Gore Vidal’s Caligula by William Howard Read Free Book Online Page B

Drusus, had died, Tiberius often referred to Caligula as his successor. But Caligula had his doubts. Tiberius had a grandson of his own, little Tiberius Gemellus, Drusus’ son. Or was he Drusus’ son? Gossip had it that he was not, that little Gemellus had been fathered by the lecherous, adulterous, murderous Sejanus, Captain of the Praetorian Guard. Sejanus and Livilla, who was Drusus’ wife—Tiberius’ daughter-in-law and Caligula’s aunt—had been carrying on a secret affair for years.
    But Tiberius, who usually seized upon slander with malicious eagerness, chose not to listen to that particular piece of gossip. Not that the Emperor cared much for his daughter-in-law, but at that time Sejanus could do no wrong in Tiberius’ eyes.
    In those days Sejanus lorded it over Rome, second in power only to Tiberius himself, and his partner in crime. Egging each other on, the two of them subjected Rome to such a tyrannical bloodbath that not one noble family escaped intact.
    Caligula’s days were filled with terror, and his nights with the Dream. He couldn’t count on Tiberius’ affections, which came and vanished like a mist, and he fully expected that any day his mutilated body would be hurled over the cliffs into the sea below, a favorite pastime of Tiberius’ on Capri. Caligula had been promised the Empire, but the old man showed no signs of letting it go. He was over seventy, stronger and meaner than ever. It was true that Caligula amused him, but he showed little affection to the boy.
    “Do your dance, Little Boots,” he would call out, his painted Greek drinking cup sloshing out wine. “Do the Caligula dance.” And the young man, feeling like a fool with every eye upon him, would have to stomp the little dance the soldiers had applauded when he was a child. Hopping from foot to foot, Caligula could see the malicious laughter in the old man’s glittering eyes, the rapacious eyes of the Dream, and he would shiver while he danced.
    How he missed Drusilla then, longing for her understanding and her love, as well as for the voluptuous charms of her body—though of bodies he had more than enough. Tiberius, finding in his adoptive grandson a broad streak of perversion that echoed his own, introduced him to the “pleasures” of the Villa Io. Caligula entered a maelstrom of demented sensuality in which pain and pleasure were so equally mixed as to be indistinguishable. At the Villa Io, he learned the delights of torture, and of absolute power over the bodies of others, even those who were not slaves. It gave him a taste for the depraved, a hunger for sadistic pleasure that he still sought to fill.
    Things were different now. He was no longer nineteen; he was twenty-six, and Tiberius was seventy-seven. Sejanus was dead at last. And Tiberius had learned the truth, that Livilla and Sejanus, the guilty lovers, had murdered Drusus, Tiberius’ only son. Perhaps things would go well at Capri, after all. Perhaps Tiberius, understanding that Gemellus just might not be his legitimate grandson, would declare Caligula his heir, and announce Caligula’s succession in writing to the Senate and the people of Rome. They’d never refuse to make him Emperor. He was a popular favorite—their pet, Little Boots.
    On the other hand—and the thought made Caligula’s heart sink—it was just as logical that Tiberius had brought him to Capri to kill him, most likely by poison. Just because he was a popular favorite, and the last remaining son of another popular favorite. Perhaps Tiberius knew that he could never get away with having Caligula murdered in Rome, but here in Capri a regrettable but convenient “accident” could be arranged. Poor Little Boots, what a tragedy, and him so young! He might have made a fine Emperor, had the gods spared him.
    It was a glorious day, but Caligula pulled his cloak more tightly around his shivering body. The keel of the bireme was scraping sand now. They had reached Capri.

CHAPTER THREE

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