Caligula (6 page)

X

From a doorway directly opposite Rufus, a phalanx of perfectly matched gladiators jogged into the arena and turned to face the Emperor. Rufus counted them with disbelief: eight, ten, finally fourteen . . . Cupido and his fighters were hugely outnumbered.

Dressed in the leather greaves and griffin-crested helmets of Thracian light infantry, the enemy were matched physically in height and build as if they had been chosen for some human chariot team. As one, they knelt on a knee and roared: '
Ave, Caesar, morituri te
salutant
.'

Cupido's group stood silent, the only sound the chink of metal as Sabatis adjusted the chain armour which protected his shoulder.

Caligula should have been offended by this show of defiance, but he gave a thin smile and waved a limp hand towards the editor, who proclaimed loudly: 'Let the combat begin.'

Unknown to the crowd, their Emperor had decided this would be no normal display of arms. A message had been sent to Menander, the Thracian leader, in the arming room: 'Strike every blow to cause the greatest pain and disfigurement. Cupido will pay for his insults to the Emperor, or you will.'

There would be no quick deaths today.

The two lines of Thracians moved smoothly to form a single ring round their opponents, but as the minutes passed it became obvious that Menander's strategy would be more difficult to execute than he had anticipated. Cupido's gladiators fought back to back, each covering the other's weakest side. Any attempt to split them by feint attacks or outflanking manoeuvres only made them move closer.

At a word of command, two Thracians at opposite sides of the circle dashed straight towards Cupido's group. If they struck the positions covered by Cupido or Flamma, the spearman, their momentum would have achieved Menander's aim: to smash open the little group and leave them individually vulnerable. But with a shuffle of feet it was Niger and Salamis who faced them.

The
retiarius
swung his net with a flick of the wrist and the first Thracian fell sprawling at his feet. With one movement Niger stabbed the man in the throat with his trident, retrieved his net, and resumed his position facing the enemy. In the same instant, Sabatis smashed his shield into the face of his charging attacker and knocked him backwards. With a single thrust, he pierced the off-balance gladiator's exposed belly with his
gladius
and left him writhing in the dust, blood spurting like wine from a punctured goatskin.

The crowd roared their appreciation and the depleted ring of Thracians retreated to their original positions. Menander glanced into the stands where Caligula watched with cold eyes and felt a deathly shiver run down his spine.

Rufus could see the Thracian leader's hesitation, and he knew that Cupido, who lived or died by his instincts, would have sensed it. But the four were still faced by a dozen.

Menander now knew that piecemeal attacks would only result in a slow stream of casualties and in growing frustration for the Emperor. He must stake everything on one throw, using the strength of his numbers. 'Form lines,' he ordered.

The Thracian ring transformed into two ranks, rectangular shields locked solidly together. Menander took up position on the far left of the first line and shouted: 'Advance!'

Rufus recognized that the tight-knit formation adopted by Cupido and his gladiators would not protect them against the classic battle tactics of the legion. When the two ranks reached the smaller band they would wrap around their flanks and while the front rank was testing their defences and taking the casualties, the second would exploit any gaps. Cupido would be overwhelmed.

Cupido had known this moment would come. He had hoped to be able to inflict more casualties on the Thracians, perhaps Menander himself, before he was forced to change tactics, but it was not to be.

'Flamma,' he said quietly.

The Syrian gave an almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgement.

'Wait until I give the order to break. They will be confused for a moment. One, perhaps even two, will give you an opening. Aim low. I want to hear them screaming for their mothers.'

Cupido waited until the advancing lines were less than ten paces away before he gave the command. 'Break!'

Immediately the huddle split, with Sabatis and Niger moving left, the big
murmillo
taking position just beyond the flank of the Thracian line, and Cupido moving right to do the same. As Cupido predicted, for an instant Menander and his men did not know how to react. The ranks halted, uncertain how to deal with this threat to both flanks.

The split second of confusion was enough for Flamma, who stood, balanced and ready to throw. The first javelin took the centre man of the front rank low in the groin, the leaf-shaped blade nicking an artery as it buried itself, leaving him writhing in the dust, shrieking in torment.

The second spear was in Flamma's hand almost before the first had reached its victim. It should have taken its target just below the ribs, but the Thracian's shield edge deflected the point downwards, through the cloth of his linen kilt, to pierce the muscle of his upper thigh, crippling him.

While the Thracians were still stunned by the death cries of their comrade, Flamma, now armed only with a dagger, took up position behind and to the right of his leader.

Menander cursed under his breath. It was time to end this cat and mouse game. Splitting his remaining men into three groups, he threw them forward, himself joining the unit attacking Cupido and Flamma.

The first precipitous rush cost Menander one of his gladiators, who died with Cupido's long sword in his throat, and left a second nursing a ragged slash that was his reward for underestimating Flamma's ability with the dagger.

Rufus had been so mesmerized by what was happening to Cupido that he was blind to anything else in the arena. But now he could see that the overwhelming numbers pitted against Sabatis and Niger had begun to tell. The little
retiarius
was bleeding from at least three cuts and struggled to hold his surviving opponents. As Rufus watched, Niger plunged his trident deep into the chest of the nearest. But the other Thracians attacked simultaneously and he went down under a hail of blows. Above the baying of the crowd, Rufus could hear the sickening thud of blades hacking through flesh and bone before one of the men bent and picked up Niger's severed head by his shock of dark hair and raised it towards Caligula.

Sabatis, great Sabatis, had given his all. Three of the enemy crawled or lay in the dust around his kneeling form as he choked out his life in dark strings that stained the dirt, his body pierced by a dozen wounds, but still unwilling to die.

Only Cupido was untouched. Flamma had taken a slash which had cut deep into his knife arm. Now he was truly defenceless.

Menander ordered his men, reinforced reluctantly by Niger's killers, to hold Cupido's attention as he manoeuvred to take the golden gladiator in the flank. Cupido could sense his intention, but facing four swords he could do little to counter it. Seeing an opening, Cupido cut first right, and then left, into the necks of the two most vulnerable Thracians, but the commitment left him open to attack, and Menander needed no invitation.

The Thracian commander scythed at Cupido's exposed ribs, intending to cut him to the spine. But he had reckoned without Flamma. The little spearman threw his body between the sword and his leader, taking the blow across the nape of his neck and dying instantly. Flamma's sacrifice gave Cupido the instant he needed to force his remaining opponents back. One he cut down before the last, terror in his eyes, dropped his weapon and fled.

For a long moment Cupido stood, shoulders bowed. Rufus could see his chest heaving with the exertions of the prolonged combat, and rivulets of sweat created intricate designs in the opponents' blood which stained his skin.

The golden gladiator looked up into the stands where Caligula stood, his face a confused mixture of anger and frustration, then turned to Menander.

The final combat took less than a minute. Menander knew he was no match for Cupido. His parries were sullen and slow and his feet seemed unwilling to move. Finally, Cupido, seemingly casually, slipped his leg between the Thracian's and flipped him over on to his back as if he was a novice at his first training session. Almost nonchalantly, he held his sword beneath Menander's chin, the point forcing his opponent's head backwards and exposing his throat.

Once more the empty-eyed gold mask turned to the stands, where the Emperor waited, hands clenched tight on the rail in front of him. Caligula raised his thumb, before ostentatiously hiding it in his fist to show that Cupido should sheathe his sword.

Cupido's eyes behind the golden mask never left the Emperor's. Their stares remained locked as he leaned forward and put all his weight on to his sword, forcing it home through flesh and bone with a crunching sound that could be heard in the stands.

The silence in the arena had the intensity of a solid object. Ten thousand hearts did not dare beat. Ten thousand mouths did not dare take a breath. Rufus waited with the rest, paralysed by fear. This was an insult Caligula would never forgive or forget. Every eye in the stadium was on the Emperor, waiting for the command that would bring his Praetorians on to the blood-pooled sands to avenge him.

As the seconds lengthened into minutes, the tension became unbearable. Above him, Rufus heard the sound of someone sobbing.

The Emperor rose to his feet. He had regained his composure now and his face was as much a mask as the sculpted gold which covered Cupido's. Slowly, he raised his arms . . . and brought his hands together in a resounding crack which cut the silence like a clap of thunder, then again, and again, until the crowds caught his mood and realized this was not a death sentence, but an Emperor's acclaim for a warrior slave.

Rufus sensed Cupido's confusion as the mob's applause washed over him, knew the young German had expected, perhaps even wanted, to die. He watched as the gladiator shook his head slightly, as if to clear it, before walking from the arena without a backward glance while the crowd roared his name in adulation.

'Cupido, Cupido, Cupido.'

Rufus felt his heart clutched by a terrible fear. He turned to rush to the far side of the arena where he could be at his friend's side, but found his way blocked by a tall figure in a threadbare toga.

'Why, it is Fronto's protégé. Did you enjoy the spectacle, young man?'

Narcissus's voice was soft and his eyes were a deep, cobalt blue with an almost indefinable hypnotic quality. He stood smiling, his high, domed skull as bald as an egg and his scalp dappled with gleaming beads of sweat.

'I think the pretty gladiator has upset the Emperor, don't you? A sensible man would have entertained the crowd and died heroically, as was intended. It would have had a wonderful symmetry and added further lustre to his name. But now . . .'

'Excuse me, sir, but I must hurry.' Rufus tried to keep the urgency from his voice.

'Of course, I had forgotten. Your master advised me the brave gladiator was your friend. You would wish to help him celebrate the slaughter? But is that wise? Surely you don't find my company so poor?'

'No, sir,' Rufus said, confused. He couldn't understand why Narcissus should want to delay him.

'Then stay awhile and tell me about yourself. You have not always been with Cornelius Aurius Fronto, I'm sure. You must have a past?'

Rufus stared at him.

'But of course, I am being rude. I have not introduced myself. My name is Tiberius Claudius Narcissus, and I am Greek, born in the town of Pydna. Once, I was a slave like yourself; now I am the freedman of the senator, Tiberius Claudius Drusus Nero Germanicus, nephew of the late Emperor. I act as his secretary, and carry out what other tasks he wills. He is a fine man. Do not believe all you hear of him.'

Narcissus leaned forward, so that his mouth was close to Rufus's ear. 'It is not only your friend who is in danger. The gladiator has made his choice, and you would do well to allow him to reap the consequences alone. It is a pity; he could have been useful to me, and I to him. He refused my favour. Do not make the same mistake.'

'I must go to him,' Rufus cried.

'Go, then; be a fool. But take care. I may have work for you, and you cannot do it if you are dead.' But Rufus was already past him, pushing his way along the crowded corridor. By the time he reached the arming room, a squad of a dozen Praetorians was already formed up and moving away, with Cupido, now minus his golden mask, at their centre.

Rufus almost called out, but Cupido must have sensed his presence, because the young gladiator turned and looked directly into his eyes and gently shook his head. The message was plain: I am doomed; don't waste your life trying to save me. Then he was gone.

XI

'I have to find him.'

Rufus paced the main room in Fronto's villa. He had tracked Cupido's captors through the warren of narrow streets around the Castra Praetorium and into the centre of the city until they turned past the guard post and disappeared up the slope to the centre of the Palatine, where he did not have the courage to follow.

'He's dead. Forget him. If you try anything you'll only get yourself killed. Do you really believe Cupido would have wanted that? The boy lived with death every day of his existence. When he killed Menander he knew exactly what he was doing.'

Rufus knew it was true, but he couldn't bear the thought of the terrible fate that awaited his friend in the Emperor's dungeons.

Fronto smiled sadly. 'Think, Rufus. You knew him better than anyone. He had had enough of all this. He wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else, a place without blood and killing, and he took the only honourable way he knew to get there. He did not bow to Caligula. You should be glad for him.'

'At least help me find out what has happened to him.'

The animal trader shook his head. 'What do you want me to do, walk into the palace and ask the Emperor?'

Rufus thought for a second, his mind going back to the strange confrontation in the arena corridor. 'The Greek would know.'

Fronto shook his head. 'Narcissus gives nothing for nothing. What do you have to trade? I don't think he'll be interested in Africanus's latest trick.'

'If I have nothing to give now, I will pledge something in the future, some gift, or some favour. I have a feeling this Narcissus is a man who collects favours the way other men collect gold pieces.'

The animal trader's look told him he was right. 'Perhaps, but you must understand, Rufus, that it is dangerous to be in debt to someone like Narcissus. He dabbles those long fingers in murky pools. It may be he will call in your debt at a time and a place which suits him, but not you.'

'I'm willing to risk it.'

Fronto bit his lip. 'But am I willing to risk you?'

For the next week Fronto did everything he could to dissuade Rufus from going ahead with the meeting. He pointed out how unlikely it was that Cupido could have survived in a place where so many others succumbed. Even if the gladiator was alive, he argued, it was certain he would be sent to one of the lead mines in the north, where he would die by inches.

But Rufus refused to be discouraged, and eventually the trader was forced to make the arrangements.

'I wanted to be with you, because Narcissus can be a tricky customer,' Fronto told him, 'but he insists you go alone. He will be on the steps of the temple of Hercules – that's the round one near the main entrance to the Maximus – at the seventh hour. Say little and agree to nothing. Promise me that, Rufus. You will agree to nothing he asks without first discussing it with me?'

Rufus agreed, but that night he dreamed he sold Africanus to Narcissus for a single sesterce, and he woke knowing he would get the worst of any bargain with the slippery Greek.

His belly fluttered with nerves as he approached the dome-roofed temple across the flattened earth of the Forum Boarium, but Narcissus greeted him with the easy smile of an old acquaintance and asked him how his animals did.

Rufus gave him a rambling answer, then paused. 'Cupido –?'

'No business yet,' the freedman interrupted. 'I have had a trying morning and it would please me to talk to you awhile, before we approach what I am sure are serious matters. Let us stroll in this direction, away from the river. It smells so much at this time of the day, don't you think?'

Rufus noticed there were few people in sight, and he realized that Narcissus had chosen the time and the place of their meeting with care. Most citizens, if they could, spent the time between the sixth and the seventh hours dining with their families. Only a dozen or so slaves were still at work clearing up offal left by traders from the morning meat market.

Their way led them behind the temple and into the shadow of the huge carved pillars flanking the entrance to the Circus Maximus. Narcissus walked steadily towards the gaudily uniformed gate guards, but Rufus hesitated, wary of their blank faces and nailed cudgels.

'Do not fear, I am known here.' The Greek took Rufus by the shoulder and steered him between the two men.

The panorama that greeted Rufus made him gasp. He was a veteran of the arena now, and had been in many stadiums, but the Maximus lived up to its name. It was vast, almost three times larger than any other in the Empire. A racetrack as wide as a triumphal avenue disappeared into the middle distance, its surface shimmering in the heat of the noonday sun, then curved to return behind a long row of pillars to where he stood. Rows of seats rose like cliffs on either side of the track. It was said that 150,000 people often packed the stands for the chariot races and other great spectacles and for a moment he was back in the centre of the Taurus with the waves of sound crashing around him. His heart fluttered in his chest and he felt a thrill of fear before Narcissus's calm voice returned him to the present.

'Come, we will sit in the shade.' He led Rufus to a spot opposite the starting gates where a dozen rows of benches provided a relatively cool resting place under an awning made of heavy sailcloth.

'Now,' he said. 'You had something to ask of me?'

Rufus faltered. What right did he, a slave, have to be demanding favours of a man like Narcissus? He looked into the steady blue eyes and realized the Greek was reading his thoughts.

'Cupido,' he blurted eventually. 'Cupido was taken by the Emperor's guards.'

Narcissus shook his head sadly. 'Yes. It was foolish to try the Emperor's patience in such a blatant manner. It could have been fatal.'

Could? Rufus registered the word and allowed himself to hope. 'He was – is – my friend. I was certain you would know his fate. I would always be in your debt . . .' The final sentence dropped into the silence like a boulder into a deep pool and Rufus knew he had taken a step into a dangerous unknown. For an instant he wished he could take the words back. But a word spoken aloud can never be retrieved. The gleam in Narcissus's eyes was the look of a hunter who has just snared his prey or a fisherman who has set his hook. But the Greek was in no hurry.

'It is possible I have this information, or can discover it, but first I must decide whether it is in my interest to reveal it. A secret can be a thing of great value; it can also be a thing of great danger. Is Rufus, the animal trainer, the type of young man who can be trusted with secrets?'

He didn't give Rufus a chance to reply. 'When last we met our conversation was interrupted. We have more time now. Tell me about yourself. That charm, for instance. The workmanship is quite fine if I am any judge. Before I won my freedom no slave was given leave to own personal goods. These are enlightened days indeed.'

Rufus reached a hand to the thing at his throat. Fine? He had never thought of it as fine. Just a yellowing lion's tooth set in a metal which might have been silver, but probably was not. He found himself telling Narcissus how it had been given to him by the captain of the ship that brought him across the Mare Internum from Carthage.

'They had four lions in cages on the deck. One of them, a cub, was dying. It would not eat and it lay in the cage while its brothers played around it. They were going to throw it overboard, but I begged for the chance to try to save it.'

The cub had reminded him of himself, homesick and fearful, sailing headlong into an uncertain future over which he had no control.

'I chewed its meat for it,' he explained, his gorge rising at the memory of the rancid leftover he had forced between his teeth. 'It grew strong and the captain was grateful, because the cub was worth money. He gave me the charm, said it was good luck and hoped it would bring me good fortune.'

'And has it?'

'The next day, in the slave market, a young man from Syracuse standing with the house slaves pulled me from the line of farm workers where the overseer had placed me, and told me I was a kitchen boy. If I had stayed in the first line I would be dead by now. So, yes, you could say I have been fortunate.'

Narcissus nodded, as if this confirmed something. 'So, you have a talent
and
the gods favour you. That is a rare combination, and one I might be able to put to use.' He paused, considering his next words.

'Your friend Cupido was placed in the torture cells for two days. When he was taken before the Emperor all who saw him believed he was a dead man, but Gaius Caligula's moods are as changeable as the four winds. Of all the virtues, he values courage most. The gladiator's must have impressed the Emperor considerably. He is now an honoured member of Caligula's personal bodyguard.'

Rufus didn't know whether to cry out with joy for Cupido's survival or shout his disbelief. Cupido in the Praetorian Guard? Cupido protecting the man he despised more than any other? He remembered the proud figure in the golden mask standing over the body of Menander and staring his defiance at the tyrant in the stands. How could it be? He looked up to find the Greek studying him.

'Sometimes the truth is more difficult to accept than the lie. You would have preferred it if he was dead?'

'No.'

'Then accept this as the will of the gods. I have found their designs are not always straightforward. Perhaps he has been placed there for a higher purpose. It is also possible the Emperor is simply toying with him. It would not be the first time.'

'What must I do? Will I be able to see him?'

Narcissus smiled his enigmatic smile. 'Do? You must do what your friend has done. Trust in the gods.'