Caligula

XLI

Was he losing his mind?

Only yesterday he had demanded that Julius Canus, the Stoic philosopher, be brought before him so they could continue their discussion of the previous week, only to be reminded that Canus was already dead, executed at his order. He had liked Canus. The man had a sense of humour. Too many people laughed only because he, Caesar, laughed. Canus laughed because he thought something was funny.

Had he become such a monster he could kill a man and not even remember it?

He felt like crying. He despised self-pity, but he had often felt like crying since Drusilla died. More so since she had abandoned him — for she had abandoned him. They had all abandoned him. The reassuring voices had stopped on the very day he declared himself a god. Had he been wrong? Had he gone too far? And if he had, what would be the gods' revenge?

He winced as a fiery streak of pain scored its way across his brain. Agrippina's medicines no longer helped him. Was this their doing?

What could he do to appease them? Surely there must be something? But he had tried, tried so hard, and they had rejected him. When he had sacrificed a white bull to Mars, the fool of a priest had botched the stroke and blood had spattered his cloak of imperial purple. The augurs had stared at each other and whispered that it was an omen of ill fortune. He had laughed at their fears, but inside he knew they were right.

Then the answer came to him and it was so simple he wondered why he hadn't recognized it earlier.

He had lost his way. Been blinded by the plots and the tragedies, and goaded into the terrible retribution that inevitably followed. He must find it again, find that magical thing that had made Rome love him in those few short months after he and Gemellus had been crowned. He sighed. If only he could bring Gemellus back.

But there was a way. The old way. He would hold a games, such a games as the world had never seen. The crowd would not witness a few duels, or even a battle. They would see a war. And not gladiators. Soldiers. The Emperor's own Praetorian Guard. The Wolves against the Scorpions. To the death. He would fill the Circus Maximus to overflowing, not once, nor twice, but a dozen times. Every Roman, rich or poor, would attend, and when it was done they would love their Emperor as never before.

He would announce it tomorrow. After the theatre.

It was raining steadily by the time Rufus was ready. At Cupido's suggestion he wore the dark Praetorian tunic Callistus had supplied him with on the day of Drusilla's divinity. He would have felt much braver in the sculpted iron breastplate normally worn with it, but when they met outside his quarters the gladiator counselled against armour.

'We will certainly have to fight when we reach the villa, and they will outnumber us, but first we have to get there,' he explained. 'We don't know what we face in the Cloaca. We only have the word of Decimus that it is passable at all. We should travel light. Weapons, torches, a cloak, for it will be cold below ground, but no armour.'

Rufus carried the torches and flints in a cloth bag. Cupido gave him a short sword of standard legionary pattern, and he strapped the belt round his waist with the scabbard on his hip.

They waited until it was fully dark before they set out, using the time to piece together their memories of Varrus's two maps. They knew the general line of the Cloaca Palatina, but not its exact location. Cupido was certain they would recognize it when they reached the main shaft of the Maxima.

'There must be an entrance somewhere on the hill, but how do we find it?' Cupido wondered. Rufus didn't give him an answer until they were outside, with the rain in their faces. He pointed to the little runnels between the cobbles of the path, which trickled to gather in a shallow gutter.

'The Cloaca is a sewer, but it is also a drain. We follow the water. Decimus said it is visible on the surface. We will know it when we see it.'

They searched for less than five minutes before Cupido gave a cry of triumph. 'Here,' he said, pointing to the ground at his feet. Rufus ran to see what he had discovered.

Staring up at him, slick with rain, was a heavily bearded halfhuman face, with empty eyes and a slit for a mouth. It was a face meant to frighten; a water god guarding a hidden kingdom. The face was cut into a circular stone drain cover, about two and a half feet across, and the run-off from the paths disappeared into a narrow gap round its edge. They could hear the water falling into some sort of empty space below.

'Here, let me open it.' Cupido pushed Rufus aside. He bent low over the drain cover, but recoiled gagging. 'Jupiter! Even for a sewer this stinks.' He tried to work his fingers below the gap at the rim, but there was not enough room for a proper hold. Undeterred, the gladiator shifted position and reached for the mouth slit.

'There's only room for one hand,' he grunted. 'I can't get enough purchase to move it, never mind lift it. Maybe we can use your sword to lever it up?'

'I think I might have a better answer,' Rufus said, reaching into the cloth bag. 'Move aside.'

Cupido was reluctant to concede defeat. 'If I can't lift it, you won't be able to,' he said sourly.

Rufus grinned at him. 'This is a time for brains, not muscle.' He held up the object he had retrieved from the bag so Cupido could see it. It was the strange T-shaped metal tool Varrus had worn round his neck.

'I thought it might come in useful,' he said, taking over Cupido's position. 'See, the bar at the bottom fits perfectly in the mouth slit, and if I turn it like this…' Using the upper bar of the T as a handle, he rotated the key 90 degrees, so the bottom bar hooked below the stone at both sides. 'Now I should be able to lift it.' He heaved two-handed, using all his strength, and the cover rose until he could move it to one side.

'Ugh.' He choked and took a step back. With the cover out of place the stench from the Cloaca Palatina hit him in the face with almost physical force. He looked at Cupido, and then both stared into the menacing black void at their feet. It was as if they had uncovered the door to the underworld.

For a moment it seemed simpler to walk away.

Cupido sensed his dread. 'Remember, Rufus, when you waited in the room below the Taurus? I saw you struggle with your demons and overcome them. To step into the unknown took true courage and you found that courage within yourself. Whatever is down this hole is less frightening than walking out in front of five thousand of the mob. You can do it. For Aemilia. I am just as fearful, but I would face Hades himself rather than leave her in Chaerea's hands.'

At the mention of Aemilia's name, Rufus felt the empty space within him fill up. Was this courage or simply conviction? It didn't matter. It was enough. He gave Cupido a half-hearted smile.

'All right, but you can go first. You are better prepared to meet Hades than I will ever be.'

Cupido nodded grimly. 'So be it,' he said, and lowered himself into the darkness. Rufus slung the bag across his shoulder and sat on the lip of the hole.

'There are hand and footholds cut into the wall,' Cupido's disembodied voice echoed up from the shaft. 'It's a little awkward to reach the first one, but once you are on it you will be able to lower yourself. Take care, though — the steps are slippery. I don't want you to land on my head.'

Rufus felt with his foot for the first notch. When he found it, he turned and lowered himself over the edge until he felt the second foothold.

His head was at ground level when he remembered the drain cover. He couldn't just leave it where it was. Anyone who discovered it would realize where they were. It was possible their enemies might send a patrol after them. He twisted awkwardly until he could get both hands around the cover. Maybe if he could just perch it on one edge?

He succeeded in moving it almost to where he wanted it, then worked his way down a step. Just another inch would do it. But gravity was working against him and the full weight of the cover was on his arms and he had his back to one wall of the shaft with his feet in one of the notches. It was too heavy! He couldn't hold it. He had moved it too far and if he tried to push it back any longer he would lose his footing and plummet down the shaft on to Cupido. He strained and grunted, but the ache in his shoulders and his arms turned into spears of agony and the drain cover settled into place with a sharp crunch.

'What's happening?' Cupido demanded. 'What was that?'

Rufus put one shoulder to the cover, but it felt as if it was cemented into place. They were trapped.

He made his way down the vertical shaft a foot at a time. In his imagination it was bottomless and it came as a surprise when there were no more notches, but solid ground beneath his feet. He calculated he must have descended twenty-five to thirty feet.

He turned slowly, arms in front of him like a blind man. He knew instinctively he was in a wider space than the claustrophobic drainage shaft, not because he could see anything, but because the darkness was a deeper shade of black. A sort of darker darkness that was almost solid.

Down here it was a different kind of cold; rawer and hungrier, and he was glad Cupido had thought to bring the heavy cloaks. He heard the trickle of water down the shaft, and, close by, a heavier rushing sound.

'Are you going to get the torches out or are we going to stand here all day?'

The words came from six inches in front of his face and he almost fell over in surprise. He fumbled in the cloth bag for the first torch.

'Take this,' he said, holding the torch out in the general direction of the invisible Cupido.

'How can I take it if I can't see it?'

Ah! With his free hand, he located the flint. Ideally, he needed a third hand to strike metal against stone while holding the torch close enough to light, but somehow he managed it. The flame flickered for a second then blossomed until it illuminated a dozen paces around him.

They were standing on a paved walkway beside a dark brown stream composed of things he didn't like to think about, which flowed along a stone culvert perhaps three paces wide. The culvert ran down a tunnel which stretched away into the darkness under a barrel-vaulted roof of dressed stone blocks about a foot wide and three times as long. The roof curved six or seven inches above their heads, slick with hundreds of years of accumulated slime which hung in obscene feetlong tendrils, like wisps of a witch's hair. For a few seconds Rufus's astonishment overcame his fright. How could this marvel, another world, exist beneath his feet and he not realize it?

A shuffling noise from beyond the circle of light reminded him of his earlier fears and his hand flew to his sword.

'Rats,' Cupido said. 'Rats and sewers go together.'

Rufus laughed nervously. He looked around him. 'Which direction do we take?'

'Follow the flow. It's only going one way, to the Cloaca Maxima, and that's where we want to be. Let's go — we have wasted enough time. I want to reach the villa before dawn. Keep the second torch dry, and don't lose the flint. I wouldn't want to be stuck down here in the dark.'

Rufus mouthed a short prayer. He wished Cupido hadn't said that.

They started off down the tunnel, Rufus leading with the torch. At first, he set a good pace, but it quickly became apparent that the section into which they had descended gave a false impression of the Cloaca. The passage was not uniform. It had evidently been built and reconstructed, repaired and repaired again, over different periods, with different standards of workmanship and by men working to different ends.

The air in the tunnel was damp and fetid, rank with the stink of corruption and other people's shit. It became fixed in his throat like a solid thing, and he had to keep swallowing in order not to gag. Soon, the shaft narrowed, becoming ever more claustrophobic, until the walkway was little more than a shelf and they had to inch forward one foot in front of the other to save from falling into the loathsome stream on their right. Rufus noticed it seemed a little swifter now and the height had risen marginally. At least the rain would wash away the filth more quickly.

The tiny walkway was an irritant at first, but quickly became a danger. The flickering torch gave off an uneven and barely helpful light, which, in places, seemed to be absorbed by the algae-slick walls. Pieces of stone crumbled beneath their feet, threatening to pitch them into the sewer. At one point the roof suddenly dropped to half its height and they had to crouch low with the torch held straight ahead in order to make progress. This happened at regular intervals and Cupido suggested it might have some architectural purpose.

It was also clear they were descending, almost imperceptibly, deeper into the earth.

They had been walking for perhaps ten minutes when they heard the voices.

'Douse the torch,' Cupido whispered.

'What?'

'Put the torch out or they'll see it.'

'But we'll be in the dark. We can't fight them if we can't see them.'

'Better in the dark. We can hear them, but they won't hear us.'

Reluctantly, Rufus placed the torch on the walkway and gently stamped out the flames, doing as little damage as he could. He had a feeling they would need every flickering spark of both torches before the night was out.

He felt Cupido's reassuring hand on his shoulder. 'Now we wait.'

They sat in the darkness, listening; waiting for the voices to come closer. But the only things that approached them were the rats, which had been wary of the light, but now scampered by in ones and twos. Rufus jumped as he felt something touch his hand.

'Aaah!'

'Shhh.'

'I hate rats.'

'You told me you loved animals.'

'Not rats.'

'They can't hurt you.'

'Not even when they're the size of cats?'

Silence.

There was a strange, unearthly quality to the voices. Sometimes they were clear, as if they were close by, but then they would fade as if the wind had changed direction. Only there was no wind.

And then there was the stench. At first it had been sickening; a putrid, stomach-churning miasma so thick you could almost chew on it. But soon after they started walking their sense of smell had either become accustomed to it, or been overwhelmed by it. Now the smell was back, more powerful than ever.

Rufus felt Cupido stir behind him. 'We can't stay here for ever. We have to move,' he hissed into the darkness.

'Go, then, but carefully. No light.'

Rufus thought this was foolish and said so, but began to feel his way along the wall. He had gone no more than half a dozen steps when the wall disappeared as the tunnel took a sharp left turn, and he ended with one foot in the ooze, cursing his ill fortune and his friend. It was only when he recovered that he noticed the light.

Only it wasn't a light, more a disturbance in the darkness; a place where the black was a little paler. He crawled slowly towards it.

It was at a section of wall where the tunnel made another turn, this time to the right. The pale patch was a dim reflection of some stronger light source a little further ahead.

He had almost reached the bend when the scream froze him to the tunnel wall. It was high-pitched and terrible, and it seemed to last an eternity before ending in a choking rattle, only to revive a second later in a new shrieking crescendo. Rufus felt for his lion's tooth charm and muttered another prayer. He hoped no human could scream that way, but he knew it was a vain hope. The cry had shattered his nerves and his legs shook as he rounded the corner, unwilling to confront whatever horrors awaited him there.

They had passed several of the slim drainage shafts at irregular intervals along the tunnel. This was different.

Before him was a large, bell-shaped chamber carved out of the rock. At the top of the bell, perhaps fifty feet above them, a shaft of flickering red light pierced the darkness and partly illuminated the space below. The base of the bell was a pool measuring twenty paces across, where the sable waters of the stream gathered before being channelled down a wider and deeper culvert. The reason for the pool became clear when he looked to left and right. This was the gathering place of the Cloaca Palatina, where the stinking waters met. Entering on either side were further tunnels, which helped keep the pool filled and the stream flowing.

The voices were quite distinct now, emanating along with the light from above. Cupido came up beside Rufus and whispered in his ear.

'Caligula's torture cells. I was chained there for two nights and witnessed his executioners at work. I thought the shaft was a well — now I know otherwise. Quickly, we are vulnerable here. We must move on.'

Cupido led as they worked their way silently towards the outlet channel.

Rufus turned to take a last look behind him. The surface of the pool was almost pretty, dancing in the soft glow from above. It happened so suddenly his mind didn't have time to register the details: a thundering explosion a few feet from his side that blinded him and showered him in a column of stinking, brown water. He froze, terrified that he was about to face the monster Decimus had spoken of, the one which had driven Varrus beyond the edge of sanity.

Trembling, he waited for it to rise from the waters to claim him, but, instead of some scaly dragon, a flash of white like the belly of a dead fish became visible just below the surface. As he watched, the white grew clearer and formed human shape. At first it floated face down, with its arms hanging beneath it; then, very gently, it turned over, as if to take a last look at the life it had left behind. Only it couldn't see, because it had no eyes.

Rufus swallowed hard, his throat filled with bile.

The toothless mouth was open wide in a rictus of sheer horror. As well as the eyes, the man's nose and ears had been removed. For it was a man, or had been before they had torn his sexual organs from his body with the red-hot pincers.

As he watched, the broken body continued its gentle roll and, with hardly a ripple, disappeared below the surface.

'Come.' Cupido shook him by the shoulder. 'Now I am certain we have no time to lose.'

Rufus shook his head to clear it.

'Hurry,' Cupido repeated. 'Did you not recognize him? Before the Emperor's executioners improved his looks he was Marcus Agrippa, a decurion of the Guard and one of Chaerea's closest allies. The net is closing. If Chaerea does not act soon he too will feel the hot kiss of the torturer's blade.'

Rufus relit the torch when they were clear of the chamber and to their relief they found the going easier as the tunnel and walkway widened to cope with the greater flow of water. And, Rufus noted, it was a much greater flow. Where before the waters had been slowmoving and their surface placid, they now rushed past and the surface was whipped to a filthy brown froth. A little further on, he noticed with alarm that the waters were lapping at the very edge of the culvert, and soon his feet were splashing in inches of sewage.

He stopped and turned to Cupido. 'Something is wrong here.'

The gladiator's eyes flashed in the torchlight. 'We have no choice. We have to go on. This is the only way we can reach Aemilia.'

Reluctantly, Rufus forced his way forward even though the flood rose first to his knees, then his thighs and finally to his waist.

He stopped again, and Cupido pushed him in the back. But this time Rufus did not move. He held the torch out in front of him.

'It's impossible. We have to go back. Look!'

Cupido followed his gaze and his heart quailed.

A dozen paces in front of them the torchlight was reflected by the surface of a new pool. This was one of the places where the roof shelved sharply away. At the far end of the pool only inches separated the glittering surface from the roof. The tunnel was impassable.

Rufus shook his head in despair. They had failed.

'Come, we will find another way,' he said, although he knew there was none. He put a hand on Cupido's shoulder, but the gladiator shrugged it off.

'No. This is the only way. Something has blocked the flow. If I can find what it is, I may be able to unblock it. Take this.' He shrugged off his cloak and unbuckled the long sword, then untied his tunic and removed it. 'Keep them dry. I will need them when we continue.'

Naked, he walked forward until the waters reached his shoulders, then began to swim through the noxious brown flood.

As he approached the far wall, he felt his hair touch the roof. For the first time he noticed more rats, swimming back and forth between a heap of white rubble jutting above the surface and the nearest dry land. Whatever the white thing was, it must be part of the blockage.

He was at the very edge of the torch's range and the sight that met him was so outrageous that at first his mind would not believe what he was seeing. But it was real. The white globe that first drew his attention was revealed as a grinning skull. Around it were other remains he recognized as vaguely human, and working steadily to strip them bare of flesh were the rats who had shared his swim.

This was Varrus's river of the dead. Caligula's army of victims. They had dammed the Cloaca Palatina solid.

Treading water, he turned to where Rufus stood up to his waist with the bundle of clothes and weapons over his shoulder.

'It is the way of these things that there is a keystone,' he shouted. 'If I can find it, the whole thing should collapse.'

Rufus heard his friend's words, but only had a vague understanding of their meaning. He looked on aghast as Cupido took a deep breath and dived.

Cupido knew it would be impossible to see and he feared the effect of the filth on his eyes, so he kept them closed and felt his way cautiously towards the dam until he touched cold flesh. He was thankful the bodies beneath the water were at least whole, and fortunately had not been there for long or they would have come apart in his hands. There also did not seem to be as many as he had feared. The layer at the top was wider than that at the bottom, probably due to the buoyancy of the bodies and the action of the water.

He tugged at a cold arm, struggling to contain his disgust at the feel of the wrinkled, water-worn dead flesh, but whatever it was attached to was stuck fast. He felt his chest tighten as his air began to run out and he kicked himself to the surface, where he gasped in two or three breaths before diving straight under again.

This time he had some idea where he was going and soon he had a good grip on a clammy leg. At first it seemed as firmly wedged as the first body, but as he worked at it he felt it move, and as it did so he felt the others move around it. He hauled at it for another twenty seconds, levering the leg back and forward and feeling the movement become easier. His air was almost up. Noting his position as well as he could with his eyes shut, he resurfaced, gasped in the air he needed, and immediately dived back.

Now, where was the leg? His fingers touched a face. It was a woman's face and he recoiled in disgust. He thought of Quintillia and her ravaged beauty. Why was it so much worse when it was a woman? Not there. To the left. Yes. The leg. He took it and, bracing his feet against the other submerged bodies, hauled as hard as he could. At first, nothing happened, so he heaved again. With a bubbling sound of trapped air being loosed the leg and the body attached to it came free, and the dam of death collapsed in upon itself.

For the merest heartbeat Cupido experienced a surge of elation. Then he felt the power of the flood and realized that in freeing the dam he had doomed himself.

Fool! Why had he not foreseen this — prepared for it? The incredible force as tens of thousands of gallons of backed-up waters found release gripped him tight and sucked him in among the bodies. It was as if the dead were clinging to him, were determined to keep him with them until he was as dead as they. His chest tightened and the pressure to breathe became overwhelming. He was drowning. With the strength of despair, he pushed himself free and attempted to swim to the surface, but he was too weak. The current would not release him. He raised an arm and felt it break clear, but by then it was too late. He was propelled into a whirling vortex of flailing limbs and empty-eyed faces, just another powerless piece of flesh among the human flotsam.