight fell away from Rufinus at the statement. He would go free. Scopius was gone and he’d got away with it, even under the scrutiny and investigation of the martinet Perennis. He tried very hard not to let a smile of relief break out on his face.
‘However,’ the prefect said sharply, bringing his attention back to the conversation and a knot of tension to his stomach. ‘I cannot in good conscience have you go swanning about in camp knowing you’ve got away with whatever it is you did. Return to your quarters for now, Rufinus, and stay put. You are confined to barracks until I can find an appropriately remote and unpleasant place to post you where you can cause no further trouble.’
Rufinus remained impassive, his heart racing. A posting away from Rome? It seemed ridiculous, and yet there were plenty of duties away from the city carried out by the guard.
‘And I think I will have to have you transferred out of the First cohort. I am not comfortable having you under my command. I think we’ll let Paternus deal with your troublesome presence in future. You are dismissed, Rufinus.’
The guardsman, close to shaking, threw out a salute and turned, marching from the room without looking back.
Across the courtyard he marched, his mind racing with the elation of freedom, tainted by the faint worry of what duty Perennis would find for him and that he would be leaving his friends’ cohort. Beneath the shady arch he strode, out into the main street, past the two men guarding the main entrance. Mercator and Icarion stood leaning on a fountain opposite. Their faces broke out into a broad grin as they saw the young guardsman approach.
‘What happened then? You’re free to go, I presume?’
‘No evidence means no guilt’ added Icarion with a laugh.
Rufinus furrowed his brow as he approached the shady colonnade at the street side. ‘I don’t think I’m entirely out of the shit yet. Perennis is trying to find some way to punish me through duty or posting and he’s moving me out of the First cohort. I could be on a ship or in a marble quarry this time next week.’