Free Pompeii by Robert Harris Page A

you forgetting that tomorrow is a public holiday, admiral? It’s Vulcanalia, if you recall?”
    “I’m perfectly aware it’s Vulcanalia.”
    And so it is, thought Attilius. In the rush of leaving Rome and fretting about the aqueduct he had completely lost track of the calendar. The twenty-third of August, Vulcan’s day, when live fish were thrown onto bonfires, as a sacrifice, to appease the god of fire.
    “But what about the public baths?” persisted Antius.
    “Closed until further notice.”
    “They won’t like that, admiral.”
    “Well, it can’t be helped. We’ve all grown far too soft in any case.” He glanced briefly at Pomponianus. “The empire wasn’t built by men who lazed around in the baths all day. It will do some people good to have a taste of how life used to be. Gaius— draft a letter for me to sign to the aediles of Pompeii , asking them to provide whatever men and materials may be necessary for the repair of the aqueduct. You know the kind of thing. ‘In the name of the Emperor Titus Caesar Vespasianus Augustus, and in accordance with the power vested in me by the Senate and People of Rome, blah blah’—something to make them jump. Corax—it’s clear that you know the terrain around Vesuvius better than anyone else. You should be the one to ride out and locate the fault, while the aquarius assembles the main expedition in Pompeii .”
    The overseer’s mouth flapped open in dismay.
    “What’s the matter? Do you disagree?”
    “No, admiral.” Corax hid his anxiety quickly, but Attilius had noticed it. “I don’t mind looking for the break. Even so, would it not make more sense for one of us to remain at the reservoir to supervise the rationing—”
    Pliny cut him off impatiently. “Rationing will be the navy’s responsibility. It’s primarily a question of public order.”
    For a moment Corax looked as if he might be on the point of arguing, but then he bowed his head, frowning.
    From the terrace came the sound of female voices and a peal of laughter.
    He doesn’t want me to go to Pompeii , thought Attilius suddenly. This whole performance tonight—it’s been to keep me away from Pompeii .
    A woman’s elaborately coiffed head appeared in the doorway. She must have been about sixty. The pearls at her throat were the largest Attilius had ever seen. She crooked her finger at the senator. “Cascus, darling, how much longer are you planning to keep us waiting?”
    “Forgive us, Rectina,” said Pliny. “We’ve almost finished. Does anyone have anything else to add?” He glanced at each of them in turn. “No? In that case, I for one propose to finish my dinner.”
    He pushed back his chair and everyone stood. The ballast of his belly made it hard for him to rise. Gaius offered his arm, but the admiral waved him away. He had to rock forward several times and the strain of finally pushing himself up onto his feet left him breathless. With one hand he clutched at the table, with the other he reached for his glass, then stopped, his outstretched fingers hovering in midair.
    The wine had resumed its barely perceptible trembling.
    He blew out his cheeks. “I think perhaps I shall sacrifice that white bull after all, Pomponianus. And you,” he said to Attilius, “will give me back my water within two days.” He picked up the glass and took a sip. “Or—believe me—we shall all have need of Jupiter’s protection.”
     

    NOCTE INTEMPESTA
    [
23:22
hours]
    Magma movement may also disturb the local water table, and changes
in flow and temperature of groundwater may be detected.
    — ENCYCLOPEDIA OF VOLCANOES
    Two hours later—sleepless, naked, stretched out on his narrow wooden bed—the engineer lay waiting for the dawn. The familiar, hammering lullaby of the aqueduct had gone and in its place crowded all the tiny noises of the night—the creak of the sentries’ boots in the street outside, the rustle of mice in the rafters, the hacking cough of one of the slaves