‘It would appear that I am indebted to you, guardsman Rufinus, to the tune of a life.’
Rufinus shook his head.
‘I know’ the emperor said with a smile, ‘It is the sole purpose of the Praetorian Guard to do that very thing, but it would be remiss of me to treat your actions as simple adherence to duty. Forgive my initial anger. Saoterus was my only true friend and his loss will… I will find it hard.’
He straightened and appeared to brush away another dark thought. ‘As I say: forgive my anger. In truth I have been told by both prefects what you have done and what you have suffered in the name of duty. Know that I am grateful. I will see another phalera medal added to that rather empty harness you own, and shall meet and exceed the financial reward that I plan for your comrades.’
Rufinus lowered his head, colour rising in his cheeks. ‘But more than that…’ the emperor added, as they strode through a side passage, out of a door and came face to face with the huge, imposing rear wall of the temple of Apollo. ‘If there were a boon you would ask of me, ask it now while you may and, if it is within my power, I will see it done.’
Rufinus’ heart jumped. For decades his family had lived in exile in Hispania, keeping clear of the wrath of emperors, knowing that they continued to exist only because Antoninus had died before completing his proscriptions. His father habitually sat late in his study, his face bitter and morose, poring over documents and images from his days of glory, dreaming of a return to Rome. One word to Commodus and Rufinus could do it. The old man could sit once more in the senate. One word…
‘No, majesty. I thank you sincerely, but I’m happy with my lot.’
Commodus pursed his lips and frowned for a moment, before straightening. ‘Come, then. Let us confront at least one of those serpents.’
Where Perennis had gone and how fast he had moved, Rufinus couldn’t imagine, but the prefects stood silent near the altar of the great temple of Apollo as Rufinus and the emperor entered. A priest busied himself at the rear, trying not to catch the eye of the Praetorians.
Rufinus swallowed nervously as he entered. He had nothing to profess but the truth, and no intention of falsity but, regardless, a vow on the altar of Apollo was no small matter. The weight of a God pressed down upon him, making him feel small, crushed beneath the power of this place. Commodus, conversely, seemed taller and all the more impressive here.
Curious.
All doubt and fear evaporated from Rufinus as his eyes fell upon the face of Paternus. Back on the frontier, they had called the prefect ‘The Vulture’ and the epithet had never suited him more than it did now. His drawn, pale features and pointed face were stark against the dark of his cloak and his decorative leather armour. One glance at his face was enough.
Rufinus felt the man’s stare stab into him and rake his soul. The look conveyed distrust, anger, disgust and hate. It was suddenly clear that Paternus had crossed the line so many times that he was nought but a shadow of Aurelius’ Praetorian Prefect and close friend.
Good.
Despite everything that had happened, now that it had come to levelling accusations at the man who had raised him from the rank and file, he had wavered. As he had entered this great temple, he’d begun to wonder if the man deserved a second chance.
But he’d had that second chance.
First Dis, and then Saoterus.
Commodus gestured to the altar. ‘Make your statement.’
Rufinus took a deep breath and strode across to the altar with a steady gait. He ignored the malicious glare of the older prefect and refused to meet his gaze. With a clear and expressive motion, he slapped his hand down on the cold marble of the altar.
‘In the sight of Apollo Palatinus, diviner of truth, lord of the sun, of healing, and of light, I give my word that I reported the presence of master Saoterus at the palace of the lady Lucilla as a side matter, clearly stating my opinion that he was there on official business and not in any way in a conspiratorial manner. I have not at any time listed him among the conspirators I identified in my time there.’
Paternus exploded in a flurry of motion and angry grumbling, hurrying across and slapping his own hand on the altar. ‘Lying peasant! Apollo should burn you down where you stand. I have never involved myself in the death of an innocent man, and I deny these accusations.’
Prefect Perennis had hurried across in his counterpart’s wake and now stood a few paces behind him. Commodus waited in the centre of the temple, his expression unreadable, while the priest tried to blend in with the rear wall’s decoration.
Rufinus smiled and Paternus jerked as if struck, taken aback by the feral fury in that grin.
‘I would also state in the sight of Apollo Palatinus, diviner of truth, lord of the sun, that it is my solemn belief that prefect Paternus is the man who ordered six Praetorian cavalrymen, who I can later identify if required, to murder in cold blood a member of your majesty’s Frumentarii who was working undercover at the same villa, purely to keep him out of my way.’
He looked across at the emperor and then back to Paternus, whose face had paled to the same colour as the marble columns behind him.
‘A Frumentarius?’
Rufinus nodded. ‘Yes, majesty. I know not his real name, but he went by the name of Dis at the villa. He had saved both my cover and my life prior to his offhand execution.’
Commodus’ face had taken on a dark look and Rufinus could see the danger rising, grateful that, for the first time in so many months, the peril was not his.
Paternus made a spluttering sound, apparently unable to find adequate words for what he was trying to say. He turned to the emperor, but flinched at Commodus’ face as the man gave a single nod. The pale prefect frowned in confusion and realised too late that the nod had not been meant for him.
Perennis’ blade appeared through Paternus’ chest, punching through the decorative leather breastplate with remarkable ease, the crimson tip pointing up at Rufinus’ face. Paternus’ eyes went wide.
The younger of the two Praetorian prefects leaned in close to his victim’s ear. ‘It’s an offence to the Gods to lie in their presence, friend Paternus.’
Paternus gasped and reached up to the tip of the blade protruding from his chest, touching the point in apparent confusion. Rufinus stepped towards him.
‘A nobler death than you gave the Frumentarius, sir.’
The blade suddenly swivelled from vertical, through horizontal and back to vertical, shredding the black heart through which it passed. Paternus’ mouth opened in a pleading look, but all that emerged was a long stream of dark blood that ran down his chin and neck, spattering his breastplate.
Rufinus leaned close and watched the life pass from his eyes, his spirit departing the broken shell on the other prefect’s sword. He shivered slightly at the memory of his brother’s last look: that desperate, sorrowful gaze that had suddenly blanked and cleared as body and spirit became separated.
A spell had been broken.
And in the presence of his commander, and the emperor of Rome, and Apollo Palatinus, the lord of healing and light, Rufinus wept.
Epilogue
‘Ah….’
Pompeianus leaned back on the dark red cushion of the couch and sipped from his wine, pondering for moment before adding more water. ‘It would appear that everything has worked out remarkably well, except for poor Saoterus, of course.’
Rufinus nodded sadly as he sat on the less comfortable wooden chair. Lounging in the manner of his host would probably reopen a number of his gradually healing wounds. Besides, lying on something blood red somehow didn’t appeal this evening.
‘I have to say that, despite everything, and despite the conversations we’ve shared in the past, I have high hopes for Commodus,’ Rufinus said, reaching for his own glass and taking a small sip. It was becoming apparent that wine did not agree with the painkiller the Praetorian medicus had prescribed, so he was indulging in only a small quantity. He desperately felt like drinking himself into insensibility despite the danger.