My duties consisted in tagging Little Boots around and playing with him. In some ways he seemed much older than he actually was, due, possibly, to the fact that people of this southern clime mature more rapidly than do we B ritons, as well as to his exclusively adult companionships. He never talked "baby-talk," a form of linguistic aberration for which doting mothers are largely responsible and to which he was never exposed. One might as easily have conceived of Cingetorix playing with dolls as of Agrippina talking baby-talk. The result was that Little Boots was addicted to words and forms of speech often several sizes too large for him. He was a pretty nice little kid, only terribly spoiled. Even at this early age his mother had succeeded in impressing upon his childish mind that he was a Julian, the grandnephew of the emperor of the world, and that everyone else was scum put on earth merely to do the bidding of Julians and to be spit upon if they felt so inclined.
When he became vexed with me, he would call me a vile barbarian, taking the cue from his sainted mother. Once he spit on me and I slapped him down. I did not at the time realize that I was slapping down a future emperor of Rome; though, had I done so, it would have made no difference, for even future emperors of Rome cannot spit on the great-grandson of Cingetorix with impunity. We are a proud line, neither insane nor scrofulous.
He started screaming that time and ran in search of Agrippina. I made my way rather hurriedly to the picket lines and insinuated myself between two very large cavalry horses. I was there but a short time when I heard a most unusual commotion about the camp: men were running in all directions-tribunes, centurions, and common legionaries.
Perhaps, I thought, the Germans are about to attack us. I hoped so, but it was nothing so nice as that. They were looking for me, as I had more than half suspected, though I tried not to admit it. Presently one of them found me: it was Tibur, the legionary who had been a gladiator, the one who had offered his sword to Germanicus that time the general had threatened to kill himself.
"Oh-ho!" he exclaimed. "So there you are! What did you do, kid? The old bitch is raring around like a horse with the colic and threatening to have you skinned alive. What in hell did you do?"
"He spit on me," I said.
"And you?"
"I slapped him down."
"Good boy!" cried Tibur, slapping me on the back. "She'll have you killed for it, but it's worth it. Now, come along with me. I hate to do it, but there's no sense in both of us being killed."
Tibur led me back to the tent of Germanicus. He was there, and Agrippina, and Caius Caetronius, and Little Boots. Little Boots made a face and stuck his tongue out at me. Agrippina was trembling all over. "Did you dare strike Caius Caesar, you vile barbarian?" she demanded.
"No, ma'am," I replied, "but I slapped Little Boots' face. He spit on me." I had never heard Caligula's real name before, so I didn't know whom she was talking about, and it occurred to me that maybe it wouldn't go so hard with me if I had only slapped Little Boots rather than Caius Caesar; that Caesar sounded impressive.
Agrippina was so angry that she could scarcely speak, but she finally found her voice. "Take him out and have him beaten to death," she said to Tibur.
Little Boots began to scream. Germanicus put an end to that with a curt command. "Wait!" he said to Tibur, and then he turned again to Little Boots. "Did you spit on Britannicus?" he asked.
"Yes," said Little Boots. "He is my slave; I can spit on him if I choose."
"A gentleman does not do such things," said Germanicus, gravely, "much less a prince of the imperial house."
Agrippina stamped her foot. "Why all this foolishness?" she demanded. "Take the creature out and beat it to death!"
"I can die," I said. "I am the great-grandson of Cingetorix."
Little Boots began to scream again. "No! No! No!" he cried. "I want Brit."
"You may go," said Germanicus to Tibur. So I was not beaten to death, nor do I know whether it was Little Boots or Germanicus who saved me. After this, Agrippina was no fonder of me. I can sometimes see those terrible, malevolent eyes of hers upon me in my sleep.
After this episode, Little Boots and I took up the more or less even tenor of our ways just as if nothing had occurred to rift the lute, for such is the easy accommodation of childhood to the amenities of its little life. But Little Boots never spit on me again; and up to the day of his death, even when he was master of the world, he seemed just a little bit afraid of me. From the day of his birth to the day of his death, I was probably the only man who ever struck him. That blow, and it was no light one, must have made an indelible impression upon the mind of a child.
Of all the thousands of men in that Roman camp, Tibur the ex-gladiator had made the most profound impression upon me. He was a huge man of mighty muscles. In designing him, the gods seemed to have sacrificed his forehead that they might have more material for his bull neck, and they had certainly wasted little thought upon the pulchritude of his assembled features. Yet there was a certain magnificent grandeur in that face of his that compelled admiration: like Vesuvius in eruption it was magnificent because it was so terrible. To me, he was a greater man than Germanicus; he was certainly more of a man.
I used to drag Little Boots into the camp to find Tibur when he was off duty, and we would listen to his tall tales of the arena open-mouthed and goggle-eyed. It seemed that Tibur had been sentenced to the arena for murder (he was very proud of that murder and recounted it over and over again together with all the gory details); but when he killed every opponent pitted against him, including bears, lions, and tigers, Augustus pardoned him, and he became a professional gladiator. How many men and beasts he had killed he could not tell us, though I begged him to try to recall. I became inclined to believe, as I matured and came to know Tibur even better, that he could not satisfy my curiosity on this point because he could not count beyond ten. Though of gigantic stature, Tibur was no mental giant. Here again the gods had failed to maintain an equable balance.
Tibur seemed to take a great fancy to me from the day that I slapped Little Boots down, and as any little boy would have been, I was very proud of the friendship of a gladiator. Although they may have been reputed to be the scum of the earth (and they certainly were so reputed), even nobles and senators bragged of their acquaintance with successful gladiators. Tibur only tolerated Little Boots on my account.
"He can't never amount to nothin'," he confided to me once, "with a crazy she-wolf for a mother and a weepin' willow for a father. Anyway, we don't have to worry about him: he won't never be emperor-there's too many ahead of him."
That remark opened my eyes. "Could Little Boots ever possibly be emperor of Rome?" I demanded.
"Sure," said Tibur, "if enough people were knifed or poisoned, he sure could-unless he was knifed or poisoned."
After that, I looked upon Little Boots with something of awe-for about two days; then I recalled that I was the great-grandson of Cingetorix, and after that, Little Boots never seemed particularly important to me.
When Little Boots was born there were five males of Julian or Claudian blood, any one of whom might reasonably have been expected to succeed to the imperial purple upon the death of Tiberius rather than this child. They were Germanicus, his father; Agrippa Posthumus, his uncle; Nero Caesar and Drusus Caesar, his older brothers; and Claudius, nephew of the Emperor. In addition to these, Tiberius Gemellus, grandson of Tiberius, was born when Little Boots was seven. So Tibur's prophecy that he would never be emperor seemed well-founded; but even before that, when Little Boots was two years old, Agrippa Posthumus, the madman, was murdered by order of Emperor Augustus; and there were more to follow. There were more ways than one to succeed to the Roman throne: there were poison and the dagger, with natural death running a poor third or not in the running at all. But to get on with my story: I was in this camp in Germany for a year; then we all went to Rome. Germanicus was going to enjoy a triumph because he had captured a few poor mud huts.
Chapter II
A.U.C.770 [A.D. 17]
IT WAS in the Year of the Founded City 770 that we arrived in Rome for the triumph of Germanicus. I was eleven years old, and I had lived all my life among the primitive hamlets of timber, wattles, or mud of Briton. In Germany, I had seen sod huts even less admirable than the mean habitations of my native land. On the way south, I had marveled at Ravenna, and some of the other towns through which we passed had filled my childish mind with wonder; but they had not prepared me for Rome.
From Tibur's descriptions, I thought that I had gathered at least a hazy conception of the size and grandeur of the Eternal City; but when it broke upon my astounded vision, I realized that it had been far beyond the scope of even my childish imagination as well as Tibur's limited descriptive powers: he was much better at describing murders and gladiatorial combats.
I was struck dumb by the enormity of Rome, and I use that word in both its senses. Rome was not only vast but brutal. The villas and palaces, the temples, the baths, the amphitheater, the Forum were magnificent; but the great, close-packed rows of apartments and tenements, rearing their frowning and hideous fronts threateningly above the narrow streets-these were brutal.
In Ravenna, I had seen my first buildings of over one story, so you may imagine the effect that the tenements of Rome had upon me, towering to the full seventy-foot limit which Augustus had set. When I walked between them, I was always confident that the first high wind would topple them over upon me. But of course you for whom these memoirs are set down upon my papyrus sheets, my son and my grandchildren, if I am ever so blessed, need no description of Rome: my only wish is to enable you to visualize the effect of this stupendous city upon a little barbarian boy.
After we arrived in Rome, we went at first to live at the villa of Antonia, the mother of Germanicus. Here, Little Boots had his hobby-horses, his toy houses and carts, and his other childish playthings. Of course I, being eleven, was disgusted by such infantile occupations; and though I was forced to play with him, I thought to divert his interest in them to more manly amusements; so I tried to teach him to spin tops, skip stones, and walk on stilts. After we had broken a few windows with the stones and Little Boots had fallen on his face from the stilts and gotten a bloody nose, Agrippina turned thumbs down on my educational curriculum, accompanying her dictum with a healthy swipe at the side of my head, which I ducked, thereby increasing her rage to such an extent that she threw an expensive vase at me: that woman had absolutely no selfcontrol. She should have been more physically and temperamentally restrained at a time like this, as she had been up only about a week following the birth of another illstarred child: Drusilla, whose tragic fate I shall set down in its proper place.
As I ran from the peristyle toward the side door of the villa, I heard her remark that she would have my throat cut if she ever laid eyes on me again; and as I vanished from her sight out into the great city, I heard the screams and bawls of Little Boots shattering the peace of the world.
I was unfamiliar with Rome. I did not know where to go, which way to turn. All I was quite certain of was that I did not wish to have my throat cut. I wandered about aimlessly, wondering what I should do for food and where I was to sleep. I had to concentrate on the fact that I was the great-grandson of Cingetorix, so that I should not be afraid, but it was most difficult.
In all that great city, I had not a single friend. I was thinking this very thought when I saw a legionary swaggering along the street. Instantly I recalled Tiber: I did have a friend! But how could I find him among all these thousands of people? I remembered that before we had left the camp in Germany he had, through the centurion of his century, addressed a plea to Germanicus to be transferred to the Praetorian Guard on our return to Rome.
I ran after the legionary and plucked at his tunic. He turned around and scowled at me. "Not a copper," he said gruffly. "Get out!" Then he took another look and, evidently noticing that my clothes were too good for those of a beggar, he asked me what I wanted.
"Do you know Tibur, the gladiator?" I asked.
"That gorilla? Sure, I know him. What about him?"
"He is my friend. I wish to find him. I think he is now a member of the Praetorian Guard."
"He is, and he is at the Praetorian Camp," said the legionary.
"Where is that?" I asked.
"You mean to tell me that you don't know where the Praetorian Camp is?" he demanded. "Who are you, anyway? What is your name?"
I almost said that I was Britannicus Caligulae Servus, but just in time I realized that if I told him that he would send me packing off back to the villa of Antonia. So I just said, "I am the great-grandson of Cingetorix."
He grinned. "Now ain't that a coincidence?" he said. "Just fancy you and me meeting like this: I am the grandniece of Cleopatra."
I didn't know who Cleopatra was, but I knew that he was spoofing me, for he certainly wasn't anybody's grandniece.
"Will you please tell me how to get to the Praetorian Camp?" I asked, very politely.
"I'll do even better than that, sonny," he replied. "I'll take you there, for that's right where I'm going now."
It seemed quite a long walk to me, but we finally reached the camp, and in no time at all located Tibur.
"Here," said my guide to Tibur, "is the greatgrandson of Cingetorix, come to pay you a visit," and he laughed until his sides shook.
"What are you laughing at?" demanded Tibur.
"Why, this little squirt says that he is the greatgrandson of Cingetorix. Wouldn't that make anybody laugh?"
"It wouldn't make me laugh, you big baboon," said Tibur, "because, he is the greatgrandson of Cingetorix."
The other looked very crestfallen.
"And not only that," continued Tibur, "he is a man to be reckoned with. He slapped down the son of Agrippina and Germanicus and still lives. That, baboon, is more than you could do." Then he turned to me. "What are you doing here, sonny? In trouble again?"
"Agrippina says that if she ever lays eyes on me again she will have my throat cut."
Both the guardsmen whistled-long drawn-out, speculative whistles. The baboon, whose name was Vibiu, remarked that it might not be healthy to be found in my company. He hoped no one had seen him conducting me through the streets of Rome.
"What you been doin' now, sonny?" demanded Tibur.
"Nothing," I said. "It was Little Boots. He fell off his stilts and got a bloody nose--I was just trying to teach him to walk on them. He kept teasing me, and finally I let him try it. Agrippina threw a very nice vase at me, but I dodged it and it broke all to pieces against one of the pillars of the colonnade. It was one of Antonia's best vases," I added.
"They have had slaves burned at the stake for less than that," said Vibiu. "Why, even a patrician was sentenced to death for wearing into a latrine a ring on which was engraved a likeness of the Emperor; but Tiberius pardoned him. He would probably not bother to pardon a slave."
Tibur was in deep thought; and when Tibur was in deep thought, it was really quite painful to witness his facial contortions: he seemed to think on the outside of his head. But perhaps this is quite understandable when one considers that there was not much room inside his head.
"If we don't want to end up on the Gemonian steps ourselves," said Vibiu, "we'd better turn this brat over to our centurian."
"No!" bellowed Tibur in a terrible voice. "And if you tell anyone you have seen him, I'll cut your heart out and eat it."
Just then a trumpet sounded, and Vibiu said, "Now what in hell is that for?"
"You ought to know," growled Tibur. "The legion is being called out, sonny," he said to me. "I'll look after you when we're dismissed. I know a woman in the city who will hide you until we can make other plans." Then he and Vibiu hurried away.
As no one knew me, I went out to where the legion was forming, motivated by my boyish curiosity, for I knew that this must be something unusual. It was.
The Lieutenant-General was out in front of the legion with his aides and a civilian who was half-hidden from me
by the officers. The General began to address the legion, and I crept around closer where I could hear better. I just heard the last part of his orders: ". . . and when you are within the city, you will have your men break ranks and search every house in Rome until you find him."
I wondered whom they were looking for: probably some great malefactor, I thought. Then I heard a sudden exclamation, and someone yelled, "There he is now!"
I looked. The man who yelled was the civilian I had half-seen among the officers. I knew him. He was Antonia's majordomo, and he was pointing at me! I turned and ran; and at a command from the General, the whole legion broke ranks and pursued me.
Believe me, I gave them a merry chase, and they never would have caught up with me had I not run plunk into a sentry who grabbed me just on general principles, although he didn't know what it was all about.
That legion was puffing when it arrived and surrounded me, and the General was puffing hardest of all and was very red in the face.
"You young jackanapes," he got out between puffs. "Why did you run away?"
"Because I didn't want my throat cut," I replied quite honestly.
Just then; the majordomo came puffing along like a grampus, in time to hear what I said.
"In the name of all the gods," he cried, "come along with me; nobody is going to cut your throat. All that they want of you is that you should get back there as quickly as possible. Little Boots has been screeching at the top of his lungs ever since you ran away, and they are afraid that he will break something in his insides. If he does, then you will get your throat cut. Come along!"
He grasped me by an arm and hustled me off to a carruca drawn by four horses. We were back at Antonia's in nothing flat. Little Boots was still screaming, but he stopped, perfectly dry-eyed, when I entered the tablinum-and winked at me.
Burroughs, Edgar Rice - I Am A Barbarian Page 2