'She cannot take the statue over the bridge to the Senate,' he said decisively. 'It would never hold. You would risk destroying everything.'
Callistus's face paled at the thought. 'That will not be required. The route is necessarily secret, but think of a circuit of the forum and perhaps a procession as far as the Circus Maximus.'
'Then, yes, Bersheba can pull her.'
The ceremony was timed for the final day of the restrictions imposed by Caligula for her period of mourning, which ensured an outpouring of joy such as Rome had not seen since the day of the Emperor's coronation.
But Callistus had one last surprise for Rufus.
A dozen slaves carried the heavy bundles, all carefully wrapped in soft leather, to the elephant house and laid the curiously shaped objects on the grass. The secretary supervised as Rufus unwrapped them, counting each item as it was revealed in front of the barn.
'But Bersheba can't wear this.' Rufus could hardly believe what he was seeing.
Callistus winced. 'It must. The Emperor insists.'
The bundle with the strangest shape contained what Rufus eventually worked out was an elaborate gold-plated chain-mail headdress. It combined eye and trunk protection for the elephant and was fitted with leather straps so it would not slip out of position. From the forehead, just between the shield-boss-sized openings for her eyes, he was horrified to see jutting a dangerous two-foot golden spike.
Next there emerged a set of four equally extravagant knee protectors, again each with its alarming spike.
Finally, from the burden which it had taken four of the slaves to carry, was unrolled an enormous mantle of interlocking leaf-shaped segments of gold-plated metal that would have covered the entire floor of Rufus's modest home. It was designed to protect Bersheba's back and flanks.
'Oh, and there are also these,' the secretary remembered, and reaching beneath the folds of his cloak he pulled out two pointed, hollow golden horns that fitted snugly over the ends of Bersheba's tusks.
'She will look foolish,' Rufus pleaded.
'Not foolish, magnificent,' Callistus insisted. 'You will accustom the beast to wearing this ceremonial armour, so that when it pulls the golden statue of the Emperor's sister it will provide a spectacle such as Romans have never witnessed. There is one more thing.'
Rufus bit his tongue. He knew Callistus would not forget his outburst. The only reason he was not on his way to a whipping post was that no one else could control Bersheba.
Callistus gestured to one of the slaves, who unrolled a small parcel which had lain forgotten, but now revealed what was plainly the gilt armour and dark tunic of a soldier of the Praetorian Guard.
'You should be honoured, slave. The Emperor has seen fit to appoint you an honorary soldier of his elite guard. Temporary and unpaid, of course.'
Of course.
Bersheba detested her new finery, and she let him know it.
When he attempted to fit the intricate headdress, she would allow him to reach a point where he was ready to tighten the final strap before giving a shrug of her head that left it hanging untidily from one ear.
If anything, the plate-armour mantle looked as though it would be even more difficult. Not only was it huge, it was awkward, and he realized immediately he would need more help. Callistus tutted and waved him away, but six slaves arrived at the elephant house within the hour and he put them to work.
In the event, Bersheba was suddenly a model of cooperation. She did exactly what she was asked and they worked the enormously heavy metal blanket over her back. Even when he ordered her to stand, she did so with such care that the covering stayed exactly where it was, and he was able to get underneath her and, using all his strength, tighten the leather straps to keep it in position.
He had never felt so satisfied as when he stepped back to survey his achievement, a smile splitting his face. The secretary was right: she did look magnificent.
He looked into the soulful brown eyes. 'I thank you, Bersheba. You have made me proud.'
Bersheba looked back. Was there a twinkle there?
'No!'
Yes. It began as a twitch of her shoulders and rippled down her massive flanks as an almost imperceptible wriggle, ending in a profound shake of her huge backside and a twitch of her tail. Slowly, infinitely slowly, the golden mantle slipped sideways, until it finished up hanging between her legs.
The roar of frustration that echoed across the Palatine scared the pigeons from the trees and rooftops.
But the one thing Rufus had learned in his years with Fronto's animals was perseverance. He knew he would win in the end, and a day before they were due to lead the parade Bersheba stood before him, a sight to chill the blood, her ceremonial armour firmly in place; a living mountain of glittering golden fragments which sparkled individually in the sunlight.
He sent for Callistus. The palace official narrowed his eyes and studied Bersheba from every angle then nodded with satisfaction.
'Wait,' he ordered.
A few minutes later he returned with the Emperor at his side, followed by Protogenes and a small weasel-like individual Rufus realized must be the Emperor's chamberlain. Rufus was shocked by Caligula's appearance. He had not seen the Emperor since his sister's death and the interval had wrought a dreadful change in the young man. His hair was long and lank, his beard matted, as if he had been neither shaved nor barbered in many months. His eyes were sunk deep in his head and his cheeks had the sallow complexion of candlewax.
Caligula stopped so suddenly when he saw Bersheba that Protogenes almost ran into his back and had to throw himself clumsily sideways to avoid the collision. The Emperor stared wide-eyed at the elephant as if he had never seen her before.
'Truly this animal is worthy of my sister,' he cried. 'If only I had a dozen, no, a hundred, like this, I could do her the honour she deserves.' Rufus could see his eyes were moist. Caligula gave a huge sniff and addressed him directly. 'Do your duties well, slave, and be sure your Emperor will reward you.'
Later, while Rufus sat in the little room behind the elephant house with his stomach twisted by doubts, Livia questioned him.
'If the Emperor offers you a reward, what will you ask?' she said seriously.
He shrugged. 'It is too early to think of such things. If anything goes wrong tomorrow I could be dead by nightfall.'
'But there must be something you wish for more than anything else?' she insisted.
She was right. Rufus knew exactly what he would ask. But to say it out loud seemed to be to risk losing it. The gods liked to have their little jokes with the ambitious and the proud. They enjoyed giving hope and then replacing it with despair; he had had experience of that. But Livia would not give up and eventually he capitulated.
'I suppose I will ask to buy our freedom,' he said casually, as if it was not the most momentous thing in the world. 'Fronto still has the money he was saving for me. It might not be enough on its own, but I think he will advance me what I need. We could make a good living together.'
Livia struggled to hide her disappointment. How could he not understand?
For the first time in her life she had escaped. For the first time in her life she possessed something. It was not a lot. Only a draughty little room that stank continually of elephant dung, with a husband who was more boy than man and was sometimes naive to the point of foolishness. But it was hers.
She had had her fill of loneliness. Reviled as some kind of monster as soon as it became clear she would grow no taller, she had been sold into slavery by her father. Treated at first as a toy, then as a sexual plaything, by her master, she had been discarded as soon as he tired of her and slipped to his next level of depravity. Other masters and similar experiences followed, but when she was sold into the troop of dwarves she thought she had finally found, at the very least, companionship. She was wrong. For she, young, pretty and with a recognizably human form, was as different from them, with their overdeveloped arms and legs and stunted bodies, as they were from normal adults. They hated her.