Caligula

XLIII

Cupido's instincts hadn't let him down. Four men in Praetorian uniform huddled close round a pile of blazing logs in attitudes that indicated they'd spent more time than they wanted with the damp winter chill eating into their bones. They seemed mesmerized by the dancing golden flames at their front, and the columns of sparks that danced upwards whenever a log cracked. Even if the shadows from the trees and shrubs hadn't hidden them, Rufus thought it unlikely their entry would have been noticed.

'Too long in barracks,' Cupido whispered in his ear. 'But they are still dangerous. Stay by my right side and use your sword as you did to defend the Emperor and we will win through.'

For the first time, Rufus felt the flutter of fear in his chest. Cupido sensed it and placed a hand on his shoulder. 'Have faith, Rufus. You hold their attention and I will take them. But remember they have Aemilia inside. If we are delayed they will execute her. Speed is all, not clean kills.'

With that he set off, crouched low among the bushes — like a hunting panther, but infinitely more deadly. The guards were only twenty paces away, but they had no clue to his coming until he was upon them. By then it was too late.

Rufus had seen Cupido fight many times before, but this was different. Here was cold, merciless fury matched by clinical execution. The big sword took the first Praetorian's head off at the neck with a single sweeping blow and sent it spinning into the fire. Two of the survivors were raw recruits and froze, paralysed by the sight of their comrade's face melting among the flames, but the third spun towards his attacker. He was a veteran, and when he saw Cupido he knew he was already dead. But he was brave. He snarled his defiance and his blade chopped upwards at Cupido's defenceless belly. The gladiator parried the blow almost effortlessly and with a twist of his wrist left the soldier staring in disbelief at the stump of his severed sword arm.

The remaining guards were still well armed, but their shock and terror rendered them defenceless. Together they dropped their swords by the fire and fell to their knees in surrender. But Cupido had neither the time nor the inclination for mercy. He swung right and left and the men fell screaming among the glowing embers at the fire's edge.

'Finish them,' he said, and ran towards the doors of the villa.

For a moment, Rufus stood open-mouthed at the order but logic told him the three men were already as good as dead. The first fighter sat in a growing pool of his own blood with a dazed expression, and the others were expiring noisily and roasting at the same time. It was a mercy, really.

When he entered the villa, time might have been standing still. The only movement came from the young Praetorian mewing pitifully beside the door as he attempted to push his intestines back into the great tear Cupido had just carved in his stomach.

Beyond him, Cupido's back was to Rufus, and eight paces beyond him was a scar-faced soldier, evidently the leader of the guard detachment. And Aemilia.

She stared at her brother with a look that might have been irritation. It certainly wasn't fear, although fear would have been perfectly justified given the short sword that pricked beneath her chin and only needed one good push to skewer her. The sword was held by scar-face, who stood with his back to the russet-painted plaster wall and was scared enough for both of them.

'One more step and I kill her,' he rasped.

'I thought you were supposed to rape her while she watched me roast alive?' Cupido said conversationally.

The challenge in Aemilia's captor's face changed to a frown of confusion.

'That was what Chaerea planned for me, wasn't it? That I would cook over an open fire while you had your way with Aemilia.'

The soldier spat. 'If you drop that sword maybe we can come to a different arrangement. Something that suits both of us?' The words were an offer of negotiation, but there was a glitter of anticipation in his eyes that betrayed his true plans.

'I don't think so.' Cupido smiled, and the glitter in scar-face's left eye was extinguished as it magically sprouted a four-foot sword that transfixed his skull and pinned him to the wall.

Rufus hadn't even seen Cupido move. The stroke was so impressive he felt like applauding. He was never certain whether it was an arena trick honed by a hundred hours of practice, or a sleight of hand Cupido learned at his father's knee. However he came by the skill, it was horrifically effective. The gladiator had whipped the long sword up underhand with a flick of his wrist and speared a target an inch across only a hand-span from Aemilia's right ear.

'You took your time, brother,' Aemilia said, unwrapping the stricken man's arm from her throat. She looked at him with detached interest. He wasn't dead, but it couldn't be long. His body jerked and shook as he hung there, held fast by the iron blade through his head. His remaining eye went through a range of emotions: dread of what was inevitably to come, puzzlement at how he had been so careless, and perhaps a mute plea to have this dreadful alien thing removed.

Aemilia spat in his face and wrenched the sword free, allowing him to drop like a stone.

'I thought you said you didn't have a brother?' Cupido said.

She stuck out her tongue and handed him his sword. 'Phawwww! You stink.'

'That's a nice way to talk to your saviour. But you're right, where is the bathhouse? And do they have any other clothes?'

She gave him instructions and he went off muttering to himself about ungrateful women, leaving Rufus and Aemilia alone apart from the unfortunate, sword-gutted youth who was now attempting to crawl out of the door.

'Ah, yes,' Aemilia said, as if she had just remembered something important. She bent over the young soldier and pulled at a pouch at his belt.

'I thought you had it,' she said triumphantly, recovering her jewelled dagger. 'Where are your lusty promises now, Marcus?' And she drew the blade across the boy's throat with appalling suddenness, so that his blood painted the mosaic floor bright red. She looked up and saw the horror on Rufus's face.

'What do you think he would have done to me if you hadn't come, he and that pig over there?' She pointed at the one-eyed veteran. 'Do you want me to tell you what they planned for me? I'm sure you'd find it instructive.'

Rufus shook his head. He suddenly felt very tired. He swayed on his feet and might have fallen if Aemilia hadn't taken him in her arms.

'I am sorry, Rufus. I wasn't thinking. They told me what that brute Chaerea did to Livia. He will follow these swine over the Styx in his own good time.' She lifted his mouth to hers and before he realized what was happening she kissed him, long and hard, so the breath was driven from his lungs and his hammering heart tried to escape from his chest. 'You saved me, you and my brother. Accept this as the first part of my reward, but not the last.'

He stepped away from her, confused by the contradictions going through his mind. A second ago this woman had cut a dying boy's throat, and now…

'I…' He stopped at the sound of approaching footsteps. Aemilia raised her still bloody dagger, but he waved her away and stepped to the side of the door, sword in hand. He allowed the intruder to walk past him into the room before putting the sword point to his spine with enough force to pierce the cloth of his tunic.

'Is this the way you greet a friend?' Narcissus demanded irritably. 'Callistus informed me you might need help. He has at last decided which way the wind blows. However, I see you don't require my aid. I am most impressed.' He indicated the prone bodies of scar-face and his comrade and the bloody floor around them.

'What help would you have provided, eunuch?' Cupido appeared in the doorway dressed in fresh clothing, his hair plastered like strands of gold against his skull. 'I see no sword.'

Narcissus greeted the jibe with a tight smile, but his eyes gleamed dangerously. 'You are right, of course: not all of us are so adept at dealing death as you. Yet even a simple scribe might be of use in times of danger. I bring a message as well as offering aid, and it is this: the Praetorian tribune Cassius Chaerea and his assassins plan to murder the Emperor today. They must be stopped. You must stop them.'

Cupido shook his head. 'Why me? I have as much reason to hate Caligula as any man.'

'It is simple. He trusts you as no other because you have already saved his life. If you need a reason: you have given him your oath. If you need another: you would be stopping a civil war in which thousands of innocents will undoubtedly die. Would you care to have the death of innocents on your conscience along with so many others?'

The long sword was at his throat before the last word was out. 'Have a care, Greek. One more death would not weigh too heavily.'

'I have brought a horse,' Claudius's freedman choked, as if the metal had already pierced his flesh. 'The Emperor attends the theatre. You must persuade him to leave before the sixth hour. The sixth hour, you understand, no later. Yet do not act too hastily. The assassins intend to strike at the end of the performance, but if they become aware of your purpose they may take fright and attack early. Caligula normally leaves the theatre to take a noonday meal. That may provide an excuse to manoeuvre his departure by a route which will surprise the plotters.'

'What about the guards on the road?' Cupido stared at him hard.

'Chaerea has called off his dogs. He will have other work for them if he succeeds today.'

Cupido sheathed his sword and picked up his cloak.

'No,' Rufus shouted. 'Don't trust him. It is a trap!'

The gladiator smiled sadly. 'He is right, Rufus. I have given my oath. Perhaps by this act I can atone for everything that has gone before. Join me if you can. I will bring him by the shortest route. There is an underground passageway between the theatre and his palace; Aemilia will direct you to it.' Then he was gone.

'You might remove that thing from my backbone now?' Narcissus suggested testily.

'Better to fillet you with it. There is something wrong here. Why do you and your master, who would have had me use Bersheba to kill Caligula, suddenly want to keep him alive?'

'It is a matter of timing,' Claudius's freedman said. 'I will explain in the carriage.'

He had come in one of the imperial carriages, splendid with gold leaf and fine metalwork. It had right of passage through Rome at any time of day or night and no one would stand in its way. As they passed through the courtyard Rufus realized that the hour was later than he thought. The sentry fire had burned down to ashes, with the blackened remains of two vaguely familiar shapes smouldering gently at its edge and giving off a strong smell of roasted pig. The aroma made his mouth water, a fact he found profoundly disturbing.

As they clattered across the cobbles towards the vast bulk of the Palatine hill, Narcissus explained why it was so imperative the Emperor stayed alive.

'Chaerea believes nothing stands in his way if he kills Caligula today, but he is wrong. If the Emperor dies without a successor a dozen generals will descend on Rome with their legions, each with a better reason than the one before for taking power. The German guard, who oppose Chaerea, hold the key, and it is all about power and timing. If they can be persuaded to proclaim a member of the imperial family as Caligula's heir and march with him to the Senate, he will have the power of both the army and the people behind him. The generals will stay in their provinces and we will have peace.'

'And a new Emperor. Claudius.'

The Greek shrugged. 'My master took much persuading, but he realizes the times are too' — he searched for the right word — 'too turbulent to convince the Senate of the wisdom of a republic. Now all that remains is to agree a price with the Germans — you would be surprised how tedious avarice becomes — but for that I need time, which is why Cupido must save the Emperor today.'

'But Caligula must die in the end?'

Narcissus smiled. 'We all must die in the end, Rufus, but yes, Caligula will die — at a time of our choosing. Does our bargain still hold?'

'No.'

The smile didn't falter. 'I thought not. You always were an unlikely assassin. You see too much good in people.' He glanced across the carriage at Aemilia, who appeared to be sleeping. 'It is a trait that will get you into trouble one day.'