Gore Vidal’s Caligula (27 page)

“Aw, the poor lad’s losing his hair!” the woman said, patting Caligula’s head. “But he’s cute anyway.”

Caligula stood. “We must go,” he commanded.

Mnester responded automatically, forgetting where they were. “Yes, Divine Caesar.”

“Caesar!” roared the big man, laughing so hard that onion fumes wafted across the table to Caligula’s disgusted nose. “What a joke!”

The red-haired woman leaned her heavy bust on the table and told her companion confidently. “Actors . . . always playing these different parts. Crazy people . . .” She pointed a finger at her head and drew a little circle in the air.

Infuriated, Caligula lost restraint. “But I
am
Caligula!” he shouted.

There was a moment of silence, and then a great roar of laughter from every corner of the tavern. This was the best joke they’d heard all evening!

“One more drink, boy, and you’ll think you’re the goddess Venus!” The burly man stood up and put the empty wine tankard on his head again, prancing.

Mnester grabbed Caligula’s hand and hustled him out the tavern door and into the dark street. It had been an enlightening evening.

Taking to heart the public’s complaint against taxes, Caligula cut them all by fifty percent. This, of course, made him even more of a hero in the eyes of the plebeians, but the Senate was aghast. How was the money to be made up?

“To make up for this lost revenue to our treasury,” Caligula told the silent Senators, “we shall confiscate the entire estate of anyone found guilty of treason, either to the state or to the God Caligula, the two being one and the same thing. The Chancellor will read out the list of those indicted for treason.”

Longinus, a thick scroll in his hand, took one step forward, and began, grimly, to read.

“Indictments for treason have been made against the following Senators . . .”

An apprehensive rustle filled the Senate chamber. On every face was a look of terror, for no one knew whether or not his name was on that long list, or for what reason.

“Senator Aponius,” Longinus read out, “Senator Piso . . . Senator Antonius . . . Senator Galba . . .”

A great gasp went up to the marble roof. These were the most loyal, noble and ancient names in the Empire!

Caligula, his eyes narrowed, a dazzling smile on his face, sat watching as a hungry young wolf gazes at a flock of sheep.

“Wake up!” Caligula shouted, dashing into Caesonia’s bedroom. His eyes glittered with excitement.

Caesonia, who had been napping, shook herself. “I am awake,” she protested. “Come here, love . . .” She reached for her husband.

Caligula was too keyed-up and triumphant to think of making love. “While you were napping,” he informed her, “I did some very good business.”

Caesonia pushed her hair off her face. “What?”

“Forty
Senators, guilty of treason.”

“Oh, my god!” she gasped.

Caught up in his own self-congratulation, Caligula ignored her alarm. “I reckon their combined estates—which I inherit—will more than make up for the reduction in taxes.”

There was a sharp knock at the door.

“Who is it?” he called.

Mnester entered the room, dressed in a gold-bordered tunic, a gift from Caligula. “Lord, you sent for me?”

“Yes.” The Emperor held out his hand to the actor. “Join us. Show Caesonia your beautiful body.”

Dutifully, his expression neutral, Mnester stripped. Naked, he struck pose after pose for Caesonia.

“Well?” demanded Caligula.

“Beautiful,” agreed Caesonia through clenched teeth.

“He is my husband,” announced Caligula.

“When was the wedding?” asked Caesonia smoothly, resolved to poison this upstart Greek faggot at the earliest opportunity.

“The wedding is
now!”

Caligula pulled off Caesonia’s light robe, then undressed himself. He looked from her to Mnester, delighted. “What better proof that I am a god?” he demanded, caressing the boy’s firm buttocks. “I can become male and female at one and the same time.” And he put his hand on Caesonia’s mound.

They fell in a heap on the bed, with Caesonia on the bottom. She spread her legs wide to accommodate Caesar, who slipped between them at once and drove his cock deep into her. Then Mnester knelt behind Caligula, first licking at his anus to wet it, then ramming his own cock into it all the way. The three bodies heaved and gasped as one.

Caligula, husband and wife, consummated his unholy unions again and again through the night, in all the varied postures of love.

In the morning, limp and exhausted, Caligula went to the below-stairs offices of his new Chancellor, Longinus to sign more of the boring documents, that were always waiting for his seal.

“. . . In the name of the Senate and the people of Rome,” he muttered, scrawling his name for what must have been the fiftieth time. Then he looked up at Longinus.

“Why don’t we drop the Senate? Just say ‘in the name of the people of Rome’?” he asked petulantly.

“Custom, Caesar,” his advisor said gently.

“Customs can be changed. After all, until me no Emperor was a god until he was safely dead. I got rid of that hypocrisy.”

Longinus bowed, knowing better than to argue. “As Divine Caesar wishes . . .” he said smoothly.

“On the other hand . . .” Caligula bit his knuckle, thinking. “It might be simpler just to eliminate the Senators, one by one.”

Longinus stiffened. These moods were becoming more and more common with Caligula. Again and again he was returning to the subject of the elimination of the Senate entirely, and by death.

At that moment, Chaerea marched in, accompanied by his second in command, Sabinus.

“Divine Caesar,” saluted the Commander of the Guard.

Caligula extended a languid hand. As Chaerea bent to kiss it, the Emperor held out only the middle finger, which he wagged lewdly at the old soldier.

“Lick it, Chaerea.”

Grimly, Chaerea licked the finger.

“You like that, don’t you?” taunted Caligula. “Reminds you of Proculus.” He laughed as his Commander turned scarlet with embarrassment. Then he inserted his finger brutally into Chaerea’s mouth and wiggled it around. “By the way, what did you do with Proculus’ cock and balls? You never thanked me for them.”

Chaerea made a strangled sound, and Caligula withdrew his finger.

“That’s enough,” he said coldly. “You exhaust me.”

His eye was now caught by the young Sabinus, who stood to attention, his cheeks red. “But then you have a new Proculus, I see. Dirty old man,” he chided. “Is he as big, Chaerea?”

Casually, the Emperor lifted the skirt of Sabinus’ military tunic to see for himself, then let it fall with a smirk. “No, I’m afraid Sabinus is on the small side. But then, what the gods did not give, no god can take away. So you are safe for now. Well, what can we do for you?”

“The games tomorrow,” said Chaerea stiffly. “What time will they begin? And end?”

“To celebrate the execution of the forty Senators, and the gain to our treasury, the games will start at noon and continue until midnight. At midnight there will be a special religious ceremony in which I shall take part.”

“Thank you, Divine Caesar.” Chaerea saluted, as did Sabinus and immediately the two men left.

Caligula looked after his soldiers, biting his knuckle and toying with the hilt of his dagger. He seemed abstracted.

“I can trust no one, Longinus.”

Longinus raised his brows. Could Caesar mean the Commander of the Guard? “Surely, Caesar . . .”

“But then, no one can trust me.” Caligula grinned sardonically. “I am like the weather. But when
I
rain, it is blood.”

He could not sleep. Even when the moon was not shining full into his chamber, he could not sleep or even rest. Impelled by some restless obsession, made nervous by every sound, by even the flight of a bat or nightwing past his window, he got up to walk again, to haunt the corridors of his palace like some helpless spirit. His face was pale in the thin moonlight; shadows touched his brow and circled his weary eyes.

Raising his arms to the moon, Caligula cried out his wretchedness. “Moon . . . sister! Where is Drusilla? Is she there, Moon? With you? If she is, let me have her back again. If you do, I’ll build you a temple larger than . . . than . . .” He dropped his arms, without hope. “You never answer me. Tiberius was right. There’s only Fate. Random, stupid Fate. I live. Then I die. And that is all.”

Like another ghost, Caesonia appeared from the shadows, startling him.

“I hate the night,” he told her. “Where is that bastard brother of mine, the sun? Rise, damn you!” He shook his fist at the heavens.

“Come.” Caesonia took her husband’s arm. “Come to my room. I have drugs.”

Caligula pulled away. “No. I need a clear head for tomorrow. Do you know your part?”

Caesonia nodded. “I feel I
am
the goddess Isis.”

“And I am Osiris. And tomorrow night we shall change the religion of Rome.” Caligula looked up at the sky again. “It’s the end of you, Jupiter,” he called. “From now on, the Mother will rule in heaven and in Rome!”

Caesonia looked about her apprehensively. “Is it wise to—”

“Everything
I do is wise,” interrupted Caligula. “As if it mattered.” He was weary, so infinitely weary. If only he could sleep! There was a buzzing in his head. “I must get away. Clear my mind,” he said fretfully, like a child.

“Alexandria?”

“Yes.”

“But how can Alexandria be the capital of Rome?” Caesonia asked for the thousandth time.

“Because where
I
am,
that
is Rome,” replied Caligula for the thousandth time. He sighed with exhaustion. “All right, Caesonia. Give me your drugs. I must sleep.”

She took him to her bedroom and poured a drink of heavy wine, lacing it liberally with poppy juice, and stirring it with her own hands. Only from Caesonia’s hands would he accept a potion. When he had swallowed it, he lay back on the pillows. Caesonia lay next to him, and they waited for the opiate to take effect. Soon Caligula’s eyelids grew heavy, and his speech slurred, but it was still difficult for him, obsessed as he was, to surrender himself to sleep.

“I shall eliminate the Senate. All of them,” he muttered. “Their families, too. Tiberius always said they are the enemies of the Caesars . . .”

Caesonia’s long fingers crept up his thigh and under his tunic, but he pushed her hand away.

“I can’t. I’m impotent again. I don’t know why.”

“I have a cure,” she said slyly.

“No!”
Caligula roused himself. “That last aphrodisiac of yours nearly killed me!” Then, half-asleep again he peered at her dimly. “Why do you love me?”

He was always asking her that.

“You are a god,” she replied. It was her customary answer.

“Don’t be shilly,” slurred Caligula. “There are no gods. Except the onesh I invent . . . up here.” He touched his brow.

Caesonia shrugged. “So you invented yourself. Anyway, you
are
Caesar.”

He fell back on the bed again. “Yes, I suppose that
is
lovable. Women like power, don’t they?”

“Yes. Almost as much as men do.”

Sleep was stealing over his limbs now, draining their strength. “You know . . .” he said dreamily, “I watch men die. But I never see anything. I never hear anything. They just . . . go . . .”

Caesonia recognized this territory; it was dangerous ground. Choosing her words carefully, she assured him, “The goddess Isis will recover your body when you are dead, and she will make you whole and restore you to eternal life.”

It was her continual promise to Caligula. As the embodiment of Isis, she knew that it was the only way to remain at Caesar’s side . . . alive.

“Will she?” asked Caligula plaintively. “Or will I just . . .
go . . .
too? And be forgotten?” He sounded like a sickly child demanding assurances that he would soon be well.

“You care about the future?” asked Caesonia.

“No . . . yesss.” The drug had gotten to Caligula’s brain, dulling it. “I think . . . perhaps . . . I am a god. After all. And when I die . . . I shall become stars . . . in the sky . . . keeping watch . . . beside Drusilla.”

The Emperor’s eyes shut at last, and the lines on his brow smoothed out. He had fallen asleep.

CHAPTER TWELVE

It was to be the most important day in the history of Rome; the augurs had assured him of that. An oracle, last month, had warned Caligula to “beware of Cassius.” As a result, he had sent executioners to the governor of Asia, one Cassius Longenius, and they had returned with his head. Now, today, after a long period of uncertainty, Caligula felt safe. There would be games today, chariot races mostly, in the Circus Maximus. The people—ugh, how he loathed the mob!—loved games. Give them bread and circuses and they would adore him! Give them enough games and they would turn their collective backs on the Senate; they would ignore the blood bath that the Emperor was making ready for the Senators. Yes! The Tiber would soon flow bright red with the blood of the Senate!

Today was important because it would establish once and for all the worship of Isis, Isis the Mother who had given her personal promise that Caligula would find eternal life. Her worship would replace that of every other god in Rome—not only Jupiter, but even Vesta, even Janus, whose temple doors stood open in war, even the heavenly twins, Castor and Pollux, whose statues Caligula had replaced with his own. Yes, even the Lares and Penates, the household gods who blessed and kept safe every home in the city.
All
of those—together with Apollo, Mars, Juno, Diana and the rest—
all
would be flung down from the heavens. The only worship permitted would be that of Isis and her divine consort Osiris/Caligula.