The Great Game by S. J. A. Turney

moment at the foot of the wooden steps, just as a passing gull deposited its business on the wooden plank right in front of him. They said it was lucky when birds shit on you, but he was still rather glad this one had missed, in the circumstances, particularly given the astonishing quantity.
    Slowly and with as much grace as he could muster, he climbed the stairs and stepped out onto the dais. The adjutant had paced back and was saluting him. Close by, Paternus and Perennis were also standing erect and saluting with full military stance. Paternus’ face was unreadable; Perennis’ was not, though Rufinus dearly wished it was.
    The emperor had once more stepped forth from the rear of the platform, Commodus close by his side. Marcus Aurelius had a serene, regal expression, made all the more powerful by the pale, drawn skin and his glittering, dark eyes. A sudden gust of fresh air ruffled the emperor’s blond curls and he held up his hand. Rufinus thought he’d felt a first flake of fresh snow on the breeze.
    Commodus, the same mischievous, even child-like, glint in his eyes, smiled widely at Rufinus. ‘The barber continues to evade you,then?’ he said quietly enough that no one beyond the stage would hear the words.
    Rufinus felt the blush on his cheeks again and managed a weak, hopefully deferential, smile. Commodus laughed and saluted, stepping back next to his father. Marcus Aurelius, father of Rome and ruler of the world, stepped one pace forward and Rufinus straightened.
    ‘Any battle’ the emperor said, his voice smooth and calm and yet carrying across the square as though he had bellowed, ‘has its heroes and its cowards. Today we have honoured men who have shown selflessness and bravery in Godlike quantities; we have rewarded those who had a personal hand in the victory of Rome over the barbarian. There remains one acknowledgement left to make.’
    The army was silent, the only noise the clink and clank of metal across the square, the gentle distant murmur of the civilians speculating over the reason for the emperor’s personal involvement, the caw and chirp of birds and the nearby rush and gurgle of the Danubius as it made its way to the distant Euxine Sea.
    Aurelius held out his hand to one side. A lesser staff officer standing to the rear of the dais placed something in it and the emperor turned back to face the front of the dais and the crowd beyond.
    ‘Single-handedly felling five enemy warriors while lacking much of one’s armour and equipment is an exploit worthy of note’ he announced. ‘If every legionary could fight with such lion-like strength and courage, a single legion would be sufficient to conquer the lands of the barbarian back to the impassable torrents that encircle the world. As is only appropriate for such valour, and upon the recommendation of his legatus, I hereby award legionary Rufinus with this phalera. May it be the first of many!’
    Aurelius stepped toward him and Rufinus held his breath as the shiny, burnished disc bearing the image of a roaring lion was pinned to his shoulder plate’s buckle. The emperor struggled for a moment, his shaking fingers completing the task with some difficulty. The great man’s breath smelled strange and sickly-sweet, almost like rotting flesh. It was all Rufinus could do not to reel away from it. Finally, the aging emperor finished his task and stood back.
    ‘Such reward is fitting for an act of this magnitude. One might say, however, that it is a paltry thing when the rest of this man’s actions are taken into account.’
    The officer at the rear of the dais stepped forward once more and handed something else to Aurelius, who took the item and gripped it. Rufinus’ eyes widened.
    The emperor stepped forward, grasping the silver shaft of a spear, perhaps six feet in length. The tip was pointed but without the head that would accompany its battle-ready counterparts. A simple silver rod, tapered at the end. Rufinus’ head spun. Even if it were