He gave a light chuckle. ‘You may very well be the only honourable member of the Praetorian Guard in its illustrious history!’
Rufinus gave a small nervous laugh. ‘But general, what of prefect Perennis and his meetings with your wife? Do you not feel conflicted, given your familial connections, your acceptance of his patronage and his possible involvement?’
That was dangerous too: all-but accusing the prefect of treason, even to this man, was a death sentence waiting to happen.
Thankfully, Pompeianus shrugged and reached for the wine, refilling his cup. ‘Perennis is a snake, young man, but at this particular moment, he is
our
snake. Try not to think in absolutes. I fear you see only good and bad, but you need to understand that the world is one great, enormous grey area. There are no good or bad people. Everyone is a little of both; it is simply a question of proportions. Perennis is no more or less trustworthy than any Praetorian prefect that has held the position, including Paternus. Both of them would eat you up and spit out the bones if the need arose. Never think you can trust a man this close to the centre of power. You would do well to place less trust in me, for instance.’
Rufinus’ heart skipped a beat, but Pompeianus smiled and waved aside the sudden chill. ‘Have no fear. I do not mean to cause you trouble, but remember that I too move in these circles and there may come a day when I am in dire need of something and you become a vital stepping stone. Do not think for a moment that I will hesitate in making use of you if I need to, but not now.’
He paused and took a sip of his wine. ‘Perennis is the emperor’s man, through and through - at this time. What the future holds, who knows? But for now, you may rely on Perennis to support and carry out the wishes of the golden boy. He is to Commodus what Paternus was to Aurelius. The balance of power within the military has shifted to the new prefect due to his connections. Paternus is still a loyal man, don’t get me wrong, but he is already beginning to work his machinations to suborn his counterpart.’
He laughed. ‘The politics of the Praetorians are every bit as convoluted and dangerous as those of the palace, young Rufinus. Perennis has been tying himself ever tighter to Commodus to secure his position and diminish Paternus’ power. When you saw him with Lucilla in Rome, you saw him endearing himself in order to learn more of her plans. He is a snake, but not yet well enough versed in palace politics to succeed in such a ruse. Lucilla would have nothing of it and spurned his company. This is, of course, why he came to me.’
He gestured to Rufinus’ empty cup and nudged the wine across the table. Rufinus thought for a moment, wondering whether he should risk addling his brains, but accepted the wine, watering it well.
Time to ask another important question. ‘If it is not too impertinent, general, may I ask why you have agreed to help the prefect investigate your wife? Is the rift between you that wide?’
Pompeianus laughed again with genuine mirth. ‘You’re seeing things in too noble a light again, young man. I have a comfortable life, for all the coldness of my wife. We have a son, for whom I care a great deal, and who loves us both despite our division, though he stays in Sicilia with his tutor and a cousin of mine, safely away from the intrigues of Rome.’
He took a breath and narrowed his eyes, leaning forward. ‘It is a question of survival, Rufinus. If you manage to live through the first few years of a new reign, in the circles of power and the ranks of the Guard, you will understand what a driving motive survival can be. Commodus is not yet secure, while Lucilla hungers for the throne. Soon, lines will be drawn and the fight will commence with knives in the dark. All that matters now is to be on the winning side.’
Rufinus frowned. ‘Surely it’s better to be on the right side, despite the consequences?’
The Syrian shook his head. ‘Only to those who have yet to meet the stare of a torturer in the Palatine cellars. I have seen the result of heroic stands for the truth, and it is rarely pretty. If you hope to do any good, the first rule is that you have to survive long enough to do it.’
Rufinus felt somehow saddened by this statement. He had, in his mind, built up the general to be some sort of noble Roman hero and the discovery that the man was driven by base instincts for survival undermined something in his system of values.
‘Do not judge me, Rufinus. Tell me what you know of your new emperor.’
The young guardsman sat silent, ruminating for a moment, and then cleared his throat. ‘He is clearly the right successor and has a history of military successes…’
Pompeianus waved a hand dismissively. ‘I don’t mean his curriculum vitae. I mean what you
think
of him. Your impressions. But I will comment on your bold statements immediately by qualifying them. The ‘right’ successor is not always the
best
one - a fact worth remembering, and secondly: how many emperors are truly responsible for their victories? Think deeply about what you say, Rufinus. Now tell me of Commodus.’
Again, the young guardsman cleared his throat nervously. ‘He is…’ he paused, wondering what to say.
‘Don’t consider it, Rufinus. Just tell me what you think. Your first impressions. Talk.’
‘He’s a clever man and a fun, interesting one. I think he inspires men and charms women. He’s a lover of beauty and form. He loved his father and I think respects his country and his people…’
‘But?’ Pompeianus leaned forward conspiratorially.
‘But he is changeable, I fear. I think he is prone to sudden shifts of mood and I fear could be dangerous, especially if crossed.’
‘See how you start to picture things in more colours now, young man?’ Pompeianus nodded. ‘What do you think of his desire and suitability to rule?’
Suddenly Rufinus felt his blood chill. Could it be that Pompeianus himself was part of the plot against Commodus? Or possibly harboured plans for a usurpation of his own, entirely separately from that of his wife? The Syrian nobleman smiled.
‘No judgement shall be passed on your thoughts. Call it a frank exchange of views.’
Rufinus felt his throat tighten as he talked. ‘I think he wants to rule. He could easily have allowed Lucilla to take the throne for your son. It would have been unpopular in some quarters, but he could have done it and the succession would occur smoothly. As to his suitability? I think it is too early to judge a man’s ability. I have heard of few new laws passed and little in the way of civil projects. There are no military campaigns looming and the borders are peaceful. How could anyone judge?’
Pompeianus nodded slowly. ‘I, on the other hand, have a better vantage point for viewing the man’s reign. I see from a higher position.’
He lowered his voice, despite the fact that they were alone. ‘Commodus is a charming young man with a great zest for life. I like him personally. I hold him in high esteem as a human being. There are few people alive I would prefer to stand beside at the chariot races or in the stands of the amphitheatre; or in a drinking pit, even.’
Rufinus nodded sagely.
‘But’ Pompeianus said sharply, ‘though he wants to be the ruler, I fear he does not want to rule.’
The guardsman frowned at the contradiction. ‘I’m not sure I understand?’
‘Commodus loves the pomp and the glory. Possibly he loves the power, which is a dangerous thing in any ruler. But he has little or no interest in any of the mechanics of Empire. The old emperor’s advisors were just that: advisors. They gave Aurelius their opinions of what could and should be done to keep the empire running smoothly, but Aurelius himself made the decisions, even when they were hard or unpleasant ones. The most important decision young Commodus has made since he settled into the palace was the details of the games that ran for months in honour of his noble father.’
He swept an arm across the air between them as if to wipe away all that was said. ‘The so-called ‘advisors’ that crowd like vultures around young Commodus are almost entirely of a different breed. These freedmen who hunger for power are being given too much of it. The emperor is happy to leave the day-to-day running of the empire in the hands of inexperienced, greedy and dangerous men. Men such as Cleander, Mamertinus, Julianus and Perennis.’
Rufinus shook his head. ‘But they have issued no commands that are cause for alarm, surely? I have heard nothing.’
‘Saoterus’ the general replied quietly.
‘Sir?’
‘That man who seems young and lost among the gaggle of power-seeking ‘advisors’ appears to be the only one attempting to steer the emperor along a suitable path. Fortunate is the world that he is also the one to whom Commodus pays the most heed; his favourite, if you will. I have heard of potential orders for proscriptions of whole families, lines and tribes tabled by the vultures, vetoed on the suggestion of Saoterus. Had they made it to legal status, half the noble families in Rome would have been arrested and executed. A cursory examination of those families named would illuminate a few choice titbits, too: families with money that would seep into the treasury. Families with lands that abut the estates of men such as Cleander, where the boundaries could easily be redrawn. Saoterus alone seems to be standing between the emperor’s seal and the death of more than a dozen prominent families.’
Rufinus blinked. He remembered Cleander and Saoterus well enough from Vindobona. Cleander he could see as a stirrer of political cauldrons. Saoterus had seemed so young and quiet.
‘It’s hard to believe.’
Pompeianus nodded. ‘Nevertheless, it is true. You see why I ask and share all of this with you?’
Rufinus shook his head and refilled his cup, making the mix stronger this time.
‘I told you why I was doing the bidding of Perennis, despite everything,’ sighed Pompeianus. ‘Survival. Lucilla is dangerous and cold, but she is relatively impotent at the moment. Commodus and his coven of snakes and vultures wield every drop of power in the empire. Tell me, when you know that lines are being drawn, on which side I should pitch my tent?’
Rufinus stared. Could it be that already, so early into the golden-haired prince’s reign, the seedy corruption of the old Republic had already set in?
‘It all sounds so hopeless when you put it in those terms’ he said quietly.
Pompeianus laughed again. ‘Far from it. It is a great game, young Rufinus. The closer you get to the purple, the more often you are required to play. You have entered into the tournament now and you need to learn the rules and how the pieces move, lest you find yourself out of it again swiftly, and the stakes are too high to accept that possibility.’
‘So we foil any attempt against the emperor not because it is the right thing to do, but because it is the most
expedient
thing?’
Pompeianus nodded. ‘Survival. If we hope to help our new emperor achieve everything of which he is capable, we have to survive long enough to gain the necessary influence. You see how this works?’
Rufinus nodded despondently. He
did
see how it worked, and it sickened him. He felt soiled simply by being told such things. How simple it had been to carry shield and pilum in the front of a century, to brace in the shieldwall against a thousand slavering barbarians. Suddenly he longed for the discomfort of the military marching camp; the cold numbness of the toes in the snow of Marcomannia; the endless ennui of guard duty and the unpleasantness of digging the shit-trench.
Better to dig it than to live in it.
‘I don’t like this.’
Pompeianus shrugged. ‘You don’t have to. Really, you
shouldn’t
if you are as good a man as you seem. But sadly, the
longer you play the game, the more you enjoy it and the more you want to win.’
‘So what do we do?’
The general poured himself another wine and sipped it straight and unwatered for the first time. ‘You need to ingratiate yourself. You need to make yourself important enough to my wife and her cackling whores of friends that you are allowed within the main complex. Only there are you likely to find anything of interest. Make use of slaves, especially this British girl of whom you speak. You now have as much hold over her as she does over you. She may know your secret, but the fact that she has not told anyone is enough to crucify her. You can use that to play her. She is your first piece in the game.’
Rufinus’ eyes widened and he fought to control his tongue. To think of using Senova in such a way made him sick. He would not do so, but equally he was unwilling to reveal that weakness to the general. ‘Any other suggestions, sir?’
Pompeianus shook his head. ‘Not yet. I would say that a man who managed to outwit and remove the impediment of a veteran bully in his unit should be able to engineer some way into the favour of his employer. Think on it.’
Rufinus nodded solemnly and drained the last of his wine. He had thought the conversation would be enlightening for the villa’s master. He had not realised just how much he would learn in return; how much he wished he didn’t have to.
‘I had best go. I need to bathe and dry out and then spend some time in thought.’
As he stood and stretched, replacing his cup on the table, Pompeianus smiled up at him. ‘I presume you can see yourself out? It would go best for you if you weren’t seen to be consorting with me, so try to leave quietly, though I think the rain will keep most observers away.’
Rufinus smiled uncomfortably. ‘Thank you for your time and the wine, general. I will speak to you as soon as I have anything helpful to say.’
With a respectful nod, Rufinus turned and strode from the room, passing through the doorways and chambers and out into the beautiful garden where the pounding rain was still battering leaves with a deafening clatter, splashing up from puddles.
As he passed through the gate to the garden, the way he had first entered, he had that prickly, nervous sensation of being watched, and turned, peering between the trees up the slope. For a moment he thought he’d caught the edge of a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye but, as he watched intently, nothing but the endless torrential rain filled his view.