Caligula

XXVI

Rufus waited with the rest. Every hour of every day he anticipated the tread of Praetorian boots and the knock on the door, the grip on his shoulder and the bite of cold iron on his wrists. The fear ate at his spirit and chewed away his courage. Livia noticed the change in him, and tried without success to understand it. He did not give her any help. If he revealed what had occurred between himself and Drusilla he would drag her into the Emperor's net. At least if she knew nothing, her ignorance might save her, even if he fell. He knew it was unfair, but he had retreated so far inside himself he found it difficult to communicate with anyone. He spent more time with Bersheba than with his wife, but often could not bring himself to meet even the elephant's unruffled eye.

Narcissus kept him informed of events inside the palace. Claudius's freedman seemed unperturbed by the upheaval, even to be enjoying it. Clearly he believed himself above suspicion, and he revelled in the tribulations of his rivals.

'The Emperor uses Drusilla's death to rid himself of a dozen senators who oppose him. They have the choice of taking their own lives or enduring the glowing iron, with the knowledge that if they choose the second, their family will suffer with them. Of course,' he added complacently, 'their final decision is of little interest to Caligula. He knows they have nothing to do with his sister's demise. To solve that puzzle, he has tasked his chamberlain, who sees this as an opportunity to bring his own enemies low, but has neither the intellect nor the capacity to bring it about.' He shook his head in wonder at the man's bumbling. 'The old fool pinned his hopes on questioning the two eastern sisters who attended Drusilla's bedroom and kept her many secrets. As if he could force anything but screams from two mouths that had been silent from birth. Fortunately, someone else saved him the trouble. They were found in their quarters this morning with their throats cut. Convenient, is it not?'

Rufus had a curious dizzy-making instant when his brain was divided between relief that two potential witnesses to his midnight tryst with Drusilla were no longer a threat and guilt that his survival should be at the expense of the innocent dark-eyed twins who cooed over his body. 'My little doves.'

'I am sorry. They were harmless enough creatures. Their only crime was to serve their mistress.'

Narcissus skewered him with a look of disbelief. 'Harmless? Their crime was not to serve their mistress, but to know too much. Many people have died for lesser crimes. If they had been sensible they would have entrusted the fruits of their knowledge to someone who had the power to protect them. What a pity they did not.' His tone made it plain who should have been trusted, although Rufus doubted it would have saved them. He knew by now that Narcissus would never risk his position, never mind his life, for anyone. He looked carefully at the Greek: handsome despite his baldness, in a cultured, even decadent way. Educated and intelligent; cunning, certainly, or he would never have survived for so long. Claudius's spy, who also, to his certain knowledge, spied on Claudius. Ruthless? He recalled his momentary suspicion that Narcissus might have poisoned Drusilla, or at least manoeuvred it.

'If they knew so much about so many, then there must be any number of suspects?' he suggested hopefully.

Narcissus gave a knowing smile. 'That might appear likely, but apparently there is only one. He would have been swept up with the rest, so he very sensibly disappeared. But it does not matter where he hides, even if his aristocratic relatives are foolish enough to provide a refuge. Half of Rome seeks the Emperor's favour by providing his head, and the other half will betray him because they are too frightened not to.'

Rufus knew without asking who the suspect was. Only one link remained who could tie him to Drusilla; only one tongue could be persuaded to speak his name.

'It is only a matter of time,' Narcissus predicted. 'The life of the tribune Lucius Sulpicius Galba can be counted in days.'

But Lucius was not arrested that week, nor the next. Narcissus speculated that the young aristocrat might have vanished into the seething rabbit warren of lesser streets and dangerous, evil-smelling alleys of the Subura out towards the Esquiline Gate. 'He has done surprisingly well to survive for so long in a place where every man's hand is against him. Pray that he dies there and your secret dies with him.'

In the meantime, Narcissus watched, taking in every nuance, tasting every mood and studying every changing dynamic in the intricate web of hatreds and alliances that were the lifeblood of the palace.

'Drusilla was a friend and trusted adviser as much as a sister. Of all Caligula's passions, she was the greatest. He does not eat and seldom drinks. He keeps to his apartments during daylight and at night he barely sleeps. Callistus cannot get near him, and mistrusts anyone who can. He fears Protogenes, who fears no one, and in the background Chaerea smiles his scorpion's smile and waits.'

He reported that the Emperor was too distraught to attend his sister's funeral, but stayed in Rome until the Senate voted Drusilla the honours she was due, including a marble arch which he vowed would be the greatest the Empire had ever seen. This duty done, he left for Campania, with Milonia and his daughter and his closest advisers. Aemilia — who, despite his newly wedded state, sometimes invaded Rufus's dreams in the most disturbing of fashions — accompanied them.

When the imperial retinue returned to Rome in September, it was Cupido's sister who brought Rufus the news.

'He has declared Drusilla divine,' she said. 'She is to be worshipped as a goddess.'

It was unheard of — sacrilege, even. The wives and mothers of emperors had been voted great honours in the past, but this was different. Drusilla was to stand beside Venus in the pantheon. Only an Emperor strong enough or feared enough could have achieved it. Caligula's opponents in the Senate were outraged. The priests warned of terrible retribution from the slighted deities. But the Emperor was unmoved. Drusilla would receive her divinity at the end of the lengthy formal period of mourning, in May, three days before the festival dedicated to Mercury.

Rufus's fears over his fleeting relationship with the new goddess subsided as the weeks passed. Lucius had not been sighted since the discovery of the murdered twins. There was still no body, which was vaguely worrying, but he breathed more easily and stopped looking over his shoulder every day.

'You are to appear before the Emperor's secretary at the seventh hour.'

Rufus almost dropped with fright. But the voice was wrong. Too polite. He turned and where he expected to find a squad of swordbearing Praetorians stood a gilded youth in a fine-spun tunic held tight at the waist with a thin silver belt.

He must have been gaping, because the boy repeated his message, louder and more slowly, as if he was speaking to an old man or an idiot.

'You… are… to… appear… before… the… Emperor's… secretary… at… the… seventh… hour.'

'I'm not deaf.' Rufus decided the young peacock before him presented no danger, and therefore insolence was not only required, but expected. 'Am I to… attend… the… secretary… like… this?'

The boy looked him over carefully, taking in the stained tunic and dung-spattered legs, and frowned. 'Perhaps you might like to change?'

'I don't have anything to change into.' It was a lie, he still had the tunic he wore for his wedding, but Rufus sensed there might be profit here, and sport. A slave was granted little opportunity for sport and he felt an intense desire to take advantage of this one.

The frown deepened. 'I… I could possibly find something for you.'

Rufus grinned. 'That might be wise.'

The boy sighed, and was about to turn away.

'I stink.'

'What?' The messenger blinked.

'I stink… of shit.'

'You could wash while I'm fetching you a new tunic,' the boy suggested.

'I would still stink. I always stink. It's from working with the elephant.' Rufus pointed to Bersheba, who was munching hay contentedly in the barn.

The boy bit his lip. This was a problem he hadn't considered. Secretary Callistus had famously sensitive nostrils.

'You could bring me some perfumed oil. A lot of it. I could smother myself in it, then the secretary wouldn't have to smell my stink. Or I could stand outside the door when he speaks to me,' Rufus suggested helpfully.

The messenger grabbed the solution as if he was a drowning man and it was the last plank from a burning galley. 'Yes, perfume,' he said, hurrying off before Rufus could come up with some new suggestion.

'Lots of it,' Rufus shouted to his retreating back. He would give the perfume to Livia, he thought; then, with a guilty shiver, And if there is really a lot I might even keep some for Aemilia. Callistus would just have to put up with his stink.