Milonia Caesonia talks openly of a slave she calls Drusilla's puppy dog. She does so in the crudest terms and in the wrong company. I urge you to beware. Whatever your feelings for Drusilla, stay away from her. If the Emperor became aware of your relationship she could not save you.'
Rufus opened his mouth to deny he had any feelings for Drusilla. Who did this haughty German girl think she was, to come here and throw his shame in his face? Did she believe she was the only slave who still had pride? But before he could say anything, Aemilia gave a stifled scream.
Rufus looked round to see what had startled her.
Inside the barn Drusilla was playing in the hay directly between Bersheba's enormous legs. The elephant had only to shuffle her feet and Caligula's daughter would be crushed.
But Bersheba was Bersheba. She bowed her head to look at the interloper beneath her, and with the tip of her trunk gently pushed the laughing infant through the hay to safety.
Rufus picked up the wriggling bundle and plucked the straw from her tangled hair, while Drusilla hissed at him and demanded in childish gurgles to be allowed to return to her huge playmate. Aemilia, pale as a ghost, took the child from him.
'This is a dangerous place, Aemilia, and we must always be wary, but sometimes the fates contrive to undo even the most careful. I am a slave, and if the Emperor's sister demands it, I must attend her. But do not shame me by believing my attendance means anything more.' He turned to walk away.
'Rufus?' The note of apology in Aemilia's voice stopped him.
When he turned back she looked at him as if she was seeing him for the first time. What was he to her, this tall, fresh-faced young man with the untidy, russet-bronze mop of hair and the gentle, almost emerald eyes? She had noticed the way he looked at her; how could she not when he made it so obvious. He desired her, but then so did a lot of men. He was undoubtedly handsome, in a wholesome, rustic sort of way, and she liked him, but there were many people she liked. Sometimes, if they met by accident, she experienced an inner confusion and a fluttering in her breast she couldn't explain. Was that love? She knew of love; the palace ladies talked of little else. She was curious about the act but was in no rush to experience it. In any case, what could he offer her? He was a slave. Yes, she too was a slave, but Milonia had promised that when the time was right she would be freed, and that she would be found a suitable husband. So they could not be more than friends. But would that be enough for him?
'My words were ill-chosen and I beg your forgiveness. I meant what I said when I offered you my friendship, and I offer it again. Show me your hands.'
Puzzled, Rufus put out his hands, palms up. He was conscious of the roughness of his skin as she took his right hand in hers, still holding Drusilla in the crook of her left arm.
'When I was young, the women of my tribe believed I had the gift. I don't know if that's true, but I can read men's thoughts, sometimes, and see things I don't understand, and when I place my hand over another's, like this, I can sometimes feel the future.'
She closed her eyes, and Rufus felt an energy pulsing in his right arm that had not been there before. Maybe it was the warmth of her hand on his that caused the effect, but it was there, and as the seconds passed he felt its power flow through his shoulder and into his chest.
She opened her eyes, and he was drawn into their fathomless depths. When she spoke it was in the measured tones of an oracle.
'You are strong, Rufus, stronger than you will ever know. You will survive this place while others will not, and you will travel far, over land and sea, to a place where you will witness the last stand of the tyrants.'
Rufus shuddered. He didn't understand why — or how — it would happen. But he felt in his heart it was true. 'Will Cupido be at my side? And you?'
She smiled distractedly. 'Perhaps. But our story is already written and our fate decided. If the gods will it, we will be there with you.'
XXII
From the highest to the lowest, the inhabitants of the Palatine went about their business in silence and in fear. The abortive invasion and the reaction in Rome had driven Caligula's always unpredictable moods to even greater extremes. House slaves whispered of the Emperor's screaming rages and his favourites cowering for their lives at his feet. The two serving consuls took themselves on a tour of the provinces and sacrificed to the gods in the hope that he would not send for them.
Rufus was fortunately untouched by it all. He saw little of Aemilia, who still confused him, except from afar, and nothing of Drusilla, who, he now realized, had seen him as a compliant novelty. Once experienced, the novelty was gone for ever. He did not know whether to be grateful or insulted.
He was organizing Bersheba's feed on a cool morning that promised a perfect day a week after the festival of the Parilia, when he heard the clamour of voices and the sound of hammers. It came from the far side of the park, but hard as he tried he could not see what caused it. The massive marble-clad shoulder of Caligula's palace hid whatever was happening from his view.
As the day wore on his curiosity grew. He saw figures moving purposefully back and forth, but they were too far away to hail, or even for their actions to give him a clue as to what they were doing.
At the sixth hour, when he knew most of the Palatine would be at their midday meal, he harnessed Bersheba. 'Come on, girl,' he said. 'We'll go a little further than normal today.'
He directed her out into the park, but not towards the palace. Instead, he turned her right, so his route would take him across the face of the building, but would also allow him a clear view of what was going on beyond it by the time he reached the far end of the park where the trees were thin.
At first, it was difficult to make sense of what he was seeing, but gradually the chaotic scene in front of him took order in his mind. At the far end of the palace, where the Palatine Hill fell away towards the forum, was an ants' nest of activity. Hundreds of enormous baulks of timber were stacked in piles twice as high as Bersheba and some form of construction was already going on close to the palace walls. He could see teams of workers digging and others carrying the larger timbers, which needed a dozen men each to take their weight. He assumed the workers were slaves, but he was surprised to see men in the uniform of legionary officers scurrying among them, organizing and harrying.
He was about to turn away when a voice from behind almost made him fall from Bersheba's back.
'Impressive, isn't it?'
Narcissus.
'Don't you have anything to do but spy on people?' Rufus didn't bother to hide his annoyance.
'I might ask you the same. The Emperor's elephant seems to have remarkably few duties these days. Perhaps I could suggest something?'
Rufus flushed. Why did the Greek always get the better of him? He waited for Narcissus to bring up the question of trust, which had seemed to be so important to him during their last conversation, but apparently he was in no hurry to return to the subject.
'What you see is but a fraction of the Emperor's grand plan,' he said, shaking his head. 'Beyond the wall, the best part of a full legion is sweating and cursing to turn a dream into reality.'
'I don't understand.'
'Do you see the small fat man on the left? He is talking to a person who, unless I miss my guess, is a tribune of the Fourteenth Gemina. I imagine he sacrificed a large white bull at the temple of Jupiter this morning and prayed for an auspicious day. If he did not, he is a fool, or he has already mixed the hemlock in readiness for his failure.'
'He does seem troubled.' Even at this distance Rufus could sense the fat man's agitation.
'So he should be. One week ago the Emperor dreamed vividly he was the subject of an assassination attempt on the way from the Palatine to the Senate House. They say he felt the daggers entering his body and woke to find himself covered in blood. It was merely a nose bleed, but emperors tend to take such signs literally. He called a conference of his advisers, of whom, of course, my master, Senator Claudius, is one. He is a sensible man, and has a benign influence on the Emperor, and left to himself would have calmed the situation. But that dangerous fool
