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

worked hard for Rome’s benefit rather than simply descending from a ‘divine’ line: Vespasian the farmer, Nerva the senator and Trajan the soldier, to name but three. To rule Rome one does not have to have fallen from the womb of Venus. One simply needs strength of arm, strength of will and the wisdom to temper the two.’
    Despite everything, Rufinus found himself nodding. The notion that any man could be emperor if he had the simple ability to rule had been Nerva’s great new tenet for the purple and had ushered in an era of unsurpassed prosperity. There was a great deal of sense in what the man said.
    ‘What is to become of me, Caesar?’ he asked suddenly.
    Commodus pursed his lips. ‘You are to be assigned to the guard, of course. Not the cavalry, though. There is always a waiting list for the Praetorian cavalry as it’s the clear step into the imperial horse guard. I have a mind to ask that you be assigned to my escort. I have a century of Praetorians that travel with me. It is possible that you would blossom among them.’
    ‘It would be an honour, Caesar.’
    He had actually been wondering what would happen to him in terms of his masters and allegiance; his role in the great game that Commodus believed was soon to begin. The possibility of servingthe young man directly, however, answered such questions to an extent.
    ‘However,’ Commodus continued, ‘that is a matter I will have to discuss with Paternus, Perennis and my father. Sometimes even an emperor must defer to others.’
    Rufinus looked up and realised they had reached the bath house already. His mind had been so centred on the conversation that he had barely noticed as they had left the headquarters and strode across the wide street.
    The young co-emperor pushed the heavy wooden door inwards and strode inside, Rufinus following along behind. The dressing room within was a welcome sight for the tired legionary. It had been long months since he had set his eyes upon the blue walls with their painted dolphins, fish and various divine beings. The niches for the clothes were half-occupied, so there would still be room in the pools. His boots steamed as he stepped onto the heated floor, the icy water that clung to the hob nails evaporating immediately.
    Though the chamber was empty, they could hear the shouts, laughs and splashes of the men in the numerous other rooms. Rufinus stopped near the entrance and waited patiently, his arms by his side in imitation of an attentive military stance. Commodus, having strode to the side of the room and located a free alcove, and already beginning to remove his military tunic and baldric, turned to him and laughed. Dropping his sword and tunic onto the stone plinth, he began to unfasten his enclosed, decorative leather boots.
    ‘A number of my friends still swear by caligae as the great military footwear. They say that the empire was forged with such sandals and what was good enough for men like Agricola should be good enough for a soldier in the modern age. Those same idiots spend their time in Rome wrapped in a toga and have no concept of the unpleasant reality of passing through snow and swamp in sandals.’
    Slipping off the boots, he carefully stood them with his clothes and whipped off his breeches, standing in only his subligaculum, bronzed and muscular.
    ‘I am even considering adopting the full-length trousers of the Celts, despite the connotations. Good Roman breeches leave too much flesh exposed in these harsh climes.’
    He glanced at Rufinus, who was still standing to attention and fully dressed, and rolled his eyes. ‘For the love of Venus, Rufinus, will you relax and disrobe. In the baths all men are equal, after all.’
    With a grin and a flourish, he let his underwear drop to the floor. ‘
Almost
all men, anyway!’
    Rufinus tried not to look at the naked, grinning form of Commodus as he hobbled over to the nearest free alcove and began to remove his armour and clothing. His muscles screamed at