Following the stable-master’s pointing finger, Rufinus trotted over and creaked open the door to see one of the most magnificent steeds he had ever laid eyes on watching him warily.
Appraisingly, he walked around the beast a few times, admiring form and muscle and the shine of his coat. Outside, the slam of wooden stall doors, clatter of hooves and clank and rustle of armour announced the departure of a cavalry troop. Rufinus paused momentarily to glance through the stall doors. Half a dozen men in white tunics and chain mail were steadying their horses under the watchful gaze of a Decurion.
Turning back, Rufinus began to pack his gear, listening as the officer in the courtyard distributed orders. The clatter of hooves began again, rising to an echoing clamour as they passed beneath the arch and receding into the distance to be replaced by the sounds of camp life, overlaid with the snorting and clumping of stabled horses.
Slowly, he made sure that everything was secure, tightening straps, and finally unlatched and swung open the door, leading the magnificent grey out into the cold sunlight, where he deftly mounted. He paused for just a moment, long enough for the steed to become used to his weight and settle comfortably, before geeing the horse forward toward the arch.
As he passed the stable-master, who stood running a finger down a list on a wood sheet, the man looked up. ‘Remember: look after him and deliver him to the merchant.’
Rufinus saluted and walked the horse past him, revelling in the joy of riding such a strong, lithe and well-trained beast. A brief pause at the camp’s east gate and he was out into the open, cold wind whipping his face as Bellerophon picked up speed, unbidden. Rufinus steered with his knees, turning the beast toward the Tibur road. Few people were about on the road at this time, just a few locals going about their business and a couple of carts, empty and heading to Tibur, Empulum, Collatia or some such settlement.
Rufinus thrilled to the whipping wind and easy speed and cantered along the metalled road happily, eating the stadia and then the miles. Just before the peeling, crumbled houses of Collatia he passed a group of men armoured in dulled mail and wrapped in brown cloaks, their horses tethered by the road, busy digging into bread and cheese, breaking up their journey as the wind whipped their hair and beards.
It was only as he was past and they had disappeared behind him around a corner that he realised they were the Praetorians he had seen saddled in the yard that morning. It brought a small smile to his face to discover that he was not the only member of the guard being sent out in a rude guise on some underhand task.
The smile slid slowly from his face as the reality of the coming day sank home once, danger looming darker and closer with every passing mile that brought him towards Tibur and the Villa Hadriana.
XVIII – Descent into darkness
RUFINUS turned off the road and traipsed with a sinking feeling along the narrow private road that led to the villa. Constans the merchant had taken in the horse and reminded him of the route and Rufinus had made his way down the zig-zag road with considerably less enthusiasm than his last break-neck descent, his pace slowing as he neared the villa.
All along the beautiful road to the first structure his mind raced, working out the best way to approach his return, given that he was unaware of the official reason for his departure. At least the giant Sarmatian thug was no longer a factor.
His stomach grumbling, complaining of missing the morning meal, Rufinus strode across to the servants’ door in the side of the entrance building. The sun was on its ascent now, the villa’s occupants having broken their fast hours ago, the noon meal still a couple of hours away.
He hesitated before knocking. Something was still gnawing at him, asking him whether he was truly best serving the emperor and even the guard by continuing on the course of action set by Paternus.
But he was here. There was still enough of a threat to have alarmed both prefects, and the only way they could identify potential dates, times, methods and perpetrators was through him.
Rap, rap, rap.
The door was opened by a man Rufinus knew vaguely by sight. The servile population of the villa so outnumbered the residents and the guards that most of their faces blurred into a haze. It was only as his thoughts swept across the word ‘slave’ that he found himself picturing the face of Senova and wondered that he had not looked up at the slave quarters on the way in on the off-chance she was standing there on the balcony.
‘Gnaeus Marcius of the guard. I need to see Dis or Phaestor.’
The servant narrowed his eyes for a moment, looking the battered visitor up and down as though running through a mental checklist and then nodded. ‘Follow me, sir.’
Pausing to allow the man time to close the door and slide the bolts home, Rufinus breathed deeply, trying to exude an air of confidence that he thoroughly lacked.
The slave hurried off with that fast shuffle of hopeless indentured servants everywhere, his eyes darting nervously at every sign of movement. Rufinus paid not a jot of attention to his surroundings as he was led through rooms and gardens, passageways and staircases to the grand edifice that was once the residence of the Praetorian Guard. The fine building rested upon huge vaulted substructures, reminiscent of those that now housed the slaves. Through a fine marble vestibule they moved, along a corridor lined with busts of men armoured in the fashion of generals of old.
And suddenly they were at their destination: a door with no markings; presumably that of either Dis or Phaestor. Rufinus waited for the slave to announce him, but the shuffling man simply gave him a swift bow, turned and hurried away. Taking a deep breath and preparing himself for the worst, Rufinus stepped forward and rapped on the door.
‘Come.’
The captain’s voice was sharp; impatient – unusual for the smooth-tongued man. Rufinus swallowed nervously and opened the door. Phaestor sat with a sword in his hand, running a whetstone along the edge as he looked up at his visitor, taking in the sling and the various pads and bandages. His eyes widened for just a moment and then narrowed under furrowed brows. His short-cropped hair and beard glistened with sweat, indicating that he had been exercising heavily.
‘Marcius? What are you doing here? And what happened to you?’
Rufinus swallowed again. Good questions he felt entirely ill-equipped to answer.
‘I was finished earlier than expected. I should find Dis and speak to him, but thought I’d best report in as soon as I arrived, sir.’
It was a gamble, for certain, but an educated one: vague enough that the answer would fit a thousand situations, while still answering the captain’s question adequately. He had to rely on the likelihood that Dis would not have written him off completely, given the possibility of him showing up unexpectedly.
His heart skipped a beat in the moment’s silence.
The whetstone stopped halfway down the blade and Rufinus saw the knuckles of the man’s right hand tighten on the hilt. His own hand dropped just a fingerwidth or two toward the pommel of his sword.
Scrape.
The stone finished its descent along the blade and Phaestor nodded, frowning. ‘But the state of you?’
‘Bandits on the road. I gave good account of myself, but still barely got away.’
The captain continued to frown, but eventually nodded. Rufinus felt an almost explosive release of pressure inside and fought to contain his relief.
‘Dis is hunting and giving his dogs a run.’ He stood, replacing the whetstone on his cabinet and sheathing his blade. ‘Drop your gear and come with me. I know where Dis will be. You’ll not find him yourself and there’s no telling when he’ll get back if he gets a sniff of a deer.’
Rufinus continued to breathe as steadily as possible as he piled his travelling kit in the corner, retaining his sword, and followed the guard captain from the room. It was hard to believe he’d got this far. His simple lie had bought him time. The next problem was going to be tougher. He would have to face Dis, and the two men would need somehow to synchronise their lies in front of the captain or they would both endanger themselves. And even then, once they had convinced Phaestor all was in order, Rufinus would have to convince Dis that he needed to be here. There would be a lot more lying to go this evening before he could safely slump into that cot beneath the farting form of Glaucus.