In a way, it had brought a wave of relief. After so long slogging through duty in the villa, and given the lack of concern the Frumentarius had shown over the possibility of a coup, he’d begun to wonder whether the whole thing had been cooked up from the fears and imaginations of the Praetorian prefects and whether in fact Lucilla was innocent of everything other than simply being a cold-hearted and sour bitch. Her words to Saoterus, assuming they were true and not some invention of the guard, seemingly confirmed the fact that a plot was forming, albeit slowly.
Saoterus had been told that he was lucky he was being dismissed alive and not skinned so that his flesh could fly like a warning banner above the villa while the pig farm in the valley fed on his raw corpse.
And so the emperor’s advisor had been sent on his way in the carriage in which he had arrived. Rufinus watched the carriage trundle off along the private track toward the main road with a certain sinking sensation, albeit a thoroughly expected one. With that carriage and its occupant went any hope of a peaceful reconciliation of the imperial family and any chance of avoiding confrontation and bloodshed.
Alea iacta est… the die is cast.
Vettius’ door stood ajar and muttering could be heard within. Rufinus listened quietly for a moment, but the man was chattering too quietly and fast to be intelligible from the corridor. With a deep breath, Rufinus rapped twice on the door.
The rattle of quiet chatter stopped abruptly. ‘Come!’
Striding in, Rufinus left the door ajar behind him and came to a halt in front of the large walnut desk. Vettius looked stressed. His hair and beard glistened with sweat, his eyes focussed, squinting, as he pored over piles of wood sheets and wax tablets, the fingers of his left hand drumming a constant irritated rhythm on the desk.
‘Master Vettius?’
The man held up a silencing finger as he continued to mumble, running his finger down a column of figures. Rufinus stood patiently, waiting for the man to finish his calculation. Finally he looked up. ‘Marcius. Yes. List one. Both wings of the palace, golden house area, water villa, libraries and palace baths. You’re to be assigned to the central areas. Phaestor has left me to work out a rota for the current guards, bless his black heart. It’s a nightmare of organisation the likes of which no man has ever attempted. But for the next three days at least, until Phaestor returns with recruits, you’ll be on two shifts a day, with six hours of free time.’
His finger ran down a different sheet. ‘First watch, ‘til noon you’re on Pecile garden, libraries and terrace. You’ll cover both areas due to the shortage of men, so there’s a lot of walking.’
Rufinus smiled to himself. Perhaps to a man perpetually knee-deep in paperwork, who rarely left the confines of the villa, such a duty would be onerous. Given the change in the weather – the frost had failed to touch the ground this morning and the sun was already beginning to blaze with a warmth uncharacteristic for so early in the year – a morning strolling around the garden and the library terrace would be a blessing, and with a few places to shelter, should the weather become inclement.
‘I shall endeavour to keep the villa free of vagrants and enemies’ he said brightly, earning himself a black look.
‘Then you will have half an hour to eat before you report to the empress’ palace, where you will relieve Harrapus the Cappadocian. Understood?’
Rufinus nodded, his heart racing. The central area and Lucilla’s palace. It would be a tiring regime, with little free time, but it was what he had been working for these past months.
A thought struck him. ‘Who am I to be paired with?’
Vettius gave him a surprised look. ‘Paired?’
‘All guards are to be paired off to prevent treachery.’
‘Only those who haven’t proved themselves, Marcius’ he replied with an exasperated sigh. ‘List one: those who can be trusted. I swear I thought you were brighter.’
Rufinus smiled. ‘Too daft to be dangerous, I suppose.’
Again, Vettius flashed him a black look. ‘Anyway, you’re almost halfway through the first duty, so as soon as you can, you’ll need to report to the Pecile, since there’s no one patrolling that area. But…’ he added as Rufinus turned, ‘there’s something else you need to do first. The empress wants to see you.’
Rufinus’ heart skipped a beat.
‘The empress?’
‘Yes. She’s wanting to speak personally to all those who’ll be patrolling her palace. She’s a lady who likes to be aware of her surroundings. But interestingly, she asked for you by name as soon as I could send you. So run along. You’ll find her in the council chamber, if you remember the directions, and then make your way to the Pecile when she’s done with you.’
Rufinus nodded, pulse still pounding like a chariot hurtling round the Circus Maximus. He thanked Vettius, but the man was already involved once more with his lists, paying no further heed to the guard.
Turning quickly, Rufinus hurried out into the corridor. It took him but a moment to recall the route to the council chamber, jammed between the Pecile, the imperial baths and the water villa, tucked away almost forgotten in a corner. The last time he had stood in its echoing marble hall had been following the accusation of Fastus that had precipitated this sequence of events.
A hundred heartbeats later, he approached the open door of the chamber, the apsed end to the black and yellow marble room visible through it and lit by bright sunlight flowing through the huge triple arch, white marble statues in their niches almost shining with a strangely lunar glow. The door stood wide, one of the veteran guards he knew by sight to the side. Rufinus nodded to him and the man returned the gesture, ushering him in with a sweep of the arm. Inside, the room warbled with the sound of quiet conversation which died away as he entered.
Lucilla was every bit the monarch in her crimson stola and golden shawl, hair bound with a fine gold net, complemented by gilt earrings and necklace, any one of which would pay his wages until the day he went grey. She sat upon a throne of dark wood which still bore inscriptions that carried the words AELIVS and HADRIANUS. Clearly she already considered herself the inheritor of the imperial title.
A tall man with a lean face and grave expression, made-up like a painted woman, stood to one side and slightly behind, in the manner of a chamberlain. The man tried to smile and the effect was like a crocodile sneering. Rufinus took an instant and almost pathological dislike to the man. His wandering gaze as he stepped inside also took in the four slaves standing quietly in the corner, waiting to attend their mistress. Rufinus felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck as he saw Senova, and warmth thrilled through him.
Remembering himself just in time, Rufinus came to a sharp halt some five paces from the throne and sketched a deep bow.
‘Guardsman Marcius, I believe?’
Rufinus straightened and nodded. ‘I am, your imperial majesty.’
The title seemed to please Lucilla and he saw the corner of her mouth lift just a little. ‘You look familiar, Marcius.’ She frowned for a moment and then something passed. ‘I expect I’ve seen you around the grounds.’ She turned to the slaves. ‘Cesta? Valla? Go prepare my bath, and shut the door on your way out.’
Two of the four slaves bowed and scuttled off through the door, which shut with a click, sealing him into the room with Lucilla, her ‘chamberlain’ and the two remaining slaves. Silence reigned for a long moment until Lucilla stood and stepped down from the raised throne, her gold sandals clacking on the marble floor and the delicate Serican silk garments swishing around her alabaster shins. Stepping towards Rufinus, she walked slowly around him and then came to a halt, facing him.