Douglas Jackson - Caligula

They pulled the cloaks over their heads and moved cautiously up the deserted street. Rufus knew they were close when Cupido pulled him into the shadow of an apartment doorway.

'You would think, with the bribes at his disposal, Sabinus could afford something better,' the gladiator chuckled. Rufus knew Cupido was attempting to put him at ease, but he could hear the hard-edged excitement of the coming fight in his friend's voice. In truth, the villa was not massive, but it was substantial enough, a two-storey whitestucco house set back from the roadway in its own grounds. A wall surrounded it, but one built for privacy, not for defence. From their hiding place they could see the orange glow of a substantial fire.

Cupido ignored the main gate, a stout wooden structure that was firmly closed, and no doubt barred on the inside. 'We will go in at the corner of the wall, see, where the top of that big tree is just visible. The guards have lit the fire to give them better visibility, but also to stem their fears. Yet it might count against them,' he said thoughtfully.

They moved stealthily across the street and slid along the length of the wall until they reached the point Cupido had indicated.

'Stay low when you reach the top, and wait for me,' the gladiator whispered, boosting Rufus up with his good hand, so he could lever himself on to the top of the wall. Despite his injured arm, Cupido joined him with the practised ease of an acrobat. Silently, they dropped into the villa's courtyard.

Cupido's instincts hadn't let him down. Four men in Praetorian uniform huddled close round a pile of blazing logs in attitudes that indicated they'd spent more time than they wanted with the damp winter chill eating into their bones. They seemed mesmerized by the dancing golden flames at their front, and the columns of sparks that danced upwards whenever a log cracked. Even if the shadows from the trees and shrubs hadn't hidden them, Rufus thought it unlikely their entry would have been noticed.

'Too long in barracks,' Cupido whispered in his ear. 'But they are still dangerous. Stay by my right side and use your sword as you did to defend the Emperor and we will win through.'

For the first time, Rufus felt the flutter of fear in his chest. Cupido sensed it and placed a hand on his shoulder. 'Have faith, Rufus. You hold their attention and I will take them. But remember they have Aemilia inside. If we are delayed they will execute her. Speed is all, not clean kills.'

With that he set off, crouched low among the bushes — like a hunting panther, but infinitely more deadly. The guards were only twenty paces away, but they had no clue to his coming until he was upon them. By then it was too late.

Rufus had seen Cupido fight many times before, but this was different. Here was cold, merciless fury matched by clinical execution. The big sword took the first Praetorian's head off at the neck with a single sweeping blow and sent it spinning into the fire. Two of the survivors were raw recruits and froze, paralysed by the sight of their comrade's face melting among the flames, but the third spun towards his attacker. He was a veteran, and when he saw Cupido he knew he was already dead. But he was brave. He snarled his defiance and his blade chopped upwards at Cupido's defenceless belly. The gladiator parried the blow almost effortlessly and with a twist of his wrist left the soldier staring in disbelief at the stump of his severed sword arm.

The remaining guards were still well armed, but their shock and terror rendered them defenceless. Together they dropped their swords by the fire and fell to their knees in surrender. But Cupido had neither the time nor the inclination for mercy. He swung right and left and the men fell screaming among the glowing embers at the fire's edge.

'Finish them,' he said, and ran towards the doors of the villa.

For a moment, Rufus stood open-mouthed at the order but logic told him the three men were already as good as dead. The first fighter sat in a growing pool of his own blood with a dazed expression, and the others were expiring noisily and roasting at the same time. It was a mercy, really.

When he entered the villa, time might have been standing still. The only movement came from the young Praetorian mewing pitifully beside the door as he attempted to push his intestines back into the great tear Cupido had just carved in his stomach.

Beyond him, Cupido's back was to Rufus, and eight paces beyond him was a scar-faced soldier, evidently the leader of the guard detachment. And Aemilia.

She stared at her brother with a look that might have been irritation. It certainly wasn't fear, although fear would have been perfectly justified given the short sword that pricked beneath her chin and only needed one good push to skewer her. The sword was held by scar-face, who stood with his back to the russet-painted plaster wall and was scared enough for both of them.

'One more step and I kill her,' he rasped.

'I thought you were supposed to rape her while she watched me roast alive?' Cupido said conversationally.

The challenge in Aemilia's captor's face changed to a frown of confusion.

'That was what Chaerea planned for me, wasn't it? That I would cook over an open fire while you had your way with Aemilia.'

The soldier spat. 'If you drop that sword maybe we can come to a different arrangement. Something that suits both of us?' The words were an offer of negotiation, but there was a glitter of anticipation in his eyes that betrayed his true plans.

'I don't think so.' Cupido smiled, and the glitter in scar-face's left eye was extinguished as it magically sprouted a four-foot sword that transfixed his skull and pinned him to the wall.

Rufus hadn't even seen Cupido move. The stroke was so impressive he felt like applauding. He was never certain whether it was an arena trick honed by a hundred hours of practice, or a sleight of hand Cupido learned at his father's knee. However he came by the skill, it was horrifically effective. The gladiator had whipped the long sword up underhand with a flick of his wrist and speared a target an inch across only a hand-span from Aemilia's right ear.

'You took your time, brother,' Aemilia said, unwrapping the stricken man's arm from her throat. She looked at him with detached interest. He wasn't dead, but it couldn't be long. His body jerked and shook as he hung there, held fast by the iron blade through his head. His remaining eye went through a range of emotions: dread of what was inevitably to come, puzzlement at how he had been so careless, and perhaps a mute plea to have this dreadful alien thing removed.

Aemilia spat in his face and wrenched the sword free, allowing him to drop like a stone.

'I thought you said you didn't have a brother?' Cupido said.

She stuck out her tongue and handed him his sword. 'Phawwww! You stink.'

'That's a nice way to talk to your saviour. But you're right, where is the bathhouse? And do they have any other clothes?'

She gave him instructions and he went off muttering to himself about ungrateful women, leaving Rufus and Aemilia alone apart from the unfortunate, sword-gutted youth who was now attempting to crawl out of the door.

'Ah, yes,' Aemilia said, as if she had just remembered something important. She bent over the young soldier and pulled at a pouch at his belt.

'I thought you had it,' she said triumphantly, recovering her jewelled dagger. 'Where are your lusty promises now, Marcus?' And she drew the blade across the boy's throat with appalling suddenness, so that his blood painted the mosaic floor bright red. She looked up and saw the horror on Rufus's face.

'What do you think he would have done to me if you hadn't come, he and that pig over there?' She pointed at the one-eyed veteran. 'Do you want me to tell you what they planned for me? I'm sure you'd find it instructive.'