I Survived the Destruction of Pompeii, AD 79

by Lauren Tarshis

  “Dear gods,” the man whispered. A mask seemed to drop from his face, baring his fear. “Festus,” he said. “We must warn the magistrates at once! We must order people to leave the city!”

  And before Festus could reply, the man had rushed off. With surprising speed, he sprinted across the Forum. He rushed past the guards and disappeared into the government building.

  “This is nonsense —” Festus bellowed.

  But his words were cut off by a loud whoosh from the sky just above them.

  Marcus looked up just in time to see a giant flaming fireball closing in on them.

  “Look out!” someone screamed.

  Tata grabbed Marcus and they dove for cover behind an enormous statue.

  And then —

  Kaboom!

  The flaming boulder hit the street with a deafening explosion.

  Small shards of rock showered over Marcus and Tata.

  But the explosion had spared them.

  They struggled to their feet and made their way back to the street, where a crowd had formed. He heard gasps and wails of shock.

  As Tata and Marcus approached, one of Festus’s guards turned around.

  “The master is dead,” he announced.

  Marcus peered through the crowd. The boulder had left a shallow crater in the street.

  And in the center, lying in a broken heap, was Festus.

  Marcus looked away.

  He expected to feel happy. Festus was dead!

  But it turned out there was no pleasure in seeing anyone’s broken body, not even the body of someone as hateful as Festus.

  Marcus looked up at the roiling cloud spewing from Vesuvius.

  And all he could feel was terror.

  It seemed the magistrates had listened to Festus’s visitor from Rome. Within minutes, guards were rushing out of the Forum, shouting out warnings.

  “Leave the city! Go directly to the gates!” they commanded.

  Tata looked at Marcus with relief.

  They had done their duty. And now, at last, they could leave Pompeii.

  But as they soon discovered, there would be no easy escape.

  Marcus and Tata joined the sea of people streaming down the main street toward the city gates. There were rich men and slaves, parents with babies in their arms and children clutching their robes. Some dragged carts piled high with clothes and dishes and baskets. Others lugged sacks.

  As they passed the gladiator barracks, Marcus glanced inside the open gates. There was a man’s body lying motionless in the grass, a pillar smashed across his back. With a jolt, Marcus realized it was the lanista. Tata saw him too. But Tata quickly looked away as he tightened his grip on Marcus’s hand. Cyclops must be somewhere in this crowd, Marcus realized. But Marcus was no longer afraid of him. Everyone in Pompeii was fighting the same enemy now, the most heartless killer of all: Vesuvius.

  Marcus and Tata inched along with the crowd.

  The sounds from the volcano were getting louder. But most frightening was the darkening sky. An enormous dark cloud had swept down from the mountain. It stretched over the city, turning the day to night. The cloud was black and boiling, and it rumbled with thunder. And then the cloud tore open.

  Bits of rock fell from the sky. They were very small and light, almost like bits of ice.

  Tata caught some in his hand.

  “Hardened ash,” Tata said.

  Ping, ping, ping, they hit rooftops.

  Plop, plop, plop, they splashed into fountains.

  They bounced off Marcus’s head and shoulders and skittered across the street.

  But within minutes, the sprinkling of rocks had turned into a downpour.

  The rocks pounded down, hitting the stone streets and rooftops with an earsplitting clatter.

  Bam, bam, bam!

  The crowd erupted in panic, pushing and elbowing, shouting. Someone shoved Marcus and he almost stumbled. An old woman fell. But the crowd stampeded over her. The rocks seemed to be getting bigger, pounding harder and harder. Dust rose up, making it hard to see.

  Marcus clutched Tata’s hand. He felt as though they were caught in a stampede of terrified animals.

  “Hold on tight!” Tata shouted into Marcus’s ear. “I want us out of this crowd!”

  They pushed and squeezed their way through, dodging sharp elbows and scratching fingers. Finally, they burst their way out of the crush of screaming people. They hurried into a narrow alley.

  “Too dangerous,” Tata said breathlessly. “Many people are going to get trampled.”

  He pulled Marcus into a doorway. They pressed themselves against the wooden door, trying to escape the hail of rocks. But the downpour was even stronger now.

  Tata pointed to a small temple just ahead. “We can wait there until it stops.”

  They pulled their tunics over their heads and waded through the river of stones.

  They were just steps from the building when,

  Whoosh!

  Marcus’s heart stopped as he looked up.

  It was a huge fireball — bigger than the one that killed Festus.

  Kaboom!

  The explosion knocked Marcus back. The last thing he saw before he fell was a huge chunk of rock smacking Tata in the head. Marcus hit the ground hard, but within seconds he was back on his feet. He charged over to where Tata lay crumpled on a bed of stones.

  Marcus dropped to his knees, grabbing Tata’s hand.

  “Tata!” he cried.

  But Tata just lay there, completely still.

  Tata was breathing. Marcus could see that. But then why didn’t he open his eyes? Why didn’t Tata answer when Marcus called his name? The rock seemed to have knocked him into a deep and terrible sleep, and Marcus could not wake him up.

  The storm of rocks continued. Flaming boulders whooshed through the sky, their explosions booming all around. Somehow Marcus managed to drag Tata through the rocks. With a strength he never knew he had, he hoisted Tata up the five stairs that led through the temple’s open doorway. He laid Tata on the cold stone floor and collapsed next to him.

  Hours passed before Tata’s eyes finally fluttered open, and even longer before the fog cleared from his eyes and he could sit up. With each passing minute, it seemed, the mountain’s fury grew stronger. The booming and whooshing and thundering and pounding had melded together into a bone-rattling roar. The walls of the temple shook and groaned. They were running out of time, Marcus knew. And then suddenly Tata turned to him.

  He took Marcus’s hand. “My dear son, it is time for you to go,” he said.

  “I know,” Marcus said. “As soon as you’re strong enough we can —”

  “No,” Tata interrupted. “I’ll never make it to the gates. But if you go now you’ll still have a chance.”

  It took a moment for Marcus to understand what Tata was saying: that Marcus should escape by himself.

  “No,” Marcus said, locking eyes with Tata.

  “Please, Marcus. I have thought about this. I have considered every idea. There is no other possibility.”

  Marcus knew that this was right. But it didn’t matter.

  “I’m sorry,” Marcus said. “But I’m staying here with you.”

  He looked away so Tata wouldn’t see his tears.

  And that’s when he finally took a good look at the statue that stood right in front of them.

  The god with wings on his hat and on his sandals.

  Marcus’s whole body tingled.

  The god was Mercury.

  A strange but familiar voice whispered in his mind.

  “When hope is lost, follow the hand of Mercury.”

  The words were so clear, as though the old beggar woman was still right next to him.

  Marcus jumped up and went to the statue. He touched the marble, half expecting the statue to turn to flesh and blood, for Mercury to scoop him and Tata into his arms and fly them to the heavens.

  “What is it?” Tata said.

  He turned to Tata. “That old be
ggar woman, Tata,” Marcus explained. “There was something else she said to me.”

  He spoke her words slowly to Tata.

  Marcus waited for Tata to tell him it was crazy to believe in the ranting words of a stranger.

  But Tata didn’t shake his head. He stared at the statue intently, studying it.

  And Marcus understood that at that moment it didn’t matter whether the beggar woman’s words were science or magic or madness. Marcus felt the truth of her words in his heart. And so, it seemed, did Tata.

  Tata rose to his feet, shaking off his pain and weakness.

  “Marcus,” he said, his eyes wide with excitement. “Look at the statue’s right hand.”

  Marcus saw it too. It seemed the statue was pointing to something.

  But what? The floor was bare.

  Unless …

  Marcus dropped to his knees. He felt around the tile floor until he found a gap between two large tiles.

  His heart pounded as he dug his fingers into the gap. There was a groove in the side of one of the tiles. He lifted it up. And he could barely believe what he saw underneath.

  There was a trapdoor.

  They lifted open the door and peered into the darkness. All they could see was a rickety wooden ladder leading down into the blackness. The smell of sulfur wafted up, stinging Marcus’s eyes.

  “It must lead to some kind of tunnel,” Tata said.

  “Where does the tunnel go?” Marcus asked.

  “There are tunnels under many Roman cities,” Tata said. “Most lead out of the city. People used them to escape in an enemy attack.”

  But what if this tunnel didn’t lead out of the city?

  Before he could ask, Tata was climbing down the ladder. He was quickly swallowed by the pitch darkness.

  Seconds later his voice echoed up from below.

  “Yes, Marcus, it’s a tunnel! Come quickly!”

  Marcus climbed onto the ladder and fumbled his way down, down, down.

  When he reached the bottom, Tata took his arm.

  “This way,” Tata said, turning him. “Follow closely behind me.”

  They moved blindly into a narrow passage, crawling on their hands and knees. It was hot as an oven and the passage was so narrow that their shoulders brushed against the rough sides. The stink of sulfur made Marcus gag. Sweat poured into his eyes. His heart hammered. The tunnel seemed endless. And the farther they went, the more terrified Marcus felt.

  What if the sulfur killed them? What if the tunnel collapsed?

  Marcus tried to fix his thoughts on his heroes, to gather strength from the stories that had always inspired him. He imagined he was Odysseus, braving the wild seas as he returned home from a decade of fighting. He thought of Hercules, fighting the ferocious beasts. But those stories were of no help to him now. His muscles cramped, his arms and legs shook so violently that it was hard to move. A terrifying idea took hold of him: that this tunnel would never end, that he would be forever trapped in this evil darkness. They’d never make it out.

  But suddenly his mind flashed to a new story, one that was still being written.

  And it was this story that gave Marcus the strength to keep moving.

  It was the story of a slave boy who saved his own father by hurling a live cobra through the air, who escaped from killer clouds, leaping flames, and fiery boulders that came hurtling from the sky. He was not favored by the gods or aided by powerful kings. It was the strange words of a mysterious beggar woman that guided him. A tattered mare who carried him. And his father — so wise and good and brave — who showed him the way through the darkness.

  It was this heroic boy who kept crawling through the tunnel as tears poured from his stinging eyes, who found the strength to help Tata kick open the door at the end of the tunnel. They clawed through piles of rocks to get to the surface, just outside the city gates of Pompeii. They staggered across a stone-covered field to the olive grove.

  The old white mare was waiting for them.

  Marcus put his face close to Peg’s, looking into her gentle eye. Tata gently brushed away the rocks and ash that covered her coat.

  “You waited,” Marcus said.

  Snort.

  Of course she hadn’t left them.

  Marcus and Tata climbed onto Peg’s back.

  Without so much as a tap, the mare took off toward Rome. She ran swiftly, her feet barely touching the ground.

  They were many miles away when the cloud of ash and gas above Vesuvius collapsed down to earth. The cloud ignited, turning into a flaming whirlwind that blasted down the mountain at speeds faster than any chariot.

  Within seconds, the city of Pompeii was burned and buried.

  But the horror of Pompeii was now behind Marcus, and all he felt of the mountain’s fury was a whisper of heat on his back.

  He gripped Tata tightly, and together they looked ahead, for the bright lights of Rome.

  I’m always sad to say good-bye to my characters when I finish writing one of my I Survived books. By the time I finally polish up my last draft, my characters seem real to me — dear friends or even family. Marcus and Tata are especially close to my heart, maybe because I had to travel so far back in time to get to know them — almost two thousand years.

  I kept reminding myself how very long ago it was that Pompeii was destroyed. It was before the United States was a country, before Christopher Columbus sailed the seas, before the time of the knights and the great castles of the Middle Ages. Pompeii is in Italy. But two thousand years ago, the country of Italy didn’t yet exist. Most of Europe and parts of Africa were all combined in one huge kingdom known as the Roman Empire.

  In many ways, life in ancient Roman times was brutal. Slavery was common. Those horrific gladiator shows attracted thousands of delighted fans. Rome’s armies were always on the march, conquering new territories and dragging home new slaves. Without medicines and vaccines, most people died young.

  But in some ways, life in ancient Pompeii was surprisingly similar to our lives today. Like you and your friends, the kids of Pompeii (those who were not slaves) went to school, learned math, read stories and poems, and played sports. They loved their pet dogs. Just as you obsess over your favorite football or basketball stars, kids of Pompeii were wild about championship gladiators. There were even fast-food restaurants: Pompeii’s streets were lined with little stalls that served up soup and stews and bread to people on the go.

  I learned all of this during a recent visit to Pompeii. Most of the city has been uncovered and is now an enormous outdoor museum. My husband, David, and I walked through the streets, admired the fountains and statues and mosaics and the graffiti carved into the walls. I even stood in the grassy arena of Pompeii’s amphitheater, where thousands of gladiators fought their brutal matches.

  It was like traveling back in time, and it was on that trip that I discovered my characters. And of course I met the most frightening “character” of all: the mountain Vesuvius.

  There it was, looming over Pompeii just as it did back in AD 79. Vesuvius is now silent and beautiful and green, though it is missing its top, which was blown to pieces in AD 79. But I wasn’t fooled. Vesuvius remains one of the most dangerous volcanoes in the world. During my visit, I was always nervously peeking up at that big green mountain, checking for wisps of smoke.

  I learned so much while I was writing this book. But as always, there is so much more I want to share with you! So I’ve thought about the questions that might be on your mind, and tried to come up with clear answers. I hope what you’ve learned in my book will inspire you to do more research, to take your own trip back in time.

  I wish I could go with you.

  Nunc valete! (Good-bye for now!)

  How many people died in the eruption of Vesuvius?

  There are no records of how many people lived in Pompeii, and how many were killed. But experts estimate that as many as twenty thousand people lived in Pompeii and in its surrounding towns. Of those, between ten thousand and s
ixteen thousand likely died.

  Many people did escape in the first hours after the eruption. Most of those who stayed behind were likely killed by the waves of gases and fire that swept down the mountain. These pyroclastic surges traveled at 400 miles per hour, and instantly burned everything in their paths.

  What happened to Pompeii after the eruption?

  The eruption lasted for three days and buried Pompeii under thirty feet of ash and stone. Word of the disaster reached Rome, and the emperor sent a small team to investigate. But it’s unlikely they — or anyone — got too close. For months afterward, the ground must have been very hot. Poisonous gases continued to seep from the earth. There were continuous earth tremors.

  In the early years after the eruption, people did try to tunnel into the ruins to find their belongings — or to steal. But as the decades passed, the city was slowly forgotten.

  By the year AD 500, the great Roman Empire had crumbled. Cities were invaded by “barbarians” — hordes of fighters from the north and from Asia. These invaders stole whatever they could and destroyed the rest. Most written records of history were lost. Europe was plunged into a terrible time known as the Dark Ages. There was little learning, art, or interest in science and history. People struggled to simply survive during a time of fear and superstition.

  How was Pompeii rediscovered?

  Many, many centuries passed. The mountain “healed” from the eruption. Grass and trees grew back. People slowly returned to the areas around the mountain. Farmers once again planted olive groves and farms on the slopes. The Dark Ages ended.

  By the 1600s, new cities had been born all around Europe and a few bold settlers had headed across the Atlantic Ocean to a strange land called America. People in Europe were interested in learning and discovery again. Many became fascinated by the ancient Roman civilization that had vanished. Around Vesuvius, there were rumors of a beautiful city that once stretched out below the mountain. Every so often a well digger or farmer would discover an intriguing artifact — the arm of a statue, a chunk of a mosaic.