Lucia winced when she leaned back against a tree. She’d forgotten the shawl she’d bound to her back. She lifted it over her head and placed it in front of Tag.
“What is in here?”
“The money I had put away for us,” she said. “You know, the hoard. I went back for it before I started looking for you.”
“Smart girl,” he murmured.
She smiled up at him. “It should be enough to pay our way to Thurii, I think.”
Tag sat next to her, suddenly looking stricken. She leaned toward him. “What is the matter?”
“I … I didn’t grab any medical things. I started to, but then the mountain exploded, and I was only thinking of getting Castor to safety. But I can’t start treating people without supplies.”
She touched the scowl lines breaking through the caked ash on his forehead, then caressed his cheek. “We will just buy some with my savings. It will be all right. There is enough here to get us through.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Do not be sorry. We are together, and we’re going to be free.”
He leaned forward and kissed her. He tasted of ash, salt, and sweat. She closed her eyes.
“Ugh,” Castor said. “You look like statues kissing.”
They grinned at each other, and a sense of giddy exultation hit them both at the same time.
“I love you, Lucia, my heart,” Tag whispered, kissing her again.
“And I love you, Tages the Etruscan Prophet.”
“Can I play with the treasure while you kiss?” Castor asked, untying the shawl and digging his hands into the pile of coins and jewels.
Lucia smiled. “Just for a moment,” she said.
“Oooh, what is this?” he asked, holding out her brother’s ring.
“It was once my brother’s, but now it belongs to Tag,” she said. “It means he’s free.”
Castor tipped his head slightly and frowned. “Is it a magic ring?”
She looked at Tag, whose expression of surprise made her grin. “Put it on. Put it on and never take it off. Nobody will ever treat you as a slave again while you wear this.”
“But how does the magic ring make him free?” Castor said.
“It’s not magic. It marks him as a citizen,” Lucia explained.
The boy continued frowning. “But … but who freed him?”
“No one —” she began.
“She did,” Tag said.
Castor looked more confused than ever. Lucia took Tag’s wrist and slipped the ring onto the fourth finger of his right hand. “Never take it off, do you hear me?” she whispered.
He nodded and gripped her hand tight.
“Well, can you free me too?” the boy cried.
“All right,” she said. “I now declare you free. You are no longer a slave.”
“Where is my cizimen ring that says I’m free?”
She chuckled.
“You will get your citizen’s ring when you are a man,” Tag explained.
“Oh.” The boy looked at Tag with a skeptical scowl. “I thought only the master could free us.”
“The master is my father, remember,” Lucia said. “And that is enough.” She didn’t want to have to explain that they weren’t free according to Roman law, that Castor was right: Only her father could legally manumit them. But they were starting anew, and they would start free. All of them. It was the only way.
Castor seemed to accept her answer and went back to digging through the treasure. After a few more minutes’ rest, Tag began gathering their things. “Help me pack up,” he ordered the boy.
“NO!” Castor shouted with unusual force.
Tag’s and Lucia’s heads snapped up, and they looked at Castor with wide, astonished eyes.
The little boy crossed his arms. “I don’t have to do anything you tell me now that I’m free!”
Lucia suppressed a smile.
“You have to do what I tell you,” Tag said as he tied up the shawl. “Because I am like your father, your apa now. And all boys must obey their apas.”
Lucia saw the expression on the boy’s face and signaled to Tag, who paused in his packing.
“This is true?” Castor asked shyly. “That you are like my apa?”
“Yes.”
“Like my apa or now my actual apa?”
“Both. No. Your actual apa. From here on out.”
She waited for the boy to ask her if she would be his mater — but he didn’t, which, she had to admit, gave her a pang of disappointment. Perhaps that would come later. Still, she liked the idea of the three of them together, like a family. It felt comforting somehow. More hopeful. And it would provide an excellent cover: Her father would set slave catchers on the lookout for his daughter and a male slave, not for a young family.
“Can I call you apa?” Castor asked Tag in a quiet voice.
Lucia watched Tag carefully. It was hard to tell with the caked-on ash, but it seemed as if a pang of grief shot through him at the question. He must have been thinking about poor Damocles. She squeezed his hand.
Tag smiled at Castor, though, and ruffled his ashy hair. “Yes, you can call me apa.”
The beaming smile the boy gave him in return made Lucia’s entire being swell with love for Tag.
They set off again, with every step like an exaggerated pantomime of walking. The accumulation sucked at their feet, so it felt as if small demons held their ankles until the last possible moment, when they released them with a pop, only to grab them again with the next step. It was slow going.
As they walked, Tag pressed a kiss on Lucia’s forehead. His throat grew tight as he thought about what she’d given up for him, about the way she’d looked at him when she slipped the citizen ring onto his finger. He had not known it was possible to love someone as he loved her. It made him ache, and — at the same time — drove him to promise himself that he would devote the rest of his life to making her happy.
And then he grew giddy again. The rest of their lives. Free!
They reluctantly moved closer to the main road when they neared the Sarnus River, which roiled and foamed with rocks, pumice, and debris. Crossing the main bridge, along with everyone else, was their only option.
When a break between groups of refugees emerged — which seemed to take an age — the three of them scurried onto the bridge. The wooden pass creaked and groaned, and Tag wondered how long its supports would last under the constant deluge of rocks and people.
Once on the other side, Tag heaved a sigh of relief. They stayed on the main road for some time, which pleased him, but it wasn’t long before Lucia suggested they once again move away from the stream of people. “It will be all right,” he said. “Truly. Nobody is paying attention to us.”
But he spoke too soon. A group of refugees kept looking back at them fearfully.
“We have weapons if you come any closer,” one man shouted at them. “And we will use them if you try to steal from us or take our slaves!”
“Gods, why do they think we would do that?” Lucia asked.
Tag noticed several groups gathering together ahead of them. Light from torches flickered on drawn knives and swords.
“What is happening?” Castor cried.
“It’s the shield, I think,” Tag said, remembering that the name of the gladiatorial school was clearly painted on it. “Maybe they think we’re escaped gladiators out to start another slave revolt or something.”
“Let’s move off the road, Tag, please,” Lucia urged.
Without another word, Tag led them away from the road and they resumed their parallel trek.
He noticed Lucia kept peering behind them. “We are well away from the road,” he said. “Do not worry, mi ocelle.”
She shook her head. “I know. It’s just that …”
“What?”
“I think … I think someone is following us.”
Fear stabbed through his belly. “Impossible.”
“There is a light that has consistently
trailed us. It got closer while we waited to cross the bridge, and then it left the road when we did.”
He turned to look. She was right. A small light moved toward them in a steady march. Did he imagine the light listed a little, as if the person was limping?
“Perhaps someone got confused and followed us, thinking we were still on the main road,” she said, almost hopefully. “It would be understandable in this darkness.”
He grunted. That may have been true when they first separated from the main throughway, but not now. Someone had made a deliberate decision to follow their light. Had Titurius sent a slave catcher after them? No, Titurius wouldn’t have been able to hire anyone that quickly. Could it be Titurius himself? But her father wasn’t physically capable of following them for so long, was he?
Then he remembered how much money was at stake. Lucia’s marriage to Quintus meant the survival of Titurius’s livelihood. He would never allow that kind of wealth to escape his grasp without a fight. Tag forced himself to breathe.
“We’re far enough ahead that we should still make it to Nuceria before whoever that confused soul is,” he said in a falsely calm voice. Mentioning her father would only panic everyone — especially Castor.
She nodded, but he could tell she did not feel any easier about it. Without saying a word, they began moving faster. Castor must have picked up on their anxiety, because he did not complain. For a brief time, anyway.
Despite Tag’s reassurances, Lucia kept glancing over her shoulder. “Tag,” she said quietly. “Maybe we should put out the torch. He … whoever that is … will lose us in the darkness if we don’t give him a target to follow. Then we can continue with the light after he’s gone.”
Before Tag could respond, Castor jumped in with a panicked voice. “No, the dark is scary! What if we get lost? Or an animal gets us! We have to have the light!”
Tag breathed out, agreeing. He didn’t relish the idea of maneuvering through the inky dark without their torch. “Maybe we should try the main road again,” he said. “Whoever that is won’t be able to distinguish our torch from all the others.”
Lucia shook her head. “No! You saw how those people reacted to us. And even if they aren’t hostile, they might recognize one of us. We’ve gone too far to risk it. Let’s just quicken our pace. Once in Nuceria, we’ll disappear in the chaos.”
Tag snuck a look behind him. They did seem to be putting more distance between themselves and the bobbing light. Still, shouldn’t they have been in the city by now? Why was it taking so long?
“Tag, listen,” Lucia said after a time.
“To what?”
“The pinging on the shield. It has slowed down.”
She was right. They seemed to be reaching the edge of the dark cloud of spitting rocks. They could even see a small lightening of the sky ahead of them. Finally, some indication that the nightmare might be ending! That had to mean they were through the worst of it, didn’t it?
Tag stopped and put the shield down. Some small, pitted rocks still rained down on them, but it was nothing like the constant deluge before. He caught a few in his outstretched hand.
“We don’t need this anymore,” he said, throwing the large shield to the side. “We’ll go faster without it.”
“Are you sure?” Lucia asked.
“The sooner we get to the city, the sooner we can disappear. At this point, speed is what we need.”
He led the way, even faster still.
Tag was right. They did move more quickly without the shield. Still, she felt naked — exposed and vulnerable — without it.
They took turns carrying Castor. When the lightening sky ahead of them disappeared behind a hill, Tag took the boy from her. “Let me carry him during the climb.”
He tossed the boy onto his back, and Castor clung to him like a little monkey. She was glad because the climb was more difficult than she remembered. But then, she’d always been in a cart or carriage when she’d traveled to Nuceria with her father.
Tag turned to her and grinned. He’d traveled to Nuceria too, so he knew what the climb meant as well. This was their last challenge. The last hill before the city! She grinned back up at him. Their new life was right on the other side.
Once in the city, she would find the baths, first thing. She looked at her arms, caked with ash, the creases of her elbows cracked and pitted where she’d held Castor. Even her eyelashes felt heavy with debris. Gods, to be clean again. She envisioned all the cool, sparkling water spilling from faun fountains on street corners … imagined the feel of it slipping down her raw, coated throat … conjured the sensation of her newly scrubbed skin, emerging golden and glowing from scented water, and almost groaned with anticipation.
Lucia and Tag were both breathing hard when they got to the ridge. As soon as Castor slid down his back, Tag bent over, hands on his knees. Lucia patted his back as he tried to regain his breath, coughing and panting in the still-ashy air. He stood and put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her in close.
Castor scampered to the edge overlooking the valley. “Is that the city? Is that where we are going?” he asked.
“Yes, that is Nuceria,” she said.
The early-morning light glimmered off Nuceria’s red-tiled roofs and bronze-edged temples. They stared at the light in wonder. Spiny fingers of the mountain’s monstrous ash cloud seemed to reach for — but not quite touch — the shining city. Soon they would also be out from under its darkness.
Lucia squeezed Tag’s waist and put her head on his shoulder. “I think amidst all this destruction, the god hid a small gift for us,” she whispered.
He looked down at her in surprise.
“We never would have had the opportunity to run otherwise,” she said. “I do not understand Vulcan’s wrath or why he is punishing Pompeii, but we must make a sacrifice to him and all the gods for allowing us to escape together.” She quickly made the sign against evil in case the gods took their success so far as a challenge.
“We must make for the poor section of town right away,” he said, as if reminding himself of the plan. “No one will think to look for us in the squalid areas.”
It was true, which gave her hope. Even if her father had somehow followed — or sent someone after them — she was sure it would never occur to him to start in the poorest section of town. He might eventually end up there, but by then they’d be gone.
Still, a chill of fear ran up her spine. Would she stand out too much in the poor district? Would she be able to manage the deprivations? She tried to imagine a life with no money for scrolls or papyrus and ink. No fine foods or good wine. No sweet-smelling oils. Only the clothing on her body. Had she inadvertently bound herself to a life of even less freedom than she would have enjoyed with Quintus?
As if sensing her thoughts, Tag cleared his throat. “Lucia, my heart, are you regretting this?” he asked haltingly. “If you’ve changed your mind, I … I could take you to the home of one of your father’s friends and —”
No, she wanted this. She’d chosen him and a new life, a freedom of a sort she’d never imagined available to her. Even if it meant their lives would be hard, she would never regret that. “Gods, no!” she said.
He grinned in relief.
“We should go,” she said. “We’re so close.”
He nodded and they released each other. “Castor, let’s go,” he called.
No response.
“Castor!”
They looked at each other, their eyes widening. Could he have fallen or tripped down the hill? No. It was more likely that he had gone clambering around the other side.
“Castor!” Lucia yelled more loudly. Maybe he hadn’t heard them over the incessant rumbling of the still-spewing mountain.
A small sound came from above them. They both raced after it.
They found him standing on the other side of the high ridge.
“Castor!” Lucia exclaimed. “Gods, you scared us! Don’t run from us again.”
But the b
oy didn’t respond. He seemed transfixed. “What is that?” he whispered as he pointed over the valley.
“Pompeii,” Lucia whispered too.
Tag saw what had captivated the boy. As the rising sun warmed Nuceria behind them, their old city was still in total darkness. The mountain’s black cloud, occasionally shot through with eerie flashes of red lightning, panted menacingly overhead. Even so, tiny lights emerged from the morass, flickering and bobbing around the buildings. “It looks like people are coming out of their homes to assess the damage,” he mused.
“Oh, good,” Lucia breathed.
“Good?” he asked, thinking about her father. If he hadn’t been the one following them, then he would certainly set slave catchers after them now.
“I was thinking about Cornelia,” she said. “This has to mean she’s safe now, don’t you think?”
“Yes, of course,” he said, wondering if that were true.
It was a lovely sight, really, the numerous lamps and torches like stars winking in a wide expanse of black. The city survived. Despite never wanting to see Pompeii again, Tag thought the signs of life were at least a symbol of hope.
“They’re like your lights!” Castor exclaimed, grinning up at Lucia.
Lucia blinked. “What?” she asked, but the boy had already turned back to the view.
“He’s talking about your eyes again,” Tag said.
She laughed and shook her head. He laughed too, kissing her ashy forehead. But he did not want to spend any more time looking backward. It was time to go. “Come,” he said. “Nuceria awaits.”
At that very moment, a thunderous cracking, tearing sound exploded all around them. Castor ran to Tag, wild-eyed. Tag scooped him up and the boy gripped him tight. Lucia curled into him as well. Tag wanted to run, but the booming crash paralyzed him with fear. Was the mountain collapsing in on itself? On them?
Over Castor’s trembling head, Tag peered at the monstrous cloud that had devoured the top half of Mount Vesuvius. A massive, menacing nebula of heat and ash and rock — an enormous billowing monster of gray and red — crashed down inside the giant ash column. It bubbled at the lip of the crater as if gathering strength, then began barreling down the mountain. Fingertips of red extended out from the roiling mass as it hurtled toward Pompeii. Toward the small flickering lights. Toward all those people who thought the worst was over.
Curses and Smoke Page 23
