The chapel was not their destination, though, and they walked on toward the top of the great basilica hall, where a statue of Mars in somewhat gaudy colours oversaw the business of the army. Doors off the hall at periodic intervals led into the offices of the most important men in the legion: the legatus and his tribunes, the camp prefect, and others. Smaller rooms for the clerks, quartermasters and other lower officers led off the great courtyard outside.
A series of rooms in the headquarters had been made available for the Imperial family to conduct their business, and with the exception of the family themselves, only extremely senior officers and imperial slaves had passed through these doors.
Rufinus eyed the Praetorians on guard to either side of the entrance nervously. To them he would be of less importance than a slug.
Neither man met his tremulous gaze, though, their eyes locked ahead in attentive stance. As Paternus and Rufinus approached, the two men crashed a salute and stepped aside, opening the door as they did so. No one, regardless of position or duty, would question the Praetorian prefect within the fortress.
The commander nodded at the men and strode through into a small ante-chamber. An oiled slave with olive complexion, wearing fine linens, bowed deeply and asked them to wait as he slipped through the next door into the room beyond.
‘Best behaviour, Rufinus.’
The legionary nodded emphatically.
After muffled words they couldn’t quite make out, the door opened once more and the slave reappeared.
‘His Imperial Majesty, Caesar Marcus Aurelius Antoninus Augustus bids you enter without the customary formalities. Swords are permitted to be worn.’
Rufinus blinked. This was informal?
With just a nod to the lackey, Paternus paced through the inner door and into the chamber of the most powerful man in the world. Rufinus hurried on behind.
The room was as well appointed as one might expect of a legionary headquarters, but little extra effort had been made to accommodate such esteemed occupants. The black, white and yellow marble pattern had continued within from the floor outside. The high, arched windows were plain, consisting of small glass panes held together with black lead. Six columns of a fairly plain style created a false portico at either long side of the room.
The lack of heated floors in the headquarters had been offset by the inclusion of half a dozen braziers, burning with intense heat beside each pillar. Even so, the room had a sterile, cold feel.
The furniture seemed at odds with the room itself: half a dozen couches in an extended arc almost closing to a circle. Each couch had its small accompanying table. Other, more upright chairs and tables stood further back, near a large cabinet and an enormous table, scattered with parchment maps, wax tablets and lists written on wood sheets.
Four of the couches were occupied, slaves standing behind them, and it took a long moment for Rufinus to take in the details of the occupants, given that his gaze was automatically drawn to the striking slave girl standing behind her mistress’ couch, folding garments.
Marcus Aurelius, emperor of the known world, philosopher, general, genius and father of his people was not at all how Rufinus had expected. A number of times over the past few years, the emperor had given speeches to the men, standing on the raised platform out in the courtyard or on the battlefield. He was a man of medium height, perhaps five feet five or six, golden hair and beard curled by nature rather than design. When in his decorative, splendid armour and addressing his men, he had seemed powerful; God-like, even.
This Marcus Aurelius made Rufinus’ breath catch in his throat.
The emperor was clearly not well. Pale and drawn, his flesh sagging back into his cheeks, he lay almost draped across the couch, his left hand trembling uncontrollably where it rested on the cushion’s edge near the cup of wine. Rufinus had seen healthier looking men waiting outside the hospital tents back in the lands of the Quadi.
There was no denying, however, the glimmer of that phenomenal intelligence and quiet serenity for which he had become known. The eyes that flicked in their shadowed sockets, regarding the newcomers, were as sharp as any bird of prey and seemed to hold an infinite depth of feeling and thought. Rufinus could not escape the impression that Aurelius had summed up every ounce of his being in a single glance.
To the emperor’s left, the haughty woman they had encountered in the courtyard lay, glowering as though an argument had been interrupted by these two soldiers. Though he’d never seen her before, her known presence in the fortress combined with her apparent age and physical features clearly marked her out as Lucilla, the emperor’s daughter and once regarded as an empress in her own right, through her marriage to Lucius Verus, Aurelius’ co-emperor.
That status had fallen away with the drunkard’s death out in the east and her re-marriage to the Syrian nobleman Claudius Pompeianus – no doubt the dark-skinned, oily character to her left, examining his fingernails as though bored with the whole affair.
The fourth occupant, a young and startling woman, with white-blonde hair elaborately bound up atop her head, piercing pale green eyes above whitened cheeks and ruby lips, was unknown to Rufinus and he could hardly make a guess as to who she was. However, when she smiled at the new arrivals, her face lit up like the morning sun and the true level of her beauty showed through. Had he been forced, he would have named her simply the most beautiful woman in the world, though with Lucilla’s slave girl standing in the same room, her remarkable beauty was eclipsed somehow by the other’s strangely hypnotic features.
Rufinus was aware once more of the feelings he was beginning to give way to and prayed he had not flushed in such august company.
‘Paternus, my favourite general’ the emperor said in reedy, slightly hoarse tones, a genuine smile stretching his sunken skin.
‘My emperor’ the prefect bowed curtly. ‘Greetings from the army and the freshly conquered lands of the Quadi. I bring tidings to warm the heart for you and your noble companions.’
Aurelius nodded almost absently as though this was no news at all for him and he felt the pressing desire to move on to other subjects.
Paternus seemed to have spotted the motion and quickly leapt in to continue with his debriefing. ‘If I may, Caesar?’
Aurelius nodded indulgently while Lucilla and the other young woman gave a resigned sigh and the oily Syrian failed to even look up.
‘The legions are busying themselves with the inevitable tasks following battle, but will return to Vindobona in due course, leaving only a caretaker garrison of auxiliary troops in temporary forts to oversee the settling of the conquered tribes and begin the process of introducing them to civilisation.’
‘Was it bad?’ Aurelius asked quietly and with genuine concern.
‘Surprisingly not, Caesar. Casualties were reasonably light and we had them on the run within a few hours of committing to the field. The legions and my own Praetorians fought like lions, Caesar. The clawed paw of Rome has swatted the Quadi and the Marcomanni for the last time.’
Lucilla straightened and cast a meaningful look at her father.
‘Must we endure a blow-by-blow account of legionaries beating barbarians to death, father. I for one have heard enough tales of military prowess in the past year to last me for three lifetimes.’
The emperor flashed her a sympathetic smile. ‘Indulge me for just a moment longer, daughter. Paternus has ridden a long way in adverse conditions to bring us these great tidings.’
The prefect bowed curtly once more and opened his mouth to continue, but was suddenly overridden by a hitherto unheard voice: