Perennis nodded. ‘A fair question. Saoterus is one of a gaggle of dangerous men that bend the ear of our emperor. He has too much power for a freedman and far too much influence in the court. That being said, he may be the least harmful of the bunch. Some say he is in love with Commodus. Certainly he seems to be infatuated. Whatever the truth, I find it hard to believe he has anything other than the emperor’s best interest at heart. I would be surprised to find evidence of him involved in any conspiracy.’
Rufinus nodded. The opinion seemed to sit comfortably alongside both his own and that of Pompeianus.
‘Then respectfully, prefect, I should return to barracks, clean up and try to get some rest before I return.’
Perennis nodded. ‘Good luck on the morrow, guardsman. I trust we will see you in a real uniform again soon.’
Rufinus gave a salute which Perennis returned casually before strolling off towards the city gate. The young guard watched the sour-faced prefect disappear behind a group of chatting men and sighed. Strange. Somehow all the twisted politics of this whole messy situation seemed easier to deal with when one adopted Perennis’ attitude. They were soldiers, devoted to protecting their emperor. He would return in the morning with fresh hope, trying to stay above the murky swirls of the villa’s politics, his eyes locked on that one goaclass="underline" protect the emperor. It made it all fall into place so much more easily.
As he walked back to his barracks, the smile slipped from his face as he remembered that he would still have to deal with Dis the Frumentarius, whatever Paternus planned. Walking out of the cold wind into the familiar cover of the barrack block, he saw Mercator and Icarion standing in his doorway with a jar of wine.
‘Nice interview, then?’
‘Enlightening’ Rufinus said thoughtfully. ‘Let’s get inside and crack that open. I’ve only drunk cheap piss for the last four months.’
Warming to the smiles of his friends, Rufinus strode into the small room, surprised at how odd and unhomely it felt after four months of life at the villa. His bunk had clearly been used for storage by Icarion, given the rumpled blanket and the patterns in the dust. Mercator slouched into the chair, relaxing on a silk cushion that Icarion had paid above the odds for from an Arab in the forum. The small Greek sank onto his bunk and scooped up three purple-stained Samian-ware cups from the low table next to him, slopping wine into them with gay abandon before handing them out.
As he finished filling the third, he raised it. ‘To our young war hero, safely returned from his detached duty…’ he grinned. ‘…where apparently a mermaid beat him half to death.’
Rufinus rolled his eyes. ‘I’d love nothing more than to tell you where I’ve been, but it’s not over yet, so I can’t. I’m afraid I’m heading off again in the morning. Let’s say the ship’s putting out to sea on another voyage and leave it at that.’
Mercator and Icarion exchanged worried glances. ‘Whatever it is you’re up to, be very careful,’ Mercator said quietly. ‘I know you were assigned personally by Paternus, but I fear that hitching our wagons to him might leave us all in deepest shit. Don’t tie yourself too tightly to a rock that might be thrown overboard, my young friend.’
Rufinus shook his head and took a quick, appreciative gulp of the wine, surprised that Icarion hadn’t watered it. ‘I’ll say this: I’m also under the aegis of Perennis now, so I’m fairly sure I’m safe at this end. I’m more worried about the job itself and the stumbling blocks awaiting tomorrow.’
Mercator frowned. ‘Wish you could tell us more. We might be able to help.’
Rufinus shook his head vehemently. ‘Better you don’t. But while I’m here, tell me about Paternus. He seems to have changed. Is he losing it?’
Again, the two veterans shared a knowing glance. ‘The prefect’s been rather outspoken in the presence of the emperor,’ Icarion said in hushed tones ‘on the subject of his advisors and their influence. He’s alienated just about everyone with any power. He’s still in well with the old guard in the senate, but even they’ve started to sit back and stay quiet. Paternus just doesn’t seem to know when to stop. Some say that Commodus is a breath away from ordering his death and I really wouldn’t be surprised.’
Mercator nodded sagely. ‘Everything Paternus does to block the moves of the emperor’s favourites takes him further out of the circle and hands more power to Perennis.’ He leaned forward, his voice dropping yet further. ‘I would never advocate a split in the guard, but if sides were drawn right now, Paternus would find himself with less than a century of men, and they’re the old veterans like us.’
Again, the two men shared a look and this time, Rufinus thought he saw a flash of guilt in it.
‘What?’
Icarion sighed. ‘Maybe not even us. We’ve been talking it over. We’re officially bound to Perennis anyway, as we’re in his First cohort, and that might not be a bad thing. Paternus is going to bring down his friends and allies when he falls.’
Rufinus nodded. It was hardly a surprise to find their support of the older prefect waning. Given his discussions with the two officers just now, he would find it hard to stand in defence of Paternus himself. ‘I presume my transfer from the First cohort never went ahead, since you have no new room-mate and neither prefect mentioned it?’
Mercator nodded. ‘Paternus put in the orders, but Perennis blocked them. I think he was interested in finding out what Paternus had involved you in. Since then, I suspect Perennis is keeping you separated from the vulture; though whether for your safety or for his, I couldn’t say.’
Rufinus’ gaze slipped to the corner, where his Praetorian gear was stored, packed in water-tight covers, the armour and helm out and polished to a shine as if he’d last worn it yesterday. A third tall wrapping alongside the two javelins confirmed that his prized hasta pura – the silver spear – was still safe.
‘I see you’re keeping all my kit ready. Even polishing my armour?’
Icarion nodded. ‘Doesn’t take much to maintain when it’s just sat inside.’
Rufinus sighed and leaned back, sipping his wine. ‘This is good stuff. You don’t water it?’
Icarion laughed. ‘A Greek never waters good wine. Save the cheap swill for that.’
Mercator, grinning, reached out and poured himself another cup. ‘Drink up. There’s plenty to get through and you’ll need a good insulating skin for your bracing sea voyage tomorrow.’
The next day dawned cold and crisp. The water tanks had not quite iced over, but each breath plumed in the air and a thick coating of furry white covered every surface, gradually dissipating as the sunlight warmed the world.
Rufinus moved very quietly about the room, gathering his travelling kit, careful not to wake the sleeping form of Icarion, though as he left the room the man’s eyes opened and he gave Rufinus a good luck sign.
Shivering, Rufinus stepped out into the cold air, pulling the cloak as tight as he could around him with his good hand, holding it closed with the fingers of his sling-bound arm. With a deep breath, he strode through the camp as men went about their early morning ablutions or plodded home from night duty. A few moments later, he ducked into the arch of the stables and sought out the stable-master, a slight man with a neat beard and a permanent smell of horse.
‘Guardsman Rufinus. Have you had orders for me?’
The man glanced across at him, looking his dishevelled uniform-less figure up and down distastefully, and nodded.
‘Both prefects sent me authorisation to release one of our courier steeds. A fast and strong beast, they said. I’ve had Bellerophon saddled for you; he’s one of my best – the big dappled grey in the corner stall. Make sure you look after him. Orders are to deliver him to the compound of a merchant called Constans near the south gate of Tibur and then continue to your destination on foot.’
‘I understand’ Rufinus nodded.