Rufus thought of the pain he had seen behind the storm-grey of Cupido's eyes, and the inner demons he had sensed. 'There must be something you can do to help him.'
Fronto shook his head. 'The only person who can help Cupido is Cupido himself. Now, we must get back to business. One thing works in our favour. Gaius has decided the old Taurus is out of fashion. Apparently, he has been telling people he will never go back there. The Emperor isn't the only one who can put on a games. We still have friends in the city to back us. We'll survive.'
So they returned to Rome, where the citizens had begun calling their young Emperor by a new name.
Caligula.
IX
He studied himself carefully in the big, silver gilt mirror. Yes, there was certainly another line on his forehead. And was his hair just a little thinner at the front? He turned his head to examine it from another angle, but it was difficult to tell. He waved the slave away and turned his attention to the two men standing nervously in the centre of the room.
Sweat ran in little rivulets down either side of Nigrinus's face, seeping from his hairline just in front of his fleshy ears. How had the man become so fat? His jowls hung in several overlapping chins on to his chest and even the expensive toga couldn't hide the enormous girth of his belly. Consul of Rome? Hippopotamus of Rome more like.
At least Proculus looked like a Roman. The strong features and long aquiline nose spoke of a lineage going back centuries. What a pity his abilities didn't match his bloodline.
It had all seemed so simple at first. Get rid of his cousin and everything would fall into place. No more obstacles to his grand plan. But it had all gone wrong. It was the Senate, of course.
'I didn't ask you here to tell me what you could not do, Nigrinus, but to show me you are capable of fulfilling your bargain. I backed you both for the consulship because you promised you could deliver the Senate. Now I discover that same Senate is obstructing me yet again.' He tried to keep his voice steady. He knew he had a habit of sounding petulant when he became angry, but it was so difficult to maintain one's temper when dealing with fools.
'But Caesar, it is the cost. If it was only one palace, not a dozen… and the arch to commemorate your mother is on a scale unheard of. Your generosity to those made destitute by fire is admirable, but cannot be sustained. The great games you sponsor are becoming ruinous. We cannot squeeze another penny out of the Senate.' Proculus was truculent today. He obviously didn't like being reminded that someone else bought his office for him.
His headache was coming back. Sometimes it felt as if his brain was being split in two. He would have to ask Agrippina for one of her potions — that would do the trick. Though the last one hadn't been quite as effective as usual; indeed it had made him feel a little strange. He rubbed his temples in an attempt to ease the increasing pain.
'So Rome is to believe I don't mourn my mother? That I don't have the will to complete the temple in tribute to Divine Augustus, presently a hole in the ground in which not one brick has been laid upon another? Am I to go down in history as a pauper? No! You will find a way, Proculus, or you will be a consul no longer, for you will no longer have a head. If I need a replacement I will find one in my stables. My stallion Incitatus could do the job as well as either of you. Get out.'
It was so unfair. All this, and the mob was getting restless. The games no longer seemed to satisfy them. The organizers would have to introduce something truly spectacular. Something different. He had so much to do. He needed that money. He had outlawed dozens of aristocrats and confiscated their estates. There were plenty more where they came from, but the jails were already full to overflowing. What if…? The idea came like a bolt from Jupiter. Of course — it was perfect. And it solved two problems; he would empty the prisons and entertain the mob at the same time.
Their first performance back at the Taurus was like a homecoming for Rufus. The old stadium was less than half full, but word quickly spread among those who were happy to be amused as well as shocked, and the crowds soon returned.
But Fronto's business could not survive on a single performance. He was an animal trader and, under Caligula, there were never enough animals.
'It is no longer a question of deciding who I sell my stock to,' Fronto complained. 'The Emperor's procurers are everywhere. They come out to the farm with half a dozen guards, say "I want that, that and that" and off they go again without another word. Not that I'm complaining: the Emperor pays top prices. I want you to take the big black-maned lion — not Africanus, the other one — and two leopards and that half-lame cheetah to the new arena out by the Praetorian barracks. They're to be used in some big spectacle the Emperor has planned. You might see your friend Cupido — he's on the same bill.'
When he arrived at the arena, Rufus recognized Sabatis and a few others from Cupido's school preparing weapons and armour, but the gladiator himself was absent, so he decided to return the next day. He approached one of the animal handlers and volunteered his services. Since his single appearance before the crowd Rufus had achieved something close to celebrity status among the keepers and cleaners who fed and cared for the arena animals, and the man was pleased to have his help.
When he reported for duty the following morning he was surprised to find many of the cages filled with a ragged assortment of half-starved and terrified prisoners.
'They are the noxii, condemned criminals. The Emperor has decreed that they must be executed in the arena so that their deaths can be witnessed by the populace,' the animal handler explained. 'They are mostly low-bred scum, but I've heard that some of them are knights who plotted against the Emperor. He is coming here to see them die.'
The spectacle would not start for some time, and Rufus sought out Cupido before he began his preparations. The fair-haired young gladiator was sitting with other members of his school, but when he saw Rufus he rose and the pair walked together to the main entrance, where they watched the stands fill.
'Look at them,' Cupido said, his voice thick with scorn. 'They are like sheep. They won't move all day, even to get up for a piss, in case someone steals their precious seat or they miss one bit of bloodletting.'
Rufus studied his friend as they stood in the shade of the doorway. The light streaming from the arena created shadows and hollows in his handsome face that made him seem much older than his years. A dark tinge round his eyes hinted at nights spent staring into the darkness waiting for sleep that never came.
'Fronto tells me you are more famous than ever,' he said lightly, trying to break the mood. 'But he says you are so fat on good living they will soon have to wheel you in on a cart.'
Cupido looked at Rufus and raised one blond eyebrow. 'And he tells me that you are even more famous than I am — but only in those places where they bathe but twice a year and have never been privileged to see a proper performance.'
Rufus laughed. 'Yes, Fronto is as big a liar as he always was.'
Rufus told the gladiator of his travels and the places he had seen, the great triumphs in small arenas and the way the troupe had been honed into a spectacle worthy of Rome's finest amphitheatres.
'But now it appears we are not wanted. The Emperor, it seems, is interested in blood, but not in entertainment.'
'Did Fronto say that?'
'Yes. He wanted us to stay in Pompeii. He fears the trained beasts will be forced to fight to the death again.'
'I think he is wrong. It is true there will never be enough blood spilled to satisfy the Emperor, but Caligula devours art and spectacle of every form. He surrounds himself with actors and singers, as well as the gladiators who please him, and he spends as much time at the theatre as he does at the arena. To give a performance in front of him would be a risk, but the Emperor's favour can be a very valuable commodity.'