A Day of Fire: a novel of Pompeii

by Stephanie Dray

  The throngs of people passing the doorway were all heading the opposite way to Rufus and his companions. South. Everyone who wasn’t desperate, criminal, or insane was going south. Away from Vesuvius. For the twentieth time, he cursed his apartment’s position in the city, that they had covered barely ten blocks. Yet again, he considered abandoning Mustius to his fate. Like as not, he had fled already.

  You’re risking your life, and that of your father and slave, on a wild goose chase, he thought. Maybe so, his moral side bit back, but what if Mustius is unconscious, thanks to the beating that should have been yours?

  That possibility drove the doubt from his mind. Yet it was clear that with his father in tow, it would take too long to reach Mustius. While Vesuvius was this angry, the city was no place to be. He beckoned to Pugnax, who padded over, cat-soft on his feet. Satrius, whose eyes were closed, didn’t even notice. “How’s your wound?” Rufus whispered, studying Pugnax’s chest. There didn’t appear to be any fresh bleeding.

  Pugnax grimaced. “I’ll live. Why do you ask, master?”

  “My father’s not fit to make it to my apartment, never mind all the way back to the Nucerian Gate. Even the Marine Gate would be too far for him. But if he rests here with you while I fetch Mustius, he should be able to manage it when we return. I want you to look after him.”

  “You pulled me out of the arena when you didn’t have to, master,” said Pugnax, his eyes warm. “I’ll guard him with my life.”

  Although Pugnax was his slave and had to obey him, Rufus felt a rush of gratitude. “My thanks. If the owners of the house appear, tell them who I am and beg their pardon for taking shelter. Say that I’ll be back soon.” He glanced at his father, who appeared to have fallen asleep. “Explain things to him if he wakes up.”

  “Yes, master.” Pugnax’s gaze was steady. “May the gods bring you back swiftly.”

  “Aye.” Rufus took a moment to adjust the cushion on his head. Then, before his resolve weakened, he slipped out of the door.

  It was apparent within a few paces that he’d have to use the backstreets and alleyways. Every larger way was clogged with people, mules, donkeys, and carts. It was human nature to try to carry away everything one owned, Rufus supposed, but there were times when common sense took precedence over items of furniture or livestock. Again and again, he saw owners berating slaves as they carried chairs, tables, and even cupboards from houses to the street, where they were loaded onto wagons. He felt a stab of gratitude that he’d been a soldier. Even before his debts had necessitated the sale of any valuables he had owned, he’d had precious few objects worth more than a few denarii. If he got out of here in one piece with his father, Mustius, and Pugnax, he’d be well content.

  The gloom that hung over the streets was even worse in the tiny alleys. If he were not to lose his way forever—Rufus’ bowels loosened at that thought—he needed light. He cast his eyes around the nearest doorways. Someone else’s ill-fortune proved to be his good. An old man lay half in, half out of the entrance to a shop. The crimson stain in the center of his tunic proved he’d been the victim of crime, not Vesuvius. A small clay lamp, the type that everyone used at night, sat on the counter close by the body. Rufus supposed that the man had set it down as he was about to leave, or as he was assaulted and his premises robbed. Hoping that he’d died fast, Rufus took the lamp and plunged into an alley that would take him northward.

  His sandaled feet were soon covered in piss, shit, and worse. Even when there was a drain nearby, many of the town’s poorer inhabitants found it easier to empty their chamber pots, and the waste from their kitchens, close to home. Trying not to breathe the foul odors, Rufus gave thanks that he did not have to fear the rain of stones from Vesuvius. The spaces between the two- and three-story buildings were so narrow that all but a few rocks were prevented from coming to earth. For this reason, it wasn’t surprising that others had taken shelter in the alleyways. Finding a street urchin cowering in one, he urged the boy to make for one of the southern gates. The boy, wide-eyed with fear, scuttled away from him into a space so tight that Rufus couldn’t follow. With a weary shrug, he left him to it.

  His first major obstacle was the main street that led from the Vesuvian Gate to the Stabian. It was packed tighter than he’d ever seen it, a mass of wailing, terrified humanity. There were family groups, fathers carrying children, mothers with crying infants in their arms. Behind them, with the slaves, came the ailing grandparents or aged relations. Carts drawn by mules or oxen—once, one of each—were piled high with material possessions, or those too weak to walk. Straw mattresses gave those unfortunates more protection than those who were standing. Cries filled the air from one street to another as the relentless volleys of stones continued from above. In a new development, Rufus noted that many of the rocks were burning hot. A quick, dangerous glance upward revealed mesmerizing dots of red and orange pouring in from a sky that was as black as pitch.

  Acid stung the back of his throat, and he wondered again if he should continue. Damn you, Mustius saved your life, he thought. Gritting his teeth, Rufus elbowed his way across the Stabian Road. When his path was blocked, he crawled under a cart. Reaching the other side, he aimed for another alleyway. From there, his luck appeared to be in once more. Crisscrossing the larger streets, he traced a path to the forum without hindrance. Normally, he would have cut across the open space to reach his apartment faster, but that wouldn’t be wise today. All the same, part of Rufus had to see Vesuvius, had to see how dire things really were.

  The instant he succeeded, he realized it had been a bad idea.

  Through the blackness, he could see orange-red patches of burning fire—on the slopes of the mountain, he realized. His face warmed as a hot wind, coming from Vesuvius, hit his face. Hard. Something—he had no idea what—was blowing toward the town, with deadly speed.

  Running carried the risk of breaking his neck. Rufus broke into a trot.

  If he didn’t reach Mustius soon, he’d be dead.

  They all would be.

  “MUSTIUS! Are you there?” Rufus began shouting when he was twenty paces from his apartment. There was no reply, even as he drew closer, and his heart sank. He’d risked his life for nothing. Noticing then that the door was ajar, his heart beat a little faster. Opening it fully, he entered, lamp in hand. To his surprise and relief, Mustius’ familiar shape was on the couch. “Mustius!”

  Still no answer.

  Gods, don’t let him be dead, Rufus asked. He dropped to his knees by the couch, felt for a pulse in Mustius’ neck. It was there, fast but strong. “Mustius. Can you hear me?”

  Finally, a groan. With an effort, Mustius half sat up. “R-Rufus?”

  “It’s me,” said Rufus, grinning like an idiot. “How badly are you hurt?”

  “Jucundus’ men did a pretty good job, sir,” came the rueful reply. “Everywhere hurts. A lot. To be honest, I’ve struggled to stay awake since they left. Every time I did manage to rouse myself—what in Hades is going on? The noise, the screams. And that banging on the roofs. Is it stones?”

  “Vesuvius has exploded.”

  “Exploded?”

  Rufus cut him off. “I’ll tell you later. You need a lamp, and a cushion tied to the top of your head. Then we have to leave. At once. Can you walk?”

  Mustius’ army training kicked in. “I think so, sir.” With Rufus’ help, he swung his legs to the floor and stood. He grunted with pain, but gave Rufus a firm nod. “I’m all right, sir. Lead the way.”

  Mustius’ determination gave Rufus strength. He would have given much to stay where they were, out of the rain of red hot stones, the clouds of choking ash, but his father and Pugnax were waiting for him. He gripped Mustius’ shoulder, as he’d done so many times before they went into battle. “Come on.”

  The journey that followed was worse than the trials Rufus had endured to reach his home. All light had been extinguished from the sky. The blackness was as dense as that in a mine, but with the fearful addition
of the constant rain of rocks. They now lay more than ankle deep in the streets, making the going really treacherous. More and more bodies were evident, victims of larger pieces of stone or of tiles that had fallen from roofs. One thoroughfare was partly blocked by an overturned wagon, abandoned by its owners. The braying donkey that had pulled it was trapped in the traces. If he’d had time, or a knife, Rufus would have ended its suffering, but he had neither, so he walked on by.

  Close to the forum baths, a man urged them to shelter in his house. “You’ll die if you stay outside!” he cried.

  “Maybe,” Rufus croaked as he trudged by without stopping. “But people are relying on me.”

  “The gods go with you,” said the man, and slammed shut his door.

  The sound had an awful finality to it, which Rufus tried not to think about.

  IF he hadn’t known Pompeii like the back of his hand, Rufus would never have found the house where his father and Pugnax were sheltering. By the time they reached it, the street was unrecognizable. The roof of one building had collapsed, and several others looked in danger of doing the same. The fountain had stopped flowing and was full of smoking stones. Many of the shops had been boarded up by their owners, but the fronts of others remained open, as if one could still purchase bread, meat, or pots and pans. People’s possessions that had been snatched up and then discarded or dropped were visible everywhere. Amphorae of vintage wine, a silver tray, an exquisite ivory statuette of Isis. A baby’s cradle, complete with bedding. Rufus’ eyes were most drawn to a small strongbox, wrapped by iron bands. He was tempted for a moment to pick it up. There was no sign of its owner and for all he knew, it contained enough money to pay off his debts.

  He left it where it was.

  The dog began to bark again as they neared the door. Rufus heard Pugnax telling it to shut up, and his spirits lifted. They fell the instant that he entered, however. His father was stretched out neatly on the floor, obscuring most of the mosaic that warned visitors of the guard dog. His eyes were closed, and a peaceful expression lined his face.

  Pugnax was sitting by his side, clasping his sword. He looked up in shock. “You came back, Master.”

  “Of course. I—” Rufus struggled to speak. “He’s dead.”

  “Yes. You had only been gone for a short while when he woke up and began to complain of pains in his chest and left arm. It felt like a wrestler was crushing him, he said. His breathing grew very rapid, and he lay down and closed his eyes. He spoke your name once. A short time later, he stopped breathing. Forgive me, Master.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for. Even a surgeon could have done little.” Sighing, Rufus knelt and placed his lips against Satrius’, to release his soul. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t here at the end, Father. May your passage to Elysium be swift.” He longed to say more, to dwell a little with the body, but to linger was to die. Rufus fought back the tears that threatened, and caressed his father’s face, as Satrius had so often done to him as a boy. “Farewell.” He glanced at Pugnax. “It’s really bad out there. The streets will soon be impassable. We must go.”

  “South, to the Nucerian Gate?” asked Mustius.

  “Yes. Away from Vesuvius.” Rufus had no idea if Nuceria would be safer than anywhere else, but it was better than heading north, or west.

  “I’m ready, Sir,” said Mustius, with the same stubborn look he’d worn going into battle.

  “So am I,” added Pugnax.

  Rufus took heart. Wounded or not, these were two good men to have with him. “Stay close. If you fall or are hit by a stone, cry out. Gods willing, we’re all going to get out of here.”

  They exchanged grim nods. As they reached the open door, the guard dog started barking again. Rufus glanced back at it. “I’d set the brute free, but it would take my bloody hand off in the process.”

  “Serves it right,” said Pugnax sourly.

  Leaving the dog to its fate, and trying not to think of the boy he’d met in the alley, Rufus led the way outside. There had been one benefit to his having fought against the tide to find Mustius, he thought. The streets had far fewer people on them. They made good progress as far as the Stabian road, and even there, there was less crowding than before. He even had time to help a woman who’d fallen to her feet and to restore her wailing baby to her. The press at the gate was quite bad, but fortunately, some order still prevailed. Whether it was a kind of solidarity, or just because the crowding was less severe, Rufus didn’t know, but it felt good.

  Before long, they had exited the walls and were making their way toward the town of Nuceria, which lay some miles to the southeast. As bad as things had been inside Pompeii, it was worse without the sheltering buildings around them. To the north, Vesuvius was just visible as a fearsome black shape, its slopes dotted with fires. The only thing to alleviate the barrage of stones was the presence of other people on the road. The instant that became evident, Rufus began guiding them up to, and around, a pair of figures in front of them, the only people in sight. In his mind, there would be nothing wrong with using others as shelter. It wasn’t until he drew parallel with the two shapes—men, he saw—that he recognized Jucundus and Bandy Legs. Between them, they were lugging a heavy wooden chest.

  Bastard, thought Rufus. His debts weren’t going to vanish because of Vesuvius. A tempting thought came to mind. Perhaps it was time to make a new start. With his father dead, there was no reason to stay in the area. He could take Mustius and Pugnax somewhere else in Italy, or even to Hispania. Jucundus would never find them. He wouldn’t even bother looking. Feeling a little better, Rufus made to walk past them.

  Of course it was at that moment that Jucundus looked up. “Rufus? Is that you?”

  Rufus cursed inside. “Jucundus,” he grated. “You got out too.” He ignored Bandy Legs.

  “Yes, thank all the gods.” Jucundus’ eyes flickered over Pugnax and Mustius. “So did you, it seems. Your father?”

  “He died. I think his heart gave out.”

  “He was a good man.”

  A moment of civility amidst the hatred, thought Rufus. “Aye. He was.” He took a step to the south, then another.

  “Wait!”

  Rufus scowled, looked back. “What?”

  “You and your men can help us to carry this box.”

  “We could, but we won’t,” Rufus snapped.

  “I’ll make it worth your while!” Jucundus had never sounded so desperate. “I’ll wipe out all of your debts. Just help us get to Nuceria.”

  Rufus considered the proposal. It was tempting, but then he studied Mustius’ and Pugnax’s faces. Both of them looked ready to drop. Even unburdened, this journey was a struggle. “Sorry. I’d rather pay you back.”

  “I command you to assist us!” cried Jucundus.

  “Fuck you, Jucundus. I’m a free citizen, not a slave. Why don’t you leave your money and save yourself? That’s what anyone with a brain would do.”

  Instead of answering, Jucundus snapped an order at Bandy Legs. Together, they lowered the chest to the ground.

  The whoreson has seen sense, thought Rufus. He was taken off his guard when Bandy Legs tugged out a knife and swung at him. “Gut the useless dog!” yelled Jucundus. “Then his slaves will do as I say.”

  Rufus lurched backward and Bandy Legs’ blade whistled past without catching him. Bandy Legs grunted with anger and advanced, knife at the ready. The next time I won’t be so lucky, thought Rufus, fighting back fear. Unarmed, he had little chance against someone so determined. “Pugnax! Your sword!”

  Rather than obey or block Bandy Leg’s path, Pugnax thrust his blade deep into Bandy Legs’ side. The movement made his cushion slip back off his head. A horrendous shriek split the air; Bandy Legs dropped his knife. As Pugnax ripped his sword free, Bandy Legs slumped to the ground, where he lay shrieking.

  Time stood still.

  Rufus gaped at Pugnax, at Bandy Legs, at Jucundus.

  Jucundus’ eyes bulged, and his mouth worked. At last he found
his voice. “You filth!”

  “Your man was going to murder me!” Rufus shouted. “My slave acted in self-defense.”

  Jucundus reined in his temper, even managed a smile. “Help to carry my chest, and I’ll forget it, as well as your debts. You can’t turn down an offer like that.”

  “Go to Hades, Jucundus.” Rufus eyed Pugnax and Mustius. “I reckon we could be safe in Nuceria, but we need to keep moving.”

  Their grim nods told him all he needed to know. Rufus turned his back on Jucundus. With a little luck, he thought, the man would die here with his money.

  He was again taken by surprise, however, as Jucundus ran after him and tugged at his tunic. “Help me! I beg you!”

  Rufus half turned. “Jucundus, I’m not prepared to—” His words dried in his throat as he watched Pugnax lunge in and draw his sword across Jucundus’ throat. Jucundus’ expression went from stunned to agonized, but he could make no sound. Dark gouts of his blood spattered Rufus in the face, sprayed the ground between them. The life drained from his eyes, and he fell at Rufus’ feet. Blood began to pool beneath him, and Rufus stepped away to avoid it soaking his sandals. “I owe you my life twice over, Pugnax.”

  “He was a sewer rat, master. So is his servant.” Pugnax kicked Bandy Legs, who groaned.

  Still in shock at what had happened, Rufus was glad that his main debtor was dead. With luck, his debts would go the grave with Jucundus. All he had to do now was to survive. He threw another grateful glance at Pugnax. “If we make it, you’ll have your manumission, I swear it.”

  “Thank you, Master.” Even as a huge grin split Pugnax’s face, a stone shot in from above and struck him in the side of the head. Still smiling, he dropped on top of Jucundus’ corpse.