heap behind the barn.
The pattern of the evenings was always the same. The ritual humiliation of Claudius. The unbearable tension. The shocking moment of choice which reminded Rufus that slaves were not the only powerless of Rome.
He came to recognize the Emperor's favourites; the nobles who fawned over him as he raged against the mob and the 'baldheads' of the Senate he believed were working to deprive him of the money he needed to fulfil his ambitions. Chief among them were Appeles, the very young, overly powdered actor who had a laugh like a little girl, and was ever present at Caligula's side; Protogenes, his freedman and trusted adviser, unhealthily pale with a face that never smiled, who was never without the two scrolls the Emperor called his 'sword' and his 'dagger', which were said to contain enough secrets to execute a thousand men; and purple-cheeked Chaerea, the Praetorian tribune, a battle-hardened soldier with an unfortunate high-pitched voice, who had to bear being called a 'pretty wench' by his Emperor.
But, as he tired of everything else, the Emperor eventually tired of Rufus's presence. The 'invitations' stopped and he was left in peace.
When he was off duty, and they could find some quiet place where they would not be overlooked, Cupido would give Rufus the training in arms he had requested. It was a perilous business for them both. For a slave to be found with a sword in his hand on the Palatine the penalty was instant death. The man who gave him the sword would die screaming in the Emperor's torture cells. The hill was a small, compact and bustling community but the park in front of Bersheba's barn was close to the tree-lined walls and they discovered that among the trees there were suitable places to conceal their activities.
On the first day, Cupido handed Rufus a short wooden baton the approximate dimensions of a legionary gladius. 'Being so obviously harmless may not save us,' he explained. 'But at least it may make them stop and think.'
Cut, thrust, parry. Cupido began with the simplest moves, making Rufus repeat them again and again until his arms ached. 'Later we will study the more intricate manoeuvres, the feint to the groin, the backcut and the gutting stroke, but for now this will do.'
Towards the end of the session, when Rufus began to tire, the gladiator laid down his wooden sword and ordered Rufus to do the same. 'A tired man is a dead man. I can teach you to defend yourself, but what use is that if your guard drops and you offer your life to your opponent like a sacrificial goat? You are strong, but you must be stronger.' He jogged across to the stone wall and in one smooth movement flipped himself upside down, so he was standing on his hands with his feet against the wall. 'Watch and learn,' he ordered. Rufus watched the muscles in Cupido's arms bunch and the tendons in them squirm like tree roots as, with quick easy movements, he bent at the elbows then straightened a dozen times.
'Now you.'
Rufus tentatively approached the wall and clumsily copied the gladiator's position, instantly feeling the strain on his arms. Cupido bent low, so his upside down face was close. 'Ten,' he said.
'Ten?' Rufus croaked in disbelief.
'Ten, and then we work on the abdominal muscles.'
When the session was finished Rufus's arms and upper body felt as if they were on fire, and his breath came in short gasps. He started to walk towards the barn, but Cupido's remorseless voice stopped him.
'So, you can fight. But what happens when the fighting is over?'
Rufus stared at him, puzzled. 'You celebrate?'
Cupido laughed. 'You're a slave. You run.' He trotted past, whacking Rufus across the buttocks with the pretend sword. 'You run. Twenty circuits of the park. Come on. No one is going to execute us for running.'
Rufus shook his head in disbelief, but his face creased into a grin and he forced his tired body into a trot. Staying alive was going to kill him.
The more time he spent with Bersheba, the more he appreciated his enormous charge's serene acceptance of life in captivity. She was happy to accommodate his wishes — if they coincided with her own — and her few complaints were made in what he chose to believe was a spirit of fellowship. They were both in this together, she seemed to be saying; they should make the best of it.
And she had a sense of humour. It was true. She played tricks on him, hiding things when he was not looking, placing small obstacles where he would trip over them. Afterwards, she would feign innocence. He could even look back now and believe that she had been aware of exactly what she was doing when she had drenched Claudius on that fateful day.
Claudius.
Claudius the fool.
And now, Claudius the enigma.
It happened at a time when the Emperor retired to his villa in the hills above Rome to escape the savage heat that turned the city's streets into ovens.
Three days after Caligula left, Claudius appeared at Bersheba's barn.
At first Rufus wondered whether the limping patrician with the drooping eye sought revenge for his humiliation, but Claudius motioned him to continue his work and moved into the interior of the barn where he could study the elephant more closely.
This happened on three consecutive evenings. On the fourth night, as Rufus lay on his pallet, he heard the creak of the barn doors opening, and then closing again.
Claudius was back, standing in the darkness talking softly to the elephant, but what was more astonishing was the manner of his speech. The stutter that made him the butt of cruel jokes for everyone from the meanest palace slave to the Emperor himself was gone. This was a Claudius none would recognize. The tone was confident, the words flowed unhindered and the thoughts were articulately expressed.
And he was talking treason.
'Oh, Tiberius, what have you done to us? I know, I know, I had such high hopes for them too; the one so adventurous and full of ideas, the other a thinker, an organizer, and born to rule wisely. How naive we were, how reckless. How long did we expect the stronger eaglet to share the nest with the weaker?
'Now your grandson Tiberius Gemellus is dead and Gaius Caligula holds Rome by the throat. Do you know what he said to me only a week ago? He said: 'If the mob had but one neck I would sever it with a single stroke.' He despises them, and they begin to hate him. Only the spectacle of the arena binds them to him, and they will only be blinded by blood for so long. Then we will all reap what he has sown.
'Yet I truly think he does not know the ruin he is causing. He is like a small child who has stumbled upon an ant heap. He is fascinated by the comings and goings, but how long before he decides to stir it with a stick and discovers he has the power to cause havoc among its populace? When he does, how much longer before, if he is that kind of child, he discovers he has the power of life and death over them? And how much longer before he uses that power? A certain kind of child might grow up to stick pins in the eyes of frogs and burn fledglings in their nests. Perhaps, as an adult, he would burn men.
'Caligula is curious to find out the limits of this power we have given him. But it has no limits; nor, I fear, does his curiosity. He will not listen to reason. Those close to him who spoke out are all long gone. The Senate lives in terror of his every pronouncement. I don't have the courage to stand in his way, and if I had I would be dead by now, 'Uncle Claudius' or no. Only the army has the strength to rid us of him. But who gave him this childish nickname he bears so proudly, Caligula — Little Boots? No, the army loves him. But if not the army, then who?'
Having no answer, he left, shaking his head.
There were other such visits, and Rufus learned more than he wanted to know about the inner workings of the palace before the return of Caligula brought the encounters to an abrupt end. However, they did have one other consequence.
Narcissus appeared without warning on a fine morning when the dew still sparkled on the grass and clung to the gossamer webs the spiders had spun on the bushes.
'I am glad to hear you have settled in so well,' he called, as Rufus gave Bersheba her morning feed. 'You will no doubt have seen your friend? I understand he is high in the Emperor's favour. He has much to be thankful for… as do you.'
Rufus stared at him. He had turned this matter over in his mind a thousand times and every time he had come to the same conclusion.
'This is your doing, Greek,' he said accusingly. 'It was you who had me brought here, to this place where the
