Most Wanted (4 page)

Chapter Thirteen

N
ews ran ahead of us, so by the time Incitatus and I arrived at the doors of the Capitol, the senators who had been dozing inside were awake and on their feet. When I saw them in their robes of office, I realized that this was no place for me, and I chose that moment to jump off.

I could easily have slipped away and vanished into the night, but I'd done a stupid thing. I had wrapped the end of the chain around my hand as we walked through the streets of Rome, and now I couldn't unwind it.

Incitatus didn't hesitate for an instant. He strode right in as though he owned the place, and the pressure of soldiers and onlookers behind us pushed me along with him, still attached to the golden chain. Behind us the doors closed, shutting the loose horses and the onlookers outside. The soldiers stayed at the doors, acting as guards now, and Incitatus and I were on our own.

As though he knew exactly where he was going, he strode down the aisle that the standing senators had created. I managed to get my hand free of the chain, but it was too late now for me to get away. I glanced down at myself, suddenly aware that I had been wearing the same grubby tunic for a fortnight and that my feet, where they showed through my sandals, were as black as charcoal. But I didn't think anyone else noticed. I watched the faces as we passed. Every last eye was fixed upon the horse, and not a single one fell upon me. I was, to my relief, still invisible.

We were heading straight for the central point of the temple, where the statue of Jupiter, with Little Boots's head, always stood. But Jupiter/Little Boots was gone. In its place was a very small statue on a very tall pedestal. It wasn't grand, but it was Jupiter, and it bore no resemblance whatsoever to our corrupt emperor.

I was still gazing at it, trying to take in the significance of it, when our course was altered by a curve in the wall of senators, and after another few steps we came to a halt in front of a man in the fine robes of a consul. Behind him, surrounded by members of the praetorian guard, was an old man sitting in a heavy wooden chair. His chin had dropped onto his chest and he was fast asleep, but I recognized him all the same. Everyone in Rome knew that face. It was Little Boots's daft old uncle, Claudius.

Chapter Fourteen

T
he other consul cleared his throat and spoke above the murmur of voices in the Capitol.

“Now that Consul Incitatus is here, we can continue with the proceedings at hand,” he said.

The senators broke up their makeshift corridor and took seats in a semicircle around the other consul and Claudius, who was still asleep and gently snoring. I realized that Incitatus was standing with his back to them all, and as unobtrusively as I could, I prodded him in the side until he turned around. This, unfortunately, brought me to a position right beside the other consul, and he stared at me as if I was a bad smell, which I quite possibly was. He opened his mouth as if he was going to speak to me, then thought better of it and turned his attention to the assembly.

“It is the unanimous decision of the senators here gathered that, following the death of Gaius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, his uncle Claudius be immediately crowned the new Caesar.”

It was true then, that rumor that had gone around. But I still couldn't believe my ears. Claudius? Emperor of Rome? It had to be some kind of joke.

To my right there was a mild kerfuffle as efforts were made to wake up the old man.

“W-w-w-what?” he stammered.

“I presume,” the consul went on, “that this decision meets with the approval of Incitatus?”

Once again all heads turned in my direction, but once again not one eye alighted on me. The horse stood proudly, soaking up all the attention but perfectly still. He made no gesture that could be taken as either approval or dissent. He didn't even blink.

I suddenly understood why it had been so important that Incitatus be found. The consent of both consuls was needed before a new emperor could be instated. Incitatus might be a horse, but he was still a consul, and without his approval Claudius could not officially be made Caesar.

Still the assembly waited. Something had to be done. I put out my hand, fingers closed, beneath Incitatus's muzzle, and thinking I had a treat for him, he dipped his head. Finding I had nothing, he lifted it again. It was all that was needed.

A cheer went through the assembly and Claudius was helped to his feet. The other consul put a purple robe around Claudius's shoulders and a laurel wreath on his head. There were more cheers, uproarious ones, and I heard them spread beyond the Capitol and into the square outside. I knew that soon the streets would be full of runners carrying the wonderful news across the city and gathering the masses to come and pay their respects to the new Caesar. I couldn't wait to see my family and tell them that I had been here in the Capitol to see old Claudius crowned.

But the proceedings here were not yet over. The other consul took center stage again and called for quiet. When at last he got it, he said, “I would like to suggest that, as Claudius Caesar's first act in office, he remove the travesty that is the shame of the Roman Empire and relieve Incitatus of the consulship.”

There was a burst of enthusiastic agreement, and Claudius was led forward to perform his first duty.

“Y-y-y-yes,” he said. “I agree. N-n-nice horse b-b-but not a c . . . a c . . . not a consul. Not any l-l-longer, anyway.”

Like hounds on a fallen stag, a pack of senators descended upon poor Incitatus and ripped off his purple blanket and his beautiful head collar. The horse shrank away from the pulling and dragging hands, but there was nowhere for him to go and he had to submit. Yet again I was ignored, but when the horse had been stripped of all his finery, someone did think to push a piece of coarse rope into my hand. I put it around Incitatus's neck and his nose and made a rough halter.

“Whom do you appoint in his place, Caesar?” said the remaining consul.

“Oh. Oh yes,” said Claudius. “Wh-wh-who indeed?”

He looked around in bewilderment, and someone in the front row of seats seized the opportunity to leap to his feet and stick his hand up.

“Yes,” said Claudius, “y-y-you'll do, whatever your name is. T-t-temporarily. Until the n-n-next election.”

There was another huge cheer. Someone tossed the horse's purple blanket at the newly appointed consul, and the entire assembly collapsed into fits of laughter. When order was finally restored, the new appointee, now dressed in proper consular garb, came forward and called for quiet.

“I have a suggestion for your second official pronouncement,” he said. “I propose that you offer this horse, this sorry reminder of your nephew's reign, to the great god Jupiter. He has been offended by the madness of Little Boots, and Rome must make amends. What better way of doing that than to offer him the horse as a blood sacrifice?”

Chapter Fifteen

N
o!” I screamed. “No, no, no, no, no!”

But my cries were drowned out by the din of a hundred approving voices. Already senators were moving forward to take hold of Incitatus and bring him to the place of sacrifice, but there was another voice as well as mine clamoring to be heard above the mob.

“S-s-s-stop it! I c-c-command you to s-s-stop this n-n-now!”

Claudius was standing up and waving his arms around, but it was some time before he was noticed and order was called and the frenzied racket died down.

“I know why you have been so k-k-keen to ap-ap-appoint me your new emperor,” said Claudius. “You all think you can push me around and m-m-make me do what you w-w-want. But this is what I w-w-want. This b-b-b-boy here has something to s-s-say. L-l-let him be heard.”

And he turned and looked at me. And both the consuls looked as me as well, and all the senators.

I wasn't invisible any longer. The emperor himself had made me real: a human being with an opinion and a right to be heard. Tears erupted without warning and streamed down my face. I felt dirty and smelly and very, very small, but I had to speak up. It wasn't for me, you see. It was for Incitatus.

“Don't kill him,” I said. “Please don't kill him. He didn't ask to be made into a consul. He couldn't help any of it. He's only a horse.”

And he was. He knew, you see. I swear he did. Without his purple blanket and his fancy head collar he was just an old racehorse who had had his day. His head drooped as if he was ashamed. The proud spark had completely vanished from his eye.

And seeing him like that gave me an idea.

“Perhaps you should start your reign in a different way,” I said, and I was so glad that it was old Claudius I was speaking to, because I could never have spoken to anyone else in authority that way. “Perhaps you should begin with an act of generosity instead of an act of violence.”

There were murmurs of disapproval from the assembly, but Claudius held up his hand.

“G-g-go on,” he said.

“I'm the son of a baker, sir,” I said. “And your nephew, the emperor Gaius, he took all our horses away and left us with nothing to pull our carts. Give us this horse in return, sir. As a replacement for the ones he took.”

There was more disapproval from the senators, but Claudius was grinning with delight.

“Yes,” he said. “T-t-take him, boy, and let him deliver b-b-b-bread to the p-p-people of Rome. I can think of no better way for the consul Incitatus to end his days.”

Chapter Sixteen

A
nd there he is now, as you can see. He has been pulling a bread cart for us ever since, day in and day out. And do you know what? He loves it—don't you, Incy? Never gets tired of it. Never puts a foot wrong. Willing and good-tempered whatever the hour and whatever the weather.

The thing is, all the dreadful things you heard about Little Boots are true. He was a monster; there's no two ways about it. I will never understand what made him do such terrible things, but I do understand one thing about him. I know why he loved this horse. There was never an animal like him—was there, Incy? See him there? Understands every word I say—don't you, boy?

But I can't stay here chatting all day. My bread's going stale. I'll tell you one last thing about this horse, though. If I was made emperor tomorrow, this lad would be made consul the day after that.

And the other one? I don't know who I'd pick. I've got a very clever little dog at home. People are strange creatures, in my opinion. You can never really trust them. They might start out well enough, but power always gets the better of them in the end. Mind you, it hasn't got the better of old Claudius yet, has it? Smart guy, that, pretending to be a fool and keeping on the right side of his nephew.

Not such a simpleton, though, is he? Best Caesar Rome ever had, if you ask me. Look, Incy agrees with me—don't you, Incy? He knows what a narrow escape he had. Long live the emperor Claudius, that's what I say. And if Incy could speak, that's exactly what he'd say, too.

Author's Note

L
ittle Boots is based upon Caligula, who was emperor of Rome between
AD
37 and 41. The background details in the story are based upon my research into his rule, but I have taken some liberties as well. He did have a favorite racehorse called Incitatus, and the horse did have its own living quarters and servants. But although Caligula threatened to make Incitatus a consul, he didn't actually do it.

It's also interesting to note that when Caligula died, the Roman senators were so eager to sweep away the memory of his authoritarian rule that they gathered in a different place than usual. Normally they met in the forum, but on this occasion they went to the top of one of the highest hills in Rome, to the Capitol.

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