Caligula

XXI

The memory of his night with Drusilla ate at Rufus's mind like a swarm of fire ants. He would wake in his bed, sweating, with images of her lithe body dancing in front of him and the scent of her in his nostrils. When it happened, he'd spend the rest of the night in a fever, anticipating the knock on the door that would herald an invitation to return to the curtained bedchamber.

At other times, he would stop, paralysed, in the middle of some task, overwhelmed by what he'd done and the terrible retribution that might follow. On these occasions he would take Bersheba off to some far corner of the park, as if fleeing there would somehow save him from his fate.

And then there was Aemilia.

Milonia Caesonia had shown little interest in the elephant after that first encounter, but as the summer faded and the relentless heat abated it was not unusual for the royal family to spend time in the park, allowing the Emperor's daughter and Agrippina's son, Nero, to play together on the grass.

It was on one of these occasions, while he was mending part of Bersheba's harness in front of the barn, that Rufus noticed a shadow on the ground beside him. He looked up to see a tall figure watching him, her golden hair catching the sunlight.

'If you are busy, I will not disturb you,' she said in an accented Latin which reminded him of Cupido's. Her voice was not the only similarity. The way she stood, tall and straight, with the balance of an athlete and the awareness of a warrior, was evidence of her lineage. This was no pliant slave girl, bonded from birth and cowed by the powerlessness of her position.

'No, please.' He straightened to face her. 'Bersheba is not needed today.'

She was holding little Drusilla in her arms. The child must have been close to a year old, with a mop of dark curls and a face that permanently mirrored her mother's petulance.

Aemilia saw his look. 'She is growing heavier every day. Soon I won't be able to carry her any distance. She should be walking by now, but she is spoiled, I think, and if she prefers to crawl, then crawl she will.' She turned to look over her shoulder where Milonia and Agrippina sat on cushions on the grass, in the shade of a canopy held by two Nubian slaves.

Bersheba appeared at the door of the barn, sniffing the air with her trunk.

'She is a magnificent animal, but I would wish her back in the wild places of her childhood and not chained in the darkness to await one man's pleasure.' There was a hint of sadness in Aemilia's voice, and Rufus understood that she was linking Bersheba's position to her own. 'What would she do if you unchained her, do you think? Would she wander far and wide until she came to some stream she once knew, or some hill she looked out from? No, I am being foolish. Of course she would be hunted down and killed before she ever came close to the thing she once knew as freedom.'

'I think it more likely that she would stand where she was until the handler who had been so carelessly neglectful decided to feed her, for Bersheba's moods are ruled by her stomach, are they not, girl?' he said, trying to lighten the mood.

'Yes, you are right.' Aemilia smiled sadly. 'We must be thankful for the small gifts our captivity brings.'

Drusilla squirmed, almost dislodging herself, and Aemilia placed the little girl carefully on the grass. The child immediately began to explore her surroundings.

'Better here than near her cousin,' Aemilia said. 'Poor Nero, she scratches his face until he cries. I fear for the boy once all her teeth grow in.'

A cloud covered the sun for a moment, and Aemilia shivered, growing serious again. 'I thank you for being my brother's friend. I hope we too can be friends,' she said, and Rufus struggled to cover his disappointment. He wanted more than this girl's — this woman's — friendship. 'I came here to warn you that you may be in danger. Milonia Caesonia talks openly of a slave she calls Drusilla's puppy dog. She does so in the crudest terms and in the wrong company. I urge you to beware. Whatever your feelings for Drusilla, stay away from her. If the Emperor became aware of your relationship she could not save you.'

Rufus opened his mouth to deny he had any feelings for Drusilla. Who did this haughty German girl think she was, to come here and throw his shame in his face? Did she believe she was the only slave who still had pride? But before he could say anything, Aemilia gave a stifled scream.

Rufus looked round to see what had startled her.

Inside the barn Drusilla was playing in the hay directly between Bersheba's enormous legs. The elephant had only to shuffle her feet and Caligula's daughter would be crushed.

But Bersheba was Bersheba. She bowed her head to look at the interloper beneath her, and with the tip of her trunk gently pushed the laughing infant through the hay to safety.

Rufus picked up the wriggling bundle and plucked the straw from her tangled hair, while Drusilla hissed at him and demanded in childish gurgles to be allowed to return to her huge playmate. Aemilia, pale as a ghost, took the child from him.

'This is a dangerous place, Aemilia, and we must always be wary, but sometimes the fates contrive to undo even the most careful. I am a slave, and if the Emperor's sister demands it, I must attend her. But do not shame me by believing my attendance means anything more.' He turned to walk away.

'Rufus?' The note of apology in Aemilia's voice stopped him.

When he turned back she looked at him as if she was seeing him for the first time. What was he to her, this tall, fresh-faced young man with the untidy, russet-bronze mop of hair and the gentle, almost emerald eyes? She had noticed the way he looked at her; how could she not when he made it so obvious. He desired her, but then so did a lot of men. He was undoubtedly handsome, in a wholesome, rustic sort of way, and she liked him, but there were many people she liked. Sometimes, if they met by accident, she experienced an inner confusion and a fluttering in her breast she couldn't explain. Was that love? She knew of love; the palace ladies talked of little else. She was curious about the act but was in no rush to experience it. In any case, what could he offer her? He was a slave. Yes, she too was a slave, but Milonia had promised that when the time was right she would be freed, and that she would be found a suitable husband. So they could not be more than friends. But would that be enough for him?

'My words were ill-chosen and I beg your forgiveness. I meant what I said when I offered you my friendship, and I offer it again. Show me your hands.'

Puzzled, Rufus put out his hands, palms up. He was conscious of the roughness of his skin as she took his right hand in hers, still holding Drusilla in the crook of her left arm.

'When I was young, the women of my tribe believed I had the gift. I don't know if that's true, but I can read men's thoughts, sometimes, and see things I don't understand, and when I place my hand over another's, like this, I can sometimes feel the future.'

She closed her eyes, and Rufus felt an energy pulsing in his right arm that had not been there before. Maybe it was the warmth of her hand on his that caused the effect, but it was there, and as the seconds passed he felt its power flow through his shoulder and into his chest.

She opened her eyes, and he was drawn into their fathomless depths. When she spoke it was in the measured tones of an oracle.

'You are strong, Rufus, stronger than you will ever know. You will survive this place while others will not, and you will travel far, over land and sea, to a place where you will witness the last stand of the tyrants.'

Rufus shuddered. He didn't understand why — or how — it would happen. But he felt in his heart it was true. 'Will Cupido be at my side? And you?'

She smiled distractedly. 'Perhaps. But our story is already written and our fate decided. If the gods will it, we will be there with you.'