The Burning Maze (The Trials of Apollo #3)(46)

‘I am the New Sun!’ he announced, beaming at the crowd as if his smile were responsible for all the warmth in the world. ‘I am Helios. I am Apollo. I am Caesar. You may now bask in my light!’

Nervous applause from the crowd. Should they grovel? Should they laugh? It was always hard to tell with Caligula, and if you got it wrong you usually died.

The emperor climbed down from his chariot. His horse was led to the hors d’oeuvres table while Caligula and his guards made their way through the crowd.

Caligula stopped and shook hands with a senator dressed as a slave. ‘You look lovely, Cassius Agrippa! Will you be my slave, then?’

The senator bowed. ‘I am your loyal servant, Caesar.’

‘Excellent!’ Caligula turned to his guards. ‘You heard the man. He is now my slave. Take him to my slave master. Confiscate all his property and money. Let his family go free, though. I’m feeling generous.’

The senator spluttered, but he could not form the words to protest. Two guards hustled him away as Caligula called after him, ‘Thank you for your loyalty!’

The crowd shifted like a herd of cattle in a thunderstorm. Those who had been surging forward, anxious to catch the emperor’s eye and perhaps win his favour, now tried their best to melt into the pack.

‘It’s a bad night,’ some whispered in warning to their colleagues. ‘He’s having a bad night.’

‘Marcus Philo!’ cried the emperor, cornering a poor young man who had been attempting to hide behind the two-man donkey. ‘Come out here, you scoundrel!’

‘Pr-Princeps,’ the man stuttered.

‘I loved the satire you wrote about me,’ Caligula said. ‘My guards found a copy of it in the Forum and brought it to my attention.’

‘S-sire,’ said Philo. ‘It was only a weak jest. I didn’t mean –’

‘Nonsense!’ Caligula smiled at the crowd. ‘Isn’t Philo great, everybody? Didn’t you like his work? The way he described me as a rabid dog?’

The crowd was on the verge of full panic. The air was so full of electricity that I wondered if my father was there in disguise.

‘I promised that poets would be free to express themselves!’ Caligula announced. ‘No more paranoia like in old Tiberius’s reign. I admire your silver tongue, Philo. I think everyone should have a chance to admire it. I will reward you!’

Philo gulped. ‘Thank you, lord.’

‘Guards,’ said Caligula, ‘take him away. Pull his tongue out, dip it in molten silver and display it in the Forum where everyone can admire it. Really, Philo – wonderful work!’

Two praetorians hauled away the screaming poet.

‘And you there!’ Caligula called.

Only then did I realize the crowd had ebbed around me, leaving me exposed. Suddenly, Caligula was in my face. His beautiful eyes narrowed as he studied my costume, my godly physique.

‘I don’t recognize you,’ he said.

I wanted to speak. I knew that I had nothing to fear from Caesar. If it came to the worst, I could simply say, Bye! and vanish in a cloud of glitter. But, I have to admit, in Caligula’s presence, I was awestruck. The young man was wild, powerful, unpredictable. His audacity took my breath away.

At last, I managed a bow. ‘I am a mere actor, Caesar.’

‘Oh, indeed!’ Caligula brightened. ‘And you play the gladiator. Would you fight to the death in my honour?’

I silently reminded myself that I was immortal. It took a little convincing. I drew my gladiator’s sword, which was nothing but a costume blade of soft tin. ‘Point me to my opponent, Caesar!’ I scanned the audience and bellowed, ‘I will destroy anyone who threatens my lord!’

To demonstrate, I lunged and poked the nearest praetorian guard in the chest. My sword bent against his breastplate. I held aloft my ridiculous weapon, which now resembled the letter Z.

A dangerous silence followed. All eyes fixed on Caesar.

Finally, Caligula laughed. ‘Well done!’ He patted my shoulder, then snapped his fingers. One of his servants shuffled forward and handed me a heavy pouch of gold coins.

Caligula whispered in my ear, ‘I feel safer already.’

The emperor moved on, leaving onlookers laughing with relief, some casting envious glances at me as if to ask, What is your secret?

After that, I stayed away from Rome for decades. It was a rare man who could make a god nervous, but Caligula unsettled me. He almost made a better Apollo than I did.

My dream changed. I saw Herophile again, the Sibyl of Erythraea, reaching out her shackled arms, her face lit red by the roiling lava below.

‘Apollo,’ she said, ‘it won’t seem worth it to you. I’m not sure it is myself. But you must come. You must hold them together in their grief.’

I sank into the lava, Herophile still calling my name as my body broke and crumbled into ash.

I woke up screaming, lying on top of a sleeping bag in the Cistern.

Aloe Vera hovered over me, her prickly triangles of hair mostly snapped off, leaving her with a glistening buzz cut.

‘You’re okay,’ she assured me, putting her cool hand against my fevered forehead. ‘You’ve been through a lot, though.’

I realized I was wearing only my underwear. My entire body was beet maroon, slathered in aloe. I couldn’t breathe through my nose. I touched my nostrils and discovered I had been fitted with small green aloe nose plugs.