Caligula

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.'