Sweat ran down his forehead, bringing with it rivulets of black dust that stung his eyes and soaked his face and neck. As long as he could make it back to his tree, he could use the bowl of water and clean clothes he’d left there yesterday in a greased cloak.
Concentrating, he listened intently as the sound of voices began to cut through the rush of wind and the pinging of the stone, blinking sooty sweat from his eyes and flapping his arms as best he could in the crouched, cramped circumstances to allow air access to his warm, damp armpits.
‘I don’t like the choice, is all I’m saying,’ the voice sounded petulant and female. Lucilla’s daughter, presumably.
‘Then it’s a good job the choice was not left to you,’ snapped Lucilla irritably. Perhaps the stress of the situation was getting to her?
‘A private place might have been sensible?’ a male voice interceded. ‘I understand the need to make a spectacle of the event, and you’re nothing if not a show-man… -woman… but at the amphitheatre he’ll be accompanied by the entire Praetorian Guard. Are you sure you wish to sacrifice ease for meaning?’
It was Annianus, Lucilla’s cousin, sounding nervous. As he should, Rufinus thought grimly, his teeth clenched.
‘Perennis has his dogs around my brother everywhere; even in the latrines. There is nowhere easy. The prefect suspects something, else he would not have arranged for the frumentarius to infiltrate.’
‘I thought only the emperor could command his agents?’
‘In theory that’s true, Annia, but you know our brother. He’ll have given authority to one of his prefects, and Perennis is his pet.’ There was a pause and Rufinus could picture Lucilla turning to take in all her guests with a sweeping gesture after the fashion of great rhetoricians.
‘Commodus has ignored everything to which he should be turning his hand. His generals consolidate the borders in Britannia, struggling to hold back barbarians that would never have dared come south in my father’s reign. His treasurer deals with the crippling payments that keep our freshly conquered Marcomannic enemies from rebelling again and negating the success of two decades of war.’ She snarled. ‘Perennis, Saoterus and Cleander control everything else. All our dear brother has done for the last six months is play at being swordsman, get drunk, and arrange grand games for the Agonalia down to the finest detail. It is only fitting that his reign should end there.’
Rufinus’ pulse quickened. The first Agonalia festival was only two days away!
Talk of the great games to be held in the Flavian amphitheatre had been everywhere for weeks. The strangest and most impressive animals had been brought from all over the world: elephants from India, single-horned monstrosities and horses with stretched necks from the lands south of Africa, bears and wolves from Germania. Every gladiator available for sale with traders from Lusitania to Syria and Britannia to Carthage had been brought to Rome… some of whom now patrolled outside this very tunnel. It was said that these would be the greatest games held since the days of Titus Flavius, when the amphitheatre had been consecrated.
Two days!
He had to get to Paternus and Perennis and let them know. Clearly the venue was the great amphitheatre at the heart of the city. Now he knew when the attack would take place, where it would happen and who was to strike the blow. His task could hardly have been completed any more thoroughly. And yet, with another two hundred beats to go, it made sense to listen on and see if anything else relevant turned up.
‘Is Quintianus up to the job?’ Annianus again.
‘He’s already in the city and has been scouting the amphitheatre during the preparations. He knows what to do: It has to be a killing blow, so he’s been practicing on cheap slaves at an estate near Tusculum for weeks, and I’ve had former soldiers training him. He’s prepared.’
‘And if the Guard are so thick around Commodus that Quintianus can’t get near?’
Rufinus nodded. That would certainly be the case once he had spoken to the prefects. Lucilla’s voice began to take on an impatient edge, as though she was sick of explaining things to a dullard. ‘We have been over this a dozen times, Annianus.’
‘No, Lucilla. We agreed on the location, though only with your pushing it down our throats. We agreed on how it would be done, but you have been evasive at best over how Quintianus is expected to get past the Praetorians who will flood the place.’
Rufinus could almost hear the empress’ teeth grinding. ‘I have not been evasive, Annianus. Quintianus has always been present at our meetings. He may have his heart and soul in the task, but he is still young and impressionable. I have tried to keep all potential problems and doubt from him. We cannot afford for him to question his ability or all will be lost. What you think is evasion is actually attention to detail.’
‘So tell us now how he is supposed to get past the guards. The time’s almost upon us!’
‘It’s a simple fact of timing and location. I would rather that the young man plunge a knife in his heart before the entire crowd, but that is impossible due to those same Praetorians that plague your thoughts. So we are forced to deal with Commodus before he reaches the interior. The emperor always enters the amphitheatre by the north entrance, as tradition demands, so we know where he’ll be. The arch and passageway behind it to the interior are fourteen feet wide… possibly a little less. Given the fact that no one would risk brushing against the emperor’s person, there simply isn’t room in that corridor for the Praetorians to line the edges without risking impeding my brother’s grand entrance.’
There was a murmur of understanding.
‘Instead, the Guard will keep the crowd away from the corridor, behind barriers at the inner junctions. They’ll keep the entrance corridor completely clear; that and each other inner passage he will pass through to his seat. The crowd will be held back by a line of men at least two deep, but the route will be emptied for him. The only people who’ll be close will be his sycophantic cronies about whom I have no concerns, and possibly Perennis, who will be at the back, behind the ‘advisors’.’
She had managed to pour so much contempt into the word ‘advisors’ that Rufinus could not help but be impressed with her vehemence. She truly believed that she was doing the right thing, but whether she believed she was in the right or not, it did not excuse treason against the emperor.
Her voice was strong and clear, full of confidence as she went on.
‘There will be two thousand Guardsmen in the amphitheatre, but in those tunnels that lead from the entrance to his seat, Quintianus will have the room he needs.’
Rufinus nodded. Not just a location, but the whole plan laid bare for him. Paternus and Perennis would be able to prevent the attack in plenty of time, arresting those responsible before the games began, but he could also give them complete details of the plot.
Furthermore, he knew who had attended the meeting and was in the room. Their very presence condemned them. It was all rather neatly tied up: he had the conspirators’ names, the time and location of the attempt, and even the method and wielder of the blade.
Rufinus’ mind raced. He was short of time and had to get to the Castra Praetoria to warn them all. He wondered briefly how Pompeianus fitted into Lucilla’s plans? Was he expected to take a back seat, as father of the next emperor, perhaps in voluntary exile on Caprea, or would Lucilla find a way to remove him from the picture as soon as she had power?
A thought struck him, unpleasantly: once Rufinus’ absence was noted they’d be alerted to the fact that their plan had been discovered, and everything would fall apart. He would have to engineer some way to leave the villa overtly. Perhaps Pompeianus would be able to help him? Perhaps he could even get the Syrian to safety. Could they go on a hunting trip? Or visit Tibur? Certainly he would not be expected to accompany Lucilla to the amphitheatre.