Pompeianus clearly chose his companions and surroundings well. Indeed, if one was to be trapped in a wing of a villa and live in virtual seclusion, he could not have done better than to end up in this complex, which was without a doubt the most magnificent part of the whole villa, and surrounding himself with servants rather than slaves, servants who were apparently rather more highly skilled than the average household helper.
A cup was held out in front of him. Gripping it, he realised that it was empty. He frowned in confusion at the servant, who nodded. ‘How resistant to pain are you?’
Rufinus peered at the vial in the man’s hand, now hovering over the cup. He would have liked nothing more than to slip into the blessed folds of sleep; he’d certainly had enough excruciating pain for one day. But Dis was coming back shortly, and in the meantime he was in the private rooms of the general, while all was a confusing whirl of the unknown. To be in any way out of control now could be a critical mistake.
‘Give me the lightest dose you consider worthwhile. I’ll manage.’
He’d hoped he sounded brave and strong rather than resigned and worried, but suspected he’d failed from the smile on the servant’s face.
After a few moments to allow the drug to work its effects, the following quarter of an hour was among the worst in Rufinus’ life. The man, clearly a trained surgeon, worked smoothly and swiftly as his patient ground his teeth, tears streaming down his cheeks and his breath coming in small gasps as he watched with terrified, awful fascination. The servant drew a glinting blade from within the leather bag beside the table and washed it in the bowl of steaming water before taking it to the skinned strip on Rufinus’ arm, his tongue protruding from the corner of his mouth as he worked.
Rufinus’ eyes widened and he almost pulled his arm away, forcing himself to endure and closing his eyes, grinding his teeth as the man worked, making several small cuts, creating flaps at the top and bottom of the skin to either side of the missing strip, which he then stretched and pulled together, effectively covering the raw section of arm with tight, thin skin.
Holding the wound shut, he reached into the bag again, withdrawing a small leather wallet. Holding it in his teeth, he removed a small metal pin with his free hand, expertly sliding it through one flap of skin, bending it, and then pushing it through the other before twisting it so that it lay flush with the arm. A small bottle from the bag was then opened and drops sprinkled onto the freshly-pinned wound.
‘What’s that?’ Rufinus gasped, intrigued despite himself.
‘Vinegar. Good for slowing the blood.’
‘You know your craft.’
The servant smiled. ‘I was a junior medicus in the Second Adiutrix under the general in Germania. I’ve tended more wounds than I’ve eaten meals.’
As he bound the wound, slowly and thoroughly, he nodded in satisfaction. ‘This arm will have to be in a sling for one week to allow the skin’s edges time to knit. Then you must remove the sling and begin to work and stretch the arm. Begin with only tiny movements, but work up more each day over the month. One month from now I expect you to be able to stretch it out fully with no ill effects. It is all a matter of patience and working slowly. Now let me see your hand.’
As Rufinus held out his hand, a purple stain beginning to form beneath the skin over most of the back and two fingers drooping, the medicus-servant nodded.
‘Simple splint and binding and that’ll be fine in time.’
Rufinus watched passively as the man worked, and only when he had finished and sat back, replacing his tools in the bag did Rufinus realise that Dis was standing in the doorway. The man moved like a cat. How long had he been there?
‘Are you finished?’ the guard officer asked the servant.
‘Yes sir. All done. He’ll…’
‘Good. You know me. You know who I am. Bearing that in mind, I would ask you to mention this to no one and to go across to the other side of the master’s complex and busy yourself there until we are gone. There are no other servants here?’
The man shook his head and Dis smiled a cold, threatening smile.
‘You never saw us, never tended any wounds and most certainly will disappear without trace if I find out you have spoken to anyone or if I find you listening in after you leave. You understand me?’
The servant nodded again and, grabbing his leather bag, hurried past Dis, trying to bend away from him as he passed, and off down the stairs. Dis strode calmly over to the huge window and paused. Rufinus stood and walked painfully over to join him. A floor below there was an audible click and, a moment later, the servant rushed across the stadium-shaped garden and into the building opposite.
Dis sighed deeply. ‘He’ll tell no one. Regardless of any threat from me, Pompeianus chooses his men well. He will tell the general, but that I can contain.’
‘What is happening?’ Rufinus said quietly.
‘You are happening, you idiot. Breezing into the villa like a bull in a glass factory, knocking over carefully nurtured constructions, all-but screaming your Praetorian status. If you’d brought a scorpion shield you could hardly have advertised it louder!’
The man was clearly irritated and Rufinus shook his head desperately. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I…’
‘Shut up, you imbecile. As if I didn’t have enough to deal with, with Perennis poking his nose in everywhere and trying to set Pompeianus up as some sort of spy, now I get landed with you! Are you Perennis’ man too? Or perhaps Paternus? Or one of the senate, even?’
Rufinus mind raced. Who was this man? ‘No one. I…’
‘You must be Paternus’ man. The old goat’s heart’s in the right place, but he’s got all the subtlety and imagination of a concrete block. And now I hear you’ve landed our Fastus in the shit, for which I really have to commend you!’
Rufinus stepped back. ‘He’s traitorous! Cleander’s man!’
Dis turned and the flash of cold fire in his eyes made Rufinus back away. ‘You idiot! Fastus was my man. I’ve been finding it increasingly difficult to get back to the city, so I had to recruit someone to run messages for me. And he’s barely learned his way around the villa before some wet-behind-the-ears Praetorian shops him! Well the poor bastard’s future’s fairly set now. It’ll turn out he had a weak heart. I’ll have hardly started work when his poor system gave out, before he could give us anything useful or any names. I swear I’m almost tempted to turn you in just to make my day a little more productive.’
‘Who are you?’ Rufinus finally found the strength to say.
‘I’m Frumentarii, from the Castra Peregrina, you idiot. If you think back not too far you might even remember taking some damn documents from me at our camp. I have a facility for remembering faces, and yours sticks in my head more than most for its good-natured simpleness!’
Rufinus staggered back and slumped into a handy chair close to the window’s edge. The Frumentarii! The emperor’s secret service. The ‘Hand of Hadrianus’ as they’d been known at their foundation. Spies, policemen and assassins all rolled into one. Rufinus’ head continued to spin.
‘Frumentarii?’
‘Yes. With an ongoing mandate from Commodus to keep tabs on his sister and root out names of those who might be considered disloyal to the throne. Lucilla is a hub around which treachery turns. And now everything I’ve spent the year building is in peril because of you and Paternus. What am I to do with you? I should just have let Tad eat you alive.’
Rufinus was shaking his head. ‘But Fastus was in league with Cleander!’
‘Don’t be idiotic.’
Rufinus thought back. ‘ANDE’. It could be so many things. Leaping to conclusions it appeared he had condemned a loyal servant of the empire to unfortunate death.
‘What do we do?’
Dis was standing, hands clasped behind his back, staring out of the window. ‘I don’t know why you’re here…’ Rufinus moved to answer, but dis held up a restraining hand. ‘I don’t want to know why you’re here. But I don’t want you here, either. You’re getting in the way. Go back to your camp and tell Paternus and Perennis to stop interfering in the business of the Frumentarii.’