Rufus heard his voice, but the words faded away. He couldn't rid himself of a vision of crazy old Varrus and the horror etched on his face.
They would save Aemilia — but only if they survived the river of the dead.
XLI
Was he losing his mind?
Only yesterday he had demanded that Julius Canus, the Stoic philosopher, be brought before him so they could continue their discussion of the previous week, only to be reminded that Canus was already dead, executed at his order. He had liked Canus. The man had a sense of humour. Too many people laughed only because he, Caesar, laughed. Canus laughed because he thought something was funny.
Had he become such a monster he could kill a man and not even remember it?
He felt like crying. He despised self-pity, but he had often felt like crying since Drusilla died. More so since she had abandoned him — for she had abandoned him. They had all abandoned him. The reassuring voices had stopped on the very day he declared himself a god. Had he been wrong? Had he gone too far? And if he had, what would be the gods' revenge?
He winced as a fiery streak of pain scored its way across his brain. Agrippina's medicines no longer helped him. Was this their doing?
What could he do to appease them? Surely there must be something? But he had tried, tried so hard, and they had rejected him. When he had sacrificed a white bull to Mars, the fool of a priest had botched the stroke and blood had spattered his cloak of imperial purple. The augurs had stared at each other and whispered that it was an omen of ill fortune. He had laughed at their fears, but inside he knew they were right.
Then the answer came to him and it was so simple he wondered why he hadn't recognized it earlier.
He had lost his way. Been blinded by the plots and the tragedies, and goaded into the terrible retribution that inevitably followed. He must find it again, find that magical thing that had made Rome love him in those few short months after he and Gemellus had been crowned. He sighed. If only he could bring Gemellus back.
But there was a way. The old way. He would hold a games, such a games as the world had never seen. The crowd would not witness a few duels, or even a battle. They would see a war. And not gladiators. Soldiers. The Emperor's own Praetorian Guard. The Wolves against the Scorpions. To the death. He would fill the Circus Maximus to overflowing, not once, nor twice, but a dozen times. Every Roman, rich or poor, would attend, and when it was done they would love their Emperor as never before.
He would announce it tomorrow. After the theatre.
It was raining steadily by the time Rufus was ready. At Cupido's suggestion he wore the dark Praetorian tunic Callistus had supplied him with on the day of Drusilla's divinity. He would have felt much braver in the sculpted iron breastplate normally worn with it, but when they met outside his quarters the gladiator counselled against armour.
'We will certainly have to fight when we reach the villa, and they will outnumber us, but first we have to get there,' he explained. 'We don't know what we face in the Cloaca. We only have the word of Decimus that it is passable at all. We should travel light. Weapons, torches, a cloak, for it will be cold below ground, but no armour.'
Rufus carried the torches and flints in a cloth bag. Cupido gave him a short sword of standard legionary pattern, and he strapped the belt round his waist with the scabbard on his hip.
They waited until it was fully dark before they set out, using the time to piece together their memories of Varrus's two maps. They knew the general line of the Cloaca Palatina, but not its exact location. Cupido was certain they would recognize it when they reached the main shaft of the Maxima.
'There must be an entrance somewhere on the hill, but how do we find it?' Cupido wondered. Rufus didn't give him an answer until they were outside, with the rain in their faces. He pointed to the little runnels between the cobbles of the path, which trickled to gather in a shallow gutter.
'The Cloaca is a sewer, but it is also a drain. We follow the water. Decimus said it is visible on the surface. We will know it when we see it.'
They searched for less than five minutes before Cupido gave a cry of triumph. 'Here,' he said, pointing to the ground at his feet. Rufus ran to see what he had discovered.
Staring up at him, slick with rain, was a heavily bearded halfhuman face, with empty eyes and a slit for a mouth. It was a face meant to frighten; a water god guarding a hidden kingdom. The face was cut into a circular stone drain cover, about two and a half feet across, and the run-off from the paths disappeared into a narrow gap round its edge. They could hear the water falling into some sort of empty space below.
'Here, let me open it.' Cupido pushed Rufus aside. He bent low over the drain cover, but recoiled gagging. 'Jupiter! Even for a sewer this stinks.' He tried to work his fingers below the gap at the rim, but there was not enough room for a proper hold. Undeterred, the gladiator shifted position and reached for the mouth slit.
'There's only room for one hand,' he grunted. 'I can't get enough purchase to move it, never mind lift it. Maybe we can use your sword to lever it up?'
'I think I might have a better answer,' Rufus said, reaching into the cloth bag. 'Move aside.'
Cupido was reluctant to concede defeat. 'If I can't lift it, you won't be able to,' he said sourly.
Rufus grinned at him. 'This is a time for brains, not muscle.' He held up the object he had retrieved from the bag so Cupido could see it. It was the strange T-shaped metal tool Varrus had worn round his neck.
'I thought it might come in useful,' he said, taking over Cupido's position. 'See, the bar at the bottom fits perfectly in the mouth slit, and if I turn it like this…' Using the upper bar of the T as a handle, he rotated the key 90 degrees, so the bottom bar hooked below the stone at both sides. 'Now I should be able to lift it.' He heaved two- handed, using all his strength, and the cover rose until he could move it to one side.
'Ugh.' He choked and took a step back. With the cover out of place the stench from the Cloaca Palatina hit him in the face with almost physical force. He looked at Cupido, and then both stared into the menacing black void at their feet. It was as if they had uncovered the door to the underworld.
For a moment it seemed simpler to walk away.
Cupido sensed his dread. 'Remember, Rufus, when you waited in the room below the Taurus? I saw you struggle with your demons and overcome them. To step into the unknown took true courage and you found that courage within yourself. Whatever is down this hole is less frightening than walking out in front of five thousand of the mob. You can do it. For Aemilia. I am just as fearful, but I would face Hades himself rather than leave her in Chaerea's hands.'
At the mention of Aemilia's name, Rufus felt the empty space within him fill up. Was this courage or simply conviction? It didn't matter. It was enough. He gave Cupido a half-hearted smile.
'All right, but you can go first. You are better prepared to meet Hades than I will ever be.'
Cupido nodded grimly. 'So be it,' he said, and lowered himself into the darkness. Rufus slung the bag across his shoulder and sat on the lip of the hole.
'There are hand and footholds cut into the wall,' Cupido's disembodied voice echoed up from the shaft. 'It's a little awkward to reach the first one, but once you are on it you will be able to lower yourself. Take care, though — the steps are slippery. I don't want you to land on my head.'
Rufus felt with his foot for the first notch. When he found it, he turned and lowered himself over the edge until he felt the second foothold.
His head was at ground level when he remembered the drain cover. He couldn't just leave it where it was. Anyone who discovered it would realize where they were. It was possible their enemies might send a patrol after them. He twisted awkwardly until he could get both hands around the cover. Maybe if he could just perch it on one edge?
He succeeded in moving it almost to where he wanted it, then worked his way down a step. Just another inch would do it. But gravity was working against him and the full weight of the cover was on his arms and he had his back to one wall of the shaft with his feet in one of the notches. It was too heavy! He couldn't hold it. He had moved it too far and if he tried to push it back any longer he would lose his footing and plummet down the shaft on to Cupido. He strained and grunted, but the ache in his shoulders and his arms turned into spears of agony and the
