A Day of Fire: A Novel of Pompeii (33 page)

“I would help you,” my little brother said, between coughs.

“I would like that. We’ll share the room.” I lean my head against Titus’ shoulder. “It will be our own sweet place.”

“Lilla?” His voice sounds so small.

“Yes, Quintus?”

“I’m tired.”

I bite my lip, knowing that it won’t be much longer until Quintus succumbs to the suffocating air. “Think of the dates, sweet brother. Imagine you are climbing to the very top, that a special fat one waits just for you.”

“Yes, that one is mine.” There is a moment of silence. I close my eyes. “I want to lie down. I think I’ll lie with Little Bird.”

My response tears from my throat. “Not yet, Quintus. Hold on a little longer.”

“All right,” he says, but quieter now. Not as convinced.

“Now you tell me a story, Quintus,” I plead. “Tell me of your favorite place.”

The walls shake again and another loud crash sounds from somewhere in the villa.

“I’m too tired, Lilla. I want to sleep.”

Father comes to stand beside me, his hand trembling as he lays it on my shoulder. “We—We have to let him go,” he says.

Titus doesn’t break his eye contact with me, and I see clearly that he agrees.

I want to rave at them both. I want to pound against the wall, to find a way into that room, though I already know the truth.

“Quintus. I’m here for you still,” I say, scratching lightly at the wall. But he doesn’t answer and fear cascades through me. “Quintus!” My voice becomes shrill.

Father shakes his head, looking from one of us to the other. “They are lost to us.”

“Not yet.” I rake a hand through my hair, ready to pull it out as grief consumes me.

“Oh, my darling daughter.” Father closes the space between us and tries to tug me into his embrace.

“No.” I pull away, standing up, and my belly tightens painfully as my labor resumes its pains.

“I care about the ones left in that room, too, Lilla. They are my children.”

I lower my head in sorrow and shame. “I haven’t forgotten.” And then I hug my father. There is no hope now. All is lost. The gods have forsaken us.

Father pulls back, his hands on my shoulders and nods. “You were my firstborn child, Lilla, and I am so proud to call you daughter.”

I reach up, wrapping my fingers around his and refusing to think about the child alone and scared, curled up beside my dead siblings and slave. I pray to any of the gods who will listen that they take him swiftly. The pain eating me up is grief or labor pangs. Perhaps it is both. I can’t bear it. I’m ready for it all to end. “I am proud to call you Father.”

Another pain strikes me hard in the middle and I stumble backward.

“Lilla,” Father says, settling me on the couch. “You have a strong constitution, daughter. Stronger than your mother’s and I think even stronger than mine.”

I grit my teeth at the pain and stare up at him. “I do not think any of us should have much longer to endure it.”

His silence confirms that we are not long for this life.

“I need to comfort the little ones,” he finally says. “The two I have left.”

I nod and glance over at Titus who kneels in defeat by the pile of rubble between our two rooms.

“Titus,” I murmur, closing my eyes as another wave hits me, only this time it burns as I feel the babe inside me descend into my birth canal. I have put off his entrance long enough, somehow enduring the pains and hiding them from all. My child wants to see what is left of this world. But I cannot let him.

“Lilla.” Titus faces me, his eyes resigned, and his mouth flat.

“He is coming,” I whisper, sweat beading my brow. “I cannot do it, Titus. I cannot bring him into this world.”

Titus shakes his head. “You must.”

“No.” I reach into the pouch at my side, filled with coin and something else. The vial. I am ashamed to admit the thought of using it crosses my mind before I am even certain that death will come. “I have something.” I pull out the vial I never wanted to use. “A way for us to make this end all the sooner.”

“No, Lilla. I forbid it!” Titus is adamant, anger creasing his brow. “Where did you get this?”

I shake my head. It is not important where I got it, only that I have it and I intend to use it. Titus grabs for the bottle, and I tighten my hold.

Our gazes lock and an internal battle between us both takes place. It is then, I feel the gush of warmth burst from my womb, pooling between my thighs and soaking the couch. My bag of waters has broken.

I shake my head, begging Titus with my gaze to let me do this.

Misery clouds us both. Pain fills my entire body, my very soul. I want a way to end it. A way to take control of my life. A way to choose. Vesuvius may have taken away my siblings, but it will not take my child. That is my choice. It will not kill me. The great mountain will not be triumphant. I shall prevail. I shall take away the one thing it seeks to destroy—us all. For I am one that will not wait. In what little time I have left, I will take charge of my fate, and that of my unborn child.

Titus grits his teeth, presses his forehead to mine. A sob escapes him, but then he says, “What say you, Lilla? Shall we share one last drink together?”

POLYBIUS

A father will die for his children. A soldier pledges his life to his emperor. He knows that with every last breath he has, every last stroke of his sword on his enemy, death will be an honor he gladly accepts. Even a lowly gladiator fights in an arena, risking his life and winning the great glory of breath when he is champion, but also gladly accepts an honorable death. Romans are fighters. We are honorable.

I am honorable. I would gladly trade my life for my wife and my children.

But I have been robbed of that choice.

I mourn the loss of four of my children. Two of my slaves. Sitting around me were future soldiers, politicians, wives of great men.

My wife. My daughter. All of them doomed to die with me.

“Decima,” I murmur against my wife’s ear. “Wake, Decima.”

She stirs. Her eyes blinking open. “Gaius?”

“We must …” I clear my throat, for how do you tell a woman to say goodbye to her two remaining children? She does not yet know about Julius, Little Bird, or Quintus.

Her gaze roves around the room, landing on our younger daughter and son. She closes her eyes again, and I feel her pulse kick up on my fingers where I graze her neck. She did not ask where her other children were. When her gaze centered on the collapsed door, she must have guessed. But then she responds.

“We must.” Her voice is strong, determined. She sits up, her lips firm. Stronger now than I’ve ever seen her before.

I nod. Decima presses her lips to mine, desperately, and I cannot help but sink against her, clutching her warm body to mine. A body that once comforted. A body that grew and nurtured our many children. I want it to last forever, to keep our breaths mingled until the entire house falls on our heads and the mountain’s wrath stops our hearts. But Decima pushes against me. Her eyes lock on mine and she nods.

“Children,” she croons and beckons them forward.

Our young ones come to us, their eyes wide and scared. They’ve seen more death and misery this day than any child should. A war from the gods brought to their feet.

“Time for bed, my loves, we must rest,” Decima says in a soothing voice.

The children nod and climb onto the couch, their arms wrapped around each other. Decima and I kiss them each, hug them tight and whisper a prayer. Then we turn to Lilla, a look a similar determination on her face.

“I love you, Lilla,” Decima says. “I pray Isis enfolds you in her grasp.”

“May the gods be with you, Mother, Father.” Her voice is strained, and the veins in her neck are protruding. She is in pain. Her hands clutch her belly and her breaths come quick.

I’ve seen this before. She is in full labor. Decima’s eyes widen as she takes in the sight of her daughter, and I know she realizes this, too.

“May the gods protect you,” my wife says on a breath and kneels before our eldest daughter. “May the gods protect your child.”

“
I
will protect my child,” Lilla grinds out.

Titus holds tight to his wife’s hand and kisses her knuckles. He glances up at me with a curt nod. “We shall see you soon, Polybius, in the Elysian Fields.”

I nod, because my throat is closed tight with emotion, stealing what little breath I’m able to draw. Decima presses a kiss to her daughter’s head and then pulls me toward our couch where she lies down and tugs me to join her.

“The gods await us,” Decima says.

I nod. “I’ll be forever at your side.”

My wife closes her eyes, her fingers curling into my shirt, knuckles white. The lights flicker. Of the three lanterns we had, only one remains, and it, too, will soon die.

JU
LILLA

“
Together
.”

I nod, and he bends to press his lips to my belly. While his face is turned away I scream silently to the shadowed ceiling. I cannot go on much longer. I’m being ripped in two. I feel like I’m already dying. I run my fingers through his hair as I’ve done many times, reliving every moment we’ve spent together, good, bad, and wonderful. I pant to keep the pain at bay and to keep from bearing down. We shall travel this next path together as we’d tread the last several years. Hand in hand.

Titus leans up, presses a kiss to my heart and grasps my hand in his. He touches the bottle wrapped in my grasp, its blown glass, blue and transparent.

He gazes into my eyes and I whisper a prayer I’ve heard many times before when death came to those close to us:
I approached the confines of death, and having trod on the threshold of Proserpine, I returned therefrom, being borne through all the elements. At midnight I saw the sun shining with its brilliant light; and I approached the presence of the Gods beneath, and the Gods of heaven, and stood near, and worshipped them.

I pray to the gods within our home, within Pompeii, and in Rome. I whisper the words. I think them when the pain becomes too much, and then I grasp tight to the vial, uncork it, and pull it to my lips. I gaze into Titus’ eyes.

He nods. “I will follow you,” he says. And I believe him. For once, I am taking the lead in what path we follow.

My pain will be gone. This darkened tomb will be gone. I will be with my babies. With Titus. With my brothers and sisters and my parents.

That is enough of a certainty to me. To spend whatever the walking afterlife is in peace and happiness, surrounded by those I loved. For the pain and torment to end here and now.

“I love you,” I whisper.

Before I take a sip, Titus jolts up and presses his mouth hard to mine. “I love you so much, my darling,” he says. “I had wished for so much more in this life for us.”

“But what we—” Pain steals my breath, my body seizes, ready to push my child into the world. I cannot allow it to happen. I squeeze my thighs tight, refusing to breathe. I won’t allow my body to push this child into the world. To push him into death. Better that he die cocooned within my womb: safe, comforted.

A sob threatens, but I squeeze my eyes tightly closed afraid even that little bit of motion will propel my baby out of me. I wanted this child. Prayed for him. Made certain I was healthy. Grew him. Felt him move within me. Dreamed for him. Planned for his future, and now I was going to take that away. But what choice did I have? To be born within this tomb would only mean he’d die within an hour. There is only one choice. To save him the pain of living.

I tip the potion and drink. The liquid inside burns a path down my throat, and I choke, sputter, can barely breathe. Where it settles in my belly, burning, and I gag. I clutch at my throat, forcing myself not to vomit. I thrust the glass toward Titus. This death will be quick, and I want him to hear what I have to say. “We had a good life, Titus.”

“We did, Lilla. I have no regrets.” He tips the vial, draining whatever is left in it.

I have plenty of regrets. But what good does it do to dwell on them? Our fates are sealed. “We’ll not look back,” I gasp. The pain of the poison is not as bad as the pain of my child pushing into the birth canal.

Titus climbs onto the bed, his eyes red and bulging as he lies beside me. His hard body is warm and gives me comfort. My mouth starts to tingle, my tongue going thick and numb. I want a drink of wine desperately, feeling a thirst that will never be quenched. Titus lays his head beside me, his arm resting over my abdomen, cradling our baby. I want to wrap my arms around him, but already my hands and feet are tingling, my arms growing numb and I can’t move them. I feel myself sweating. The pain of birth no longer grips me. I choke a sob.
My baby. My baby! Please forgive me
.
There was no other way.

I gasp for breath, unable to draw it in. Titus moans beside me, and I feel his pain inside me. I am being flayed alive inside. But I go to my death knowing that I chose this way to leave Pompeii, this world. Knowing that I did not bring a child into this world only to have it suffer.