Caligula (25 page)

'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.'

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 drain cover settled into place with a sharp crunch.

'What's happening?' Cupido demanded. 'What was that?'

Rufus put one shoulder to the cover, but it felt as if it was cemented into place. They were trapped.

He made his way down the vertical shaft a foot at a time. In his imagination it was bottomless and it came as a surprise when there were no more notches, but solid ground beneath his feet. He calculated he must have descended twenty-five to thirty feet.

He turned slowly, arms in front of him like a blind man. He knew instinctively he was in a wider space than the claustrophobic drainage shaft, not because he could see anything, but because the darkness was a deeper shade of black. A sort of darker darkness that was almost solid.

Down here it was a different kind of cold; rawer and hungrier, and he was glad Cupido had thought to bring the heavy cloaks. He heard the trickle of water down the shaft, and, close by, a heavier rushing sound.

'Are you going to get the torches out or are we going to stand here all day?'

The words came from six inches in front of his face and he almost fell over in surprise. He fumbled in the cloth bag for the first torch.

'Take this,' he said, holding the torch out in the general direction of the invisible Cupido.

'How can I take it if I can't see it?'

Ah! With his free hand, he located the flint. Ideally, he needed a third hand to strike metal against stone while holding the torch close enough to light, but somehow he managed it. The flame flickered for a second then blossomed until it illuminated a dozen paces around him.

They were standing on a paved walkway beside a dark brown stream composed of things he didn't like to think about, which flowed along a stone culvert perhaps three paces wide. The culvert ran down a tunnel which stretched away into the darkness under a barrel-vaulted roof of dressed stone blocks about a foot wide and three times as long. The roof curved six or seven inches above their heads, slick with hundreds of years of accumulated slime which hung in obscene feetlong tendrils, like wisps of a witch's hair. For a few seconds Rufus's astonishment overcame his fright. How could this marvel, another world, exist beneath his feet and he not realize it?

A shuffling noise from beyond the circle of light reminded him of his earlier fears and his hand flew to his sword.

'Rats,' Cupido said. 'Rats and sewers go together.'

Rufus laughed nervously. He looked around him. 'Which direction do we take?'

'Follow the flow. It's only going one way, to the Cloaca Maxima, and that's where we want to be. Let's go – we have wasted enough time. I want to reach the villa before dawn. Keep the second torch dry, and don't lose the flint. I wouldn't want to be stuck down here in the dark.'

Rufus mouthed a short prayer. He wished Cupido hadn't said that.

They started off down the tunnel, Rufus leading with the torch. At first, he set a good pace, but it quickly became apparent that the section into which they had descended gave a false impression of the Cloaca. The passage was not uniform. It had evidently been built and reconstructed, repaired and repaired again, over different periods, with different standards of workmanship and by men working to different ends.

The air in the tunnel was damp and fetid, rank with the stink of corruption and other people's shit. It became fixed in his throat like a solid thing, and he had to keep swallowing in order not to gag. Soon, the shaft narrowed, becoming ever more claustrophobic, until the walkway was little more than a shelf and they had to inch forward one foot in front of the other to save from falling into the loathsome stream on their right. Rufus noticed it seemed a little swifter now and the height had risen marginally. At least the rain would wash away the filth more quickly.

The tiny walkway was an irritant at first, but quickly became a danger. The flickering torch gave off an uneven and barely helpful light, which, in places, seemed to be absorbed by the algae-slick walls. Pieces of stone crumbled beneath their feet, threatening to pitch them into the sewer. At one point the roof suddenly dropped to half its height and they had to crouch low with the torch held straight ahead in order to make progress. This happened at regular intervals and Cupido suggested it might have some architectural purpose.

It was also clear they were descending, almost imperceptibly, deeper into the earth.

They had been walking for perhaps ten minutes when they heard the voices.

'Douse the torch,' Cupido whispered.

'What?'

'Put the torch out or they'll see it.'

'But we'll be in the dark. We can't fight them if we can't see them.'

'Better in the dark. We can hear them, but they won't hear us.'

Reluctantly, Rufus placed the torch on the walkway and gently stamped out the flames, doing as little damage as he could. He had a feeling they would need every flickering spark of both torches before the night was out.

He felt Cupido's reassuring hand on his shoulder. 'Now we wait.'

They sat in the darkness, listening; waiting for the voices to come closer. But the only things that approached them were the rats, which had been wary of the light, but now scampered by in ones and twos. Rufus jumped as he felt something touch his hand.

'Aaah!'

'Shhh.'

'I hate rats.'

'You told me you loved animals.'

'Not rats.'

'They can't hurt you.'

'Not even when they're the size of cats?'

Silence.

There was a strange, unearthly quality to the voices. Sometimes they were clear, as if they were close by, but then they would fade as if the wind had changed direction. Only there was no wind.

And then there was the stench. At first it had been sickening; a putrid, stomach-churning miasma so thick you could almost chew on it. But soon after they started walking their sense of smell had either become accustomed to it, or been overwhelmed by it. Now the smell was back, more powerful than ever.