campaigner.
Cupido was fighting hard, but Rufus realized his friend was using his speed and agility to ensure that most of the assassins were forced to face him rather than the clumsy amateur at his side. Another of the killers fell before his sword, and the survivors stepped back, the courage that had brought them through the line quailing before the arena-honed skills of the man who confronted them.
'The carriage! Remember why we are here.' The shouted order had the ring of desperation. The voice came from beneath the hood of the tallest man, and stirred a memory in Rufus, but before his mind could search for it the assassins rushed the two defenders with swords flailing. Cupido speared one of the attackers in the chest, and somehow parried a sweeping sword cut with a dagger that appeared in his hand like a prop in a deadly conjuring trick. Rufus could hear the clash of iron behind them, and realized a similar battle was being fought on the other side of the Emperor's carriage, but it meant nothing to him. He had to concentrate on staying alive. Then there came a strange moment in the desperate battle when his immediate opponent moved away and he found himself in an oasis of calm at the centre of the maelstrom. Fighting for breath, he was able to look about him for the first time in many minutes.
Despite being outnumbered Cupido's wolves were holding their own. Bodies lay thick around the carriage, some still, some writhing in their death agonies, bleeding and groaning. The Emperor's coachman had been dragged from his seat and cut to pieces and one of the milkwhite mares harnessed to the carriage was down in her traces, her hooves thrashing as she fought to regain her feet despite the spear that pierced her belly.
Puzzlingly, the Praetorian line was still holding back the crowd, though several were looking round in alarm and were obviously wondering why they didn't receive the order to join the fight. Surely they could see their comrades were hard pressed and the Emperor was in mortal danger? It was unfair, Rufus felt, that he and Cupido appeared to be doing most of the work.
The glint of a blade broke the spell and he ducked low to allow the scything cut that would have taken his head from his shoulders to pass harmlessly above him. Then the battle closed in again and he was fighting for his life.
Now his hooded opponent was bigger and stronger and had none of the caution of the fearful young man he had faced earlier. He was forced back inch by inch until he stumbled over the legs of an injured man who had crawled between the wheels of the carriage for safety. The world turned upside down as he fell backwards and he had a momentary glimpse of a wide-eyed face behind the carriage window. He grunted as the attacker planted a hobnailed sandal on his chest and used him as a platform to get into position to hack at the gold-leaf pattern on the door of the coach. Rufus felt himself being crushed and instinctively lunged upwards with his sword. He experienced an instant of resistance, then an obscene bucking as the man above him squealed and twisted as he felt the needle point angle upwards into his body. Horrified, Rufus pulled the blade free and was rewarded with a howl of agony. At the same time a flood of warm liquid spattered across his face and chest, and the assassin toppled sideways.
He suddenly felt very tired, but Cupido was still locked in combat a few feet away and he forced himself to his feet, using the carriage wheel as a prop. He could see it was almost over. The Praetorians who had tamely allowed the assassins through their line had finally stirred themselves from their lethargy and six or seven of the killers were struggling to escape their grasp.
Cupido chopped at one of his surviving opponents and the man spun away with blood pouring from his neck. That left only the tall man; the leader who had shouted the order. He fought well, with the skill of an experienced swordsman, but he was no match for a former gladiator. With a twist of his blade, Cupido ripped the man's sword from his hand and sent it spinning into the air. He put his point to the assassin's throat and forced the man to his knees, before flicking back the hood.
Rufus gasped.
Lucius.
'Kill me.'
It was not a plea — he was too proud for that. The words were addressed to Cupido, but Lucius's eyes were fixed on Rufus's. He knew his fate if he fell into the hands of the Emperor's torturers.
'Kill me,' he repeated, and Rufus knew one of the names screamed out when the hot irons were applied again and again would be his own.
Cupido heard the words also, but he knew his duty, and it was not to grant a merciful death to a man who had just tried to kill the Emperor. He took the sword away from Lucius's throat.
'Your fate was written the moment you crossed the line of guards. How did you do that? It will be the first question they ask and I will be interested to hear your answer. Because you will answer, friend. Brave man or coward, they always answer.'
Lucius dropped his eyes, but not before Rufus recognized the despair in them.
'Look out, he has a dagger.' The words were out before he realized he had said them. Cupido stepped back and his sword came up, but it was Rufus who moved first, plunging his blade deep into Lucius's chest. The young tribune opened his mouth as if he had something important to say, but a flood of crimson filled it and he fell forward, dragging Rufus's sword from his hand.
Rufus turned away, to find himself looking into Cupido's accusing eyes.
'There was no dagger.'
Rufus drew out the ornate knife Lucius had given him beneath the tree in Drusilla's garden. Using Cupido to shield his movements from the occupant of the carriage, he bent down and placed the weapon in Lucius's lifeless fingers.
'There is now.'
Cupido stared hard, but did nothing to stop him. 'We will discuss this later.'
A shattering roar reminded Rufus that he had abandoned Bersheba. As he walked painfully back towards the elephant, he was forced to pass beneath the shocked gaze of the consuls and senators who had watched the combat in impotent horror. His eyes caught those of the Emperor's uncle. Claudius was blinking nervously, like an elderly owl caught in bright sunlight.
'Send for Nestor and tell him to bring his most fearsome instruments.' The shouted order was accompanied by a clatter as Caligula kicked back the door of his carriage, his face almost scarlet with fury and suppressed fear. 'We will set up the triangle and the forge here, in open show, and Rome will see how an Emperor rewards those who would do him ill!'
Rufus shuddered, but kept walking. Nestor was Caligula's most experienced and refined torturer. Was it his imagination, or did Claudius's face go a little paler at the mention of the name?
XXIX
He had killed a man. No, he had killed two men.
This air he breathed seemed more of a privilege now he had robbed Lucius of its gift. Yet the very fact of the deaths seemed to diminish him. Was this how Cupido felt each time he left the arena? Did he experience this emptiness, as if some part of another man's going had taken with it an essential element of his killer?
Rufus sat at the rough wooden table. He had spent an hour at a public fountain trying to wash the blood from his skin and his clothing, but it seemed to leave an indelible stain. From time to time he would rub his fingers absently over patches on his arm only he could see. Livia watched her husband anxiously. She had heard of the assassination attempt, but not the details. She could see he was affected by what had happened and she wanted to comfort him, but Rufus had created a barrier around himself that she could not penetrate.
She had another reason for wanting to speak to him. She had news of her own. But there would be another time.
Eventually, he broke the silence. 'Why did they do it?'
'Who?'
'Lucius must have known he would fail. It was as if he expected the guards to stand aside. Some of them did, but not Cupido. Not me.'
'Who is Lucius?'
'I killed him. I think he might have been my friend, but I pierced his heart with my sword and he died thanking
