V

A falling man grabs at anything, even the air. I was fortunate to wrap my arms around one of the oars before I hit the water. Using the strength that panic gave me, I pulled myself up and threw my legs around the shaft as well. Orders were shouted, a horn blew, the sails whipped back up the mast, and the ship came to a stop.

Decius leaned over the railing. “Are you all right, sir?”

A weak “I think so” was all I could muster. I could already feel the bruises that were going to show up all over my body.

“We’re going to raise that oar and bring it in toward the ship. A couple of men will help you back on board. Don’t let go.”

Don’t let go. As if I would seriously consider doing any such thing. I tried not to look down as I hung about five paces above the water. Although the ship had stopped its forward motion, it bobbed and pitched from side to side. The oar wiggled as the men on the other end of it tried to counter my weight.

“Here we go, sir!” Decius shouted.

I didn’t think my grip could get any tighter, but it did as the oar slid back into the ship. Two of the legionaries, with ropes tying them to the rail, stood on the wooden awning over the rowers. When they reached out to me, I had difficulty at first persuading myself to let go of the oar and take their hands.

“There you are, sir,” one of them said, taking my hand and peeling it off the oar. “We’ve got you. Let’s just swing back up here, nice and safe.”

The awning didn’t look any safer to me than the oar I was clinging to, but the legionaries were tied to the ship. I reached up to them and unwrapped my legs from around the oar. They lifted me back onto the wooden awning and over the rail as though I was a child. Tacitus put an arm around me before I collapsed on the deck and led me to the prow of the ship. I knew he could feel how much I was trembling, and I was ashamed of that.

“Just sit down,” he said, dropping me in a spot at the bow where I could sit down and lean against the side. “Maybe we’ll tie you here.”

Decius knelt beside me. “Any injuries, sir?”

I stretched my arms and legs. “Just a few bruises. Nothing serious.”

“Good. And don’t be embarrassed. You aren’t the first man to fall overboard, though you are the first I’ve seen do such a trick as catching an oar. If you want to get to Naples today, though, you’re going to have to stay on deck.”

At his command the oars bit into the water again and the sails were lowered. The ship surged ahead. I felt like Bellerophon must have felt on the winged horse Pegasus. No ship I’d ever been on before had moved this fast. The sail on the bow flapped and snapped over my head. Its three vertical blue stripes matched those on the larger mainsail, which billowed as it tried to break free from the rigging. Looking over the side, I could see the banks of oars digging into the water, propelling the ship with the precise timing of a centipede’s legs.

As a man recovers from a bad shock, some kind of energy seems to drain out of him, leaving him as limp as an old man’s virile member. When I gave into that sensation, the warmth of the sun and the rhythmic movement of the ship lulled me into some of the sleep I had not gotten the previous night. The sun was almost overhead when I woke up to find Tacitus and the servants breaking out provisions for lunch.

“Oh, now we’ll have to share with him,” Tacitus said.

We had brought along a good supply of cheese, bread, fruit, and wine mixed with water. Decius approached and we invited him to eat with us.

“I’m glad to see you’re doing so well, sir,” he said. “A couple of your servants haven’t had so easy a time of it.”

Tacitus pointed to Thamyras and one of my servants. “They spent some time hanging over the rail this morning. Are you feeling better now?”

Both men nodded sheepishly but declined to take any food or drink.

After we had eaten and drunk a bit Tacitus turned to Decius. “I understand you were stationed at Misenum when Vesuvius erupted.”

“Yes, sir, I was.” Decius did not volunteer any more.

“What can you tell me about it? I’ve heard Gaius Pliny’s account once, but he’s very reluctant to say any more than that.”

The sailor’s stern face couldn’t hide the pain that the memory aroused. “Well, sir, for those of us who lived through it, it’s troubling to remember, but we can’t stop remembering it. Talking about it only makes it worse, at least for me.”

“That’s how I feel, too,” I said when Tacitus questioned me with a raised eyebrow. “That’s why I haven’t said much about it. No matter what we tell you, you’ll never really understand the fear we felt, the sense that the world was coming to an end.”

“But how are others going to learn anything about it—probably the greatest disaster Rome will ever know—if those who were there won’t tell the story?” Tacitus was at his oratorical best. “How can anyone write the history of it if the people who were there don’t share what they know?”

Decius tore off another piece of bread and seemed to be thinking while he chewed. When he had swallowed and drunk some wine he said, “Historians never get it right, sir, because they weren’t there. Why don’t we wait until we reach the bay? Gaius Pliny and I can‘t help but think about it then, and you’ll understand a lot more if you can see it while we tell you the story.”

“Forgive me, my lord,” Thamyras said from his spot by the rail. “May I speak?”

“Certainly,” Tacitus said.

“I lived on the bay, too, my lord, when Vesuvius erupted. What these gentlemen are saying is true. I see the results every day. Unless you were there or you’ve seen what the place looks like now, you can’t possibly understand.… Meaning no disrespect.”

“All right,” Tacitus said, slapping his hands on his thighs. “I guess I’ll have to wait.”

†

After lunch Tacitus went below to study the structure of the ship. He’d heard the story of the collapsible barge Nero built to drown his mother, Agrippina, and wanted to see if such a thing was even feasible. I declined his invitation to join him. I’d seen enough of the belly of a ship when I was a boy. Stepping around coils of rope and trying to keep out of the sailors’ way, I wandered to the stern and looked at the coastline gliding by us. The ship throbbed with the steady beat of the drum that set the pace for the rowers. Even as short as it was, my hair blew in the wind.

Like Decius, I did not want to talk about the eruption. Five years had not dimmed the memory in the least. I had stayed away from the Bay of Naples for a reason. Fortunately, Aurelia’s wedding had been at her grandfather’s house in Rome. Now I was being drawn back to Naples by her letter. Her need for help and my friendship with her had to override my reluctance to return.

But, if I were honest with myself, what could I do to help her? In other cases where I’d been able to identify a murderer, I had been able to examine the victim’s body within a few hours after the crime was committed. Thanks to what I had read in some unpublished scrolls my uncle left me, I had developed some small skill in deducing information from the examination of a dead body. But this time what I would have to examine would be little more than a rotting corpse.

Also, in other cases I had investigated, people who were accused of killing someone protested their innocence and tried eagerly to explain why they weren’t guilty. Now the man who was found standing over the victim, with what might have been the murder weapon in his hand, refused to say anything, even to his wife. What reason did I have to think he would talk to me?

I had to admit, at least to myself, that part of the reason I was making this trip was my desire to run away—away from a marriage I didn’t want and away from Aurora, because I couldn’t decide how to deal with my feelings for her.

Both of those problems would still be there when I returned. If I couldn’t help Aurelia, this whole trip would be a waste of time. I had to accomplish something down here, even if I did no more than comfort Aurelia. I touched the Tyche ring, which I was wearing on a leather strap around my neck. Sometimes I wished I actually believed in luck.

I needed to concentrate on the task at hand. The only way I could examine the scene of the murder was through the eyes of a person who had been there. I called Thamyras to join me in the captain’s tent near the stern, which Decius had offered for my use. It might provide a modicum of privacy and it would get me out of the sun, which was beginning to bother my sensitive eyes. I took one of the stools that was fastened to the deck and motioned for Thamyras to sit on the other one. He seemed uncomfortable with this breach of master-and-slave etiquette and kept his back straight when he did sit down, as though he were standing from the waist up.

“Yes, my lord, what can I do for you?”

“Tell me if you’ve remembered anything about this murder that you didn’t tell me yesterday.” I found myself falling into a rhythmic speech pattern, keeping time with the drumbeats as the oars dug into the water. “It doesn’t matter how small a detail, or how seemingly insignificant. Just tell me and let me judge whether it’s important.”

Thamyras shook his head and looked at me as though pleading with me. “That’s all I’ve been thinking about, my lord, and I can’t remember anything else. Calpurnius was standing over the woman, with the knife in his hand. As soon as he saw me, he told me to go get help. That’s all I can tell you.”

I wanted to get him thinking differently about what he had seen. Often, when a person witnesses some dire event, he can recall it only from the perspective from which he viewed it. Someone has to coax him to look at it from another angle, to imagine himself standing somewhere else in the scene.

“Who was the woman who was killed?”

“She was called Amalthea, my lord.”

“What were her duties in the house?”

“She worked in the kitchen, my lord. She was one of the lady ­Aurelia’s people.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“When Calpurnius and Aurelia married, my lord, they moved into Aurelia’s house, because Calpurnius’ villa had been buried in the eruption. Some of the servants are Calpurnius’ people that he brought with him, like me, but most are Aurelia’s people.”

“How are you getting along? Is there any animosity between the two groups?”

“No, my lord. I think we’ve mixed well, like water and wine.”

At least he didn’t say water and olive oil. “Did Calpurnius even know Amalthea before the marriage?”

“No, my lord, I’m sure he didn’t.”

I couldn’t detect any telltale signs of lying. Everyone has them—a blinking of the eye, an inability to look at a person—but Thamyras seemed straightforward. “Do you know of anyone who had argued with Amalthea or had any complaint against her?” I asked.

“No, my lord. She was quiet, minded her own business.”

“Have Calpurnius and Aurelia had any arguments recently?”

He seemed surprised by the leap I had made. “No, my lord. They’re very happy and so pleased about the child. I haven’t heard a cross word between them.”

He seemed to be relaxing. His back wasn’t quite as straight and he was looking around at the gear stowed in the captain’s quarters. I felt it was time to shift attention back to the murder scene. “You said you found Calpurnius in an orchard behind the house?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“What were you doing there?”

“It’s my job, my lord. I take care of the garden and the orchard.”

So he had every reason to be there. I was sorely missing Phineas and his notes. “Why was Amalthea there, if she was a kitchen servant?”

“She went out every morning for some sort of religious ritual, my lord.”

“Religious ritual?”

“Yes, my lord. She had carved a mark in one of the trees. I guess she worshiped it. She did it before my lord and lady got married. She went into a kind of trance. The morning I spoke to her, she didn’t know I was there until I touched her arm. I told her not to go carving up any more of the trees.”

“Can you show me that tree when we get there?”

“Certainly, my lord.”

“Now, what can you tell me about Calpurnius when you found him there?” I realized that was too vague a question. “What about the expression on his face? Did he seem frightened? Surprised? Angry?”

“I would say more like…confused, my lord. He looked at the knife, at me, then back at the knife.”

“How much blood was there on his clothing?”

Thamyras brushed his thinning hair out of his face and pondered a moment. “That’s interesting, my lord. Now that you mention it, there wasn’t any blood on him that I could see. I hadn’t thought about that.”

Now I had a trail I could follow, like a hound picking up a scent for the first time. “How was he standing when you saw him? Was he facing you?”

“Not entirely, my lord.”

“Show me.”

Thamyras stood and turned so that I was looking at him from the side. “Well, my lord, he was like this when I came up to him. Then he turned partway toward me.”

“You were looking at him from the right side, the side where he was holding the knife?”

Thamyras nodded.

“So you saw at least that side of his tunic.”

“Yes, my lord, and there was no blood on it.” He blinked as he took in the meaning of what he’d just said. “Does that mean he didn’t kill her?”

“It’s not conclusive proof, I know, but if a man was standing close enough to stab someone, I would expect to find blood on his clothes.”

“Certainly, my lord. That’s what happens in the arena, when the gladiators fight.” His face showed excitement, either at the memory of the slaughter he’d seen or the realization of some slight hope of proving his master innocent.

“Don’t put too much weight on one little observation,” I cautioned him.

He sat back down, arms resting on his legs. “It’s a relief to have any hope, my lord, no matter how small. I can see why the lady Aurelia sent for you.”

“You seem quite devoted to your master and lady.”

“I’ve served Calpurnius since I was a boy, my lord.” He straightened his back with pride. “He’s always been kind and fair with me—and with all his servants. And now the lady Aurelia has brought him much happiness, long overdue happiness. For that I owe her loyal service.”

I cocked my head. “ ‘Overdue happiness’? Was Calpurnius not happy before his marriage?”

Thamyras’ face told me that he knew he had said too much. “Excuse me, my lord, but I think I’m going to be sick again.” He bolted out of the tent, leaned over the rail, and began to make retching noises, but only noises, like a storm that never brings rain.

†

At about the tenth hour Decius found me standing by the rail. “Sorry to disturb your musings, sir, but we’re about to come into the bay.”

I saw what I had been looking at without paying any attention. “Oh, yes, that’s Cumae, isn’t it?” I wondered if the Sibyl could give me any advice on the questions I’d been pondering.

“Yes, sir, and Misenum is just ahead.” Decius pointed to the promontory looming larger with every stroke of the oars. “Once we’re around it, we’ll strike the sails. With the wind from this direction, they won’t do us any good when we’re crossing the bay.”

“I’d better get Tacitus,” I said.

“Yes, sir. And I’m sure he’s going to want to hear our stories about the eruption.”

“You know more about it than I do, Decius. You sailed right into the teeth of it. I sat back and tried to read while the world was falling apart, just because I didn’t want to get on a ship. I’ve often wondered if it would have made any difference if I had gone with my uncle. Could I have saved him?”

“Don’t trouble yourself with thoughts like that, sir. The commander always had trouble with his breathing. You know that. He just couldn’t get a breath in that hot air. You’re more likely to have died with him than to have saved him. Don’t trouble yourself.”

He put a hand on my shoulder. Something about the gesture made me feel twelve years old again. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d called me “lad.”

“Don’t trouble yourself about what?” Tacitus asked as he came up behind us.

“Things that can’t be changed,” I said.

“That’s good advice indeed.” Tacitus leaned on the rail beside me. “In all areas of your life. Is this Misenum ahead of us?”

“Yes, sir,” Decius said. “We’ll slip between the point and the island of Prochyta over there and turn east into the bay.”

“Will we be able to see your villa?” Tacitus asked me.

“If we look behind us. It’s on the east side of the point, at the top of the hill. That’s why we could see the eruption so clearly.”

“Do you want to stop there, sir?” Decius asked.

“No. Let’s just go on to Naples. Thamyras will still have to show us where Aurelia’s house is once we get there. I want to arrive before dark, if at all possible. If we have time, I might stop here on the way back.”

“A surprise inspection will keep them honest,” Tacitus said.

Once we had passed Prochyta and were turning into the bay I pointed out my villa to Tacitus. Misenum is a cape with the Tyrrhenian Sea on one side of it and an inlet of the bay on the other. Puteoli sits on that inlet, rather than on the bay itself.

“Didn’t I hear you say once that you were born in Puteoli?” I asked Decius.

“Yes, sir, I was. That part of the bay was spared the worst of it, thank the gods.”

Passing the inlet gave me the feeling of being on completely open water, too far away from land. I’m a competent enough swimmer that, if I had to, I could make it from where most ships sail to the shore, but not to the other side of the inlet. I was glad to get past it and see a coastline again.

“The land still has a gray cast to it,” Tacitus said, “even under the canopy of leaves.”

“Yes, sir,” Decius said. “The ash still gets into everything, even this far away. Some days I feel like I’m eating it and breathing it.”

I had turned my back to the coast and leaned against the rail. “It’s amazing how light the ash feels, like warm snow, when you pick up a handful of it, but when it piles up, the weight can crush you.”

“That’s what almost happened to you and your mother, wasn’t it?” Tacitus asked.

“I’ve not heard that part of the story, sir,” Decius said.

Now that we were here, there was no way to avoid thinking and talking about those days. I’d known from the start that was how it would be. “After you and my uncle left, the ground began shaking so badly I ordered everyone to gather in the garden, so we wouldn’t be crushed if the house fell. Even that didn’t seem safe, though, so I decided to leave the house and move north, as everyone around us was doing. We couldn’t get the wagons to stay still to board them, even with the wheels chocked, so we started walking. A servant helped me hold my mother up. She told me to leave her behind so that she wouldn’t be the cause of my death.”

“You would never do that, sir,” Decius said.

“No, of course not. We got several miles up the road when my mother simply couldn’t go any farther. We took shelter behind a milestone so we wouldn’t be trampled by the crowd. It was dark as night and people were crying, looking for those they’d lost and wailing in despair. Some thought it was the end of the world, and I wouldn’t have argued with them.

“After we’d been sitting down for a bit I tried to move and that was when I discovered that the ash was burying us. I couldn’t see it happening because it was so dark, but I felt it. I managed to get up and get my mother on her feet. We stayed there, getting up often to shake off the ash, until a bit of light returned to the sky. Then we turned back to home. If we had fallen asleep, we would still be buried there. You know how tall milestones are.”

“Oh, yes, sir,” Decius said. “Usually taller than a man.”

“Exactly. That’s how this one was when we sat down. When we left, the top of it was even with my waist.”

Decius shook his head in disbelief. “And you were that far from the mountain! Speaking of the accursed thing…”

I dreaded looking ahead, but Tacitus pointed and said in awe, “By the gods! So that’s Vesuvius.”