Working for Caligula was a masterclass in the absurd. By noon, Lucius was documenting the emperor’s "victory" over the sea. He stood on the shores of the Mediterranean as legionnaires—the fiercest warriors in the known world—viciously stabbed the waves with their gladii.
One evening, Caligula leaned in close to Lucius. The smell of expensive wine and madness was overwhelming. "Do you know why I keep you around, little scribe?" [S4E1] Working for Caligula
Lucius went back to his scrolls, his heart hammering against his ribs. He knew the truth: in the court of Caligula, you didn't work for a man, you worked for a storm. And the only way to survive a storm was to be as flexible as the reeds he used for pens. Working for Caligula was a masterclass in the absurd
The nights were the hardest. Caligula suffered from chronic insomnia and expected his staff to share it. They would wander the labyrinthine corridors of the Palatine Hill, the Emperor talking to the moon as if she were a fickle lover. One moment, he was a philosopher, quoting Homer with tears in his eyes; the next, he was a tyrant, ordering a senator’s execution because the man’s sandals creaked too loudly. One evening, Caligula leaned in close to Lucius
"Gather the spoils!" Caligula screamed over the roar of the surf.
"Remember," his predecessor had whispered while packing his bags with trembling hands, "never look him in the eye, but never look away. Never laugh unless he laughs, and for the love of the gods, if he asks you to dinner, bring your own taster."