‘Did I hurt you?’ he asked, his voice full of concern.
The girl shook her head, her eyes a mix of fear and suspicion.
‘Honestly. I didn’t mean to pull you out so roughly. I just had to get you out of there quickly. We need to talk in private.’ He rolled his head, his eyes roving around the chamber. ‘I guess this is about as private as we’re going to get.’
The girl sat back more comfortably. ‘Why are you here?’
Rufinus baulked. There were easier questions to answer and he felt ill prepared for that one just yet. ‘Let’s begin with introductions. I’m Gnaeus Marcius.’
‘But not really?’
Rufinus sighed wearily. ‘Yes I am really Gnaeus Marcius. There’s more to it than that, certainly, but that much is still true. And you are?’
‘Senova.’
A Briton, yes?’
‘If you say so. I am of the Brigantii, in north of the place you call Britannia, yes.’
‘Alright, Senova. You remember me?’
‘You were a soldier in Vindobona? The one with the silver stick?’
‘Spear’ he corrected absently, his mind churning through problems.
‘You were a friend of the Praetorians; a friend of the emperor?’
Rufinus blinked. ‘I’d hardly say that. Alright. I’m here in secret.’
‘For Praetorians and emperor?’
Rufinus felt a moment of panic again. Just how much did Senova know of the rift between Commodus and Lucilla? If she was too well informed and as loyal as she really should be to her mistress, almost anything Rufinus now said could land him deep in the shit-pit.
‘After a fashion’ he muttered. ‘Let’s say the only person other than yourself who knows who I am is Pompeianus.’
For a moment, Senova’s face brightened and Rufinus thought he saw a solution.
‘Pompeianus is a good man. There is reason to believe…’ he paused and tried to find the right words: ambiguous enough to mask the truth while appearing to reveal it. ‘There is reason to believe that the Imperial family is in danger from a potential usurper.’
Senova frowned and Rufinus wondered whether he’d gone too far suddenly.
‘I am sorry. What is this word ‘usurper’. I only speak Latin for three years. Some words are still unknown to me.’
Rufinus heaved a sigh of relief. ‘A usurper… a man who would kill them to make himself emperor. Or a woman.’ He added almost as an afterthought.
Senova nodded thoughtfully. ‘I think mistress thinks the same. She is always having private meetings and buys many new guards.’
Rufinus nodded, grateful how what appeared to him to be behaviour seriously indicative of treachery could appear quite the opposite with just a little nudge of suggestion. ‘It is absolutely imperative that I remain in secret here. Lives may depend upon it. Do you understand?’ Just which lives, she couldn’t know, of course. Senova nodded.
‘I will not tell anyone but master Pompeianus.’
Rufinus paused. He’d much rather she kept the subject away from the Syrian master’s ears too, but small concessions would have to be made. If Senova was to trust him and keep his secret, she must be free to confirm the story with the only other man involved in any way. He sat back in the chair, his mind still racing. Of course, that meant that he now had to make closer contact with Pompeianus; had to warn him about the somewhat twisted version of the truth he had given the girl so that the former general wouldn’t contradictory him. He was suddenly, very uncomfortably, aware of the intensity of the gaze she was throwing his way and felt the colour rising in his cheeks, hopefully invisible in this gloom.
‘I really wish you hadn’t recognised me. It would have made things so much easier. Do you live in these chambers?’
Senova shook her head and nodded toward the east. ‘The Empress’ chief slaves live in part of the main palace. She likes them on hand all times. Only unimportant slaves live in the hundred chambers, with the storerooms.’
Rufinus nodded. It would be difficult to contact Senova if he wanted to speak to her. Or just to see her. So far, in his first week here, he had stuck to the outer grounds, where his assigned patrols were. Soon, he was going to have to begin exploring the palace properly, to find the ways in and out of the buildings, even the ones he was not allowed in; especially the ones he was not allowed in…
‘Are guards ever brought into the palace itself?’
He regretted the question as soon as it was out. She might think he was simply lusting after her, or she might worry that he had unsavoury reasons for seeking access to the lady’s private palace. Either way it would look bad.
‘What I mean is…’
‘Guards come into the palace from time to time. There are always two men patrolling the corridors, but you will not be one of them. You are too new. When there are big parties, more guards are brought in for extra safety, yes?’
Rufinus nodded, sighing with relief at the ease with which she had openly accepted his question. If he remembered the geography of the palace from his first day and the guided tour by both Phaestor and Glaucus, his fascinatingly-unwell room-mate, the wing occupied by Pompeianus, a sprawling complex of gardens, ponds and well-appointed chambers, was connected with the rest of the palace at some curious circular building that remained mysterious in its use. Perhaps if the worst came to the worst, the Syrian would be able to arrange access to Lucilla’s palace?
‘I must go’ Senova said quietly, pointing to the drab blanket swaying slightly in the breeze. ‘I have many chores and must be in the triclinium before domina sits to her meal.’
Rufinus nodded and smiled as reassuringly as he could manage.
‘I am sorry to have dragged you into this and just as sorry for the rough manner in which I did it, but I’m also very grateful for your understanding and your help.’ He found his throat was cracking as he spoke. ‘And I am… I’m very glad to see you again, Senova.’
He savoured the name for a moment, running the syllables round his tongue. The slave girl climbed wearily to her feet and pulled her cloak around her shoulders in preparation.
‘Brigantia go with you, Gnaeus Marcius.’
‘And with you, Senova of the Brigantii.’
As she stepped forward, he reached out and lifted the blanket aside for her.
The huge, monochrome shape of a hunting hound, half the height of a man, stood on the wooden walkway outside the railing, its eyes boring into his as he slid the blanket aside. The beast issued a low, threatening growl, spittle-soaked lips pulling back across the pink gums and savage teeth.
Rufinus saw the hackles raised on the dog’s shoulders and immediately pushed Senova behind him, his hand going to his waist. At least, since he’d not been back to his quarters yet, he still had the sword at his side. His fingers closed on the pommel.
What in the name of everything sacred and sane was the damn thing doing four floors up on a rickety wooden walkway in the slave quarters? Slowly, Rufinus took one step forward. The hound sank toward the ground, crouching into a hunter’s stance, its whole body vibrating with tension as another horrible growl issued from deep within its throat.
Rufinus’ fingers slid from the pommel down to the sword’s grip and tightened. The beast clearly had no intention of letting them past. And yet, if he was forced to try and dispatch one of Dis’ hounds, how long would the mercenaries’ second in command suffer him to remain unharmed. Assuming he would be able to best the creature, of course. Given the sheer size and feral nature of the dog, he wasn’t sure he would come away on top.
‘Shoo!’ he said rather lamely, and then hissed and waved his free hand.
Another deep growl came as his answer.
A distant shrill whistle pulled the beast up short just as its front legs were tensing.
‘Acheron! Heel!’
With a last look that conveyed a lot more intelligent malice than a dog should really be capable of, the Sarmatian hunting hound rose and stalked away.