While he couldn’t believe a person could survive under such circumstances, and struggled with a staggering admiration for her stamina and ability, he was grateful to the fates for the repeated encounters they shared.
In a way, it was bliss.
Though his mission here had once more drifted to an uncomfortable halt, the regular chance meetings he managed with Senova became increasingly lengthy and were a balm. He considered them close, though hesitated over the word ‘intimate’ as he thought about them, partially because it was not quite accurate, but mostly because of the deep stirrings of desire it raised within him.
In another way, it was torture.
After each such meeting, as Senova laughed at his feeble jokes with a throaty, intoxicating chuckle and told him humorous anecdotes from the servants’ area that would otherwise never surface, Rufinus would return to his solitary patrol or to his room, acutely aware of the vast gulf that would always separate Senova and himself. It mattered not that the slave girl was the bound woman of his secret enemy, or that guard and slave could hardly consort even if the domina allowed it; there was a deeper, blood and bone rift:
He was scion of a patrician family. His ancestors had been governors and senators. She had been a poor farm girl from a conquered nation who had failed to pay her taxes and been sold to the nearest slave trader. Or perhaps she had been arrested and sold following some revolt? He had heard that the people of Britannia were unable to mark a decade without launching themselves into violent rebellion. Whatever the case, he and Senova were destined to remain apart, if parallel, for their span in this world.
It cast something of a pall on their meetings; a pall that he tried desperately to keep out of his voice when they spoke. And yet it seemed that somehow the closeness and ties between them grew with every meeting. By the time the first snow hit, they had reached a point that they only had to lock eyes across a courtyard and they both laughed, kicking straight back into the conversation they last had as if they had never been apart.
Galla, however, who seemed to show up among the other slaves and servants almost as often as Senova, remained a mystery that bothered him. There was a constant nervous tension about the
girl that kept him distant and slightly on edge, unable to relax in her presence. Time and again he saw her dashing across open spaces as though she expected to be attacked. He had seen similar looks in people’s eyes in his early days at the villa among the servants and guards, living in fear of Dis’ vicious hounds.
Sometimes she smiled at him and asked him to walk her from one place to another. Sometimes she regarded him suspiciously and scurried off as though he might lunge for her. Whatever the case, she was clearly nervous about something, and those nerves were increasing with time. Rufinus watched her with interest and confusion, waiting for the inevitable crescendo that was coming. Would it be a romantic tiff gone wrong that would end in murder? Was she in some sort of trouble with one of her superiors?
The one thing that he felt fairly confident over was that she was not another spy in the lady’s house. She had been bought from a reputable slave trader and bore the signs of long-term slavery on her flesh, from the whip marks on her shoulders to the brand on her arm.
So what was the secret that lay behind those nerves?
He had tried to talk to Senova, and those times were the only occasions when the intoxicating slave-girl shut her lips tight, her face darkening, unwilling to pursue the subject.
The months rolled on as winter came again. This time, Rufinus was grateful that he was now in a position of command, running the indoor security in the palace rather than huddling in the arches of the southern theatre against the chill. As the moons waxed and waned, each cycle bringing another visit by the small party of conspirators, his strange close-distant relationship with Senova deepened, his concerns over the behaviour of Galla widened, his closeness with Acheron grew and his nerves frayed.
The sand in the hourglass of Commodus’ life was now most definitely running low, and no matter what Rufinus did, he could get no closer to the secrets that were being discussed in that dining chamber.
XXII – Revelation
RUFINUS surfaced from sleep like a man clawing his way into the light, blinking, weary and confused. The room was lit by a glow from the lead-paned window, which meant…
‘Dawn?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Damn it, man, I only went off shift in the middle of the night!’
‘I know sir, but…’
‘But nothing. I can’t have been asleep more than two or three hours!’
‘Yes, and I’m sorry sir, but this is urgent.’
Finally the man’s tone of voice registered, and Rufinus’ mind swum to the surface, suddenly alert. The man sounded frightened. ‘What is it?’
‘The empress, sir. She’s on the warpath.
Really
angry. Sent me to fetch you as fast as I could.’
Rufinus’ heart jumped again, a feeling that was becoming so familiar it seemed almost normal. Quickly, he fell out of bed, grateful that he’d been so weary when he retired the night before that he’d slept in tunic and breeches. As quickly as possible he struggled into his boots, strapped on the belt and sword and, as a last moment decision, sprinkled a few drops of the balsam, alum and frankincense that had cost him a week’s wages at the market, somewhat masking the odour of night sweats with its heady spiciness.
‘Where is she?’
The guard, a Thracian gladiator called Hactes who feared neither man nor beast and had reputedly killed one opponent with his teeth, blanched. ‘I’m not sure, sir.’
Rufinus tried to keep the irritation from his voice. ‘How are you supposed to take me to her when you don’t know where she is?’
Hactes shook his head, his face still nervous. ‘She was storming around the palace, sir. She could be anywhere.’ His eyes slid to one side and Rufinus realised that he was regarding Acheron with a nervous look. Two incidents early on had taught the influx of gladiators to tread carefully around Rufinus’ great black pet.
‘Acheron – stay here.’ He turned to Hactes. ‘Come on’ he said with exaggerated patience. ‘Dawn. Her bath will be waiting, so she’ll be somewhere around there.’
With the worried gladiator in tow, Rufinus hurried out of the Praetorium and across the damp gravel, water-logged from yesterday’s rain, through the door to the palace proper, and finally to the Imperial baths. The complex was secured with a single guard on the exterior door, though the interior was frequented only by the lady and her attendants.
Rufinus nodded at the guard, one of the two men assigned to him that predated the influx of gladiators. The man nodded back respectfully.
‘The empress?’
The guard pointed at the door and gave a grim smile. ‘She’s been waiting for you.’
Rufinus raised his brow as he regarded the door. The private baths of the family were not a place where guardsmen were welcome. The tone of the man on duty, though, as he’d gestured to the door, had spoken volumes about Lucilla’s mood. Taking a deep breath he strode inside, pausing for a moment to let his eyesight adjust to the shade after the watery sunlight. The baths were beautiful, even here in the outer chamber where the slaves generally waited in attendance and the materials and clothes, towels and wooden sandals were kept.
A young Greek eunuch who Rufinus vaguely recognised waved him over. ‘Majesty awaits you. You must remove your boots.’
Rufinus nodded. The nailed soles of his boots would wreak havoc on the beautiful, decorative floors of the bath house. In record time, he undid his boots and slid them off, tucking his feet into the wooden shoes and clacking off in the direction the eunuch gestured.
Other slaves, servants or attendants helpfully directed him at the next three doorways as he passed from hall to chamber until he entered a large, domed, circular room. The delicate roof centred on an oculus that let in a beam of sunlight which reflected from the foamy white surface of the water in the round bath below. The walls were painted with colourful scenes of marine life and the water-bound Gods. The central bath, with concentric steps leading down, appeared to be filled with milk, causing Rufinus to frown in confusion for just a moment before he remembered: it was a tale told of the decadent days of the early empire, when vain noblewomen
would bathe in the milk of asses to keep their alabaster pallor. A circular floor around the edge held couches and tables of delicate gold and ebony.
His eyes fell on the chair at the far side of the room where Lucilla lounged, a slave buffing her nails while she tapped irritably on the chair arm with her free hand. Not a good sign, Rufinus sighed. The lady was still fully clothed and appeared not to have bathed yet, judging by the neatness of the surroundings and the lack of milky liquid on the floors.
The lady Lucilla caught sight of the new arrival in the room and anger flashed into her features as she ripped her hand out from under the slave’s ministrations and launched to her feet, padding angrily around the floor toward him.
‘Rustius, at last. You took your time.’
Rufinus bridled. ‘I came as fast as I could, ma’am. I had only been abed for a couple of hours.’
The comment seemed to rile her even further and the lady pointed an accusing finger at him, narrowing her eyes.
‘The Livia Brooch has disappeared!’
Rufinus’ brow furrowed. ‘Begging your pardon, domina, but the
what
?’
Rufinus jumped slightly as the effeminate, painted chamberlain spoke just next to his left ear. The man must have moved up unnoticed behind him. ‘The Livia Brooch, Rustius, is one of the most valuable, prized assets in the imperial family. It adorned the blessed throat of the very first empress two centuries ago. Silver filigree, with emerald and ruby adornment and an onyx and alabaster cameo of the Goddess Venus. Quite simply, its financial worth can hardly be calculated in coins.’
Rufinus frowned and Lucilla flashed an angry glance over his shoulder, as though irritated at the interruption, however helpful it might be. ‘The Livia Brooch stays secured away in my collection, Rustius, and is only removed for special occasions. I am planning a trip to the amphitheatre to attend the games. In preparation, I opened the case to retrieve the brooch and have it polished and cleaned, but it has vanished. The last time it was removed was during Vertumnalia.’
Rufinus nodded as he digested the information, still unsure where he fitted into this affair.
‘The crowning piece in my collection has been
stolen
, Rustius! And where, might I ask, were my expensive and carefully-selected guards when such a theft was perpetrated?’
Her voice had risen to a dangerous, shrill pitch, and yet Rufinus found himself rising angrily to the veiled accusation.
‘With respect, majesty, the duty of the guards as laid down when I first took on the job was…’
Lucilla’s voice jacked up another notch as she interrupted him. ‘That is
not the issue
!’
Rufinus ignored the interruption, his own voice rising to ride over the top. ‘The duty of the Guard is to police the palace for intruders and prevent any danger from threatening yourself!’
He fell silent, his face red as the lady Lucilla stepped back, startled. For a moment, Rufinus went cold. He had just been very outspoken in front of a woman who could have him crucified before he could blink.
Lucilla’s eyes bulged worryingly, but when she spoke, her voice was quiet and cold. ‘And you failed. An intruder has taken my most prized possession.’
Rufinus took a deep breath and straightened. ‘I apologise, ma’am, but there is no evidence of an intruder, and my men have had this palace secured so tightly that if a terrapin breaks wind, I know about it a moment later. This is not a failure of security.’
Lucilla glared at him but said nothing. Rufinus swallowed noisily. ‘The guard cannot take on the task of protecting your majesty’s jewellery, as it is secured in your private chambers, and no guardsman is allowed within even the access corridor. As I say, the brooch has not been taken by an intruder. That being the case, we should look closer to your imperial person for the culprit. It has to be someone who has access to your chambers. That fact narrows down the suspects quite severely.’
Lucilla began to nod slowly, frowning. ‘You’re sure this is not theft by an interloper.’
Rufinus shook his head. ‘I have been most thorough, Ma’am. At no time during the day or night is there any point of access to the complex that is not under scrutiny. Both Phaestor and Vettius had a hand in the system. If an outsider had come in, we would know.’
‘Then it was one of the servants or slaves.’
The slightly lisping voice by Rufinus’ ear spoke again, causing him to jump. He’d forgotten the man was there. ‘I shall run up a list
of those who have access, my Empress. We shall burn and wring the truth from them one by one until the culprit is revealed.’
Rufinus squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, the momentary image of Senova being caressed with white-hot irons flitting across his mind as he turned angrily on the fellow next to him, staring into his kohl-painted eyes. ‘That is both time-consuming and wasteful. How many innocent and well-trained slaves and servants will you torture to death unnecessarily in order to find the right one?’
He returned his gaze to Lucilla, feeling the hot, irritated breath of the chamberlain on his shoulder. ‘This is a task for your guards, ma’am. May I ask when you need the brooch?’
Lucilla’s eyes narrowed in suspicion and Rufinus felt the lead-certainty that he had just hit on a very important question entirely by accident. For a moment, the empress looked down and Rufinus could just see her fingers moving slightly as though making some sort of calculation.
‘Not for a while yet. I was preparing ahead of time.’
Rufinus nodded. ‘Then may I ask that you leave the matter with us for the time being, majesty. I have every hope that we will be able to deliver you both the brooch and the culprit in short order.’
Lucilla’s gaze remained locked on him for some time, her eyes narrowed. ‘You have three days, or I will take matters into my own hands.’