Caligula

Rufus felt the touch of her chilled fingers, and he rose awkwardly to find the sunken eyes piercing him.

'Would you burn for your Drusilla? A final fiery coupling before we join the gods in their endless dance?' She laughed, like dry twigs crackling underfoot on a forest floor, and drew his face to hers until their lips touched and he felt her tongue enter his mouth and tasted the vileness of her affliction. Despite himself he recoiled from her, giving her the answer she sought. 'No? I thought not. For you are but a slave and will always be a slave while Drusilla will be a goddess. Her brother does not understand the true nature of her sickness, but she has made him promise it.'

The strength seemed to drain away from her and she swayed drunkenly. Instinctively, he placed a hand on her arm to steady her and felt brittle bone beneath the thick cloth of the cloak, but she shrugged him off, staring at him as if surprised he was still there.

'Not the slave then, but who? The soldier? Surely his method would be more violent, less subtle. The spy? The very opposite. Milonia would not have the courage. Livilla does not have the hate. Agrippina has the skills, but she would not risk her brother's wrath. Uncle Claudius…'

Rufus listened to the rambling litany of names and backed away to where Lucius waited in the shade.

'You survived then?' the young soldier greeted him. 'I'm pleased.'

Rufus stared at him, puzzled.

'No, truly, I am pleased. All she had to do was raise her hand and I was to cut your throat, with this.' He pulled a curved dagger from his belt. 'I took it from a Parthian warrior, but I've never used it. When you were on your knees I thought she was about to give the signal.'

Rufus flinched at the sight of the knife. 'But why? I have done nothing. I am no danger to Drusilla or anyone else.'

Lucius shrugged. 'She believes she has been poisoned. Her physician told her she has a sickness, a cancer, but she would not listen to him. When the old fool insisted he was correct, she had him sent to her brother's executioners. She said she would know when she looked in your eyes if you had betrayed her. That was when I would strike. But you must have convinced her otherwise, because you are still here. As I say, I'm glad. It is too nice a morning to spoil by killing someone you hardly know. Here, take it.' He held out the short dagger and pressed it into Rufus's hand. 'I have no more need of it. You might find it useful some day.'

He turned to leave, but Rufus hesitated, his eyes drawn back to the slight figure in the shadows at the end of the garden.

'How long…?'

Lucius stopped and followed his gaze. 'She has been sick for more than a month. I have watched her wither as a flower does after a spring frost. First her beauty dulled; then it faded away. Her flesh fell from her bones and her hair from her head. I can scarce bear to look at her, yet she sends for me every night.' He shuddered at the memory and Rufus saw his eyes harden. 'I would rather endure the hot iron of her brother's torturers than the anticipation of another summons.'

'I loved her, I think.'

Lucius stared at him and Rufus feared the young tribune might strike him for his insolence. Then the look was gone. It seemed their similar ages and shared experience gave them a bond that bridged the void between slave and soldier.

'I didn't know it at the time, and it still confuses me, but Drusilla lit a fire in my heart even this cannot extinguish. At first I resented what she was taking from me; then I realized that in the taking she was also giving, if you can understand that. I began as her slave, but by the end she said she was mine.'

'Then you are a greater fool than you appear. It is not a slave's place to love, but to obey.' Lucius snorted his disgust. 'Do you not understand she corrupts everything she touches? The ugliness you saw today was always there, but it was inside, and more disgusting still. The words that drip like honey from her lips are all lies, the kisses she bestows more poisonous than any viper. She is like her brother, a foul thing whose caresses are merely preparing your flesh for the blade or the pincers.'

The final words were forced through clenched teeth and Rufus realized with shock that Drusilla's was not the only bed the handsome tribune was forced to share.

'I am sorry. I did not realize — '

Lucius cut him off. 'Do not waste your pity on me,' he said. 'This sickness which afflicts Drusilla is a sign that the time of reckoning is close. I…' His voice tailed off as he realized what he had said. 'Forgive me, I talk too much. Forget Drusilla. She will be dead within the week.'

He was wrong. It was two more weeks before the announcement came and the Palatine held its collective breath and waited for the inevitable retribution.

XXVI

Rufus waited with the rest. Every hour of every day he anticipated the tread of Praetorian boots and the knock on the door, the grip on his shoulder and the bite of cold iron on his wrists. The fear ate at his spirit and chewed away his courage. Livia noticed the change in him, and tried without success to understand it. He did not give her any help. If he revealed what had occurred between himself and Drusilla he would drag her into the Emperor's net. At least if she knew nothing, her ignorance might save her, even if he fell. He knew it was unfair, but he had retreated so far inside himself he found it difficult to communicate with anyone. He spent more time with Bersheba than with his wife, but often could not bring himself to meet even the elephant's unruffled eye.

Narcissus kept him informed of events inside the palace. Claudius's freedman seemed unperturbed by the upheaval, even to be enjoying it. Clearly he believed himself above suspicion, and he revelled in the tribulations of his rivals.

'The Emperor uses Drusilla's death to rid himself of a dozen senators who oppose him. They have the choice of taking their own lives or enduring the glowing iron, with the knowledge that if they choose the second, their family will suffer with them. Of course,' he added complacently, 'their final decision is of little interest to Caligula. He knows they have nothing to do with his sister's demise. To solve that puzzle, he has tasked his chamberlain, who sees this as an opportunity to bring his own enemies low, but has neither the intellect nor the capacity to bring it about.' He shook his head in wonder at the man's bumbling. 'The old fool pinned his hopes on questioning the two eastern sisters who attended Drusilla's bedroom and kept her many secrets. As if he could force anything but screams from two mouths that had been silent from birth. Fortunately, someone else saved him the trouble. They were found in their quarters this morning with their throats cut. Convenient, is it not?'

Rufus had a curious dizzy-making instant when his brain was divided between relief that two potential witnesses to his midnight tryst with Drusilla were no longer a threat and guilt that his survival should be at the expense of the innocent dark-eyed twins who cooed over his body. 'My little doves.'

'I am sorry. They were harmless enough creatures. Their only crime was to serve their mistress.'

Narcissus skewered him with a look of disbelief. 'Harmless? Their crime was not to serve their mistress, but to know too much. Many people have died for lesser crimes. If they had been sensible they would have entrusted the fruits of their knowledge to someone who had the power to protect them. What a pity they did not.' His tone made it plain who should have been trusted, although Rufus doubted it would have saved them. He knew by now that Narcissus would never risk his position, never mind his life, for anyone. He looked carefully at the Greek: handsome despite his baldness, in a cultured, even decadent way. Educated and intelligent; cunning, certainly, or he would never have survived for so long. Claudius's spy, who also, to his certain knowledge, spied on Claudius. Ruthless? He recalled his momentary suspicion that Narcissus might have poisoned Drusilla, or at least manoeuvred it.