and horses. I've seen every trick they can do, but they all become boring in the end and you have to get rid of them.' The pale eyes re-focused on Rufus. 'But an elephant? Now an elephant that could do tricks would be impressive, don't you think?' He ran his eyes appreciatively over Bersheba's huge bulk. 'Can you teach an elephant to do tricks, boy? They think you're a sorcerer, you know, those people you work with. That old fart of an owner didn't want to part with you. Might have lost his head for trying to keep you. Didn't kill him, though. You can't just kill everybody. Had to give him a contract to supply animals to the Maximus. So you'd better be able to teach an elephant tricks. You have a month.' He gave a curt nod and walked away towards the palace, his guards in his wake.
The Emperor had been gone for more than a minute before Rufus realized he had not even looked to see if either of the two men in Praetorian uniforms was Cupido.
XIV
Fortunately for Varro, and for Rufus, the elephant's handler had been able to impart the basic elements of his knowledge before his illness had reached its inevitable end. Bersheba, it turned out, was a patient creature of regular habits, who was normally happy to oblige when asked to perform any task she considered reasonable.
'Ask,' Varro repeated. 'Always you must ask. Not order. This elephant, she does not like to be ordered. She can be a very stubborn creature if you don't treat her with respect.'
But it soon became clear that no amount of asking was going to fulfil the Emperor's command that she be taught the kinds of tricks that would amuse a man who had already seen everything amusing his world could offer.
The animals Rufus had trained for the arena had been his to mould from infancy. He slept with them, played with them and was able to exert an element of control by giving or withholding their food. Once this discipline had been established, he found it relatively easy to teach them by the simple, if exhausting, method of constant repetition, and building from straightforward exercises to more complicated tricks and circus acts. But Bersheba was already trained. After a fashion.
When commanded, or rather asked, she would walk, halt, and bend on one knee to allow her handler and perhaps one other to mount; and, if she decided they were worthy, she would carry them where they wished. Rufus found he could direct her to the left or right by sharp slaps of the hand on her massive shoulders.
Varro also revealed, and Rufus felt this might offer him some kind of hope, that in her own country Bersheba had been used to haul or push large loads. Tricks? No, she had never been taught any tricks. Who would want to teach an elephant tricks? Varro made it clear he thought Rufus mad even to suggest such a thing. Tricks!
Rufus already felt he had reached a certain level of understanding with Bersheba. The way she looked at him with her small, knowing eyes convinced him that, if he could only find some way of communicating with her, she would be happy to do anything he was able to ask.
But how to ask?
After careful consideration, he decided he had only two choices, and one of these was so unthinkable it was not a choice at all. The quickest way would be to use force: repeated commands, accompanied by repeated use of the goad until pain or frustration made the animal carry out what she had been directed to do. But he would not raise a hand, never mind a staff, to such a magnificent, intelligent creature.
The other course was gentle persuasion, and gentle persuasion took time. But if gentle persuasion was his only option, so be it.
The only question was how to persuade an elephant to extend a repertoire with which she seemed perfectly content. She would walk, but she wouldn't do anything as undignified as trot. She might be persuaded to 'fetch' something edible, but she would inevitably devour whatever she was fetching before she returned to her handler. She would pick up objects with her versatile trunk, including a giggling Varro, but never when Rufus wanted her to. He knew there was nothing intentional about her reluctance and occasionally he felt guilty about the demands he was making. If she detected even the slightest hint of annoyance in his voice she would look at him reproachfully with her brown eyes, which made him guiltier still.
Varro watched all this with a bemused smile, evidently convinced that all Romans were sun-addled. Sometimes when he grew bored he would throw one of the sweet little apples he hoarded for Bersheba and she would catch it dexterously in her trunk and swing it into her small mouth. One day, when Rufus was making yet another futile attempt to train her to roll over, he missed his throw and the apple landed on the roof of the barn, rolling gently down to catch on the very edge of the shingle.
Bersheba gave a groan of frustration. Ignoring Rufus, she ambled off towards the barn. When she reached the building she stopped for a moment, eyeing the apple, which was just visible on the edge of the roof. Her trunk curled out, questing delicately, but the fruit was just beyond her reach. While Rufus was wondering what she would do, she raised herself to her full height on her back legs, took two cautious steps forward and scooped up her prize.
Rufus laughed in astonishment. That was it. He would teach her to walk on her hind legs for the Emperor. Maybe he could even teach her to dance. Dogs trained for the circus sometimes danced, didn't they?
Five minutes later he was perched precariously on the peak of the roof just above the barn door, with one leg on either side. He held on to the tarred shingles with one hand while in the other he grasped a four-foot-long pole. At the end of the pole was a basket filled with the bruised apples Bersheba found so succulent. The first attempt almost ended in disaster. He hung the basket out just beyond the roof and shouted 'Apple', which brought her lumbering forward. But this time there was no gentle halt or cautious step. Rufus felt the whole building shudder as she hit it and used her front legs to climb to her full height. The timbers below him creaked ominously and he heard a distinct crack. He realized she was going to demolish the barn if he didn't act quickly.
'Here,' he shouted desperately, and threw the basket behind her.
For a moment he thought she wasn't going to move and that the barn would collapse and take him with it, but, just in time, she dropped to her feet and began snuffling for the dropped fruit.
'Too close,' Varro said helpfully. 'Apples too close.'
Rufus glared at him and climbed down for another basket.
It was nightfall when he finally gave up. By trying a longer pole, he could get her to rise on her hind legs, but nothing would make her walk. He was hoarse from repeating the word apple over and over again. Sometimes there were apples in the basket, sometimes not. If an apple was available, she would rear for it, but if she felt she had been cheated she lumbered off in a sulk and wouldn't repeat the trick for half an hour.
The days to the Emperor's deadline melted away, and Rufus descended into gloom, and from gloom to something approaching despair.
Dawn on the fateful day found him with little optimism. His only hope was that Caligula had forgotten him. Great emperors surely had more to do with their time than concern themselves with minor slaves and their amusing — or not — elephants.
But, if the worst happened, he was determined Caligula should see Bersheba at her finest. It would also put the elephant on her best behaviour, for she enjoyed nothing more than having her thick, dirtcaked hide scrubbed down with the roughest materials available.
The two men led the elephant out into the soft light of the morning. They then filled a large wooden tub with enough water to soak the huge animal all over her body, using leather buckets Varro had obtained for the purpose. When the dust covering her was the consistency of thick mud it was time to bring out the home-made brushes the late trainer had devised. Fashioned of thick twigs tied firmly to the end of long branches, they allowed them to reach any part of Bersheba's body and loosen the grime, so she could then have a second sluicing with what was left of the water.
Soon, Rufus was so absorbed in his work and the snorting Bersheba's enjoyment of the soaking and scrubbing that he had almost forgotten its purpose. But his idyll was rudely shattered when he heard an unnaturally loud voice behind him.
He rested his aching arms and turned, sweat dripping from his chin, to see Caligula approaching across the grass, accompanied by a smaller figure, who walked with a pronounced limp. They were backlit by the sun as it rose behind the trees and Rufus was unable to recognize the second man.
