Protogenes convinced Caligula the dream was a portent and that he must protect himself. This,' he waved a hand towards the builders, 'was the result. A million sesterces so one man can be carried four hundred paces from his table to the steps of the Senate without soiling his nostrils with the stink of the mob. It is a bridge,' Narcissus explained, 'probably the longest land bridge in the world. It will take the Fourteenth one month to build and that little fat man is responsible for ensuring it does not fall down with the Emperor upon it. Now do you understand why he is so agitated?'
Rufus grinned. 'I wouldn't be in his boots for all the gold in the Empire.'
Narcissus became serious. 'Now, to the question of trust we talked of, Rufus. I wish you would put aside your antagonism and place your faith in me. For better or worse, our lives are entwined, and if we slaves cannot work together we will all be like the little man building the Emperor's bridge: living in constant fear.'
Rufus thought for a moment, considering his response. 'Don't we live in fear in any case, Narcissus? I have lost friends who were blameless. If Drusilla convinces the Emperor you are plotting against him, your trust in your master will mean nothing. The only thing that will save you is to betray every person who ever put his faith in you.'
Surprisingly, mention of the Emperor's sister brought a smile to the Greek's face, a rather sly smile.
'Oh, I don't think Drusilla will harm anyone again. I thought you would be the first to know. She has taken to her bed. Some minor ailment, I understand.'
XXIII
Rufus returned the next day to see the bridge taking shape, and, as it grew, he became bolder and ventured closer. On the far side of the wall the largest timbers, massive baulks split from mature tree trunks and reaching six times the height of a tall man, were being buried deep in the ground to provide the foundations. Between each main timber, the legionaries jointed others, smaller, but still substantial, which Rufus could see would be the frame for the bridge deck. Finally, a double layer of thick planks was laid on the frame and nailed firm.
He marvelled at its progress as it snaked out from the Palatine towards the forum, forty feet above the ground. Across the intersection of Clivus Victoriae and the Via Nova; between the infant foundations of the temple of Augustus and the pillared frontage of the house of the Vestals; over the fountain of Juturna and past the temple of Castor and Pollux, until it turned to follow the path of the Sacred Way.
One thing struck him as strange. It had to be strong, because it was to carry the Emperor, but the little architect was certainly taking no chances. The scale of the wooden bridge was immense. The planking was so thick and the weight-bearing pillars so enormous, Rufus guessed the bridge could have taken the weight of two or three legions together. Perhaps, he thought, that was its true purpose: to provide swift passage for relieving troops if the populace rioted, as they had done so often during the bread shortages of Tiberius's reign.
Once the construction was completed, three days ahead of Narcissus's predicted date, carpenters appeared to turn their attention to the fine work. They smoothed the boards and the handrails with planes and erected carved pillars etched with gladiatorial scenes as gateways at each end. When their work was done, the painters replaced them, turning the entire length of the bridge a lustrous gold that hurt the eyes in the low autumn sunshine.
As the project proceeded, hundreds of onlookers gathered, curious to see the Emperor's latest wonder. On the evening the painters completed their work a rumour was born somewhere out in the suburbs beyond the Campus Martius that Caligula would make his first crossing the next day. Before he bedded Bersheba down, Rufus watched the first of the crowds stream in towards the forum, eager to secure the best viewpoints for the next day's spectacle. By the time he composed himself for sleep there were hundreds, but he anticipated that by the next day they would be in their thousands.
He intended to rise early, because he was as interested as any Roman to see the Emperor take his first steps on the marvel he had created, but he was still in his cot when a loud hammering on the barn door woke him, bleary-eyed and complaining, to find it was still full dark. He dressed as swiftly as he could, but the urgent hammering continued and Bersheba snorted with concern, shuffling in her chains.
'Don't knock the door down,' he shouted, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 'I'm coming.'
He pushed up the beam barring the doors and pushed them open. Staring at him in the light of a dozen torches was a grizzled Praetorian centurion. For a second, Rufus wondered if he was finally being arrested and his eyes flicked among them, hoping the next face he set eyes upon would be Cupido's, but the gladiator was nowhere to be seen.
The centurion's barked order made him blink. 'Don't just stand there gaping, man. The Emperor requires his elephant to be at its most presentable by the second hour. Get to work, and if you need any help we've been ordered to provide it.'
With two of the soldiers holding lamps for him and another two lending a hand, Rufus prepared Bersheba's harness, polished her brass and buffed her tusks. He even managed to give her a manicure before the job was completed at first light. With a final flourish he threw the tasselled blanket of gold cloth she wore on ceremonial outings across her back. When he was done, he nervously asked the centurion where they would be needed.
'Just have the elephant outside and ready when the Emperor arrives. He will give you your instructions.'
As the hour approached, the centurion brusquely ordered his men into parade formation in front of the barn. Rufus unchained Bersheba and led her into the flat light of the early morning and wondered for the hundredth time what was going on.
The jingle of armour, and Bersheba's inquisitive 'sniff ', gave warning of Caligula's approach. The centurion used his stick to straighten the line of Praetorians and Rufus fiddled uneasily with the elephant's harness, peering beneath her to get a good view of the imperial party.
The Emperor strode purposefully at their head, magnificent in a purple toga and with a wreath of laurel leaves fixed in his thinning hair. Behind him, almost cantering to keep up, was a short, barrel-like figure Rufus vaguely recognized, and a long-striding legionary officer wearing the badges of an engineer on his chest. To both sides of the mismatched couple marched a file of Praetorians, making the little group look suspiciously like an arrest party.
It wasn't until they were closer that the smaller man's nervous manner reminded Rufus who it was. Narcissus's architect. The man who had turned the Emperor's dream into a reality.
But why were they coming here?
Caligula stopped in front of Bersheba and ran an approving eye over her. The Emperor looked healthier than at any time since Rufus had known him. His skin had lost the sickly sheen that marked him as either a dissolute or an invalid, and the eyes, which Rufus remembered as being almost opaque, were a clear bright blue. He was hardly dressed for the part, but he had the ready look of an athlete on the morning of a games.
'Magnificent, isn't she?' Caligula said, to no one in particular. He motioned the two men who accompanied him forward. 'Coriolanus, Sulpicius, I warned you this day would come. Do you believe me now?'
The smaller man hopped from one foot to the other, as if he was doing some sort of barbarian dance. 'W-we never doubted you, great Caesar,' he croaked.
The legionary officer said nothing, but Rufus noticed he was looking carefully at Bersheba with his forehead creased by a V of concentration.
'What do you think, Sulpicius? What does she weigh? Are you still confident?' There was a definite challenge in Caligula's voice that worried Rufus. He was beginning to understand that he and Bersheba might be at the centre of great things and he did not like it one little bit.
The officer shrugged, as if unconcerned. 'Say twenty talents, if I'm any judge. It will hold.'
'Oh, it had better. What about you, Marcus Petronius Coriolanus? Will it hold? And more important, are you willing to stake your life on it?'
The little man's face turned a similar shade of purple to the Emperor's toga, his eyes bulged and he began to choke as if he was having a seizure.
Caligula snorted. 'Someone help him. I don't want him to die on me yet. You,' he barked, pointing at Rufus, 'follow us and bring my elephant.'
The Emperor set off across the park, trailing Bersheba, Rufus and his escort of Praetorians. Rufus knew what was in his mind now, and his own was filled with fear for Bersheba. She was the test. She was to be the first to
