‘What is the meaning of this, Vettius? All issues with my men should come directly to me, you piece of weasel shit!’
The major domo stood impassively as the irate captain stormed across to him, looming over the small man so that their faces were only a few fingerwidths apart. Rufinus had to admire the little man’s calm, given the needle-toothed menace also hovering close to him.
‘Calm yourself, please, captain. Had there been more time I would have come to you first, but your man Marcius here seems to have uncovered a conspirator and it seemed prudent to put him under guard as fast as possible before going through the appropriate channels.’
Phaestor turned his unpleasant gaze on Rufinus.
‘Conspirator? Explain yourselves!’
Rufinus was busy hoping he wouldn’t have to speak up, not trusting his voice, when Vettius answered calmly and quietly. ‘There is some evidence to suggest that this man, who I believe to be one of the most recent recruits, is actually in the employ of that loathsome eel Cleander and, given the slippery bastard’s connections to Commodus, I felt it necessary to have him placed under guard immediately. Now please calm yourself.’
Fastus struggled in the grip of the other guards. ‘Cleander? I’ve nothing to do with the man. He’s never even out of the emperor’s presence, anyway!’
The other guards were reaching around to put their hands across his mouth and shut him up when they blinked at the outburst. Fastus blanched, suddenly aware of just what he’d said.
Phaestor deflated slightly and turned to Rufinus. ‘You must have sharp eyes. Even Dis hasn’t mentioned him, and my friend can spot an untruth instinctively.’
Fastus had now started to babble quickly, backpedalling, trying to explain away his knowledge of Cleander and the man’s habits as rumour and hearsay. Rufinus heaved a deep internal sigh of relief at the confirmation that at least the man was actually guilty of something, even if not treason, condemned by his own words. The chattering stopped abruptly as a large, meaty hand was clamped across the man’s mouth.
‘Now, now’ said Phaestor quietly. ‘Plenty of time to talk later.’ He turned to Vettius. ‘What do you intend to do about it?’
The major domo shrugged. ‘I shall inform the mistress of course, and she will decide on a course of action, with my guidance. Certainly the man will have to be questioned.’
Phaestor nodded and smiled very unpleasantly. ‘Agreed. However, I would suggest we wait on that. Dis is in the city on one of his trips and there’s no one more qualified to extract information than he.’
Vettius nodded. ‘Very well.’ He turned to the men holding Fastus. ‘Take him to the amphitheatre and have him locked in one of the cells. Make certain that the place is secure and under constant guard by trusted men.’
The four men glanced across at their captain, and he nodded his assent, watching as the four men dragged the prisoner away in a flurry of muffled protests.
‘Phaestor?’ the major domo said quietly. ‘I think we’ll want to check through his things when the man I assigned comes with them, but I also think we need to interview the entire staff and see it we can piece together more of a picture of this traitor’s activity.’
Phaestor nodded as Vettius turned to Rufinus. ‘You can write, yes?’
Rufinus nodded.
‘Then go and write down everything you know about him; everything you’ve seen, observed, or heard, and bring it all to myself and the captain when you’re done.’
Rufinus nodded and turned to leave.
‘Dis is going to want to speak with you, Marcius’ the captain added, looking at Rufinus with interest. ‘He’ll be fascinated to find out how you rooted out someone he missed.’
Rufinus nodded nervously, aware of the looks the giant, needle-toothed Tad was giving him. Something in that look held the promise of trouble, and Rufinus swallowed again, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Trouble was certainly coming, and Tad, for all his mountainous evil, was less of a worry than the possibility of having to deal with Dis and his hounds.
XVI – Secrets within secrets
THREE days passed in a strange limbo for Rufinus. He had returned to the routine drudgery of slogging around the estate, crunching the white grass beneath his freezing boots, blowing on his hands and watching the frost form on his mail, almost as though nothing had happened. It was illusory, he knew. Soon he would be sent for, whether for good or ill, by either Vettius or Phaestor, and things would change. But until that happened, patrolling the grounds remained his most important task, interspersed with a series of looks received from the other men varying from grudging respect to downright hostility – that last particularly evident from the needle-toothed Tad.
Strolling past the abandoned academy towards the so-called ‘gold wing’ with its amphitheatre and stadium, he chewed his lip thoughtfully. The past three days he had extended his circuit of the estate to loop around the amphitheatre in an attempt to spy out the caged Fastus and learn what he could of recent events.
The arena was constantly under the guard of three men, one inside and two patrolling the perimeter, and consequently Rufinus had only dared come close enough to nod at one of the guards in passing. Given his involvement in the affair, an aloof distance seemed to be the way to play it, though inside he burned to know what was happening behind the closed doors of the palace. Not once had he seen Fastus and, despite stepping forward conspicuously during duty assignments, he’d not yet been chosen to patrol the arena. Nor would he, he supposed, given his connection with the prisoner.
Still, another trip would likely do no harm, since the other guards clearly assumed that his route already took in the amphitheatre and nothing appeared untoward.
‘Marcius!’
His reverie interrupted, Rufinus looked up in surprise. It had taken a lot of concentration in his first weeks here to react so appropriately to his pseudonym. His mother, brother and sister had always used his forename, Gnaeus, his superiors in the military calling him Rufinus, and his father simply ‘boy’. No one, of course, used the family name. The Rustii were still hardly a name to advertise in exalted circles.
‘Hey… Marcius!’
He spun around, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the slope on his way past the arena. One of the amphitheatre guards was waving his arms.
‘What?’
‘Vettius wants to see you. He’s been looking for you for over an hour.’
‘Someone should have told him I was on patrol, then!’
The guard grinned at him. ‘No one ever knows where the hell you are, Marcius. Always got your head in the clouds and pissing around in the undergrowth. I swear you must have a woman and a jug of wine hidden out there somewhere!’
Rufinus laughed. ‘Just make sure you leave me some of both when you find them. Where’s Vettius now?’
‘Probably back in his office.’
Rufinus waved his thanks and glanced once more at the amphitheatre, unable to spot any sign of the prisoner. He would be in an underground cell. Rufinus felt the same cold shudder go through him as each time he thought on the unfortunate captive. Dis would be back today, apparently. And then the torture would begin and, given what Rufinus had seen of the hollow-eyed deputy, the victim would probably scream out every last thing he knew within an hour of first knife-stroke
He shuddered. Anything Fastus underwent was directly his fault, regardless of any level of second-hand culpability on the captive’s side. Trying to push down his guilt and shame, he fixed a grim smile to his face and made for the villa proper. Acknowledging the various folk he passed with a half-aware nod, he made his way through the arches and doors, across flags and along corridors until he reached the major-domo’s office.
‘Come!’
His hand stopped short of the door upon which he was about to knock. Shrugging, he reached down and eased the door open, entering with a straight back and expressionless face.