Caligula (15 page)

XXVII

Had anyone ever suffered as he did? Had anyone ever been more alone? Drusilla was gone. His only friend. His sister. The only one he had ever really trusted. How could she have left him?

He sniffed, blinking away a tear. He stank, but he did not care. His hair was slick with grease and undressed, but it was nothing. He hadn't shaved for three months and would not until her murderers were found, or he had given her the divinity she had craved when she was alive. She, above all, deserved immortality.

How he wished he could have accompanied her to that other life. There was nothing for him in this one but grief and pain, and he wanted neither. What were his accomplishments now, when there was no one with whom he could savour them? Every one a monument to vainglory. What was the point of the battles that were inevitably to come, when each victory would taste of ashes? It was she who had made all the effort worthwhile. In her, he could see the reflection of his greatness. But no more.

Who could he trust now?

As he recognized the answer, an unfamiliar sensation developed deep inside his body, and swarmed upwards into his brain. He felt the first breathlessness of panic.

It was a long time since he had felt fear.

When the seventh hour arrived Rufus was standing outside the door to the secretary's offices enjoying the feel of a silky cloth tunic finer than anything he had ever owned. His dark hair was damp and his nostrils were filled with the scent of some flowery perfume from the east that the boy had insisted on dousing him with. It didn't matter too much; there was plenty left for Livia . . . and Aemilia.

'Enter.'

The voice was strong, the tone full of natural authority, and it had an edge that made Rufus stand a little straighter. He pushed the door, which swung back easily on its single wooden hinge.

Of all the great men who ruled Rome from the Palatine Hill and attempted to square the circle of the Emperor's chaotic brilliance, ever-changing moods and overwhelming ambition, Callistus, the imperial secretary, held the position of strength. No man crossed the threshold to Caligula's outer apartments without first being interviewed by the secretary. It was a privilege that had brought him immense wealth as well as power. But power did not come without a price, and the price was clear on the strained face of the man who sat across the scroll-filled desk from where Rufus stood.

Callistus had a wide, sloping forehead which swept down without obstacle to an identically angled, aristocratic nose, giving him the look of some long-beaked bird of the plains. The effect was emphasized by his hair, which had receded in a perfect half-moon leaving behind it a vast, open expanse. He was unhealthily pale, with an enormous bag of flesh beneath each eye and cheeks that sagged beneath the level of his lips, drawing them down in a permanent disapproving frown.

The secretary's eyes swept back and forth across an opened scroll on his desk, accompanied by repeated tuts of dismay, or disbelief, at the perceived failings of some far-off provincial official. Eventually, he rolled up the scroll with a sigh, deposited it in a leather case, and placed it carefully on the left-hand pile on the desk. Only then did he look up and acknowledge Rufus's presence, inspecting him with a jaundiced eye and not attempting to hide his disapproval.

'You are the keeper of the Emperor's elephant?'

Rufus nodded. 'That is correct, sir. I –'

Callistus waved him to silence. 'That is all I wish to know. And, for the moment, all you need to know is that the Emperor has decided you have an important role in the celebrations of his sister's divinity. You and your elephant.'

Rufus swallowed and tried to stay the panic that filled his stomach with a ball of frantically mating toads.

'Since it is obviously beyond your capabilities to carry this out without supervision, the Emperor' – Callistus shook his head in resignation – 'has decided that among my numberless other responsibilities I must oversee your part in it. To that end you will have yourself and your elephant ready for inspection tomorrow at the second hour.'

'May I ask your honour what form this mission will take?' Rufus asked politely, adding hurriedly, lest his question be taken for insolence, 'in case any specialized preparations are required to ensure Bersheba is ready for the task.'

Callistus closed his eyes. Perhaps this was going to be more tiresome than he thought. 'Specialized preparations?'

'Yes, sir. Special harness, or perhaps a new basket. If Bersheba is to carry the Emperor he would need to be carried in something fitting. Something in the ceremonial line?'

The secretary pursed his lips. 'The beast will not be carrying the Emperor. However, it may be that you need to be aware of its burden. It is rather weighty, I'm told.'

Rufus spent a sleepless night preparing himself and Bersheba. At the appointed hour he and the elephant stood in front of the barn, she in her ceremonial finery and he in the tunic he had acquired from Callistus's gilded messenger. But it was another two hours before the secretary came puffing down the slope from the palace with an escort of soldiers.

The guards stood back as Callistus peered down his long nose at the elephant from a safe distance, holding a perfumed silk cloth to his face.

'No, no,' he huffed. 'This will not do. Not do at all.'

Rufus shuffled his feet and tried not to look round. What was wrong with her? He had spent the entire night scrubbing her down, polishing her teeth and tusks and brushing the great gold-cloth mantle that now covered her back. What more could he have done?

'Bring it closer,' Callistus signalled. 'But not too close.'

Rufus did as he was asked.

'Turn it round.'

Again Rufus complied.

'No. No.' Callistus pulled a small writing block and a stylus from the sleeve of his toga and spent a few moments scratching on the block. 'Soldier! Yes, you. Take this to the Emperor's armourer. Tell him the job must be completed in ten days, that I already know it is impossible, and that he must consult me before he makes a single rivet.'

It was clear the inspection was over, so Rufus returned Bersheba to her stall. He knew he could have done nothing more, but the secretary's reaction had angered him and he was rougher with the elephant than he intended. Bersheba in her turn made her feelings plain with a gentle slap of her trunk that almost knocked him off his feet and changed his mood. Grinning, he began to undo the harness which kept the cloth mantle in place.

'You have no time for that.' Callistus's voice was sharp with impatience. 'Attend me now, slave.'

Rufus had never been inside a closed carriage before. Few Romans, even senators, had been inside one which clattered through Rome's streets during daylight hours, unless they happened to be on imperial business. He would have enjoyed the feel of the soft cushions as they bounced over the road surface more if it was not for the presence of his travelling companion and the fact that he could not see, thanks to the blindfold that had been carefully tied in place over his eyes.

A barked order and the sound of a gate squealing open signalled that they had reached their destination. A firm hand guided him down from the carriage and he felt the air change as they swapped the open for indoors. The cloth still covered his eyes, but his nose was giving him a message. There was a distinct quality to the smell that made his nostrils twitch. It was a long time ago, but it was there, somewhere in his memory. Then his mind filled with red sparks as a hammer pounded on the super-heated blade of a short sword. That was the smell. He could taste it on his tongue. The smell of an armoury. The faded smell of enormous heat.

'Reveal this secret, to your wife, your lover or your elephant, and the Emperor's vengeance will seek you out to the ends of the earth.' The words came from behind him as hands fumbled at the ties of the blindfold.

He blinked as the cloth was removed. He was in a high-ceilinged windowless room of similar proportions to Bersheba's barn. At first his vision was blurred and all he could make out was the flicker of torches around him and an enormously powerful source of light at the far end of the building. Then the blurring cleared and he was staring at one of the wonders of the world.

In death, she was even more beautiful than in life. She was taller, more perfectly proportioned, and any physical imperfection had been carefully removed or ignored. Her head was held high, and her hair fell in ringlets to her bare shoulders. She was regal, but not aloof, staring sightlessly into the middle distance. Those who looked upon her might at first have found her cold, but the golden eyes glowed with a warmth their owner had never emanated in life. The surfaces of her body drew in the light of the torches and reflected it a thousand-fold, so that from some angles it was like staring into the centre of a furnace.

When he had recovered from the first shock, Rufus realized that Drusilla had achieved her ambition. She was immortal.

Where had they found so much gold? The statue Caligula had commissioned to cement his sister's divinity was eight feet high and set on a plinth of pink marble. The artist had dressed his subject in the vestments of Diana, but had posed her in the manner of an earlier Greek rendering of Venus. For a few moments Rufus looked upon the statue in wonder. Then he was back in the room with the curtained bed and her glistening, sweat-sheened body was beneath him, breasts rising and falling, every shadow a temptation. And the statue was just that: a lifeless piece of metal that could never compare with the living, breathing being that had once inhabited that body.

Callistus brought him back to reality. 'Can the elephant pull her?'

Rufus looked at him for a second in confusion before his mind accepted the challenge and he attempted to calculate the enormous weight of the gold and the carriage needed to transport it.

'She cannot take the statue over the bridge to the Senate,' he said decisively. 'It would never hold. You would risk destroying everything.'

Callistus's face paled at the thought. 'That will not be required. The route is necessarily secret, but think of a circuit of the forum and perhaps a procession as far as the Circus Maximus.'

'Then, yes, Bersheba can pull her.'

The ceremony was timed for the final day of the restrictions imposed by Caligula for her period of mourning, which ensured an outpouring of joy such as Rome had not seen since the day of the Emperor's coronation.

But Callistus had one last surprise for Rufus.

A dozen slaves carried the heavy bundles, all carefully wrapped in soft leather, to the elephant house and laid the curiously shaped objects on the grass. The secretary supervised as Rufus unwrapped them, counting each item as it was revealed in front of the barn.

'But Bersheba can't wear this.' Rufus could hardly believe what he was seeing.

Callistus winced. 'It must. The Emperor insists.'

The bundle with the strangest shape contained what Rufus eventually worked out was an elaborate gold-plated chain-mail headdress. It combined eye and trunk protection for the elephant and was fitted with leather straps so it would not slip out of position. From the forehead, just between the shield-boss-sized openings for her eyes, he was horrified to see jutting a dangerous two-foot golden spike.

Next there emerged a set of four equally extravagant knee protectors, again each with its alarming spike.

Finally, from the burden which it had taken four of the slaves to carry, was unrolled an enormous mantle of interlocking leaf-shaped segments of gold-plated metal that would have covered the entire floor of Rufus's modest home. It was designed to protect Bersheba's back and flanks.

'Oh, and there are also these,' the secretary remembered, and reaching beneath the folds of his cloak he pulled out two pointed, hollow golden horns that fitted snugly over the ends of Bersheba's tusks.

'She will look foolish,' Rufus pleaded.

'Not foolish, magnificent,' Callistus insisted. 'You will accustom the beast to wearing this ceremonial armour, so that when it pulls the golden statue of the Emperor's sister it will provide a spectacle such as Romans have never witnessed. There is one more thing.'

Rufus bit his tongue. He knew Callistus would not forget his outburst. The only reason he was not on his way to a whipping post was that no one else could control Bersheba.

Callistus gestured to one of the slaves, who unrolled a small parcel which had lain forgotten, but now revealed what was plainly the gilt armour and dark tunic of a soldier of the Praetorian Guard.

'You should be honoured, slave. The Emperor has seen fit to appoint you an honorary soldier of his elite guard. Temporary and unpaid, of course.'

Of course.

Bersheba detested her new finery, and she let him know it.

When he attempted to fit the intricate headdress, she would allow him to reach a point where he was ready to tighten the final strap before giving a shrug of her head that left it hanging untidily from one ear.

If anything, the plate-armour mantle looked as though it would be even more difficult. Not only was it huge, it was awkward, and he realized immediately he would need more help. Callistus tutted and waved him away, but six slaves arrived at the elephant house within the hour and he put them to work.

In the event, Bersheba was suddenly a model of cooperation. She did exactly what she was asked and they worked the enormously heavy metal blanket over her back. Even when he ordered her to stand, she did so with such care that the covering stayed exactly where it was, and he was able to get underneath her and, using all his strength, tighten the leather straps to keep it in position.

He had never felt so satisfied as when he stepped back to survey his achievement, a smile splitting his face. The secretary was right: she did look magnificent.

He looked into the soulful brown eyes. 'I thank you, Bersheba. You have made me proud.'

Bersheba looked back. Was there a twinkle there?

'No!'

Yes. It began as a twitch of her shoulders and rippled down her massive flanks as an almost imperceptible wriggle, ending in a profound shake of her huge backside and a twitch of her tail. Slowly, infinitely slowly, the golden mantle slipped sideways, until it finished up hanging between her legs.