Caligula r-1

by Douglas Jackson

  Far below him, as the masses moved in one direction, Narcissus moved in the other. The timing was perfect. All Rome was converging on the Senate to hear the Emperor's announcement. Caligula was about to declare himself divine.

  In a way, it was not surprising. The more malleable sections of the mob already treated him as a god and dedicated shrines to his spirit. In this, they were only following a tradition set by his ancestor Augustus. But the declaration he would make today was a step further, further even than his elevation of Drusilla to the pantheon. Already he spoke daily to Jupiter in his temple on the Capitol. He had begun to remove the heads from statues of the gods and replace them with busts of his own. Now Roman citizens would be required to worship him alongside Mars, Hermes and Apollo. The nobility would bankrupt themselves to build temples in his honour and make expensive sacrifices to him. They would hate him even more. Narcissus smiled his cold smile, and quickened his pace against the flow of the crowd.

  The villa Rufus had described was to the east of the Circus Maximus, on the edge of the city. The animal trader's property and goods had been confiscated and divided among the Emperor's favourites, but Narcissus was aware that the villa had not yet been formally occupied by its new owner, Protogenes's effeminate nephew.

  The house was locked, but Narcissus had come prepared. From beneath his tunic he drew a selection of keys tied together by a piece of cord. They would not be missed before the hired thief who stole them for him returned them. It took three attempts before he found the correct key to unlock the gate, then a further two to locate the smaller key to the entrance door of the villa.

  Fronto's home was a Spartan place, exactly what Narcissus would have expected of an uncultured oaf who lived alone and spent his life purchasing animals destined for death. No opulent or ostentatious decoration here, no great paintings or statues, but what was this? An extensive library. Perhaps Fronto was not the buffoon he seemed.

  He looked around. What was it Rufus had said? The red urn with twisted vine decoration at the neck. A souvenir of one of the trader's trips to the east. There it was, in the corner. It was heavier than it looked but, using all his strength, Narcissus was able to move it out of position. Yes, the cracked tile. Despite himself he began to tremble with excitement. He prised up first one jagged portion of the patterned stonework, then the other, and bent forward to look into the dark cavity below.

  Rufus knew from the moment he saw Narcissus's face that the news was bad.

  The Greek spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. 'None of Fronto's acquaintances admits to any knowledge of your money, Rufus. Of course, one may be lying, but I don't think so. Fronto was too clever to trust them.'

  'And the villa?'

  Narcissus shook his head, defeat in his eyes. 'Nothing. I checked it myself and there was nothing beneath the floor but spiders and mice.'

  Rufus bowed his head. 'Perhaps it was too much to ask. It was only a dream.'

  Narcissus clapped a hand on the younger man's back. 'Don't give up, Rufus. You can win your freedom. I am the living example of that.'

  Rufus looked up at him, the pain of failure reflected in his eyes. 'But you are cultured and intelligent. You won your freedom with the talents the gods gave you. What gifts do I have? I was born to be a slave.'

  Narcissus shook his head sadly and turned to walk back to the palace. As he did, he struggled to control a smug grin.

  You could never be too rich. He had done Rufus a favour, really, by saving him from a difficult decision. The gold in the two leather pouches would not have been enough to buy freedom for the young man and his pretty wife. In any case, Caligula would never have freed him. Who else would look after his elephant?

  XXXVIII

  Now the door into Narcissus's clandestine world opened more fully for Rufus. The volume of information he passed to Livia increased and the messages themselves became more complex. Claudius's secretary could no longer impart what he needed during short visits to the elephant keeper's house. Instead, Rufus would wait until Livia made her excuses and waddled off to see the woman who was monitoring her pregnancy (and, no doubt, to pass on the fruits of their previous evening's discussions to Chaerea) before departing for a previously arranged meeting with Narcissus.

  Here he would be instructed, not only in the wording of the message, but also in the way it should be imparted. Do not give it all at once; let her tease it out of you. A did not meet B in the alley behind the kitchens of the palace of Tiberius. No, A was seen by C loitering. C said A gave the impression of being up to something. Then change the subject. Livia will go back to it, and then, only then, do you reveal that when C was leaving, he saw B approach A and they disappeared together talking animatedly.

  Rufus did not question what he was told, but he sensed each message was a building block in some intricate structure Narcissus's devious mind had designed — part of a giant puzzle in which each piece would only interlock in a certain way. But the messages were so innocuous he couldn't see what use they would be to Chaerea.

  What he could not know, and what Narcissus would never tell him, was that the information Livia passed to Chaerea was being relayed to different sources in the palace hierarchy. They in turn would feed their titbits to the other members of the select circle of Caligula's hated favourites: Protogenes, Helicon and Callistus (harmless Appeles was long departed, flayed alive for failing to laugh sufficiently loudly at one of the Emperor's jokes), each of whom would seek to outdo the others in the speed and the drama with which they would present the information to the ultimate recipient.

  At first, Caligula would accept the whispers for what they were, nails in coffins; specifically, and here was the dangerous part, nails in the coffins of Senator Claudius and his faithful freedman, Narcissus.

  Yet the Greek gambled that Caligula's paranoia was so acute, it would allow him to perceive the seeds of treachery sown in the messages. On their own they were simply a series of denunciations by his faithful servants of plots by those he had long suspected. Yet each was subtly different in emphasis, and, taking all together, the young Emperor could only come to one conclusion: he was being betrayed by one or more of the men he trusted most.

  Somehow, Rufus discovered, it was possible to live two lives. The seething undercurrents and ever-changing alliances of palace politics occurred in a dimension somewhere close by, occasionally intruding on what he called normality. But it never felt as real as his dull little everyday routine.

  His reputation as an animal trainer had followed him from the arena to the Palatine, and occasionally he would be asked to use his skills to help the handlers at the little zoo the Emperor had established in one of the palace courtyards. It was one of the great mysteries of Caligula that he took as much pleasure from studying the exotic animals captured in Africa and Asia as he did from watching them being slaughtered in their hundreds in the arena.

  'We're having trouble with one of the tigers, the big female,' the head keeper explained one day. 'She's usually quiet as long as you keep her fed, but she almost took Rodan's arm off yesterday and nobody's been keen to go anywhere near her since. Can you have a look at her?'

  At night, the big cats slept in cages surrounding a deep, stone-lined pit, but during the day the cages were opened and they roamed free where the Emperor's privileged visitors could view them.

  Rufus was surprised to see Callistus and his son among the watchers by the low wall overlooking the pens. He smiled in recognition. Callistus ignored him, but the boy — what was his name? Gnaius — grinned back, before turning again to watch the big cats that so obviously enthralled him. Rufus made his way to the narrow stairway leading down to the cages. The sharp, pungent scent of the cats thrilled him, as it always had, reminding him of his days with Fronto, but that memory brought with it an overwhelming sadness he struggled to throw off. Fronto was gone. There was nothing he could have done. Nothing he could do. Unless… No, he must not even think of it.

  'This way.' The voice of the
Gracus, the head keeper, brought him back to the present and he buried the image of treason where it belonged. 'She's over here. We didn't let her out with the others.'

  Rufus approached the cage slowly, careful not to surprise or antagonize the tigress. She was lying on her side in the straw, and managed only a lethargic snarl when she noticed him. He stood for a few minutes, studying her carefully in the poor light from the torches which lit the chamber. Her eyes had none of the demon fire that characterized her kind, and he could see she breathed in short bursts, the way an animal does when it is in pain. As if to confirm his diagnosis, she turned to lick the pale fur of her belly. He waited a little longer, but he was already confident that he knew.

  'Either she is pregnant, in which case you must let nature take its course, or more likely she has colic.' He explained how the condition could be treated, and Gracus thanked him.

  The forlorn little cry came as he turned away towards the stairs. On its own, it was an innocuous sound, but his disbelieving mind knew it for what it was and it froze him to the spot. It was followed a second later by an anguished scream that seemed to fill the chamber.

  'Gnaius!'

  The blood drained from the handler's face. 'The boy! I told him to stay away from the edge.'

  Rufus was first to recover. 'How can I get into the pit?'

  'But the cats, they — '

  'We don't have time.' Rufus gripped him by the front of the tunic. 'How do I get in?'

  Gracus pointed. 'Through here.'

  The handler fumbled with the padlock holding shut an empty cage, and was about to lead him through when a thundering roar shattered the silence.

  Rufus recognized the sound, knew he had only seconds to act.

  'Get out of the way.' He shouldered past the handler and ran through the cage until the length of the pit was spread out before him.

  It was almost fifty feet across, with smooth stone walls two and a half times the height of a man. Still that might not have been proof against a springing leopard, so they had placed two-foot iron claws all the way round the rim to stop any potential escape. The claws were situated just under the low parapet that topped the wall.

  The boy must have been leaning over the parapet when he lost his balance. The fall should have been enough to kill him, but Rufus could see he had landed on a thick bush growing against the base of the wall. It saved him from serious injury, but he was badly stunned, and, worse, bleeding.

  It was the scent of blood that had triggered the hunting instinct of the lioness.

  There were three of the big cats in the pit, and Rufus took time he couldn't afford to study them.

  Two of the tawny cats, a black-maned male and a lioness little more than a cub, showed more curiosity than aggression towards the small intruder on their territory. His first instinct was to ignore them. The mature female was different. She was crouched, head and shoulders low over her front paws, muscles bunched, ready to attack. Only the fact that the boy was not moving had saved him so far. Rufus watched him closely, saw the little chest rise and fall. Then a tentative hand reached up towards the wound on the boy's head and he let out a loud groan as he felt the graze on his scalp. The lioness's ears twitched.

  Experience had taught Rufus to recognize the signal of an impending attack. Very slowly he walked into the centre of the pit.

  He kept his eyes on the big female, willing her to stay where she was. At the edge of his vision he could see Callistus's ashen face among the ring of watchers round the parapet.

  Each pace took him further from safety.

  A snarl ripped from deep in a massive chest close behind him, then again a second later from his right. The dark-maned male was stalking him. His back tensed at the thought of the raking claws and gaping mouth. He was level with the crouching female now, and perhaps fifteen paces from Gnaius. It might as well have been a mile.

  She had been concentrating on the prey before her, and only now realized there was another presence in the pit. She turned her great head towards him, spitting her fury, nostrils flaring, and he could see the smoky hatred in her eyes. But captivity had made her familiar with humans and Rufus knew that gave him a slim chance. If she would only hold off her attack until he reached the boy he might somehow get him to one of the hands now reaching down from above.

  He maintained his steady pace, ensuring his eyes never met hers and willing himself not to show the terror that seized his muscles and chilled his blood. Ten paces, five; he was going to reach the boy. He was close enough to see the blood matting the dark hair where he had struck his head on the stone floor. At the very least he might be able to protect him until the handler brought help. Then Gnaius gave a little whimper and tried to stand.

  The lioness roared and he knew the next time she gave song she would charge. He increased his pace but didn't dare run, even though he knew his time was measured in moments. He was a few steps from the boy when she roared again and he heard the skitter of her long claws on the stone as she came.

  She moved so fast she was little more than a blur and he barely had time to pick Gnaius up. No chance of throwing the boy towards the reaching hands now. His mind only had time to register gaping jaws filled with yellowing fangs before he raised his free hand in a hopeless gesture of defence.

  The lioness was quick, but the black-maned male was quicker. He hit her in the ribs just as she was taking off in the leap that would have brought her teeth to Rufus's throat, and his weight and momentum knocked the breath from her body and bowled her head over heels to the far side of the pit. The blow stunned her, but she got shakily to her feet, snarling at her attacker, and Rufus heard his black-maned saviour roar his defiance as he ran with the boy for the open cage where he had entered.

  Once he reached the safety of the bars, he slammed the cage door shut behind him and sat with his back to the lion pit with the slight figure of Gnaius warm in his arms. He felt sick, but he also wanted to laugh. Now the danger was past it seemed so funny, so utterly atrocious, to have walked unarmed and unprepared into the den of three grown lions.

  'I…'

  He looked up to see Gracus. The handler would not meet his eyes and Rufus realized he had not moved since Gnaius fell. There would have been no rescue. That made him want to laugh even more.

  Gracus reached for the boy, but for some reason Rufus found he could not let him go. He raised himself to his feet and pushed past the handler towards the exit. He was almost at the stairs when he remembered.

  'Make sure you give Africanus something special for his meal tonight. He earned it.' He shook his head slowly, amazed at his own stupidity. How could he have failed to recognize the animal he had trained from a cub?

  As he made his way towards the upper level, the euphoria drained from him and suddenly he felt very tired. He staggered as he reached the light and only retained his footing when a hand caught his shoulder.

  'How is he? Is he..?' Callistus's voice quivered with emotion.

  'He hit his head, but he is a strong boy. I think he will be all right, but you should take him to a physician right away.'

  The imperial secretary's eyes filled with tears as he lifted his son gently from Rufus's arms. 'I owe you a life,' he said, in a low voice, so none of the watching slaves could hear. 'Visit me in my quarters tonight and perhaps I can go part way to repaying it.'

  He walked away with his head bowed protectively over his son's, leaving Rufus as mystified as he was dazed.

  XXXIX

  Information was power, Narcissus had taught him that. But now he possessed this information what was he to do with it?

  In the right hands it could unquestionably destroy his enemy. Yet the right hands belonged to a man who was a greater enemy still. Then there was the question of survival. If the information came from a source close to the heart of power, it would be endowed with the power of that source and its effect would be multiplied. But coming from a slave would it not raise doubts? Yes. First doubts, then suspicions. Rufus shuddered as he c
onsidered the consequences of arousing the suspicions of the man with whom he was considering sharing the secret. No. Not that route then.

  Time was on his side. He could hold it until he needed a bargaining chip. Then again there was the danger that its power might be devalued, or his need so dire he would be forced to sell it for less than it was worth.

  Narcissus, or his master, would pay well for it — he had no doubts on that score. It would give the Greek power over his greatest rival. Who knows, it might even open the door to an Empire, but what kind of Empire? He had witnessed Narcissus at work, seen the cold calculation in the Greek's eyes. Would he trust Narcissus with the gift he had just received? Again, the answer was no.

  In truth, there had always been only one choice. But the thing he had in his possession was of such momentous significance it was imperative to consider every option.

  'It is very pretty, but why should I want it?' Cupido studied the object in his hand. It was a small, intricately worked metal box of the sort ladies of consequence kept their most valued rings in. The box itself was crafted of silver, but the lid had been worked with gold wire inset in the shape of a dragon being attacked by a leopard. It was very beautiful, and obviously very valuable. 'Did you steal it?' he demanded suspiciously.

  'It is a poor creature who has so little faith in his friends,' Rufus commented.

  Cupido raised one eyebrow. 'I remember a tale of a boy who was told he could pat a rhinoceros as if it was a dog. This' — he held the box between two fingers — 'looks suspiciously like a rhinoceros.'

  'Then your eyesight is patently not what it was. I have been close enough to a rhinoceros to know what one looks like. But, please, let me tell you a story. It begins, as most stories do, quite a long time ago. Almost thirty years, in fact.'