everything. I must stay and apprise the emperor of the full details of the campaign.
On her couch, Lucilla rolled her eyes. ‘Father, if you insist on talking battle with Paternus, I beg leave to return to the villa. I fear a headache is looming.’
Aurelius waved his daughter away with an indulgent smile and Lucilla stood, pausing, looked down meaningfully at her husband. The Syrian suddenly became aware that everything had gone quiet and looked up in surprise.
‘Are you coming?’ she snapped acidly.
‘Of course, my dove’ he replied with an ingratiating smile and hauled himself from the couch, turning to the emperor. ‘Caesar.’
Commodus squared his shoulders.
‘If you will excuse me too, father, I feel the distinct need of a bath. I have spent too much of the day in sword practice. I’m sure I will hear all the pertinent news in due course?’
Aurelius nodded to his son, some apparent disapproval of the young man’s martial activities giving the look a dark overtone, and the young co-emperor clapped his hand on Rufinus’ shoulder plate again, turning him away from the emperor.
‘Come. I myself am feeling weary and grimy. We will make use of the bath house before you return to the Praetorian barracks.’
Rufinus’ heart skipped a beat again as he felt himself being urged from the room. At the door, opened on cue by the olive-coloured slave, he paused and bowed as Lucilla and her husband passed them, neither sparing him a look. Behind them hurried the slave girl, so close he could almost touch her. Her scent was something spicy and sweet, heady and aromatic. She glanced at him for a fleeting moment and his world warmed; and then she was gone.
Nervously, Rufinus waited until Commodus gestured for him to exit, following on behind. The co-emperor wore a mischievous grin. The two men passed though the antechamber and out into the basilica, where the huge statue of Mars towered over them. Rufinus’ gaze fell on the figures of Lucilla and her entourage as they crossed the enormous hall. He almost jumped as Commodus’ hand appeared on his shoulder again and drew him to a stop, turning him to face the God.
‘You would do best to avert your eyes from my sister’s slaves. You will find no comfort there.’ His grin widened even further. ‘Though she
is
fascinating, I have to concur.’
Rufinus’ gaze fell to the marble tiles once more.
‘Legionary Rufinus, I cannot have a conversation with a man who will not meet my gaze.’
‘Caesar’ he answered weakly, looking up into those piercing, intelligent eyes.
‘You may be a lion on the field of battle, but in the snake-pit that is the imperial court, you are yet a sacrificial lamb.’ He frowned. ‘I mix my animal metaphors, but you follow my meaning. What do you make of all of this?’
Once more, Rufinus’ vocal chords seized and he felt himself choke. Commodus’ smile disappeared and his face became stern.
‘Out with it!’
The same steel as before: almost identical to the commanding tone of Marcus Aurelius as he had cautioned his daughter. A tone that could make a statue snap to attention.
‘Caesar, I really do not know. I have been told that all men of power play games. I fear I am a piece to be played, though I am not sure to whom I belong.’
Suddenly all the sternness and steel was gone and the young co-emperor was smiling again. ‘Very astute, Rufinus. But the game has not yet begun and the players are busy assembling their pieces. My father’s health declines at an ever-increasing rate and the auguries are not good. By all rights there should be no issue when the old charmer rises to join his illustrious forebears. I am already his co-emperor and the succession to my sole rule is clear. However, camps are forming, as they inevitably will.’
He quickly glanced over his shoulder. Lucilla and her companions had gone. With a sigh, he turned and gestured for Rufinus to follow.
‘Sadly, there will be trouble. I expect difficulties
On her couch, Lucilla rolled her eyes. ‘Father, if you insist on talking battle with Paternus, I beg leave to return to the villa. I fear a headache is looming.’
Aurelius waved his daughter away with an indulgent smile and Lucilla stood, pausing, looked down meaningfully at her husband. The Syrian suddenly became aware that everything had gone quiet and looked up in surprise.
‘Are you coming?’ she snapped acidly.
‘Of course, my dove’ he replied with an ingratiating smile and hauled himself from the couch, turning to the emperor. ‘Caesar.’
Commodus squared his shoulders.
‘If you will excuse me too, father, I feel the distinct need of a bath. I have spent too much of the day in sword practice. I’m sure I will hear all the pertinent news in due course?’
Aurelius nodded to his son, some apparent disapproval of the young man’s martial activities giving the look a dark overtone, and the young co-emperor clapped his hand on Rufinus’ shoulder plate again, turning him away from the emperor.
‘Come. I myself am feeling weary and grimy. We will make use of the bath house before you return to the Praetorian barracks.’
Rufinus’ heart skipped a beat again as he felt himself being urged from the room. At the door, opened on cue by the olive-coloured slave, he paused and bowed as Lucilla and her husband passed them, neither sparing him a look. Behind them hurried the slave girl, so close he could almost touch her. Her scent was something spicy and sweet, heady and aromatic. She glanced at him for a fleeting moment and his world warmed; and then she was gone.
Nervously, Rufinus waited until Commodus gestured for him to exit, following on behind. The co-emperor wore a mischievous grin. The two men passed though the antechamber and out into the basilica, where the huge statue of Mars towered over them. Rufinus’ gaze fell on the figures of Lucilla and her entourage as they crossed the enormous hall. He almost jumped as Commodus’ hand appeared on his shoulder again and drew him to a stop, turning him to face the God.
‘You would do best to avert your eyes from my sister’s slaves. You will find no comfort there.’ His grin widened even further. ‘Though she
is
fascinating, I have to concur.’
Rufinus’ gaze fell to the marble tiles once more.
‘Legionary Rufinus, I cannot have a conversation with a man who will not meet my gaze.’
‘Caesar’ he answered weakly, looking up into those piercing, intelligent eyes.
‘You may be a lion on the field of battle, but in the snake-pit that is the imperial court, you are yet a sacrificial lamb.’ He frowned. ‘I mix my animal metaphors, but you follow my meaning. What do you make of all of this?’
Once more, Rufinus’ vocal chords seized and he felt himself choke. Commodus’ smile disappeared and his face became stern.
‘Out with it!’
The same steel as before: almost identical to the commanding tone of Marcus Aurelius as he had cautioned his daughter. A tone that could make a statue snap to attention.
‘Caesar, I really do not know. I have been told that all men of power play games. I fear I am a piece to be played, though I am not sure to whom I belong.’
Suddenly all the sternness and steel was gone and the young co-emperor was smiling again. ‘Very astute, Rufinus. But the game has not yet begun and the players are busy assembling their pieces. My father’s health declines at an ever-increasing rate and the auguries are not good. By all rights there should be no issue when the old charmer rises to join his illustrious forebears. I am already his co-emperor and the succession to my sole rule is clear. However, camps are forming, as they inevitably will.’
He quickly glanced over his shoulder. Lucilla and her companions had gone. With a sigh, he turned and gestured for Rufinus to follow.
‘Sadly, there will be trouble. I expect difficulties
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