He exhaled with relief and stripped down, leaving his hobnailed boots and sword in an alcove and bundling his sodden clothing under his arm before strolling through the doorway into the octagonal chamber at the centre of the baths, corridors radiating off to the different rooms.
Naked, bedraggled and shivering, Rufinus padded down the corridor toward the caldarium, the hot room with the heated floor and two small warm pools. Near the doorway stood several pairs of the wooden sandals bathers wore to protect their feet from the heat. He ignored the footwear. The last thing his freezing toes needed right now was protecting from heat!
Finding the room blessedly empty, he laid his tunic, breeches, cloak, scarf and underwear on the floor to dry and stood in the doorway for a moment, pondering his first move in the baths. He would, of course, be foregoing the option of a cold plunge in the current conditions. But lounging in a warm pool or sitting in the steam of the sauna first? He wasn’t dirty. Anything but, in fact, given the quantities of water that had washed him over the past ten hours. His feet were wrinkled and white from the cold wet grass, but not dirty.
Steam would be best to start.
Picking up a pair of wooden sandals in case the steam room was too hot, and leaving his clothes to dry, hoping that no one would come in and simply trample all over them, he returned to the octagonal hall with its beautiful marble floor and concave wall surfaces and turned towards the steam room. The warmth was quickly returning life and vitality to his body and he smiled with relaxed happiness as he strolled down the corridor toward the billowing white of the sauna ahead, the gentle slapping of his bare feet on the warm floor almost lost among the hissing of the steam. The floor was becoming warmer with every step closer. Soon he would have to don the sandals.
‘… so remember to have the estate fully secured.’
‘I know my job, Vettius.’ Phaestor’s voice was curt; irritated.
‘Oh forgive me, captain, but the last time, two men were found hiding out from the slave-catchers in the observatory. Another cock up like that and I’ll not cover for you again. The Empress will hear of it and you’ll be chewing on hot coals for your negligence.’
Rufinus stopped dead and sidled into shadow at the doorway’s edge.
‘You threaten me once more Vettius, you little Arab prick, and I’ll turn you inside out and use you as a kit-bag. I do not answer to you. Nobody answers to you apart from the slaves.’
Rufinus nodded quietly to himself. Phaestor’s voice, for all the violence of his threats, was calm. He’d had the measure of the captain since the first day: not a man to cross lightly. Phaestor laughed, a strange sound in the strangled silence following his counter-threat.
‘Anyway. Let us step away from such bad feeling. Do we know who’s coming? Any people that need special treatment? African whores are not easy to come by on short notice, you know?’
‘Leave the hospitality to me, captain. Just have the villa secured. Three days: no one in… no one out.’
A fresh, loud hiss announced another cup of water being cast onto the hot floor, resulting in a build-up in the steam clouds. There was a momentary silence, then Phaestor’s light voice piped up again. ‘Tad? Go get another bucket of water. We’re nearly out.’
Rufinus panicked for a moment. This was the trouble with eavesdropping: if it was interesting and worthwhile, it almost always ended in discovery. The hulking figure of Tad appeared in the mist of the room ahead. There was no way even the great needle-toothed savage could miss Rufinus in the doorway.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped back half a dozen paces and then strode forward toward the room, humming a tune that built in volume as he approached, as though he had only just come down the corridor.
Tad stopped in the doorway, his head tipping comically to one side as he listened, until he saw the shape of Rufinus appear ahead.
The giant worried Rufinus. A few careful and well-directed enquiries had told him everything he needed to know about Tad, other than his full name, which was reputedly unpronounceable in Latin. The man was a Sarmatian from the steppes north of the Danubius. They were horse people who occasionally served in the Roman auxilia, but inhabited a land far outside Imperial territory where they had a fearsome reputation as brutal, conscience-free warriors and head-takers.
But even for the Sarmatians, Tad was something of a mystery. He was clearly far too large to comfortably ride any horse Rufinus had ever seen. He had been exiled by his own people and had come south seeking work. According to a rumour he’d heard from three different people, the great brute had been prosecuted in Thessalonica for eating a man alive, though acquitted since there had been no evidence, and the witnesses to the crime had failed to appear on the set day, or ever after for that matter.
Such rumours were often blown out of proportion from a small grain of truth, but the sharpened fang teeth did little to suggest the giant’s innocence in the matter. He spoke very little Latin, which didn’t help, only understanding the bare minimum of words and speaking them with such a thick, glutinous accent that they were barely comprehensible. When drunk, Rufinus had heard Tad singing in his own language and he’d found it hard to describe. ‘Listening to a man gargle toads’ was the closest he’d come.
Swallowing nervously, he forced an innocent smile. ‘Evening, Tad. All well with you?’
The huge, muscular thing grunted and swept past, giving him a suspicious look, the earthenware mug clattering around in the empty bucket he carried. Tad naked was almost as horrible a sight as anything he had ever seen.
Clenching his teeth, Rufinus strode on into the room. The latest clouds of white steam were now dissipating and he could see three figures in the fog. Vettius, the villa’s major domo and chief servant, sat with a towel across his knee, his dark skin, almost blue-black hair and small pointed beard glistening with sweat. Near him, Phaestor sat, leaning back in a relaxed pose. The third man was one of Vettius’ staff that he’d seen around a few times.
The three men looked up suspiciously at the new arrival and Rufinus smiled warmly. ‘Evening.’
Phaestor fixed him with a stern look. ‘Not now, Marcius.’ Rufinus stopped in his tracks. Had the captain seen him eavesdropping? No. If he had, he would have commented. ‘Private session? My apologies.’
Turning, Rufinus made to leave, but Vettius’ voice cut through the steam. ‘Why are you here?’
‘Sir?’
‘Sneaking around and poking your nose into our business? You spying on us, Marcius?’
Phaestor frowned as he turned to the major domo. ‘He uses the baths every day, Vettius. Don’t be a dick.’ He turned to Rufinus. ‘Just go away, Marcius. Private matters.’
‘Some security chief you are,’ sneered Vettius. ‘He’s probably been loitering outside, listening to us. He looks shifty.’
‘Everyone looks shifty to you. He’s fine. Just has an unhealthy obsession with bathing. Now fuck off, Marcius, eh?’
Relief flooding through him at Phaestor’s words, Rufinus turned to leave.
‘Actually,’ the captain said suddenly, ‘you said you needed an errand run, Vettius?’
Rufinus waited, mid-step, still facing the door. A grudging agreement came from the major domo in a grumble. ‘True. Marcius?’
Rufinus turned again to see the servant holding out a wax tablet, the wooden case dripping with condensation. ‘Take this. It needs to go to the mistress’ laundry maid before the damn wax melts. You know where to find her?’
Reaching out, Rufinus grasped the wooden case, shaking his head.
‘Go to the main slave chambers. You need the top floor at the southern end. All the lady’s slaves are there, but the one you need is her laundry maid – girl called Alia. Got that?’
Rufinus nodded.
‘Yes. Alia; laundry maid. Main slave quarters, top floor, southern end.’