Rufus's mind was still numb, and he struggled to focus on the living rather than the dead. Livia was gone, he understood that, but he knew the full impact had still to come, along with the loneliness it would bring. He would mourn her in his own time. First he had to help Cupido save Aemilia's life. His chest filled to bursting with a cold rage and he vowed he would find her, and avenge Livia at the same time.
But how to find her?
'I think I know someone who might be able to help us.'
Cupido stared at his friend. Could it be that simple?
'You were unwise to involve Claudius in your plans. I would have counselled against it.' Callistus sat behind his desk looking down his long nose at the two men standing side by side in front of it. 'Chaerea may act like a fool, but he does not lack intelligence, or support. He has spies among the opposition faction in the Guard. He was bound to discover any conspiracy against him involving someone so senior, and once he did he was bound to act. His fear of the information I passed to you was overcome by his fear of this greater threat. He blamed your wife,' he nodded to Rufus, then looked at Cupido, 'and he took your sister as a hostage to ensure your cooperation in the other matter he believes is so secret.'
'You know so much about Chaerea's affairs it is difficult to believe you are not part of them,' Cupido said harshly. 'If so, you know where Aemilia is being held.'
Callistus gave a tight smile. 'That is possible, but why should I tell a broken-down gladiator and a rancid animal handler? What have I to gain?'
'Your life.' Cupido's sword appeared a hair's breadth from Callistus's throat. The imperial secretary frowned, but didn't flinch from the blade.
'You owe me a life,' Rufus said, gently pushing the sword to one side. 'I am here to collect it.'
Callistus swallowed and rubbed his throat. 'It is always a pleasure to deal with a reasonable man.'
He described a large white villa, close to the temple of Minerva.
Cupido's brow creased as his mind dissected the information. 'I know that house,' he cried. 'It is on the Argiletum out by Augustus's forum. It belongs to Chaerea's lieutenant, Sabinus. It will be difficult to approach by stealth, but not impossible.'
'No, not impossible,' Callistus agreed. 'But dangerous, for you and your sister. Chaerea has placed six of his men there to guard her — or to kill her, if that should become necessary.'
'Then we have no time to waste here.' Cupido turned to Rufus. 'Meet me in my quarters. Wear your Praetorian uniform — it will disguise you and give us greater authority. We can be there within the hour.'
'Wait!' Callistus said. 'If you go uncloaked you will not get off the Palatine. Chaerea has issued a warrant for your arrest. He has guards on every corner. The only way you will reach the villa is to fly like a bird or burrow underground like a mole.'
Underground? The thought came to both of them simultaneously. Rufus could see it forming in Cupido's eyes, even as the image of the map filled his head. The green line and the red. The one leading from the Palatine to the Velabrum below the Vicus Tuscus, and the other slicing north under the forum and out past the Senate House towards the Argiletum and the white villa.
He felt a thrill of fear. 'The Cloaca.'
Cupido's voice was brittle with excitement. 'Even if it does not take us all the way, it will get us close enough to ensure we reach the villa unmolested. We will need torches and…'
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.'