Caligula

by Douglas Jackson

  He pushed up the beam barring the doors and pushed them open. Staring at him in the light of a dozen torches was a grizzled Praetorian centurion. For a second, Rufus wondered if he was finally being arrested and his eyes flicked among them, hoping the next face he set eyes upon would be Cupido's, but the gladiator was nowhere to be seen.

  The centurion's barked order made him blink. 'Don't just stand there gaping, man. The Emperor requires his elephant to be at its most presentable by the second hour. Get to work, and if you need any help we've been ordered to provide it.'

  With two of the soldiers holding lamps for him and another two lending a hand, Rufus prepared Bersheba's harness, polished her brass and buffed her tusks. He even managed to give her a manicure before the job was completed at first light. With a final flourish he threw the tasselled blanket of gold cloth she wore on ceremonial outings across her back. When he was done, he nervously asked the centurion where they would be needed.

  'Just have the elephant outside and ready when the Emperor arrives. He will give you your instructions.'

  As the hour approached, the centurion brusquely ordered his men into parade formation in front of the barn. Rufus unchained Bersheba and led her into the flat light of the early morning and wondered for the hundredth time what was going on.

  The jingle of armour, and Bersheba's inquisitive 'sniff ', gave warning of Caligula's approach. The centurion used his stick to straighten the line of Praetorians and Rufus fiddled uneasily with the elephant's harness, peering beneath her to get a good view of the imperial party.

  The Emperor strode purposefully at their head, magnificent in a purple toga and with a wreath of laurel leaves fixed in his thinning hair. Behind him, almost cantering to keep up, was a short, barrel-like figure Rufus vaguely recognized, and a long-striding legionary officer wearing the badges of an engineer on his chest. To both sides of the mismatched couple marched a file of Praetorians, making the little group look suspiciously like an arrest party.

  It wasn't until they were closer that the smaller man's nervous manner reminded Rufus who it was. Narcissus's architect. The man who had turned the Emperor's dream into a reality.

  But why were they coming here?

  Caligula stopped in front of Bersheba and ran an approving eye over her. The Emperor looked healthier than at any time since Rufus had known him. His skin had lost the sickly sheen that marked him as either a dissolute or an invalid, and the eyes, which Rufus remembered as being almost opaque, were a clear bright blue. He was hardly dressed for the part, but he had the ready look of an athlete on the morning of a games.

  'Magnificent, isn't she?' Caligula said, to no one in particular. He motioned the two men who accompanied him forward. 'Coriolanus, Sulpicius, I warned you this day would come. Do you believe me now?'

  The smaller man hopped from one foot to the other, as if he was doing some sort of barbarian dance. 'W-we never doubted you, great Caesar,' he croaked.

  The legionary officer said nothing, but Rufus noticed he was looking carefully at Bersheba with his forehead creased by a V of concentration.

  'What do you think, Sulpicius? What does she weigh? Are you still confident?' There was a definite challenge in Caligula's voice that worried Rufus. He was beginning to understand that he and Bersheba might be at the centre of great things and he did not like it one little bit.

  The officer shrugged, as if unconcerned. 'Say twenty talents, if I'm any judge. It will hold.'

  'Oh, it had better. What about you, Marcus Petronius Coriolanus? Will it hold? And more important, are you willing to stake your life on it?'

  The little man's face turned a similar shade of purple to the Emperor's toga, his eyes bulged and he began to choke as if he was having a seizure.

  Caligula snorted. 'Someone help him. I don't want him to die on me yet. You,' he barked, pointing at Rufus, 'follow us and bring my elephant.'

  The Emperor set off across the park, trailing Bersheba, Rufus and his escort of Praetorians. Rufus knew what was in his mind now, and his own was filled with fear for Bersheba. She was the test. She was to be the first to cross the Emperor's bridge. He tried to remember the dimensions of the pillars and the thickness of the planking. Had the engineers of the Fourteenth done their job well? Would it hold? That was the question. Would it hold? He had a terrible vision of Bersheba plunging through the planking on to the ground below; heard the sound of bones breaking and the shrieks of her agony clearly in his head.

  No, he would not allow it! But here they were. The Emperor stood by the bridge, explaining his clever plan to the engineer and the architect. Rufus knew he had no choice. If he refused, Caligula would order someone else to force her across and he would be dead.

  While they waited, he took the opportunity to look over the wall. The sight that met his eyes made him gasp. The great buildings below seemed to be floating on a sea of upturned heads. Every street was packed, every possible viewing platform filled to overflowing. The enterprising and the agile had even commandeered the roof of the Basilica Julia. It appeared that every Roman, from the highest senator to the lowest beggar, was determined to witness history.

  'Now, Coriolanus, you will go first, but tread carefully, for you are almost as heavy as the beast.' The Emperor ushered the little fat man forward. 'Not too far. We don't want you to be at the other end before the elephant begins. You next, Sulpicius.'

  The legionary officer needed no prompting. His nailed sandals rattled on the wooden boards as he marched briskly to where Coriolanus stood quaking. It was obvious from his manner that he thought the whole thing was a waste of his time. Rufus felt a tiny surge of hope. This man knew his work. He trusted his men.

  'Come on, boy, what are you waiting for? Mount the elephant.'

  Rufus stared at the Emperor.

  'Quickly now,' Caligula snapped. 'You are keeping the mob waiting.'

  Rufus gave Bersheba the signal to kneel, so he could use her knee as a mounting point. She bowed her head forward and he grabbed her huge ear for support.

  'Wait!'

  What now? He wanted this ordeal over quickly, whatever the outcome.

  'I will mount the beast first.'

  What? A murmur ran through the Praetorian ranks. Rufus was not the only person on the Palatine to be surprised this morning.

  'Caesar, is this wise? What if . . ?' The Praetorian commander couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. The reality was too terrible to contemplate. 'You are too important. To Rome. To your people.'

  Caligula hitched up the folds of his toga, kicked off his embroidered slippers and prepared to mount Bersheba. He stared at Rufus, the ice-blue eyes boring into him like twin chisels.

  'Get ready to help me, elephant boy, but bruise my dignity and I will have your head.' He turned to the Praetorian. 'I appreciate your concern, faithful Petronius,' he said theatrically, 'but am I to ask these men to risk their lives if I am not prepared to share that risk? It is a fine day for a ride and my public awaits. Can't you hear them? They grow impatient.'

  Rufus watched the performance in bewilderment – for performance was exactly what it was. Here was the ruler of a vast empire preparing to risk his life in a ludicrous act of bravado before a multitude of his subjects, and for what?

  Before he could think of an answer, he felt a hand on his shoulder as the Emperor used him as a support to climb on to the elephant's leg, and then slithered up between her shoulder blades. Once he was settled he looked down at Rufus, who still stood by Bersheba's giant knee.

  'Come along, boy. I cannot drive this thing myself. It isn't a chariot.'

  Rufus cleared his throat. 'You must move back, sir . . . Caesar . . . just a few inches. I must be able to sit in front of you so I can control her.'

  The Emperor frowned, but didn't object. He shuffled backwards, creating just enough room for Rufus, who vaulted athletically on to Bersheba's shoulders and to his seat, with Caligula so close behind he could feel the man's breath in his ear.

  'Forward! For
Rome and for Empire.' The ruler of a million souls chuckled with anticipation.

  Rufus used his knees to nudge Bersheba's ribs and tapped her on the left shoulder to turn her between the carved posts marking the entrance to the bridge. Coriolanus and Sulpicius walked ahead of them, the one tentative, the other confident. For the first few steps they were still out of sight of the crowd below, but then the Emperor's head must have become visible above the Palatine wall. The distinctive murmur grew in volume, and Rufus could see them, and they, in their countless thousands, could see Bersheba, and the murmur mutated into gasps of disbelief before becoming a great shattering roar.

  Bersheba shifted uneasily under him. He talked soothingly to her, knowing she was unlikely to hear him above the clamour of the crowd, but that the vibration of his voice would calm her. The first few steps took the elephant up a gentle slope, after which the bridge proper stretched out before them, a golden avenue ten paces wide with terribly fragile barriers on either side. At first, it was simple, for they were only a few feet above the surface of the Palatine, but soon the hill dropped away and what had seemed a solid, safe platform turned into a precarious, vertigo-inducing tightrope. Rufus glanced over the edge where the planks ended and his head began to spin. Forty feet below, ten thousand incredulous faces returned his stare. The bridge seemed to sway in front of him. They had to turn back. Instinctively, he reached out to Bersheba, knowing it was impossible for her to turn, but unable to help himself. Then he felt a pair of arms encircle his waist and an unlikely sound ringing in his ear.

  Caligula was laughing, laughing with pure pleasure.

  'Look at them – they love me. The consuls, senators and aristocrats all hate me and stand in the way of my great works, but it does not matter because these people are the real power in Rome. A single word from me and they would tear the Senate House down stone by stone and bury its occupants in the rubble.' He squeezed Rufus's ribs. 'Did you hear me, boy? They love me.'

  He laughed again, waving a gracious hand to the sea of upturned faces below, and Rufus realized with astonishment that the Emperor was speaking to him. Not at him, as Drusilla had, using him as a sounding board for her ideas and her fears, but to him.

  A loose board protested loudly under Bersheba's massive foot and Rufus tensed, waiting for the entire edifice to come apart and pitch them to their deaths. He could see the fountain where Castor and Pollux had watered their horses far below and the temple dedicated to the two heroes close by. To his left was the foundation of the new temple Caligula was building to honour the God-Emperor Augustus. On the right, the suburbs of Rome stretched north above the frontage of the house of the Vestals.

  Caligula loosened a hand from his waist and clapped him reassuringly on the shoulder.

  'Do not worry, boy, you are safe with me. I cannot die this day; I have too much work to do. I will make Rome such a city that the world will wonder at its beauty and its magnificence for a thousand years. You see those buildings?' He pointed across Rufus's breast to the forum, which was just becoming visible before them. 'They are as nothing to the palaces and the temples I will build. And there will be more. Every citizen will have a home worth calling a home. Not slums and hovels that burn with the first spark. Real homes. Homes of stone, with running water from the new aqueducts I have commissioned. There will be a new arena, ten storeys high, and the games I hold there will make even the greybeards who remember Augustus's time gasp at the spectacle.

  'But first I must clear the obstacles that stand in my way. Human obstacles. You don't know how fortunate you are, Rufus, the elephant boy, to have been born so low. You only have this splendid creature to look after. I am responsible for an entire Empire. I must feed a million people, pay my armies, build the temples and palaces that will ensure my immortality. Yet everywhere I turn I face obstruction and delay. They think I don't know who they are, but my eye is all-seeing. Drusilla' – the name made Rufus tense – 'wants me to kill everyone. Poor girl, she is ill, you know, but still she uses what strength she has to warn me against them. Sometimes I think she is quite mad. She gives me so many names I am confused. Can they all hate me? Why? Because of Gemellus? Tiberius, above all men, should have known that Rome can only be ruled by a single hand, and a strong hand at that. If I had not killed my cousin, my cousin would have killed me. Because I spend their money? What is an Emperor if he cannot make his mark? I will make my mark in stone and in deed, but even that is not enough, for I must make a mark substantial enough for two. My father, Germanicus, should have been Emperor before me. He was a great man, and good. I cannot match his goodness, but I will outdo his greatness.'

  Bersheba's measured tread took them out towards the Via Sacra, over the edge of the forum, where the bridge took a diagonal turn to the left. Despite himself, Rufus began to enjoy the experience. It was clear now that between them the engineer and the little architect had constructed the bridge so that it would take the weight of a dozen elephants. There was a sense of aloneness here, on this platform forty feet above the real world, even though the eyes of tens of thousands of living, breathing human beings never left them. He was even enjoying being in the Emperor's company. Oh, he was still wary, still prepared to be terrified by some leap of mood that would turn the quiet-spoken young man whose bare legs touched his into the cold-eyed monster he had seen enjoying watching men being eaten alive. But, for the moment, that persona was mercifully absent. The man behind him was the Emperor Caligula Romans had prayed for.

  They could see the pillars of the Senate House now, and Rufus recognized the ranks of white-clad senators waiting on the steps. Caligula sighed heavily in his ear.

  'This must be truly what it is to be a god. To stand above all. To look down upon all and know that a word of command will sweep all away. If only it could be so. It is a pity our journey must end so soon. I have enjoyed being with you and your elephant. But soon I will be once more in the company of vultures, whose sharp beaks you see yonder. If only it could be otherwise. How I long for the simple times on campaign with my father, when honest men treated me as an honest man, even though I was but a boy. I wore the scarlet tunic, and when I stood in line with them it was not in the silken slippers of a Roman knight, but in the very boots they wore themselves, so they gave me the name I bear to this day. And now Caligula must be an Emperor again,' he said, his voice taking on a new firmness as Bersheba descended the gently sloping wooden ramp at the end of the golden bridge.

  'We could go back.' The words were out before Rufus knew he had said them.

  Caligula laughed, a gentle, genuine laugh.

  'If only it could be so. We could stand on our bridge and our people could worship us till the sun went down. But it is not for me. Take your elephant to be a god in my stead. She has done her Emperor a great service. She deserves her day in the sun.'

  They reached the steps of the Senate House and Rufus ordered Bersheba to kneel. The Emperor slipped from behind him and down her flanks into the waiting protection of a Praetorian guard of honour. Among the stern faces, trying desperately not to look in his direction, Rufus recognized the handsome features of Cupido.

  Later, he sought the gladiator out in his rooms.

  'You have seen a side of him that few others see,' Cupido admitted. 'He could be a great Emperor and a fine man, but do not be fooled or seduced by what you witnessed. He can change in an instant from man to monster. I have seen it. Everyone in the palace, even those he calls his favourites, even the Praetorian Guard, go before him in fear, never knowing which Caligula will be waiting for them. You have seen them, those he keeps close. Appeles is not the only actor among them. Each of them plays a part, even Protogenes, who is the only one he truly trusts.'

  'Even Chaerea, your commander?'

  'Especially he. Caligula knows the Praetorians are his only true guarantee of power, but that does not mean he is certain of their loyalty. That is why there are two Praetorian Guards.'

  'Two?' Rufus said, bewildered.

  Cupido nod
ded. 'The Wolves and the Scorpions. There are the Italians under Chaerea; you would know them by the scorpion symbol on their breastplate, as you would know me as a German by the wolf that decorates mine. Caligula plays the one faction against the other, so neither knows who has his favour on any given day. However, you should remember this: whenever you see the sign of the wolf you will know you are among friends.'

  XXIV

  A week after his outing on the bridge Rufus experienced another of those heart-stopping moments that accompanied a summons to the palace. Unusually, the Praetorians who brought it carried with them a new white tunic of fine cloth and ordered him to clean up and put it on.

  The two guards escorted him to a sumptuous room deep in the palace where Caligula relaxed on a couch overlooking a throng of richly dressed noblemen and women. When he saw Rufus, the Emperor rose, and greeted him with the savage, hard-mouthed grin of a cat that had just discovered a nest of sightless fledglings.

  'Our guest is here at last. In recognition of your service to this household I have decided the time is right for you to wed and beget me a line of little elephant trainers. As you can see, I have gathered the finest families in Rome to witness the event and so do you the honour you deserve. Let me introduce you to your bride.' He clapped his hands.

  Rufus turned to stare at the creature being led through the pillared entranceway. He was so astonished that he was able to ignore the brays of laughter which greeted her entrance.

  She was beautiful.

  The simple white dress contrasted with the delicate honey-brown of her skin and was designed to show off to best advantage the elegant curves of her perfectly proportioned body. Through it swelled surprisingly heavy breasts, elegant curves tapering to a trim waist, and the promise of a dancer's finely muscled legs. Her blond hair was swept back from a high forehead, with two tendrils trailing right and left to frame the face of a nymph, from which gazed the wide eyes of a frightened fawn. Directed by the Emperor, who fought to keep a solemn face amid the laughter echoing from the walls, she took her place by Rufus's side and placed her delicate hand in his.