brother towards one of the curtained alcoves. He stood to help her, but his foot slipped and he looked down. The corridor was like a slaughterhouse. He realized his clothing was soaked in blood, and his arms and face, even his hair, were coated in it.
The voices were closer, but this wasn't right.
'Your sandals,' he said, removing his own. 'You're leaving a trail a child could follow.'
She looked down at her bloody footprints, and did the same. Together they wrestled Cupido up and laid his body gently against one wall of the alcove. There was barely room for the three of them crammed in beside the statue, but fortunately the velvet curtain was long enough to reach the mosaic floor.
They sat in silence, each holding one of Cupido's hands.
Footsteps approached cautiously and there was a shout as one of the approaching men recognized the torn body. It was followed a second later by a voice Rufus recognized, high and lisping and crackling with urgency.
'Someone's done our work for us, and by Marius's arse they've done it well,' Cassius Chaerea cried. 'Those bastard Wolves, I knew they were up to something. They've got their own plan, and their own Emperor.'
'Who?'
'It doesn't matter who, Sabinus. All that matters is that we have to kill them, kill them all. It just means we'll have to do it more quickly. Take the west side of the hill as we agreed. Hunt down Milonia and the brat. I want none left of his line. His sisters too, if you can find them. You have the lists, you know what to do.'
'And Claudius? I did not see his name on any list.'
'Leave Claudius to me. I have plans for him and that Greek snake of his. Hurry. We must act quickly.'
Rufus held his breath as a dozen men clattered past only feet from the curtain. He knew they had to find a safer refuge, but waited a few moments pondering whether to make a move. Narcissus was their only option, but would the Greek risk giving them aid? There was only one way to find out. He was reaching slowly for the curtain when a solitary voice stopped his hand and almost his heart.
Chaerea must have delayed, gloating over his tormentor's body, while his men went on their murderous mission.
'Not so brave now, my young lion?' The Praetorian's sneering tone was sharp and clear in the empty passageway. 'A pity the Wolves got to you first. A quick death was much more than you deserved and I've long dreamed of killing you myself. Have so many insults ever gone unavenged? Still, a man must do what he can.' There was a short pause before the unmistakable sound of splashing liquid echoed in the silence.
Once Chaerea was done with defiling the Emperor's body, a single set of nailed sandals marched steadily towards the hiding place. Rufus untangled his hand from Cupido's to grip the short sword and his eyes locked on Aemilia's, willing her to stay still.
The measured tramp halted immediately outside the alcove. Rufus realized Chaerea was studying the blood pattern on the gorethick floor. He tried to remember if there had been a trail of blood from Cupido's wound. He didn't think so, but if there were it would be as good as a signpost.
The silence seemed to last for an eternity before the ringing footsteps continued on their rhythmic way. When they were out of earshot, he let out a long breath and slumped beside Cupido. The gladiator's face was a waxy grey, but he was barely bleeding at all. Rufus checked him and found a little ragged wound under his left armpit. It seemed almost insignificant.
'Why?' he asked.
'You would not understand,' Aemilia said. 'You are a man.'
'I need to understand.'
'He was a foul thing. Fouler than you will ever know. He deserved to die a dozen deaths. I would kill him again if I could.'
What might have been a soft chuckle came from between them.
'You have been cheated, sister. What is death to a god? I am but a man and I have seen death in a thousand guises. I do not fear it.'
Rufus gripped Cupido's hand tight. It was as cold as when he held him in the sewer. Corpse-cold.
The gladiator's mind drifted between past and present, between reality and illusion, until he wasn't certain which was which. He knew he was dying. Accepted it almost gratefully, and with acceptance came a strange euphoria that suffused his body with an imagined warmth. He felt his father's strong grip on his waist as he was lifted on to his first pony. Tasted the strawberry sweetness of the first lips he kissed. Finally understood the desolation in his mother's eyes on the day he picked up his first sword. He reached out to her, to ask her forgiveness, but before their hands touched a lance of pain seared his chest and he was back in the alcove with Aemilia and Rufus looking down at him, their faces filled with concern.
He coughed and tasted blood. 'Don't grieve for me, Rufus. A legion of the dead awaits me in the halls of the Otherworld. We will feast there and boast about our great battles. I…' he faltered and gave a child's laugh, 'I will be great among them.'
'Why, Cupido, why will you be great among the champions of the Otherworld?'
The gladiator's fingers tightened on his. 'What greater honour than to die by an Emperor's own hand?'
Rufus blinked away tears as he watched the life light fading in his friend's eyes. He felt the grip relax and for a moment he thought it was over. But Cupido used the last of his strength to choke out one final request. 'Remember,' he gasped. 'A sword in my hand and a friend by my side.'
Rufus bent to kiss the cold flesh of the gladiator's forehead and at the same time placed the hilt of the gladius in his open palm, closing the lifeless fingers around it. Cupido's expression relaxed, making him seem quite boyish, and he gave a prolonged, almost wistful sigh. The greatest gladiator of his age was gone.
Aemilia stroked her brother's golden hair and whispered to him. Curiously, she shed no tears. Rufus wondered why. Had her time in Caligula's palace so inured her to death that even Cupido's passing did not move her?
She read his face. 'He was marked for death. This was his fate. I saw it when I threw the sticks for him on the eve of Drusilla's procession and I did my grieving then. He saw it too. He said that if it came he would welcome it. There was a stain on his soul that could never be removed in this life. Only by being reborn would he truly be free. Be glad for him.'
Rufus remembered Cupido's face the night he had come to the little room behind the elephant house. Trials, he had said; trials and a victory.
'There is more.' He stared at her. What more could there be? 'I am with child.' Rufus closed his eyes. He felt as if Caligula's sword had pierced his heart. He didn't ask the question, but she answered it in any case. 'Yes, it is his child. Caligula's child. If he had lived he would have murdered both me and the baby. He has done such a thing before. Now do you understand why he had to die?'
He choked back tears and nodded, but the truth was he didn't understand anything any more. She was carrying Caligula's child. How much stored-up sorrow was there in that simple five-word sentence? What awful horrors did the future hold? It was the child of a monster. Maybe it would have been better to have killed it.
But he didn't say that. 'No one must ever know. The child must have a father, but it must never learn its true lineage. It will be the offspring of a simple palace servant.'
She stared at him. She understood that his statement contained an offer, but why did the offer feel like a trap?
He waited for her answer, but none came. Eventually he knew they could wait no longer. 'We have to move. If we stay here they'll find us.' He shrugged. They both knew what would happen then. 'We have to leave Cupido.'
She protested, as he knew she would, but he persuaded her that the only way to stay alive was to remain together. He stepped out of the alcove, meaning to start in the direction of the palace, but he was drawn to the still figure on the bloody mosaic floor.
Caligula lay with his head in a ring of sunlight, in that boneless pose adopted only by the dead. Rufus stood over him wondering at his lack of feeling. There were so many questions he could have asked that would never be answered. Or perhaps only one question. The question he had asked Aemilia. Why?
They both heard the running footsteps, but a night and a day of fear and tension had sapped any will he had to react.
'There! The assassin.'
There were four of them, burly Praetorians with the battle madness in their blood. They had spent the last
