‘The next hour will either see us all dead or basking in the glory of having saved the emperor himself from an ignominious demise. Shall we go and meet with that fate?’ He turned away without waiting for them to reply. ‘Follow me.’
The freedman led them through the palace by a route calculated to avoid the praetorians set to guard the approaches to the emperor, down ill-lit corridors and through rooms which were clearly not in regular use, lit sparingly by single lamps whose light struggled to penetrate their corners. Halting at length before a closed door, he took a deep breath.
‘Beyond this door lies the main access corridor to the emperor’s throne room. If any of you are carrying knives, then you must leave them here. We will be searched before being allowed into the imperial presence, and the detection of a weapon of any sort will not end well for any of us.’ He waited while they pulled out the daggers they had hidden in their togas and placed them in a neat pile. ‘Good. Now, the gold must stay here for the time being. What I have in mind will not work unless we are completely innocent of its presence when the guards search us. Senator, you and your companions will accompany me into the throne room while your porters will stay here with my man.’ He turned to the household slave. ‘Listen carefully, and when you hear me call for the gold don’t hesitate, but bring it into the emperor’s presence at once.’
He opened the door and beckoned them through into a broad, well-lit corridor whose walls were richly decorated with embroidered hangings and with an exquisitely rendered mosaic underfoot. The passageway broadened out into an anteroom at its far end, and Marcus could see a pair of guards in full ceremonial uniform standing sentry duty in the royal palace, each man armed with spears whose blades and butt-spikes shone like polished silver. Cleander gestured to the door behind the guards with a smile, his words muttered so quietly as to be almost inaudible.
‘Follow me, and look confident. These men are trained to look for the signs of fear and nervousness.’
He strode up the corridor and into the anteroom, greeting the guards with the weary patience of a man for whom the approach to the throne was simply a dull routine.
‘Good evening, gentlemen, here I am again! I have with me a noble Roman senator and two illustrious officers from one of Caesar’s foremost cohorts, distinguished men to whom Caesar has most graciously granted an audience in light of their devoted service in Britannia, Germania and Dacia! Search us please, and allow us admittance so that these officers can receive the thanks of their grateful emperor!’
The older of the two guards frowned.
‘We’ve had no instructions to admit any senators or soldiers, Chamberlain, only yourself.’
The freedman frowned.
‘No instructions? This audience has been planned for weeks! Are you telling me that I must turn away one of Rome’s most exalted senators, a hero of the Dacian war, simply because your superiors have managed to mislay the detail of the evening’s proceedings?’ Shaking his head, he gestured to the men standing behind him. ‘And how many men does Prefect Perennis have inside the throne room, all armed with spear, sword and dagger? A dozen? Twenty? What possible threat can three unarmed men, whose loyalty to the emperor has been proven on the field of battle time after time, present in the face of such an overwhelming strength of the finest soldiers in the empire? Shall I tell the emperor that you refused to permit his honoured guests admittance?’
The guardsman pondered for a moment before reluctantly nodding his acquiescence.
‘We’ll let your guests in, Chamberlain, and I’ll send my colleague here to tell my centurion of the change to what’s on the roster.’
He signalled to the other praetorian, who set off down the corridor at a brisk pace, and Cleander bowed graciously, gesturing for his companions to step forward and surrender to the praetorian’s brisk but thorough search. Once all four men had been cleared to access the throne room Cleander led them through the door and into a large round chamber whose domed roof towered a full thirty feet above them at its peak. The walls were decorated in the same manner as the anteroom, and the floor was patterned with a mosaic of dazzling quality and meticulous detail depicting a circle of gladiators of all types in combat. In the middle of the chamber stood a single heavily decorated chair on a wide, one-foot-high dais, and eight spear-armed praetorians in full armour stood around the wall’s circular sweep. Cleander pointed to a spot midway between door and dais.
‘Stand here, one pace forward for you, Senator Albinus, you are the senior man in your party. When the emperor enters you must stand to attention and keep your gaze fixed on the wall before you. Commodus does not like to be challenged by any man, and that includes meeting his gaze unless he has invited you to speak.’ He smiled wryly at some memory or other. ‘And even then I advise you to meet his eyes only when you speak, and to avert your gaze at all other times. Trust me on this, you do not want to provoke Caesar, or like others before you, you may find that he is swift to anger and has very little forgiveness in him.’
The soldier closest to the door barked an order for the guards to come to attention, and a small door on the chamber’s far side opened to admit a man in his mid-twenties. Despite the chamberlain’s warning Marcus found himself unable to turn his gaze away from the emperor, watching through narrowed eyes as Commodus walked across the room and stepped up onto the dais. Where the young centurion was wiry and muscled from years of military conditioning, the emperor was more heavily set, with a wrestler’s powerful shoulders. His beard and hair were styled in the same fashion that Albinus sported, and he was dressed in a purple toga of the highest-quality wool, intricate gold embroidery stitched around the hem to complete the traditional garment usually worn by a victorious general. Cleander strode forward across the chamber and bowed deeply to Commodus, holding the position in silence as the emperor sat down on the throne and arranged his ornate garment about him.
‘Stand up, Chamberlain, and detail our business this evening. And it would be to your advantage were this meeting a brief one. I have unfinished business elsewhere in the palace, and a damned sight more fragrant than this collection of guardsmen and …’ He looked at the three soldiers properly for the first time, a frown creasing his brow. ‘And whatever it is that we have here. What do we have here, Chamberlain?’
Cleander straightened up and stood to attention.
‘Hail Caesar Marcus Aurelius Commodus Antoninus Augustus! I bring before you three men of the highest honour and dedication to your glorious imperial family, officers in your illustrious legions who have marched thousands of miles to bring you a gift of treasure captured in the war that has recently concluded in Britannia. With your permission, Caesar, allow me to introduce-’
The door through which they had entered burst open with a bang, as if it had been kicked from the other side, causing the three men to turn and stare, although Marcus noted from the corner of his eye that Cleander remained exactly as he was, with his eyes fixed on the startled emperor. As the doors flew open a grim-faced man in the uniform of a senior guard officer marched through them, a troop of a dozen determined-looking guardsmen at his back. With a shiver that was part exhilaration and part dread, the young centurion realised that the man stalking into the room at their head was the prefect in command of the praetorians, and he shivered at the shock of recognition, the prefect’s face and gait instantly recognisable from his own short term of service with the guard.
‘Hold!’
The statement was no more than a whisper from between Scaurus’s barely opened lips, but the tone was harsh in its urgency, the unmistakable command locking Marcus’s limbs even as he tensed himself to spring at the man who had ordered his father’s murder. Praetorian Prefect Perennis walked swiftly up to Cleander and went face-to-face with the freedman, gesturing for his guardsmen to surround the small party. Marcus stood stock still as a hard-faced soldier levelled a spear at him, guessing that the newcomers had orders to take advantage of the slightest excuse to cut them down where they stood. Turning his head slowly back to Cleander, he saw that the chamberlain had at last deigned to look at the prefect, smiling gently in the face of the older man’s bristling anger. When he spoke his voice was even softer than before, his words honeyed as he arched an eyebrow in question.