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

trapped skin and only occasionally failed and required a second attempt. Thrusting his arms through the shoulder sections, he closed the front and threaded the leather throng through the eyes to lace it up.
    In all, and in what he considered a super-human feat, he’d managed to change his tunic and replace his armour in less than a couple of dozen heartbeats. Looking up, he realised that Paternus and the slave had disappeared and he felt a moment’s panic, standing alone in the open, colonnaded space with its ornamental fountain.
    He was just pondering what to do when another slave appeared around the corner on the far side of the small atrium and bowed. Gesturing him to follow, the small, reedy man disappeared again. Hurriedly, Rufinus collected his shield and the gleaming silver spear from where they rested against the wall, next to the small shrine to the house’s protective spirits.
    Dashing round the corner, he caught up with the slave, who led him along a corridor painted with exotic scenes of African beast hunts, round another corner and past a small open, veranda’d light well, along another vestibule lined with small pillars, each bearing a bust that resembled the others, and out into a magnificent garden that must have stretched most of the length of the house. The flowers and plants were lifeless and snow-covered, but the ornamentation and the statuary, the octagonal fountain and the small shrine were magnificent. Rufinus found himself wondering why legionary commanders were always so hungry to move on into politics in the city when they had the opportunity to live in places like this.
    On they rushed, his eyes picking out every detail, trying to keep his mind off where they were heading and what might await him there.
    A small suite of rooms led off the immense garden, more or less a miniature villa within the main complex. Once again, Praetorians stood by the entrance; they nodded at him as heapproached, presumably already apprised of his presence. Somehow, despite their judiciously blank faces, they managed to convey a sense that they looked down on him. In some circumstances it would have been very disconcerting; in the
current
situation there were far more important things to think about.
    The large chamber into which they strode was decorative and pleasant, gleaming white and gold marble underfoot accentuating the crimson-painted walls. Chairs and cabinets stood around the edge and a gurgling fountain complete with leaping dolphins and well-endowed Gods occupied the centre. Three doors led off into the more private areas, each with its complement of guardsmen. Today, the Praetorians were ever-present, leading him to wonder yet again where he was expected to be.
    He’d hoped to find Paternus here, waiting to give him some sort of instruction, but was a little dismayed to find the room empty apart from the guards. The slave bowed to him and retreated from the room, leaving Rufinus once more alone and confused, unsure as to why he was here, other than the fact that the entire complement of the First Praetorian cohort, to which he would become attached, appeared to be on duty at the imperial residence.
    Almost as if his thoughts summoned the man, a door opened to the right hand side and Perennis, the tribune of this cohort strode out.
    ‘Guardsman Rufinus, good.’
    Defying his words, the tribune’s face suggested that the young man’s presence was anything
but
good.
    ‘Sir!’ Rufinus snapped to attention, silver spear at his side.
    ‘There’s a small bath house at the far end of the gardens. Get back there and get yourself suitably attired. Those red breeches are hardly appropriate for a member of my cohort. And find somewhere to secure that spear. This is the imperial household. We don’t carry unsheathed weapons, no matter what they’re made of!’
    Rufinus saluted, irritation beginning to mount. Why was he even here? Should he not be standing by one of the doors with a sour expression like the