Caligula r-1

by Douglas Jackson

  For the merest heartbeat Cupido experienced a surge of elation. Then he felt the power of the flood and realized that in freeing the dam he had doomed himself.

  Fool! Why had he not foreseen this — prepared for it? The incredible force as tens of thousands of gallons of backed-up waters found release gripped him tight and sucked him in among the bodies. It was as if the dead were clinging to him, were determined to keep him with them until he was as dead as they. His chest tightened and the pressure to breathe became overwhelming. He was drowning. With the strength of despair, he pushed himself free and attempted to swim to the surface, but he was too weak. The current would not release him. He raised an arm and felt it break clear, but by then it was too late. He was propelled into a whirling vortex of flailing limbs and empty-eyed faces, just another powerless piece of flesh among the human flotsam.

  XLII

  Rufus was too far away to see what had caused the blockage, but he knew his friend would never give up. Not in this life. While Cupido was submerged, he held his breath as if it would somehow help the gladiator. When he had to gasp for the next breath before Cupido resurfaced, he feared he would never see the young German again, but then there was a splash and the golden hair broke into view for a few precious seconds.

  After what seemed an incredibly long interval, Cupido surfaced again, only to disappear as quickly as he had appeared. When the water suddenly swirled in the centre of the pool he knew Cupido had defeated the odds. It was only when he realized what was happening below the surface that the elation turned to fascinated horror. He screamed out his friend's name and a moment later a despairing arm broke the surface as if reaching for an invisible handhold. Then the entire pool vanished through the tunnel in a single almighty rush.

  Rufus saw what happened, but his mind wouldn't accept it. What had been six or eight feet of water was now a small stream bubbling between the two walls of the culvert. And he was alone.

  He dropped the torch and slumped against the wall, staring at the empty space where the pool had been. The road ahead was open, but he couldn't move. He could think, but not act. He told himself to get up, but his legs would not accept the order from his brain.

  The reality of what had happened was too awful to take in. Cupido gone? It did not seem possible. Cupido couldn't die — he was bigger than death. But his own eyes had seen a man he loved — yes, he understood now that what he felt for Cupido had gone beyond friendship and respect to something that could only be called love — swept away in that unstoppable wall of water.

  The torch spluttered and went out, leaving him in darkness, but he made no attempt to locate the second.

  So this was despair, a physical force that crushed him into the earth and robbed him of will. The courage that had sustained him in the long walk through this underground nightmare had drained away. He could barely find the strength to breathe. He resigned himself to death.

  But deep within him the unquenchable thing that was his spirit wouldn't allow it. It chewed at his brain with a message. Time. There was something he had to do and time was important. His head was filled with coloured images, but none of them meant anything to him. Then the colours merged and from their centre a face appeared. Aemilia. He had to find Aemilia.

  But what was the point? Without Cupido he was nothing.

  With that thought he felt failure wrap itself around him once more like a shroud. He giggled hysterically. If he didn't move the rats would feast on his flesh. The thought galvanized him, but still he could not find the strength to move.

  Then the voice whispered in his ear. It whispered of honour and of duty, of loyalty and of courage. And when he still did not move it flayed him with scorn and mocked him for his weakness. He willed it to go away, but it was relentless. He was disappointed it was not Aemilia's, but he knew in his heart she could never have shamed him into movement. Only Livia could do that.

  Gradually, his mind repaired itself and he raised himself on shaking legs. He located the second torch and lit it, and as it flared in his hand it reminded him of the time he had wasted. He set off downstream towards the Maxima.

  The tunnel seemed to go on for ever now he was alone. Cupido's presence had sustained him; now each leaden step felt pointless. It didn't matter how Cupido had intended to attack the villa, Rufus knew he could never do it. He did not have the skill or the courage to fight six trained soldiers, and, if he tried, Aemilia would be dead before he reached her. Cupido would have used his strength. He would have to use stealth. There would be a way. There had to be a way.

  When he finally reached the outlet where the Cloaca Palatina met the Cloaca Maxima, he was faced with a featureless wall. He knew he had to turn upstream, to the left. The walkway was now on the far side of the channel. He threw the cloth bag and the two cloaks across first, then followed them.

  He felt his confidence returning. At least the going was better in the main sewer, the walkway wider and kept in good repair. He would find a way out, and when he did he would meet each challenge as it came. Even if it meant his death.

  He had gone less than a dozen paces when he heard the noise behind him. Another rat? No. It sounded like…

  He turned, pushing the flaming torch in the direction of the sound, drawing his sword with his right hand. It had been a human voice. A whisper. They had followed him down here. They must still be in the Palatina spur. Idiot! Put the light out, remember what Cupido said about fighting in the dark. He extinguished the torch against the wall and laid it carefully on the ground.

  Silently and in complete darkness, he made his way back to the junction of the two sewers. That was it! He would ambush them as they came out of the Palatina into the Maxima. Even better, downstream of the junction he had noticed a buttress where he could stay hidden while they passed. He would follow them in the darkness and take them by surprise, one by one. Who knew how many he would be able to kill before they discovered him?

  He felt his way along the wall past the gushing inlet of the Palatina until he came to the buttress. He edged round it carefully — he'd look a fool if he fell in the sewer in the dark — and froze.

  He was standing on something alive!

  Slowly, he raised the sword and took a deep breath as he prepared to chop down on the thing below him.

  'Is this how you treat a friend?' a voice croaked weakly. 'As if he was a doorstep?'

  Rufus almost fainted away. 'Cupido!'

  'Please fetch a torch. When I saw the light I thought you were coming for me, then when the torch went out… I have had enough darkness to last a lifetime.'

  When Rufus returned, he saw that the gladiator was lying naked against the buttress, his face lined with pain and his left hand cradling his right shoulder. He shook uncontrollably as his body fought the raw cold eating at it. Rufus picked up the cloaks and tried to wrap them around him.

  'Careful,' Cupido cried. 'My shoulder.'

  'Is it broken?'

  Cupido shook his head. 'I think it became dislocated when I was thrown against the wall by the force of the flood, but it saved my life. If I had followed my new friends I would be food for the Tiber catfish by now.'

  'I can reset it. I have done it with antelope.'

  Cupido gave him a weary smile. 'We can test your medical skills later. Heat first. I am as cold as a week-old corpse. Unless you can warm me I will be going nowhere this night, perhaps ever.'

  At the gladiator's instruction, Rufus wrapped one cloak gently around him. The other he used to rub Cupido's flesh, which was puckered and wrinkled and in places almost purple. His back was scratched to the bone by contact with the rough sewer walls and Rufus at once marvelled at his survival and feared for the long-term effects of his immersion in Rome's filth.

  He quickly realized the rubbing was doing little good. If anything Cupido's face grew paler. Taking the big cloak, he wrapped it around them both and gently took his friend in his arms to allow the heat from his own body to warm him.

  Cupido opened his eyes and
Rufus saw a glint of humour in their grey depths.

  'Am I so weak it has come to this? I pray my father is not looking down on me now to see how low I have fallen.'

  He closed his eyes again, but now Rufus noticed that at least there was a hint of colour in his cheeks.

  After about ten minutes Cupido stirred again. 'This romance has gone on long enough. Bring me my tunic,' he croaked. He shrugged the cloak from his injured shoulder. 'Now you can do your worst. Don't stop if I cry out.'

  Rufus felt his friend flinch as his fingers searched the taut muscles for the pressure point he needed.

  'I… I don't know if I can do it. It's different. The bones..'

  'You must. Here, I will show you. One hand here,' he indicated a point on his arm, 'and the other here.' He placed Rufus's hand on the bone sticking out of his shoulder. 'Now push, hard, with the one and pull with the other.'

  Rufus heaved with all his strength and his friend grunted in agony, but the bone returned to its proper position with an obscene popping sound.

  'If that is the extent of your medical knowledge I pity your animals. The arm will be useless tonight, but if I live it will be as good as it ever was.' He put a hand on Rufus's shoulder and raised himself to his feet. 'Truly this is the river of the dead Varrus spoke of. Working each day with the sights I have seen, in the stink and the darkness, would drive any man out of his wits.'

  Rufus helped him with his tunic and belted the long sword round his waist. Cupido drew the weapon from its scabbard with his left hand and attempted a couple of practice cuts.

  'That is better. The iron gives me strength. Perhaps one arm will be enough after all, but if it is not,' he looked at Rufus steadily, 'you must be my right hand if the need arises. Now let us go, and with speed. I fear we are behind schedule already.'

  'How will we know when we have reached where we need to be, and how will we get out?' Rufus asked the two questions which had been worrying him since the drain cover closed over his head.

  'We will know,' Cupido said and there was a comforting certainty in his voice. He took his dagger and scratched on the stone at his feet. 'We are here, under the Velabrum near the Vicus Tuscus, just below the Emperor's palace on the Palatine Hill. If I remember it correctly, the Cloaca turns left beneath the forum, and then right past the Senate House. Any time after that right turn we will be within striking distance of the villa. While I waited for you tonight, I prayed to Venus Cloacina and made a sacrifice to her. It was a worthy sacrifice and I asked her help in this thing of Aemilia. Cloacina will provide.'

  After about twenty minutes, they came to the stairs.

  Rufus might have missed them. They were just another dark shadow on the wall to their left. But Cupido's senses were so acute he halted directly in front of them. It was clear the ground level was now just above their heads, because there were only half a dozen steps leading up to a drainage cover similar to the one by which they had entered.

  'This must be one of the main accesses,' Cupido noted, pointing to the well-worn stairs.

  Rufus put his shoulder to the drain cover. He expected it to be difficult to move, but because of the steps he had the leverage he needed and it shifted easily at his first push. He extinguished the torch and climbed out into the steady drizzle of a grey winter dawn.

  When Cupido saw where they had emerged, he laughed with pleasure. They were standing in a small stone circle about five paces across, with walls of waist height. On one side of the circle was a little altar with a marble statue of a woman holding a myrtle branch. 'Look, it is the goddess. She has favoured us as I asked.'

  He was right. They were in the little shrine dedicated to Venus Cloacina, goddess of the sewers. In front of him, beyond the corner of the nearby basilica, Rufus could make out the walls of the forum of Augustus and the distinctive roof of the temple of Mars Ultor, where the sword of Julius Caesar was kept. To the right of it, two hundred and fifty yards away, would be the temple of Minerva, and beyond that the villa of Sabinus. And Aemilia.

  'I had hoped to arrive here in full dark,' Cupido said. 'But we must make use of what little we have.'

  They pulled the cloaks over their heads and moved cautiously up the deserted street. Rufus knew they were close when Cupido pulled him into the shadow of an apartment doorway.

  'You would think, with the bribes at his disposal, Sabinus could afford something better,' the gladiator chuckled. Rufus knew Cupido was attempting to put him at ease, but he could hear the hard-edged excitement of the coming fight in his friend's voice. In truth, the villa was not massive, but it was substantial enough, a two-storey whitestucco house set back from the roadway in its own grounds. A wall surrounded it, but one built for privacy, not for defence. From their hiding place they could see the orange glow of a substantial fire.

  Cupido ignored the main gate, a stout wooden structure that was firmly closed, and no doubt barred on the inside. 'We will go in at the corner of the wall, see, where the top of that big tree is just visible. The guards have lit the fire to give them better visibility, but also to stem their fears. Yet it might count against them,' he said thoughtfully.

  They moved stealthily across the street and slid along the length of the wall until they reached the point Cupido had indicated.

  'Stay low when you reach the top, and wait for me,' the gladiator whispered, boosting Rufus up with his good hand, so he could lever himself on to the top of the wall. Despite his injured arm, Cupido joined him with the practised ease of an acrobat. Silently, they dropped into the villa's courtyard.

  XLIII

  Cupido's instincts hadn't let him down. Four men in Praetorian uniform huddled close round a pile of blazing logs in attitudes that indicated they'd spent more time than they wanted with the damp winter chill eating into their bones. They seemed mesmerized by the dancing golden flames at their front, and the columns of sparks that danced upwards whenever a log cracked. Even if the shadows from the trees and shrubs hadn't hidden them, Rufus thought it unlikely their entry would have been noticed.

  'Too long in barracks,' Cupido whispered in his ear. 'But they are still dangerous. Stay by my right side and use your sword as you did to defend the Emperor and we will win through.'

  For the first time, Rufus felt the flutter of fear in his chest. Cupido sensed it and placed a hand on his shoulder. 'Have faith, Rufus. You hold their attention and I will take them. But remember they have Aemilia inside. If we are delayed they will execute her. Speed is all, not clean kills.'

  With that he set off, crouched low among the bushes — like a hunting panther, but infinitely more deadly. The guards were only twenty paces away, but they had no clue to his coming until he was upon them. By then it was too late.

  Rufus had seen Cupido fight many times before, but this was different. Here was cold, merciless fury matched by clinical execution. The big sword took the first Praetorian's head off at the neck with a single sweeping blow and sent it spinning into the fire. Two of the survivors were raw recruits and froze, paralysed by the sight of their comrade's face melting among the flames, but the third spun towards his attacker. He was a veteran, and when he saw Cupido he knew he was already dead. But he was brave. He snarled his defiance and his blade chopped upwards at Cupido's defenceless belly. The gladiator parried the blow almost effortlessly and with a twist of his wrist left the soldier staring in disbelief at the stump of his severed sword arm.

  The remaining guards were still well armed, but their shock and terror rendered them defenceless. Together they dropped their swords by the fire and fell to their knees in surrender. But Cupido had neither the time nor the inclination for mercy. He swung right and left and the men fell screaming among the glowing embers at the fire's edge.

  'Finish them,' he said, and ran towards the doors of the villa.

  For a moment, Rufus stood open-mouthed at the order but logic told him the three men were already as good as dead. The first fighter sat in a growing pool of his own blood with a dazed expression, and the othe
rs were expiring noisily and roasting at the same time. It was a mercy, really.

  When he entered the villa, time might have been standing still. The only movement came from the young Praetorian mewing pitifully beside the door as he attempted to push his intestines back into the great tear Cupido had just carved in his stomach.

  Beyond him, Cupido's back was to Rufus, and eight paces beyond him was a scar-faced soldier, evidently the leader of the guard detachment. And Aemilia.

  She stared at her brother with a look that might have been irritation. It certainly wasn't fear, although fear would have been perfectly justified given the short sword that pricked beneath her chin and only needed one good push to skewer her. The sword was held by scar-face, who stood with his back to the russet-painted plaster wall and was scared enough for both of them.

  'One more step and I kill her,' he rasped.

  'I thought you were supposed to rape her while she watched me roast alive?' Cupido said conversationally.

  The challenge in Aemilia's captor's face changed to a frown of confusion.

  'That was what Chaerea planned for me, wasn't it? That I would cook over an open fire while you had your way with Aemilia.'

  The soldier spat. 'If you drop that sword maybe we can come to a different arrangement. Something that suits both of us?' The words were an offer of negotiation, but there was a glitter of anticipation in his eyes that betrayed his true plans.

  'I don't think so.' Cupido smiled, and the glitter in scar-face's left eye was extinguished as it magically sprouted a four-foot sword that transfixed his skull and pinned him to the wall.

  Rufus hadn't even seen Cupido move. The stroke was so impressive he felt like applauding. He was never certain whether it was an arena trick honed by a hundred hours of practice, or a sleight of hand Cupido learned at his father's knee. However he came by the skill, it was horrifically effective. The gladiator had whipped the long sword up underhand with a flick of his wrist and speared a target an inch across only a hand-span from Aemilia's right ear.