Unfortunately, it wasn’t going to plan. After an hour of wandering back and forth, he approached a man who’d just finished taking a long drink at a water fountain. The man quickly darted away. Indeed, the more Nick thought about it, the more his presence reminded him of detergent dropped into a pan of oily water. The rush to give him space was almost palpable.
So how was he to get to know them if he couldn’t get close?
“Don’t you know it’s dangerous for a mouse to talk to a lion?”
Nick turned. He was being addressed by a man standing at one of the many shrines that had been set up at the junction of two viae. His clothes were rumpled and worn, as if he’d spent one too many nights sleeping on the street. And yet he wasn’t cowering away like all the others.
“Surely the mouse would be too fast for the lion to catch?”
The vagrant grinned. “But if he was caught, then the mouse wouldn’t get to meet another lion, would he?”
Nick nodded, smiled and approached the shrine. The man indicated downwards. There was a collection of dice and tablets near his feet. Getting closer, Nick saw that these objects were the man’s property, and not part of the shrine itself. So he wasn’t a vagrant, but an itinerant fortune-teller. One perhaps unlucky enough to get trapped inside Pompeii by the eruption.
“You’re making offerings to Mercury,” said Nick, indicating towards a roughly moulded statue. It sat inside a niche cut into the building next to the crossroads. Ready to accept any and all offerings.
“I am here to allow access to his wisdom,” replied the man. “Although my services are, of course, nothing when set against your access to the almighty Augustus.”
Nick hesitated. With the difference in language and pronunciation he couldn’t quite tell if the man was being sarcastic. But this was the only person who seemed willing to talk to him. Nick pointed towards the dice. “Perhaps you could provide me with advice, and I will see how accurate your readings of the gods are?”
Nodding, the man reached for a small pouch tied to his belt. It jingled with coins. He held it out and Nick added a couple of coins to the collection.
Payment made, Nick crouched alongside the oracle and scattered the five dice across the pavement. He noted they were real knuckles, probably sheep. Their edges were marked with simple Roman numerals, scratched into the bone, possibly with a metal blade. It looked like a new set.
As soon as the dice stopped rolling, the oracle reached for his tablets. He made a great show of checking and counting the dice before finding the right combinations on his chart. His expression changed as he moved from concentration to epiphany. “Take care when moving the rock,” he said, his voice suddenly full of melodramatic zeal. “Because when the sun shines, the most dangerous scorpions seek shade.”
Nick smiled. He knew the combinations on the chart gave only a limited series of possible outcomes, and the one he’d just been given was almost the same as that which he’d read at a site near Turkey. “And will I be able to avoid the scorpion’s sting?” he asked. “Or will I end up being an unlucky mouse?”
“You are a lion,” said the man. “Not a mouse. And take care not to mix the words of a god with a simple parable. But, yes, I can answer your question.”
Again the purse was offered. This time, Nick didn’t bite. “I already know the answer,” he said. “I’m simply here to test the services you’re offering to the other mice.”
The man smiled, though this time with a breath of irritation. Nevertheless, he picked up the five knucklebones from the floor and offered them to Nick. Nick rolled them again and waited for the tablets to be consulted.
The oracle’s face turned sombre. “You will survive, but with sacrifice.”
“Thank you.” Although he was crouched down, Nick could see out of the corner of his eye that he was being observed by a small crowd. But now he’d played along, he needed to take the chance to ask some questions of his own. He was just about to pose the first when the oracle shrank back against the wall.
Puzzled, Nick turned and found the slave owned by Barbatus standing behind him. Cato’s teeth were bared behind the mess of scar tissue. “The duumvir would like to know if you’re free to attend a gathering tonight.”
Would like to know. The words had almost been spat. Maybe Barbatus had decided to beat some manners into the slave. Nick winced at the thought. It certainly hadn’t been his intention to cause any trouble. “Thank you,” he said. “I would be delighted.”
35
KIRSTEN SAT NEAR the door and waited. The man in the heavy canvas coat had returned only once. He hadn’t brought McMahon. Instead, he’d tossed a pile of clothes in front of her – jeans, T-shirt, jumper – and placed a wooden tray on the floor.
Food.
A bowl of hot stew and a piece of crusty bread. She’d rushed to it immediately but, given it was the first food she’d tasted in years, it felt strange to eat. On every swallow she felt like she was going to choke – and it took a long while for her body to remind her gullet of how to transfer solids from her mouth to her stomach.
The clothes also felt odd. Somehow restrictive and unnecessary. But they also held the coldness of the basement at bay, and made her feel more human. More civilised. Less like a lost animal. And less of an object in her jailer’s eyes.
With the food finished, Kirsten got to her feet and crossed the basement to the door. It looked and felt solid. She started to hammer on it with her fists. Loudly.
It didn’t take long before she heard his footsteps.
Kirsten moved quickly, and sat on the floor at the far side of the basement. As far as she could from the door, near the toys. She pretended to play with them, pushing the toy cars around with the tip of her finger, cradling one of the dolls. Like a child.
The door to the basement opened, carefully. The man in the canvas coat stood behind it. He rubbed his eyes like he’d been asleep. Maybe she’d woken him. Maybe that explained his look of irritation.
He watched her playing with the toys, and Kirsten looked back and smiled. She didn’t say anything. She just looked at him. Opening her eyes wide, and keeping her focus at a slight upward angle. Then she turned back to the toys, and continued to play.
“Keep it down,” said the man, his voice cold. He backed out. The door closed, and she heard it lock. She started to count. She knew how many seconds were in a minute, and how many seconds were in an hour. When she got to just short of four thousand, she’d start to hammer on the door again. Louder and louder until he came back. And again he’d find her playing with the toys. On the other side of the basement, far from the door.
But not the third time. On the third visit she’d be standing close to the hinges. And the frustration at twice being awoken would have long since turned to anger. And the door wouldn’t open carefully, it would open wide.
And then she would get out.
36
AS NICK APPROACHED the House of Barbatus, he noticed the main door to the street had been left open. But this time there was no queue waiting for a chance to see the duumvir. Instead, a thick din of conversation and laughter came from the corridor leading to the atrium.
Nick hesitated on the threshold – listening to the voices echoing out into the street. He’d not told Whelan about the invitation. But then again, he’d not seen the operations chief that day. And with no clear rules on what he could and couldn’t do, it seemed sensible to take advantage of the opportunity.
Not that it would put him any closer to the ordinary people of Pompeii. After all, the duumvir would hardly have invited just anyone off the street. No, inside the townhouse would be a collection of powerful locals. Which would be useful but potentially less interesting than getting to know the class of people below them.
Idiot. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. He started along the atrium corridor. The noise became louder with each step. But when he finally reached the porter’s cubbyhole, everyone fell silent. There were about thirty Romans staring at him, men an
d women in their best togas and stolae. Despite the invitation, those inside clearly hadn’t been expecting him.
He glanced to his left. Barbatus’ sentry was standing guard, the curtain to his station tied back. It indicated he’d be there for the rest of the evening. But although the porter’s chin had already jutted forward, he wasn’t making any moves to stop him. Nick took a couple of steps forward. Forcing a smile, he kept his hands as loosely as he could by his sides – but he could already feel his fingertips shaking. Where the hell was Barbatus?
“Pullus! Welcome! Welcome!”
The bellow had come from the far side of the atrium. The duumvir stepped out from the crowd. The porter shrank back into his hole. The other guests remained quiet.
Nick glanced around the atrium, trying to kill the seconds before Barbatus reached him. The ongoing renovation work had been hastily covered by draped sheets and wooden screens. But the atrium was also filling up with pieces of furniture – including a metal-strapped wooden chest, which had been placed at the head of the impluvium. There for all to see, and something that shouted this was a rich man’s home.
“Pullus!”
Barbatus slapped him hard on the shoulder and broke into a wide grin. “I’m pleased you could attend our little party.”
It was clear Barbatus wasn’t really talking to Nick. He was addressing his other guests. A soundbite to assuage their suspicions, and show them their leader remained in charge. And he had a big audience. Apart from the thirty or so people standing around the central pool, undisturbed laughter indicated there were more in the garden of the peristylium beyond. Perhaps seventy or eighty guests were packed into the house – and that didn’t include the slaves bobbing and weaving between them.
“Thank you for your invitation,” said Nick, following his host’s lead and projecting his voice.
“Not at all. Drink! Get this man a drink!”
From the crowd, a slave darted forward with a goblet of wine. Nick took it, and then realised everyone was waiting for him to taste it. Rather theatrically, he took a small mouthful and nodded his appreciation. Indeed, it was a good drink. Much better than the stuff served at McMahon’s dinners.
“Good,” continued Barbatus. “Now, let’s get you away from the door.”
They took a few steps further into the atrium, but the atmosphere remained tense. Just as Nick began to rack his brain for something to say, a small man appeared at the doorway to the tablinum and made his way across to them. It didn’t take long for Nick to place him: the weasel-faced man he’d seen at the House of McMahon. Up close, he looked about twenty years younger than the duumvir. “Lucius Salonius Naso,” said the man. “Aedile.”
Nick smiled back. “Decimus Horatius Pullus.”
“A good Roman name.”
Barbatus snorted. “Well, we won’t go into that again. You met my daughter at the temple.”
It wasn’t a question. Either Calpurnia had told him, or he’d had her followed. Either way, it was obvious Barbatus knew. “Yes. At the Temple of Fortuna Augusta.”
“No matter. You are here now and that is good. Come through to the garden and have a few of our figs.”
The other guests continued to stare as Nick followed Barbatus and Naso through the tablinum and into the garden beyond. As he suspected, the peristylium was filled with people. Some were standing under the colonnade, concentrated near tables of food. On one of the walls a half-finished fresco of what looked like a plump, nude Venus was beginning to emerge. Otherwise, the ongoing works were less well hidden than in the main house. The view into the property next door had been left unmasked. It looked like additional rooms were being constructed.
“I’m building private baths,” Barbatus said. “Now we have decent running water, it seemed only wise.”
Nick felt the academic side of his brain tick over. There’d been a lot of debate as to whether the private water supply in Pompeii was working at the time of the eruption. From the excavations, it was thought that at least one bathhouse had been out of action. But did the rich have access to their own separate supply? Or had that also been damaged in the earthquake of AD 62?
“Augustus works in mysterious ways,” said Naso, almost to himself. Even with his unfamiliar accent, it was clear his comment was laced with irony. “He protects only a fraction of the town, but manages to fix our pipes.”
Nick didn’t say anything, but felt himself wince. Because although the tourists milling around old Pompeii probably didn’t notice, what they were actually seeing were buildings that had been damaged well before the eruption. Which probably made the place these people found themselves in all the more wondrous.
“Do you have any idea, Pullus, how frustrating it was to have a glorious bathhouse and no water to put in it?”
Nick nodded, but his thoughts were quickly evaporating. As had happened in the atrium, conversation was slowly fading as the other guests caught sight of him.
“It was something I’d bugged Titus about,” Barbatus continued. “Perhaps you don’t know, as you’re new here, but there was an earthquake – oh, about twenty years ago now. Left half the town in rubble, and everyone had to use the public fountains. We’d not got halfway through rebuilding by the time the ground started shaking again…”
Barbatus let his words trail off. Looking round, Nick noticed Calpurnia at the far side of the garden. She was sitting at the corner of a long table, leaning back and probably trying to get some relief from the weight of her stomach. His analysis at the temple had been correct. She was pregnant. It was also clear Barbatus wasn’t going to facilitate a second introduction. Instead, he led him back across to the niche, and they went through the motions of thanking the household gods. Once finished, Barbatus moved them on towards a long trestle table pushed up against the peristylium’s rear wall.
The duumvir picked a few figs from a pewter plate. Naso appeared at his shoulder. “We should meet again tomorrow,” said the aedile, “rather than now.”
Nick saw that Naso’s eyes were in continuous movement, checking each person within the peristyle. Likely calculating if they were close enough to hear what they were saying. Possibly considering if they were judging him by association. Barbatus didn’t seem to care.
“You know, Pullus,” he said. “Every day, I see dozens of people in this town. They either come to my door for an early audience, or meet me in the forum as part of my public duties. Naso sees just as many.”
“But no one’s seeing me to complain about the state of the roads,” added the aedile, his voice strained.
Nick reached for a fig. The fruit stuck against the dryness of his mouth. He was forced to take another mouthful of wine just to swallow it.
“Look,” continued Barbatus, “we invited you here to share our concerns.”
“You have regular meetings with us…”
“But you are someone who appears to have better hearing than your friends.”
Nick reached for a second fig, but didn’t eat it. He let it rest in his palm, in part so he had something to hold. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to help… being new here myself.”
Naso leant forward. “We’re growing concerned about the town’s security.”
Nick was about to deflect the comment – to again fall back on the script – but something in the aedile’s eyes made him pause. “From what I’ve seen, the town seems to be well run. Considering what’s happened.”
Naso sighed and turned to his host. “This is a waste of time.”
Barbatus ignored him. “People are starting to wonder where their food is coming from. And their money.”
“But there’s plenty of food. The market is full…”
“Of course there’s plenty of food. But for how long? People used to be able to see healthy crops in the fields, the ships, the merchants. They used to know where it was coming from, and that their supply was secure.”
Nick laughed. A cliché had come into his mind. “I don’t know where the sun goes each night,” h
e said. “But I bet you it will rise tomorrow.”
“True. But, as duumvir and aedile, we’re expected to provide for this town. And yet we don’t know where our money is coming from. Most of my guests here are hoarding coin, not throwing parties.”
“And certainly not organising games for the arena,” Naso added, his voice growing increasingly reedy.
“These are real concerns, Pullus. And we want you to take them back to your people. The crust of civilisation is thin, and the people will react if it is broken.”
“Most of the Empire has been in flames.”
“And yet no one can see a mountain looming above the town,” Barbatus said. “Nor can they see any ash or smoke in the sky. Where is the threat, Pullus? Where are the burning fields?”
“Fuck this,” whispered Naso, his voice likely carrying further than he had intended. A look from Barbatus caused him to lower it before he continued, “Do you know what happens when people find a focus for their fear? They attack. They attack their leaders.” He glanced at a nearby slave. “They attack their masters. And they attack monsters – whether they are real or not.”
Nick felt a sharp pain shoot through his temple. “Are you making a threat?”
Barbatus slapped Nick on his arm. It took a second for him to realise the duumvir’s attention was focused over his left shoulder. He turned to find Calpurnia heading towards them.
“Three things,” said Barbatus, directly into his ear. “The first is we shall speak again. The second is she’s no longer married. And the third is that she’s only had two births. So although she’s old, the field is still fertile.”
Both Barbatus and Naso quickly beat their separate retreats. By the time Calpurnia reached Nick, the duumvir and the aedile were already chatting with other guests.
“Pullus,” she said. “I hope you’re well?”
“Yes—”
“I thought I’d rescue you from my father’s politics… and Naso.” Her nose wrinkled. “The man’s a trader, you know.”
New Pompeii Page 16
