by Andy Stanton
The air fizzled and popped with the sounds, sights and smells of the city, and as Caecilius sat there munching his goat in the sunshine, he felt he had never been so glad to be alive. (Except he wished his toes would stop giggling, they were getting on his nerves a bit.)
Presently, Caecilius’s ugly friend Atrium strolled over and sat himself down beside the fart merchant. ‘Salve, Caecilius,’ said Atrium, helping himself to rather a large bite of goat. ‘Buzzle-swuzzle for your thoughts?’
‘Oh, salve, Atrium,’ smiled Caecilius. ‘I was just having one of those moments where everything seems just right. Do you know what I mean? When the whole world seems completely in tune with itself.’
‘Oh yes?’ said Atrium, who knew that when Caecilius was in a philosophical mood like this you could get loads of goat off him without him even noticing.
‘I mean,’ laughed Caecilius, ‘you spend your whole life trying to make an honest buzzle, worrying about success, worrying about taxes, worrying about the government . . .’
‘Um hum,’ nodded Atrium, biting into a mouthful of shin.
‘But what really counts is the simple stuff, Atrium. Family. Companionship. The smell of freshly baked bread in the marketplace . . . Just sitting here watching the world go about its business, I am filled with such a sense of peace, Atrium! Such a sense of contentment! Such a love for all human life! Yes, I think that’s it, really, that’s what it comes down to – a love for all human life.’
‘Beautifully put,’ burped Atrium, finishing off the last of the goat and wiping his gob on Caecilius’s toga. ‘You should be a poet. Hey, by the way, have you seen that stupid face someone’s drawn on the moon? “Bibbling Ted” or something? By Jupiter, it’s useless! It looks more like a pile of cat sick than a face. I wonder who did it.’
‘How dare you!’ yelled Caecilius, starting to his feet in anger. ‘My own wife drew that face! You have gone too far this time, Atrium! You have insulted Vesuvius’s honour and I challenge you to a duel to the death!’
‘Hey!’ said Atrium. ‘What about all that “love of human life” stuff?’
‘Shut up, you detestable flea!’ spat Caecilius. ‘Do you accept my challenge, Atrium? Or are you the coward I always took you for?’
‘I am no coward!’ bleated Atrium, who had been busy running away as fast as he could and had made it halfway up an olive tree. ‘Very well, I accept your stupid challenge, you absolute lump!’
‘Then we shall meet back here at dawn, when the cockerel crows,’ said Caecilius. ‘You had better get a good night’s sleep, Atrium – for it shall be your last.’
‘How was the forum today?’ asked Vesuvius when Caecilius arrived home some hours later. ‘Anything interesting happen?’
‘No, not really,’ shrugged Caecilius. ‘Just the usual – Oh no, hang on, I challenged Atrium to a duel to the death.’
‘What!’ cried Vesuvius. ‘What on earth were you thinking?’
‘Well, he was insulting you,’ said Caecilius, ‘and I couldn’t bear it and, I don’t know, it just popped out.’
‘How exactly did he insult me?’ said Vesuvius.
‘He was making fun of that face you drew on the moon,’ said Caecilius. ‘He said it looked like a pile of cat sick.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Vesuvius. ‘He’s entitled to his opinion.’
‘How dare you, Vesuvius!’ shouted Caecilius. ‘You have the nerve to say that Atrium is entitled to his opinion? You have insulted Vesuvius’s honour, Vesuvius, and I challenge you to a duel to the death!’
‘Caecilius,’ sighed Vesuvius. ‘Please stop challenging everyone to a duel to the death.’
‘Well, you see how easily it can happen,’ said Caecilius. ‘It just pops out.’
‘That may be so,’ said Vesuvius, ‘but let me go and talk to Atrium. I am sure that he will listen to reason and we can fix things without anyone getting hurt.’
‘OK,’ said Caecilius. ‘What shall I do while you are gone?’
‘Why don’t you dress up as a weasel?’ suggested Vesuvius, who knew that Caecilius sometimes enjoyed dressing up as a weasel.
So Caecilius dressed up as a weasel and sat there in the front room waiting for Vesuvius to return. What a big silly I’ve been! he thought as he played with his whiskers. How fortunate I am to have such a level-headed wife as Vesuvius!
Presently the front door flew open with a loud bang and in stormed Vesuvius, muttering and cursing under her breath.
‘How did it go, darling?’ said Caecilius, fluffing his tail alluringly.
‘Not brilliantly,’ scowled Vesuvius. ‘You see, while I was trying to convince Atrium to see sense, Hortus started sticking her nose in, boasting about her scented herb gardens and whatnot, and I ended up challenging her to a duel to the death.’
‘Oh, Vesuvius,’ sighed Caecilius. ‘Dear, good-natured Vesuvius. ‘This is nothing but a simple misunderstanding between women. Wait here, I will go and talk to Hortus. I shall soon have this all cleared up.’
‘How did it go, husband?’ said Vesuvius when Caecilius returned some time later.
‘Not very well,’ admitted Caecilius, a little sheepishly; but quite a lot more weaselishly, because he had forgotten to take off his weasel costume. ‘While I was trying to calm Hortus down, Atrium got angry and challenged you to a duel to the death. Then I got angry at Hortus and challenged her to a duel. Also to the death. Actually, from now on let’s stop saying “duel to the death” and just say “duel” for short, because it’s going to be coming up quite a lot in conversation in the next few minutes, OK?’
‘Let me get this straight,’ said Vesuvius. ‘You’ve challenged Atrium to a duel. I’ve challenged Hortus to a duel. Atrium has challenged me to a duel. And you’ve challenged Hortus to a duel.’
‘Exactly,’ said Caecilius. ‘But that’s not all. You see, while I was challenging Hortus to a duel, that blasted fool Neptune walked past – ’
‘Hold on,’ said Vesuvius, ‘do you mean Harry Neptune, who sells peanuts down at the marketplace? Or do you mean Neptune, the god of the sea, who in his fierce rages can cause the ocean to swell and thrash itself against the rocks, sinking ships and sending thousands of sailors to their deaths?’
‘I mean Harry Neptune who sells peanuts,’ said Caecilius. ‘Why would Neptune, the god of the sea, be walking past Atrium and Hortus’s house?’
‘I suppose not,’ said Vesuvius.
‘Anyway, Harry Neptune walked past and he joined in the argument and ended up challenging Atrium, Hortus and you to a duel.’
‘Why didn’t he challenge you to a duel too?’ said Vesuvius indignantly.
‘I don’t know,’ said Caecilius. ‘He just didn’t. Anyway, so then Filius walked past and challenged Harry Neptune to a duel.’
‘No!’ cried Vesuvius.
‘Yes,’ said Caecilius. ‘But it gets worse, for at that moment I took leave of my senses and challenged Filius to a duel.’
‘Our own son!’ gasped Vesuvius. ‘Why, Caecilius, why?’
‘I am sorry,’ said Caecilius. ‘But I felt obliged to defend Harry Neptune’s honour, seeing as Harry Neptune hadn’t challenged me to a duel. I felt I owed him that, at least. So yes, I challenged Filius to a duel. It just popped out, I’m afraid.
‘And after that,’ continued Caecilius sadly, ‘well, Vesuvius, all hell broke loose. Hortus challenged Barkus Wooferinicum to a duel. Barkus Wooferinicum challenged some frogs to a duel. A couple of chickens challenged you to a duel, Vesuvius, I think you should be able to win that one though, they should be quite easy to beat, you should just be able to step on them, with a bit of luck. And then – you know that little baby? Sugarpuffs?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Vesuvius. ‘I hate him.’
‘Everybody does,’ said Caecilius. ‘Anyway, Sugarpuffs stuck his head out of a window and started getting involved and then Bellonicus stuck his head out of a window and challenged the whole street to a duel and then some more people from the next street stuck
their heads out of their windows and, well, you see, Vesuvius, the thing is . . . In one way or another everyone in Pompeii has now challenged everyone else to a duel to the death.’
‘Oh, Caecilius,’ wept Vesuvius, throwing herself down on the couch. ‘Do you see how quickly your anger has spread?’
‘Yes,’ said Caecilius. ‘Quite quickly.’
‘Our entire town is at war with one another,’ lamented Vesuvius. ‘And all because of Bobbling Ed.’
‘Maybe we should run away until this has all blown over,’ suggested Caecilius.
‘Certainly not,’ said Vesuvius. ‘Running away is never the answer.’
‘What about if you’re being chased by a monster?’ said Caecilius, who had once been chased by a monster, except no one ever believed him.
‘Not that again,’ said Vesuvius. ‘No, husband, there is nothing for it, for the moral of Ancient Pompeii is this: “Finish what you start”. We must honour the challenges that have been thrown down. We must face what we have done.’
‘Then Jupiter help us,’ said Caecilius, his whiskers drooping miserably. ‘Jupiter help us all.’
Spears. Swords. Boulders. Barrels. Sticks. Stones. Bricks. Bones. Boots. Vases. Plant pots. Arrows. Trained wasps. Daggers. The vulture. Carpet beaters. Other things. The people of Pompeii had brought to the battle anything and everything they could lay their hands on. Roscoe Paracetamol’s sword hung ominously from his belt. Sugarpuffs had a rattle with spikes all over it and a sling made from a dirty nappy, ready to fire rocks and poos at his enemies. He really was the most atrocious baby you could imagine.
From the stone steps at the north end of the forum, Caecilius gazed out at the vast crowd below.
‘They’re getting restless,’ whispered Vesuvius. ‘Come on, Caecilius. You can do this.’
‘Why don’t you address the crowd instead, Vesuvius?’ he gulped. ‘I’m not scared or anything, it’s just . . . My throat’s gone a bit dry, that’s all.’
‘I believe in you, Father,’ said Filius. ‘For you are my inspiration and my light.’
‘Thank you for having faith in me, son,’ said Caecilius, stroking Filius’s hair fondly. ‘I’m sorry that in a few minutes’ time we’ll have to fight each other to the death. What weapons did you bring to try and kill me with, by the way?’
‘A large sword, Father,’ said Filius. ‘And a plank with a nail through it. And a whip.’
‘Drat and figs,’ muttered Caecilius. ‘You’re probably going to win then, I only brought a tennis ball.’
‘A tennis ball?’ said Filius. ‘You’ll never kill me with that, what were you thinking?’
‘I got confused,’ whispered Caecilius.
‘Come, husband, your public awaits,’ said Vesuvius. ‘You can worry about slaughtering your only child later.’
A hush descended as Caecilius turned towards the crowd and threw his arms out wide.
‘Citizens of Pompeii!’ he cried. ‘Hear my words and hear them well! Know that on this day, I, Caecilius Maximus Panini the fart merchant, have come to this place to do battle with Atrium Jamiroquai Tannicus the ship-owner! We are here to enter into a duel to the death, I can’t remember who started it but I think it was probably Atrium.’
‘Hey!’ shouted Atrium but everyone ignored him.
‘And know too,’ continued Caecilius, ‘that Atrium’s cowardly challenge –’
‘Hey!’ shouted Atrium again.
‘Atrium’s cowardly challenge has led to many more challenges!’ roared Caecilius. ‘I tried to stop him, for I am a man of peace! But he would not listen to reason and that is why we are all gathered here today, I’m sorry but that’s how it is, it’s all Atrium’s fault that we’re going to die and I vote that he should forever be remembered as “The Greatest Traitor in All of History”.’
‘Hey!’ shouted Atrium again.
‘In all probability, none of us shall leave this place alive,’ said Caecilius. ‘If anyone would like to say any final words, please step up here right now and let us hear them, no, not you, Atrium, you have already caused far too much trouble and we are no longer interested in your vile excuses. No one? Very well then, let us proceed.
‘Look at this cage I have strapped to my head,’ cried Caecilius, ‘for it contains the town cockerel, Lester. I was going to suggest that we wait until Lester crows to announce dawn – and that then the duelling should begin. But unfortunately Lester is dead. You see, I challenged him to a duel on the way here and – well, like I said, he’s dead now. Sorry, everyone.’
‘Why are you even wearing that cage then?’ shouted someone. ‘What’s the point?’
‘What’s the point of anything, when you really think about it?’ explained Caecilius. ‘Now,’ he said, tossing Lester the cockerel’s mangled body into a ditch, where it immediately burrowed deep into the nourishing soil and was reincarnated as a family of moles. ‘Everyone – take your marks! I shall count to XX and with each number you are all to take another step from your opponent. At the XXth step I shall cry “TURN AND FIRE!” And then . . . Well, then, my friends, our fates are in the laps of the Gods. Good luck, everyone. Except all the people who are trying to kill me, obviously.’
Overhead, the sky was sullen and grey. The great buildings seemed to frown down in solemn judgement as Caecilius began his count. In the distance the volcano coughed once and was silent.
‘I,’ counted Caecilius.
Everyone turned and took a pace away from their opponent.
‘II,’ counted Caecilius.
Another pace.
‘III,’ counted Caecilius.
‘VI,’ counted Caecilius, ‘sorry, I mean IV, I always get those II mixed up.
‘V,’ counted Caecilius.
‘VI,’ counted –
But at that moment a small boy rushed forward from the crowd, bounded up the great stone steps III at a time, and shoved the fart merchant roughly aside.
‘Stop this madness!’ he cried. ‘Stop this madness, I beg you!’
A great roar of confusion swept through the crowd. Who could possibly be so important that they had the nerve to interrupt the proceedings? A visiting king? The Emperor? Perhaps Mars, the god of War and Snacking Between Mealtimes, had seen fit to come down to earth and take matters into his own chocolatey hands. But no. It was none of those dudes.
‘Slavius!’ gasped Caecilius in astonishment. ‘How dare you, what on earth do you think you are up to! I challenge you to a du–’
But Slavius shook his head.
‘No, master,’ said Slavius. ‘As well you know, the law forbids any slave from entering into a duel to the death. For, unlike you, we slaves are not free to play with our own lives. As slaves, our lives do not belong to us – but to the Holy Roman Empire itself.’
‘You seem to know a lot about law and things all of a sudden,’ grumbled Caecilius, but Slavius went on.
‘Citizens of Pompeii!’ he cried. ‘As a slave, my life is worth next to nothing! I am an outsider from society! But, oh, we outsiders see much with our poor eyes that you may miss with your more expensive ones!
‘We slaves serve you at every moment from dawn to dusk, Pompeii! We keep your togas ironed and your sandals polished! We keep your water fresh and your food hot and your floors sparkling and your streets swept and your hair brushed and your fingernails cut and your noses clean of the Mirror-Men who occasionally crawl up in there while you are asleep, I bet you didn’t know that, did you? But we do. We are always cleaning Mirror-Men out of your noses. Just the other day I found about forty of them in Filius’s left nostril, it was revolting.
‘Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. As we go about our work, Pompeii, we see every inch of this great and majestic city, and all that happens within its walls! From the extravagant dinner parties on which we are forced to attend, serving up your farts and sweetmeats without complaint; to the lowly Tavern of the Slaves, which you fine ladies and gentlemen would shudder to enter! From the shining dome of the Temple of Jupiter h
igh upon the hill; to the filthiest hovel in the slums, where hens and vagabonds lie vomiting in the gutter! From the red wine that flows so freely in your villas; to the slushy grey sewage that runs in your drains! We slaves see it all!
‘You push us around like beans on a plate but we slaves are the very lifeblood that keeps your city functioning! We are the heart that keeps Pompeii marching forward! We are the memory of Pompeii! We are the conscience of Pompeii! Citizens, we slaves are Pompeii!
‘So,’ finished Slavius, gazing down at every face in the crowd, and seeming to see into each and every soul. ‘If you truly are determined to go through with this madness, then at least have the courage to admit that you are taking not only your own lives – but the life of the city itself ! Kill me, citizens!’
‘What!’ cried the crowd, who had listened to Slavius’s speech as if spellbound. ‘Kill you! A mere boy? Unarmed and defenceless? It is not right!’
‘You heard me,’ said Slavius. ‘Kill me. For in killing me, you shall be killing all of Pompeii. See! I fall to my knees to make it all the easier for you. Kill me, kill me now! End my life! Strike me down on this spot like a rabid dog.
‘Kill me! Kill me, I dare you! Come on, Atrium, use that big stick you came here with today! Poke me in the face with it until I’m all red and squooshy! Kill me, Filius! Take your dagger and strike me through the heart! Kill me, Caecilius, take that tennis ball and – hang on, seriously?’
‘Look, I got confused, all right?’ said Caecilius in embarrassment.
‘Well, ask that guy for his spear then,’ said Slavius. ‘That guy over there, Caecilius, that one over there with the funny ears. Go on! Ask that guy if you can borrow his spear and then shove it right through my brains, I don’t even care! Squish that spear all about in my brains in front of everybody if life truly means so little to you.
