Caligula (12 page)

XXII

From the highest to the lowest, the inhabitants of the Palatine went about their business in silence and in fear. The abortive invasion and the reaction in Rome had driven Caligula's always unpredictable moods to even greater extremes. House slaves whispered of the Emperor's screaming rages and his favourites cowering for their lives at his feet. The two serving consuls took themselves on a tour of the provinces and sacrificed to the gods in the hope that he would not send for them.

Rufus was fortunately untouched by it all. He saw little of Aemilia, who still confused him, except from afar, and nothing of Drusilla, who, he now realized, had seen him as a compliant novelty. Once experienced, the novelty was gone for ever. He did not know whether to be grateful or insulted.

He was organizing Bersheba's feed on a cool morning that promised a perfect day a week after the festival of the Parilia, when he heard the clamour of voices and the sound of hammers. It came from the far side of the park, but hard as he tried he could not see what caused it. The massive marble-clad shoulder of Caligula's palace hid whatever was happening from his view.

As the day wore on his curiosity grew. He saw figures moving purposefully back and forth, but they were too far away to hail, or even for their actions to give him a clue as to what they were doing.

At the sixth hour, when he knew most of the Palatine would be at their midday meal, he harnessed Bersheba. 'Come on, girl,' he said. 'We'll go a little further than normal today.'

He directed her out into the park, but not towards the palace. Instead, he turned her right, so his route would take him across the face of the building, but would also allow him a clear view of what was going on beyond it by the time he reached the far end of the park where the trees were thin.

At first, it was difficult to make sense of what he was seeing, but gradually the chaotic scene in front of him took order in his mind. At the far end of the palace, where the Palatine Hill fell away towards the forum, was an ants' nest of activity. Hundreds of enormous baulks of timber were stacked in piles twice as high as Bersheba and some form of construction was already going on close to the palace walls. He could see teams of workers digging and others carrying the larger timbers, which needed a dozen men each to take their weight. He assumed the workers were slaves, but he was surprised to see men in the uniform of legionary officers scurrying among them, organizing and harrying.

He was about to turn away when a voice from behind almost made him fall from Bersheba's back.

'Impressive, isn't it?'

Narcissus.

'Don't you have anything to do but spy on people?' Rufus didn't bother to hide his annoyance.

'I might ask you the same. The Emperor's elephant seems to have remarkably few duties these days. Perhaps I could suggest something?'

Rufus flushed. Why did the Greek always get the better of him? He waited for Narcissus to bring up the question of trust, which had seemed to be so important to him during their last conversation, but apparently he was in no hurry to return to the subject.

'What you see is but a fraction of the Emperor's grand plan,' he said, shaking his head. 'Beyond the wall, the best part of a full legion is sweating and cursing to turn a dream into reality.'

'I don't understand.'

'Do you see the small fat man on the left? He is talking to a person who, unless I miss my guess, is a tribune of the Fourteenth Gemina. I imagine he sacrificed a large white bull at the temple of Jupiter this morning and prayed for an auspicious day. If he did not, he is a fool, or he has already mixed the hemlock in readiness for his failure.'

'He does seem troubled.' Even at this distance Rufus could sense the fat man's agitation.

'So he should be. One week ago the Emperor dreamed vividly he was the subject of an assassination attempt on the way from the Palatine to the Senate House. They say he felt the daggers entering his body and woke to find himself covered in blood. It was merely a nose bleed, but emperors tend to take such signs literally. He called a conference of his advisers, of whom, of course, my master, Senator Claudius, is one. He is a sensible man, and has a benign influence on the Emperor, and left to himself would have calmed the situation. But that dangerous fool Protogenes convinced Caligula the dream was a portent and that he must protect himself. This,' he waved a hand towards the builders, 'was the result. A million sesterces so one man can be carried four hundred paces from his table to the steps of the Senate without soiling his nostrils with the stink of the mob. It is a bridge,' Narcissus explained, 'probably the longest land bridge in the world. It will take the Fourteenth one month to build and that little fat man is responsible for ensuring it does not fall down with the Emperor upon it. Now do you understand why he is so agitated?'

Rufus grinned. 'I wouldn't be in his boots for all the gold in the Empire.'

Narcissus became serious. 'Now, to the question of trust we talked of, Rufus. I wish you would put aside your antagonism and place your faith in me. For better or worse, our lives are entwined, and if we slaves cannot work together we will all be like the little man building the Emperor's bridge: living in constant fear.'

Rufus thought for a moment, considering his response. 'Don't we live in fear in any case, Narcissus? I have lost friends who were blameless. If Drusilla convinces the Emperor you are plotting against him, your trust in your master will mean nothing. The only thing that will save you is to betray every person who ever put his faith in you.'

Surprisingly, mention of the Emperor's sister brought a smile to the Greek's face, a rather sly smile.

'Oh, I don't think Drusilla will harm anyone again. I thought you would be the first to know. She has taken to her bed. Some minor ailment, I understand.'

XXIII

Rufus returned the next day to see the bridge taking shape, and, as it grew, he became bolder and ventured closer. On the far side of the wall the largest timbers, massive baulks split from mature tree trunks and reaching six times the height of a tall man, were being buried deep in the ground to provide the foundations. Between each main timber, the legionaries jointed others, smaller, but still substantial, which Rufus could see would be the frame for the bridge deck. Finally, a double layer of thick planks was laid on the frame and nailed firm.

He marvelled at its progress as it snaked out from the Palatine towards the forum, forty feet above the ground. Across the intersection of Clivus Victoriae and the Via Nova; between the infant foundations of the temple of Augustus and the pillared frontage of the house of the Vestals; over the fountain of Juturna and past the temple of Castor and Pollux, until it turned to follow the path of the Sacred Way.

One thing struck him as strange. It had to be strong, because it was to carry the Emperor, but the little architect was certainly taking no chances. The scale of the wooden bridge was immense. The planking was so thick and the weight-bearing pillars so enormous, Rufus guessed the bridge could have taken the weight of two or three legions together. Perhaps, he thought, that was its true purpose: to provide swift passage for relieving troops if the populace rioted, as they had done so often during the bread shortages of Tiberius's reign.

Once the construction was completed, three days ahead of Narcissus's predicted date, carpenters appeared to turn their attention to the fine work. They smoothed the boards and the handrails with planes and erected carved pillars etched with gladiatorial scenes as gateways at each end. When their work was done, the painters replaced them, turning the entire length of the bridge a lustrous gold that hurt the eyes in the low autumn sunshine.

As the project proceeded, hundreds of onlookers gathered, curious to see the Emperor's latest wonder. On the evening the painters completed their work a rumour was born somewhere out in the suburbs beyond the Campus Martius that Caligula would make his first crossing the next day. Before he bedded Bersheba down, Rufus watched the first of the crowds stream in towards the forum, eager to secure the best viewpoints for the next day's spectacle. By the time he composed himself for sleep there were hundreds, but he anticipated that by the next day they would be in their thousands.

He intended to rise early, because he was as interested as any Roman to see the Emperor take his first steps on the marvel he had created, but he was still in his cot when a loud hammering on the barn door woke him, bleary-eyed and complaining, to find it was still full dark. He dressed as swiftly as he could, but the urgent hammering continued and Bersheba snorted with concern, shuffling in her chains.

'Don't knock the door down,' he shouted, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 'I'm coming.'

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.