A Day of Fire: A Novel of Pompeii (5 page)

I awoke to a stranger applying a leech to my cheekbone. “What are you doing?” I cried, trying to swat the man away and sit up.

The man put a hand on my chest. “Lay still,” he said. “I am the physician in the house of Lepidus. The leech will take care of the worst of the swelling and bruising. Otherwise, the eye will close up.”

Gods, where was I? And who was Lepidus? Was he a friend of my uncle’s? The opulence of the gardens and courtyard indicated he likely was. Gods, did that mean that Uncle knew I was here?

The day’s events flooded back to me. I sat up. “My things! Where are my things?” I cried.

“The senator has them. They are safe. Your deep sleep has concerned us all, young man.”

“It’s only because I stayed up all night traveling,” I mumbled distractedly.

“I shall tell the senator that you are awake—just as soon as Master Mottled here,” he said, tapping the blood sucking creature on my face, “has had his fill.”

He
named
his leeches? Gods. Maybe this was all just a strange dream. But my physical aches told me it was real. So did the memory of Prima’s harsh words, which cut more deeply. I closed my eyes in misery.

I awoke to find the senator sitting beside me. He handed me a cup of honeyed wine, which I drank down in nearly one gulp.

“Now,” he fixed me with that keen gaze, “do you wish to tell me what this was all about?”

I groaned. “No. Not in the least.”

“I thought as much.” He did not look surprised. “I did not identify you to your hosts, merely told them you were a friend’s son who was set upon. I suspect that the fewer who know about your ‘adventure’ in Pompeii, the better. Am I correct?”

I sighed. “Yes.”

He eyed me a moment more, long fingers tapping. “I also suspect that it might be best for you to head back to Misenum right away.”

I rubbed my face gingerly and moved my jaw side to side, saying nothing. How could I go home again? Uncle would certainly disown me once he found out what I’d done. I needed to disappear. Maybe I could still sell his things and escape to an outlying province. That way, I’d never have to face my uncle’s expression of disappointment again. But then what? Gods, what was I going to do?

“You know, your uncle is concerned about you.”

“He is?”

The senator nodded. “When I stopped at your villa on the way here, we had a long discussion. You had already left to visit the house of Julius Polybius.”

For whatever reason, the thought that my uncle spoke with his friend about me made my throat go tight.

Then the senator said, “I told him the problem was likely a girl.”

“A girl? No. A whore.” A wave of shame and disgust washed over me as Prima’s words came back to me. What a fool I’d been! I put my head in my hands. “Will I always feel this stupid and weak?” I muttered.

The senator leaned toward me. “Here’s a secret that few men will admit out loud. On the inside, most of us feel small, stupid, and weak no matter what our size or how old we are. You become a man when you realize none of that matters. Only what we
do
matters. A man of Rome will do his duty even when he feels broken inside.”

I shook my head. “Men like you … like my uncle. I cannot imagine that you ever feel anything but strong and powerful.”

He laughed. “Look at me! I’m a cripple of forty-three who looks sixty, feels a hundred, and stands shorter than you by half a head. I rarely feel strong and powerful. Actually,” he mused, “I’m not sure I
ever
have … but you would not know that, would you?”

“No.” I had barely noticed his crooked shoulder or his modest height. What one noticed when meeting Senator Norbanus was his voice with its quiet ring of authority, and his gaze that could make even a man like Pansa squirm.

“A man’s measure is not taken by his feelings, young Caecilius.” The senator’s tone was gentle. “He is measured by how he faces the world, and carries out his civic and family duties. Do you see?”

I shrugged in misery.

“Consider that long-armed reptile
aedile
, Pansa, for instance. He lies, cheats, and steals in what I imagine is a bottomless desire for power and influence. But men like him are never satisfied. They grow worse—even more corrupt over time—because the more they fight to acquire the trappings of power and confidence, the more it eludes them.”

Silence. I did not want to talk about Pansa. But the senator clearly expected a response.

“I did not know you were a Stoic,” I said, trying to be flippant.

He shrugged. “’Virtue is rewarded with happiness,’” he said, quoting Epictetus.

I couldn’t imagine ever being happy again. The senator must have read my expression, for he added, “Do your duty by your uncle. It may not bring happiness, but it will bring a measure of peace.”

I left soon after, assuring the senator that I was headed straight back to Misenum, but I wasn't sure I would ever go home again.

AT the Sarno stables, my uncle’s man yelped in shock when he saw my face. “
Dominus
, what has happened? I knew I should’ve accompanied you! A man of your station should not walk the streets alone. The master will flog me for this!”

“No, he will not,” I said wearily. “I gave you a direct order to stay with the horses. You cannot be punished for obeying me.”

The older man, skin darkened and leathered from a life spent outside with horses, did not seem so sure. He twisted his hands with worry.

“And I am giving you another order,” I added. “You are to leave my horse here and ride back to Misenum right away. Without me.”

He gasped. “No, no,
Dominus
. That is impossible. I cannot allow that.”

“I am not going back to Misenum. And you have Uncle’s other horses to tend to.”

“But … but the horses need more rest.” He stared at the bag I continued to clutch tightly against my side. “And what do I tell your uncle?”

“Tell him I threatened you with crucifixion if you didn’t obey.”

“But young
dominus
, you did not …”

“I am sparing you the rod, Eponus. Now do as I say.”

He did, while I sat in a pungent corner of the stables near my horse and considered my options. Where could I go where I wouldn’t be found? How would I actually live after the money from selling Uncle’s goods ran out? I could escape to the provinces and try to earn money as a tutor to some barbarian’s child in some distant outpost, but just about every legate in every province would know my uncle. They’d be on the watch for me.

I was trapped.

The senator’s words—“Virtue is sufficient for happiness”—came back to me and I snorted derisively. No, senator, it is most definitely
not
sufficient for happiness. I’d never be happy, no matter how virtuous I’d try to become. All I had to do was remember the cold look in Prima’s eyes when she called me “little boy” for the pit of humiliation and despair to open up and swallow me again. It did not seem possible that there would ever be a time where it wouldn’t. Besides, what did virtue mean in this situation?

That I returned what I took and told my uncle the truth? The very idea made my insides turn to water. But running and hiding from him felt worse. It felt childish. And I wanted so much to stop feeling like a little boy. Wearily, I stood up and began preparing my horse for the journey. Home was the better of two miserable options. At least I could try to face Uncle like a man.

EVEN walking my horse battered my injured body in new ways. My ribs ached, my head pounded, and my stomach roiled. It was slow going.

I arrived late the next morning to a house in chaos. Servants rushed to and fro. Some of the women were crying.

“What is happening?” I asked one of the kitchen women when I entered the courtyard.

“Someone stole from
Dominus
! And we are all being forced to line up for interrogation,” she cried. “But none of us stole anything. Please, young master, let me go to talk to my children outside and warn them.”

I released her with a nod and went toward my mother’s chambers.

“Gaius!” she yelped when she saw me. “By Jupiter, what has happened to you?”

“Nothing of importance,” I said. “Mother, you must call off the interrogation of the household slaves immediately—“

“But your uncle is beside himself. He was so agitated I insisted he take a sunbath and a cold plunge—“

“Listen to me. You must tell him to call it off. I have … found his things. And as soon as I get cleaned up I will bring them to him.”

She looked at me quizzically. “But how …”

“Mother, it is a long, convoluted story which I will discuss only with him. Please do as I say.”

After a quick plunge in the baths, I knew I could delay no longer. I grabbed the things I had taken from him and walked slowly up the outdoor terrace stairs. If Uncle disowned me, this could be my last time. I paused, taking a deep breath, which only made my ribs twinge with pain. Gods, I didn’t want to do this. But I was no longer a child, right?

In the corner of every marble step stood a painted pot overflowing with pink and white flowers. The sun glittered off the calm waters of the bay, shining like precious gems—here turquoise, there sapphire, and dark lapis lazuli out into the gulf. Sea breezes rustled the potted palms clustered in the corner of the terrace. I wondered if condemned men facing execution experienced this kind of almost painful visual clarity of the beauty around them. Again, a part of me screamed to run, to get away, to hide from what I’d done. But still, I climbed, one heavy foot after another.

I found my uncle dozing in the shade of an inner room facing the sea. His chin rested on his chest, nestled within the folds of his neck, a partially unrolled scroll on his lap. I stared down at him, surprised to see him looking so vulnerable, so … so
soft
in sleep. Ocean breezes had ruffled his gray hair into a boyish mess and his thick fingers were smudged with ink. It was easy to imagine him as a young child with dirt-caked hands in that moment. But then I remembered that he was already leading armed attacks in Germania as an officer at twenty-three. Only six years older than I was. It seemed inconceivable to me that I would ever command that kind of respect.

With a sigh, I dragged a heavy chair over the tiled floor, knowing that the sound would wake him in a way that we could both pretend he hadn’t been sleeping.

“Gaius!” he said, his bloodshot eyes flying open as he raised his head. “Plinia tells me you found my things! I don’t understand how that is possible but surely the gods were smiling down upon such a strange coincidence—“

“Uncle,” I interrupted, sitting heavily. “I did not ‘find’ your missing scroll and signet ring.” I pointed to the things I’d placed on a small round table between us. “I took them.”

He stared at me slack jawed. “I don’t understand. But you left for Pompeii days ago. I used my signet ring the day after you left!”

I nodded. “I snuck home in the night.”

He blinked several times. “But … but
why
? Why would you do such a thing?”

Taking a deep breath, I began the whole story. “In Pompeii, there is … there
was
, a girl.”

As I finished, Uncle squinted out to sea, his brow furrowed into deep, dark ruts. Only the occasional squawk of a sea gull broke the heavy silence.

Despite his expression, I was relieved the worst was over. I had spoken the truth. I had admitted to my terrible acts of theft and cowardice. A strange sense of calm descended over me. Was this momentary relief and lightness the “virtue” the senator meant?

“You do understand we were rounding up the slaves to begin the interrogations,” Uncle said, sounding tired.

The full realization of what he meant hit me hard. By law, every one of our slaves would’ve been tortured in the process of investigating the thefts. Whoever broke under the torture and admitted to the theft—even if they were lying just to make the pain stop—would then be whipped and possibly crucified. I tried to imagine Uncle’s secretary or Mother’s hairdresser being tortured and my stomach clenched in disgust. And all for Prima, who had pretended to care for me but had only barely tolerated me for my coin. Again, shame clogged my throat. How,
how
could I have been so stupid?

“I am more sorry than I can say, Uncle,” I finally managed. “I will accept whatever punishment you deem appropriate for my foolishness.”

Uncle snorted and shook his head as if there were no punishment strong enough. I couldn’t blame him, really—I deserved his disdain. If I were exiled or disowned, I would just have to learn to handle it. Perhaps such a hardship would finally harden me into a man.

“I believe,” Uncle said with one of his breathy, wheezing sighs. “That the memory of the slave-girl’s cruelty—which I can tell you, you will
never
forget—is probably punishment enough.”

I blinked. “But …”