Caligula (13 page)

'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 nodded. '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.

She was three feet tall.

The wedding ceremony was unorthodox. Caligula, as high priest, clumsily contrived to combine tender love poems with crude references to the participants' differing heights and there were none of the formalities that would normally accompany such an occasion: no flame-red veil, nor knot of Hercules.

At first Rufus felt he was watching the proceedings from somewhere above, as if what was happening was actually being experienced by someone else. But there came a moment when the reality of it hit him like a hammer blow. He was being cheated. Aemilia should have been here by his side, not some . . . some . . . For a moment he thought he might faint, but he forced himself to concentrate. He studied the Emperor as the latter performed for his audience, and wondered at the change seven days had wrought. Where was the composed and softspoken young man who rode Bersheba with him? Where was the concerned ruler now, who talked so passionately of
his
people? This Caligula's eyes were filled with an unnatural brightness and his face was the colour and complexion of well-kneaded dough. When he laughed it was the cruel laugh of a despot.

Slowly but relentlessly the resentment Rufus felt was replaced by anger. Yes, he was a slave and subject to his master's whims, but even a slave should not be asked to suffer this humiliation: paraded for the vicious entertainment of the crowd and as helpless as a chained bear baited by hounds. He raised his head and found himself staring into the Emperor's face. The mocking eyes locked on his and the lips twisted into a sneer, and suddenly, for the first time, Rufus knew true hatred. I could kill this man, he thought. I could put my hands round his neck and squeeze until the last breath was driven from his body. He saw the mocking eyes narrow, the glacial blue becoming shadowed, and he realized with a shock that Caligula was reading his mind – was challenging him. In that instant, the rage he was experiencing changed to a mindless, reckless exhilaration. The guards lining the walls seemed irrelevant and the crowd faded into a background haze. There were only two people in the room and one must die.

His mood was interrupted by a gasp from his side. He looked down to see the girl grimace in pain and realized he was gripping her hand so tightly he must be close to breaking her fingers. She stared back, her eyes filled with a desperate appeal. She had sensed the violence between the two men, and she knew it would be the death of her. He hesitated, but only for a second. How could he place this fragile creature in danger? He allowed himself a sad smile and saw the tension leave her. Caligula saw it too and roared with laughter. The moment was gone. He was a slave again.

It was a relief when they were led from the palace before the night's feasting began.

When their escort left they sat in silence in the shabby little room behind the elephant house. The girl was hunched on the cot as far from Rufus as was possible in that tiny space, and she looked more like a frightened child than ever. Rufus knew he should talk to her, reassure her in some way. Another man would surely vow to protect her and keep her safe. But somehow he could find no words that would not sound hollow, no promise that he could keep. It was as if he had been followed home by a stray street urchin who refused to be sent away. She was undoubtedly pretty, but it was impossible to forget she was a . . . he struggled for a word that wouldn't make him as cruel as his Emperor, but gave up. He had no feelings for her beyond sympathy. She hadn't said a single word to him. He realized he didn't even know her name.

'Livia,' she said, as if she had read his thoughts. Her voice was soft and she had a lilting accent he found difficult to place.

'I am Rufus, keeper of the Emperor's elephant.'

'So that is the smell? I feared someone had spilled a pot of night soil.'

She turned to face the wall and curled up tighter, wrapping her arms protectively around herself. For a moment he was overwhelmed by a mixture of pity and concern and rose with the intention of joining her on the cot and giving her what comfort he could. But there was something terribly forbidding about that turned back and he stopped halfway. Instead he opened the door that linked the room to the barn, and spent his wedding night alone amongst the sweet-smelling soft hay and relentlessly crawling insects beside Bersheba.

In the morning he fed and watered the elephant and exercised her in the park. When he returned to the barn he saw the tiny figure of Livia watching from the doorway and led Bersheba towards her.

'No,' she said, backing away with a cry of fear.

'You are safe with Bersheba,' Rufus assured her. 'She may be big, but she's harmless. She won't hurt you.'

'What would you know of hurt?' she snapped and retreated inside the house, slamming the door behind her and leaving him wondering at the contrariness of women.

They spent that day, and the following one, in a sort of silent battle that could have no victor. He sensed there were things she wanted to say which pride or stubbornness stopped her from saying. This was his home, familiar and comforting in its humble way. For her it was an alien world filled with strangeness and potential dangers, not least the massive beast who shared their living space. But silence, like promises, only exists to be broken. It is impossible for two people forced to live together in a confined space not to communicate, at least by gesture, and gesture was eventually followed by words.

On the third day, they were taking their evening meal together when she began to talk about herself, and Rufus discovered in quick succession that she had been born in the province of Achaea, was probably about twenty years old, had lived the life of a nomad, and was now principal acrobat in a troop of dwarf entertainers.

He continued to sleep in the barn, where at first he dreamed dreams of Aemilia. But there came a point in his nocturnal reflections when Aemilia's heavy-bodied softness was replaced by a smaller, more delicate frame. He sensed a change in Livia, too, and on the night when she reached out to touch him as he turned to go to his straw mattress he was almost expecting it.

It was Livia who took the initiative. She held his hand and led him to the bed, where she gently pushed him backwards. Then, never meeting his eyes, she shrugged off her dress and stood before him.

He was entranced. He had never seen anything so perfect. Her beauty took his breath away – and terrified him. The moment Caligula understood what he had given two mismatched outcasts, he would separate them.

Livia, meeting his gaze for the first time, read his thoughts in a glance. 'Come,' she said. 'We must make good use of what time we have.'

They lay together, cheek against cheek, her body tiny and vulnerable, but soft and tantalizing, against his. He reached for her, drawing her still closer, and bent his head to kiss her. She put her hand to his lips.

'First there are things you must know,' she whispered. 'I have sold my body. Men have sold me. Despite my size, perhaps because of it, men have always desired me. I have been used in ways that disgust me and would sicken you. If we are to be together, and stay together, you must first know this.'

He could feel the dampness where her cheek met his, and a tear rolled from the corner of his eye to mingle with hers. And as the grey of the early dawn began to show through the thin cracks in the wall, it was her head that came to his and there was no barrier to the kiss.

At first, he treated her like a fragile doll, afraid his size and strength would cause her pain. But she soon made him aware that, in her own way, she was as strong as he, and that she found his size, in every sense, a source of great pleasure. She taught him things, about her body and his, he would never have discovered for himself in a lifetime.

Rufus would remember the weeks that followed as the eternal summer of his life. Each day brought a new reason to be thankful, each night a new source of wonder. Livia was full of contradictions. He discovered that, although she wanted to be loved, she could not bear to be smothered. If he tried to help her with the household tasks she would snap at him with her teeth bared like an angry terrier. Yet minutes later another Livia would be revealed, the Livia who craved affection and could combine passion and compassion in a way that left him weak and bewildered.

She was determined to prove herself as a wife as well as a lover. She attacked the squalor he had been happy to live with, brushing like a tiny whirlwind, and did what she could with their meagre resources to turn the room behind the barn into a home. Only one thing came between them.

'Why must we live with that stinking animal?' she asked one evening as they lay together. 'You have the Emperor's favour. Surely you can ask for another position.'

'But Bersheba is my charge. She –'

Livia put a hand to his lips and rolled astride him, laughing. 'Do you love the elephant more than you love me?'

Rufus hesitated only for an instant, but an instant was enough.

'You do love the elephant more than you love me!'

Nothing he said would change that opinion. His only option was to prove her wrong, and it was an exhausted Rufus who staggered from their pallet the next morning. At least Bersheba was less complicated.

But an elephant used to regular habits, who has found herself abandoned, is apt to be moody.

Bersheba ignored Rufus when he greeted her. Perhaps she was hungry; he should have fed her an hour ago. Turning his back on her, he began to pitch sheaves of hay into her feeding area. His thoughts returned to the hours before and the velvety softness of Livia's flesh and the way her small teeth had bitten into his lip as they both reached the height of their passion at just the right mo –

Why was he lying on his back on the packed earth floor with the crossbeams of the barn spinning sickeningly above him?

As the spinning slowed, he tried to stand, but only contrived to struggle as far as one knee before being overcome by nausea and sitting back with his head in his hands.

The next time his whirling head allowed him to look up, Bersheba stood over him, ominously close, her trunk swinging rhythmically. He thought she might be going to hit him again, for he realized now that what had felt like the roof falling in on him was a blow from that fivefoot length of solid muscle. But the swinging stopped and instead she gently curled it round his arm and pulled him to his feet.

Rufus shook his head ruefully and went to where the fruit was stored. 'I apologise, mighty Bersheba.' He placed a bruised apple in the bowl formed by the end of her trunk. 'It is going to be more difficult than I had realized to look after my two ladies in the manner they deserve. But I have learned my lesson.'

Bersheba snorted her acceptance and went back to her hay. Rufus opened the big double doors to allow the sunlight of a glorious morning to stream inside, cutting through the thin clouds of dust rising from the elephant's straw floor. His heart filled with the simple joy of living as he stepped out into the clean air of the park. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs until they could take no more.

'Is the honeymoon over so soon?'