The Great Game by S. J. A. Turney Page A

from a number of sources when the day comes, though I hope the Praetorians will remain secure. Paternus is as loyal as any man to my father and I hope that his loyalty will continue on seamlessly with me, but I am not so naïve as to assume it.’ He shook his head. ‘Such gloomy thoughts are for other times. Tonight should be a night for celebration. This seemingly-eternal war is finally over and we will soon return to civilization. We have heroes to honour and wounds to lick. Come. Let us to the baths.’
    As the pair walked on, Rufinus became aware that Commodus was watching him out of the corner of his eye.
    ‘Caesar?’
    The man laughed. ‘You really killed five of them on your own?’
    ‘Yes, my lord.’
    ‘Perhaps you are wasted even in the Guard. I should perhaps have you a slave that I could watch in the arena.’
    Rufinus’ heart tightened and he tried to speak, though all that emerged was a slight strangled noise. The young emperor laughed. ‘Fear not. I mean you no ill, Rufinus, though I am an aficionado of the games, and I would love to see you fight.’
    Somehow, he found his voice somewhere deep inside again. ‘I box for my century, Caesar. Such fights are less… fatal, but skill is skill.’
    ‘Indeed. I shall have to watch you fight. I do not believe the Praetorians involve themselves in such activities, though perhaps it is time they did.’
    The two men walked out into the courtyard of the headquarters and, on the threshold of the basilica’s grand entrance, Rufinus caught just an echo of the slave-girl’s heady fragrance. Not strong, but enough to make his head feel light.
    It was almost surreal. Two days ago he was a duplicarius legionary in the Tenth Gemina, standing in the shield wall and watching half the population of the barbarian steppe run at them, roaring defiance and hatred. He had flinched at being addressed directly by a centurion and told to raise his shield in line. Now here he was in the crisp early evening air with the clear sky denying the threat of fresh snow that everyone expected, striding across the courtyard at the power centre of the Danubian front alongside Commodus himself, golden son of the emperor and co-ruler of Rome. Each time he remembered who it was that walked beside him, he felt a little jolt of fear and had to glance across at the man to reassure himself he was truly awake.
    Commodus had clearly noticed and understood. ‘This makes you uncomfortable?’
    For the first time this evening, Rufinus’ voice presented itself correctly for the reply without hiding behind croaks and groans and he was extremely grateful. ‘I fear it is inappropriate, Caesar?’
    ‘Inappropriate?’
    ‘You should travel with your family, sire, with an escort of the guard. With…’ he suddenly connected the beautiful woman on the extra couch; ‘with your wife, Caesar.’
    Commodus threw back his head and let out a genuine laugh. ‘I am not entirely sure Bruttia should attend the bath house of a legionary fortress. Certainly the event would raise eyebrows and suspicions, don’t you think?’
    Rufinus felt irritation rise unbidden. The young emperor was playing with him. ‘With respect, Caesar, you know what I mean.’
    Again the smile slid from Commodus’ face and Rufinus worried he’d stepped too far out of line. This was exactly the sort of thing that made situations like these so unbearable. It was impossible with no experience of court life to know where to draw the line. Besides, with Commodus, he suspected the line had a tendency to move from time to time. Finally, the golden-haired man smiled.
    ‘It does a leader good to speak with the people he purports to rule, don’t you think, Rufinus? Some say I am destined for the purple through my lineage and divine origins.’ He gestured to the bronze mounted statue of Marcus Aurelius in military garb. ‘I for one am sceptical about my family’s divine origins. And don’t forget that emperors have come from families that