the Thracian's and flipped him over on to his back as if he was a novice at his first training session. Almost nonchalantly, he held his sword beneath Menander's chin, the point forcing his opponent's head backwards and exposing his throat.
Once more the empty-eyed gold mask turned to the stands, where the Emperor waited, hands clenched tight on the rail in front of him. Caligula raised his thumb, before ostentatiously hiding it in his fist to show that Cupido should sheathe his sword.
Cupido's eyes behind the golden mask never left the Emperor's. Their stares remained locked as he leaned forward and put all his weight on to his sword, forcing it home through flesh and bone with a crunching sound that could be heard in the stands.
The silence in the arena had the intensity of a solid object. Ten thousand hearts did not dare beat. Ten thousand mouths did not dare take a breath. Rufus waited with the rest, paralysed by fear. This was an insult Caligula would never forgive or forget. Every eye in the stadium was on the Emperor, waiting for the command that would bring his Praetorians on to the blood-pooled sands to avenge him.
As the seconds lengthened into minutes, the tension became unbearable. Above him, Rufus heard the sound of someone sobbing.
The Emperor rose to his feet. He had regained his composure now and his face was as much a mask as the sculpted gold which covered Cupido's. Slowly, he raised his arms… and brought his hands together in a resounding crack which cut the silence like a clap of thunder, then again, and again, until the crowds caught his mood and realized this was not a death sentence, but an Emperor's acclaim for a warrior slave.
Rufus sensed Cupido's confusion as the mob's applause washed over him, knew the young German had expected, perhaps even wanted, to die. He watched as the gladiator shook his head slightly, as if to clear it, before walking from the arena without a backward glance while the crowd roared his name in adulation.
'Cupido, Cupido, Cupido.'
Rufus felt his heart clutched by a terrible fear. He turned to rush to the far side of the arena where he could be at his friend's side, but found his way blocked by a tall figure in a threadbare toga.
'Why, it is Fronto's protege. Did you enjoy the spectacle, young man?'
Narcissus's voice was soft and his eyes were a deep, cobalt blue with an almost indefinable hypnotic quality. He stood smiling, his high, domed skull as bald as an egg and his scalp dappled with gleaming beads of sweat.
'I think the pretty gladiator has upset the Emperor, don't you? A sensible man would have entertained the crowd and died heroically, as was intended. It would have had a wonderful symmetry and added further lustre to his name. But now…'
'Excuse me, sir, but I must hurry.' Rufus tried to keep the urgency from his voice.
'Of course, I had forgotten. Your master advised me the brave gladiator was your friend. You would wish to help him celebrate the slaughter? But is that wise? Surely you don't find my company so poor?'
'No, sir,' Rufus said, confused. He couldn't understand why Narcissus should want to delay him.
'Then stay awhile and tell me about yourself. You have not always been with Cornelius Aurius Fronto, I'm sure. You must have a past?'
Rufus stared at him.
'But of course, I am being rude. I have not introduced myself. My name is Tiberius Claudius Narcissus, and I am Greek, born in the town of Pydna. Once, I was a slave like yourself; now I am the freedman of the senator, Tiberius Claudius Drusus Nero Germanicus, nephew of the late Emperor. I act as his secretary, and carry out what other tasks he wills. He is a fine man. Do not believe all you hear of him.'
Narcissus leaned forward, so that his mouth was close to Rufus's ear. 'It is not only your friend who is in danger. The gladiator has made his choice, and you would do well to allow him to reap the consequences alone. It is a pity; he could have been useful to me, and I to him. He refused my favour. Do not make the same mistake.'
'I must go to him,' Rufus cried.
'Go, then; be a fool. But take care. I may have work for you, and you cannot do it if you are dead.' But Rufus was already past him, pushing his way along the crowded corridor. By the time he reached the arming room, a squad of a dozen Praetorians was already formed up and moving away, with Cupido, now minus his golden mask, at their centre.
Rufus almost called out, but Cupido must have sensed his presence, because the young gladiator turned and looked directly into his eyes and gently shook his head. The message was plain: I am doomed; don't waste your life trying to save me. Then he was gone.
XI
'I have to find him.'
Rufus paced the main room in Fronto's villa. He had tracked Cupido's captors through the warren of narrow streets around the Castra Praetorium and into the centre of the city until they turned past the guard post and disappeared up the slope to the centre of the Palatine, where he did not have the courage to follow.
'He's dead. Forget him. If you try anything you'll only get yourself killed. Do you really believe Cupido would have wanted that? The boy lived with death every day of his existence. When he killed Menander he knew exactly what he was doing.'
Rufus knew it was true, but he couldn't bear the thought of the terrible fate that awaited his friend in the Emperor's dungeons.
Fronto smiled sadly. 'Think, Rufus. You knew him better than anyone. He had had enough of all this. He wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else, a place without blood and killing, and he took the only honourable way he knew to get there. He did not bow to Caligula. You should be glad for him.'
'At least help me find out what has happened to him.'
The animal trader shook his head. 'What do you want me to do, walk into the palace and ask the Emperor?'
Rufus thought for a second, his mind going back to the strange confrontation in the arena corridor. 'The Greek would know.'
Fronto shook his head. 'Narcissus gives nothing for nothing. What do you have to trade? I don't think he'll be interested in Africanus's latest trick.'
'If I have nothing to give now, I will pledge something in the future, some gift, or some favour. I have a feeling this Narcissus is a man who collects favours the way other men collect gold pieces.'
The animal trader's look told him he was right. 'Perhaps, but you must understand, Rufus, that it is dangerous to be in debt to someone like Narcissus. He dabbles those long fingers in murky pools. It may be he will call in your debt at a time and a place which suits him, but not you.'
'I'm willing to risk it.'
Fronto bit his lip. 'But am I willing to risk you?'
For the next week Fronto did everything he could to dissuade Rufus from going ahead with the meeting. He pointed out how unlikely it was that Cupido could have survived in a place where so many others succumbed. Even if the gladiator was alive, he argued, it was certain he would be sent to one of the lead mines in the north, where he would die by inches.
But Rufus refused to be discouraged, and eventually the trader was forced to make the arrangements.
'I wanted to be with you, because Narcissus can be a tricky customer,' Fronto told him, 'but he insists you go alone. He will be on the steps of the temple of Hercules — that's the round one near the main entrance to the Maximus — at the seventh hour. Say little and agree to nothing. Promise me that, Rufus. You will agree to nothing he asks without first discussing it with me?'
Rufus agreed, but that night he dreamed he sold Africanus to Narcissus for a single sesterce, and he woke knowing he would get the worst of any bargain with the slippery Greek.
His belly fluttered with nerves as he approached the dome-roofed temple across the flattened earth of the Forum Boarium, but Narcissus greeted him with the easy smile of an old acquaintance and asked him how his animals did.
