I Survived the Destruction of Pompeii, AD 79

by Lauren Tarshis

  As Tata disappeared, all of the strength drained from Marcus’s body. These past two months, he’d always had the hope that he and Tata would be together again. And that speck of hope — a tiny glowing ember — had been everything to him.

  But now …

  Marcus lay back in the gutter, closing his eyes.

  How would he go on?

  In his mind he pictured Festus’s face, heard his barking orders. He imagined the slaves who’d been working in the villa for years. Their bodies were crooked and scarred, their eyes dead like statues’.

  And then Marcus thought of the heroes from his favorite stories. They had desperate moments, too: Odysseus, who was lost at sea for ten years on his way home from Troy. Hercules, pinned down by a bloodthirsty lion.

  Those courageous men knew terror and hopelessness, as Marcus did now.

  But their stories hadn’t ended with fear and defeat.

  Marcus’s eyes snapped open. He sat up and struggled to his feet.

  He understood.

  He would try to save Tata, even if it killed him.

  Marcus went to the fountain and splashed cool water on his face.

  He didn’t have much time. Soon the parade would reach the gladiator barracks, and Tata would be locked away. The barracks was like a prison, with high stone walls and a towering iron gate. Marcus had heard that the fighters were locked in dark cells, their arms and legs shackled, until it was time to fight.

  Once Tata was in the barracks, it would be too late.

  Somehow, Marcus had to steal Tata away from the parade.

  But how?

  He searched his mind for ideas. Again, he thought of Odysseus.

  Odysseus wasn’t the strongest man. But he was cunning. There had come a low point in the Trojan War when the Greek armies had Troy surrounded, but they could not break through the massive wall that encircled the city. Thousands of Trojan archers guarded the wall, ready to fire down on anyone who came close. Some Greek generals were ready to give up on invading the city of Troy.

  Not Odysseus.

  He came up with the ingenious idea of building a giant wooden horse with a hollow belly. He and his best Greek soldiers hid inside the horse. They made the Trojans believe the wooden animal was an offering from the gods, and tricked them into bringing it inside their walls.

  And then — attack!

  In the dead of night, Odysseus and the hidden soldiers snuck out of the horse and opened the gates. The Greek soldiers smashed the Trojan army and conquered the city.

  Marcus searched around. All he saw was the laundry bag, lying where he had dropped it.

  But wait …

  The idea flashed into Marcus’s mind, and before he could talk himself out of it, he had ripped the sack open and was rummaging through Festus’s clothes.

  He grabbed a toga, a robe woven from the finest wool and edged with purple ribbon. Marcus couldn’t build himself a wooden horse. But he could hide in Festus’s toga, disguise himself as an important Roman citizen.

  Marcus threw it around himself, covering his old tunic. The toga stank like rotten food, old wine, and Festus’s sweat. Marcus fought back his nausea as he wrapped the endless stretch of fabric around his body, finally draping the loose end over his shoulder.

  He straightened his shoulders. The toga dragged on the ground a bit, but it would do. Marcus spat into his hands and flattened his hair to his forehead, the style of a rich son of Rome.

  Now he just needed a weapon, something to scare the guards so he and Tata could escape.

  Once again, the answer was right in front of him, on the sidewalk: the snake charmer.

  Somehow, the old man was still dozing with the basket at his feet.

  Marcus crept up, kneeled, and snatched the basket.

  The old man was awake in a flash, hollering after him. “Stop him! Stop that thief!”

  Marcus darted through the crowd, one hand firmly on the lid of the basket. He was terrified that the lid would fly off, that the cobra would spring out and sink its fangs into Marcus’s neck. He could feel the snake hissing ferociously, banging its body against the sides of the flimsy basket.

  Marcus’s heart pounded, his legs wobbled, his mind swirled with fear. But somehow he kept himself moving until he caught up with the parade.

  The music had stopped and the lanista was unlocking the gates of the gladiator barracks.

  Marcus was almost out of time.

  And he would have just one chance.

  Marcus stepped slowly, clutching the basket. At first he didn’t notice how people moved aside for him, how slaves bowed their heads. And then he understood: His disguise was working! Nobody guessed he was just a slave.

  None of the guards tried to stop him as he approached the front of the parade. Marcus saw the lanista, his chest puffed out. And there was Tata. The big guard was jabbing him in the back with a spear, laughing at Tata’s pain.

  Marcus’s blood boiled as he walked toward the lanista.

  Closer …

  Closer …

  Closer …

  When he was just a few feet away, the lanista looked at him. Their eyes met, and Marcus saw the flash of recognition in the man’s eyes.

  “Stop him!” the lanista bellowed, pointing to Marcus.

  But it was too late. Marcus tore the lid off the basket. He lunged forward. And with all the strength he could gather, he thrust the open basket toward the lanista, propelling the snake into the air.

  The cobra soared, a twisting, hissing arrow. The snake struck the lanista in the chest and then landed on the ground, coiling itself tightly.

  The lanista’s womanly scream rose up over the crowd.

  And everything went still and silent.

  People stared, hypnotized by the sight of the cobra.

  The creature lifted its head, rising, rising, rising, until it was as tall as a child. It flared its great hood and then opened its mouth to expose its silky pink mouth and killer fangs.

  Hissssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss!

  And then, as if Marcus himself had pulled a lever, the earth started to rumble, just as it had earlier. Stones crumbled and fell from the wall surrounding the barracks. A roar echoed from deep under the ground.

  “It’s a curse from the gods!” someone shouted.

  The crowd erupted in panic.

  The lanista turned and ran, and his guards followed.

  Gladiators bolted. The snake slithered away.

  The horses screeched and reared up, tossing their riders to the ground.

  Marcus ran to Tata, who stared at him in confusion.

  “Tata!” Marcus said, tossing off his toga. “It’s me!”

  Amazement lit up Tata’s eyes, but there was not a second to spare.

  Tata grabbed Marcus’s hand as though he would never let it go.

  “This way!” Tata said, pulling Marcus to one of the riderless horses. It was a ragged white mare that looked a hundred years old. One of her ears looked as if it had been chewed off. Tata grabbed the reins and soothed the horse while Marcus climbed on. Tata climbed on in front of Marcus. “Hold on tight,” he said, snapping the reins.

  Marcus doubted the old horse could even run. But she shot forward and was soon speeding them down the street.

  Marcus clung to Tata, his heart pounding in terror. He expected spears to fly after them, a dagger to stab him in the middle of his back. But the horse ran faster and faster; it seemed she was as eager to escape her life in Pompeii as they were.

  They moved so fast that Marcus felt as though they were flying. Closing his eyes, he imagined that this old white mare was the winged horse Pegasus, and that they were soaring through the clouds.

  When he opened his eyes, he was shocked to see they had passed through the city gates.

  Tata raised his fist to the heavens and let out a Latin cheer.

  “Ecce!”

  They had made it.

  They headed for the mountain Vesuvius, a massive triangle of green that loomed up
to the east of Pompeii. As they left the city behind, Tata ripped the armor from his shoulders and legs, and threw the pieces into a ditch. He left his helmet in a field of wheat, a trade for the old tunic he snatched from the farmer’s drying line.

  They rode for hours, crossing orchards and olive groves, pastures and fields.

  Night was coming, and Tata decided they should stop in a patch of woods halfway up the mountain.

  They got off the mare and stretched their aching legs.

  Marcus reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of grapes he’d snatched from a vineyard they’d passed through.

  “Hungry, Peg?” Marcus said to the mare.

  “Peg?” Tata asked, arching one of his bushy brows.

  “Short for Pegasus,” Marcus said.

  Tata smiled, stroking the mare’s nose.

  Marcus fed the grapes to Peg one by one, until they were all gone.

  Peg smacked her lips and rubbed Marcus’s cheek with her nose.

  “We have a friend for life, it seems,” Tata said.

  Peg nickered as though she agreed, and Marcus and Tata laughed.

  It was that moment, as their laughter filled the air, that it really hit Marcus: This was not a dream, not a wish, not a desperate prayer to the gods.

  He and Tata were together! A jolt of happiness practically lifted him off the ground. And Tata seemed to feel it, too. They looked at each other and smiled.

  But then a shadow passed over Marcus’s heart. Because as happy as he felt at this moment, he knew they were in terrible danger.

  “They’ll come after us,” Marcus whispered.

  The slave hunters. Festus would hire the best, most cunning men, experts in tracking their prey.

  “They won’t look for us up here,” Tata promised. “The hunters will be searching Pompeii. It will be days before they come to the mountain. And by then we’ll be gone. We’ll head back to Rome, Marcus. I have no doubt that Linus’s friends will help us. Somehow I need to continue Linus’s work.”

  It amazed Marcus that Tata could be so certain, so filled with hope. He draped an arm around Marcus’s shoulders and looked up into the sky, admiring the bright moon and the swirl of stars.

  But what Marcus saw in the bright moonlight was the angry bruise on Tata’s cheek, the purple scar zigzagging along his chin. How Tata must have suffered these past two months!

  Marcus had already told Tata about his time with Festus. The words had poured out of him during their ride up the mountain, until at last he had told Tata about every last moment of his time with his brutal master.

  But Tata hadn’t said a thing about being with the gladiators.

  And now Marcus wanted to know.

  “Will you tell me what happened to you, Tata?” Marcus said.

  Pain flashed through Tata’s eyes and he looked away from Marcus.

  “That is the past now,” he said.

  And from his tone, Marcus knew that he must not ask again.

  But he couldn’t help thinking about what his father must have been through. And it made his blood boil.

  “I hate that lanista!” Marcus burst out. “And I hate Festus! I hate all of them for what they did to you, Tata! We need to get even!”

  Yes, Marcus thought, they’d get revenge! They’d set fire to Festus’s villa! Find the lanista and …

  But Tata whipped around, gripping Marcus’s shoulders.

  “No, Marcus,” he snapped. “Never speak like that. You must never let hatred take over! Then you are no better than Festus! And hatred like that will destroy you.”

  Marcus blinked, stung by Tata’s sharp tone.

  “I’m sorry, Tata,” Marcus said.

  Tata’s face softened. “There is goodness in the world, Marcus, and kindness. You cannot forget that.”

  Goodness? Kindness?

  Marcus had seen none of that lately.

  If there was one thing Marcus had learned these past two months, it was this: The world was a dark, evil place. Only the most ruthless would survive.

  But Marcus said none of that to Tata, who would not approve of such dark thoughts.

  And they were both so tired. They led Peg into a small grove of trees and tied her up for the night.

  Tata stretched out on a grassy patch.

  “Tomorrow our new life begins,” he whispered, and within seconds he was fast asleep.

  Marcus lay down next to Tata, but he couldn’t get comfortable. His muscles ached from the long ride. But it was the strange noises that kept snapping him awake — distant rumbles, low hisses. Was he dreaming? Once, he drifted to sleep, but was awakened when the earth seemed to be shaking. He sat up, wondering if Tata felt it, too.

  But Tata was sound asleep.

  Was Marcus imagining things? Maybe what he was hearing were just the rumbles of his own angry heart.

  But Peg seemed restless, too, stamping her feet, snorting.

  Finally Marcus got up and stood with her, stroking her patchy fur, resting his cheek against her warm head. He looked down at Pompeii, dimly lit by oil lamps and torches. He made out the shapes of the houses crowded together along the city walls, the boats moored in the harbor.

  Marcus hugged Peg.

  “It’s okay,” he told her. “We’re with Tata now. We’re safe up here.”

  He knew that was true, that the slave hunters were far away, that Festus was too busy with his important guests to be thinking too much about his escaped slave.

  Still, Marcus couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something lurking up here on the mountain, something even more dangerous than the slave hunters.

  But what could it be?

  It was close to dawn when Marcus finally fell asleep.

  And right away, he tumbled into a dream.

  He was on a quest with Hercules to kill the monstrous Hydra, an enormous serpent with nine heads. Just one puff of her poisonous breath could kill.

  Marcus waded silently through the dark and misty swamp, pushing aside sharp stalks of grass. And then, just ahead, there she was: the hideous serpent. Marcus stopped, frozen, as the beast rose up from the swamp. One by one, her nine horrific heads emerged from the mist, staring at him with glowing yellow eyes, leering with dripping, glistening fangs.

  And then —

  Huff.

  A burning, rotten stench rushed into Marcus’s lungs.

  The poisonous Hydra breath!

  Marcus gagged and coughed.

  His throat burned. His chest felt as if it would explode!

  “Marcus! Marcus!” a voice called.

  Hercules?

  “Marcus!”

  Marcus’s eyes popped open, and the nightmare fell away. Tata was kneeling next to him, calling his name, shaking him awake.

  It was all a dream!

  Relief poured over him as he realized he wasn’t in a swamp with the Hydra. He was on the mountain Vesuvius, with Tata.

  But wait … something was terribly wrong.

  The air was still poisonous! The Hydra was still puffing gusts of her burning breath into Marcus’s lungs.

  But there was no Hydra.

  That burning, poisonous smell was here.

  “Marcus,” Tata choked. “Get up! The air has gone bad!”

  Tata helped pull Marcus to his feet and they staggered together toward Peg.

  Marcus’s head pounded. Tears poured from his stinging eyes. His lungs were on fire and he gasped for breath. He felt dizzy. They couldn’t last much longer in this air!

  Peg was rearing in panic, white foam spewing from her mouth.

  Tata fumbled with her rope, finally untying it.

  They all stumbled out of the grove of trees, where the air was miraculously clear.

  Tata and Marcus collapsed to the ground, gulping the fresh air into their lungs.

  “Tata,” Marcus rasped. “What was that?”

  “Sulfur gas,” Tata replied, his voice ragged from coughing. “There’s no doubt. I smelled it once before, when Linus and I were vi
siting a gold mine in Africa. We were deep underground. Sulfur gas can be deadly. It can kill in minutes. We barely made it to the surface in time.”

  Tata looked back into the grove of trees. “It’s highly unusual to find sulfur gas above the ground,” he said.

  He stood and climbed onto a boulder that jutted out from the grassy slope, looking all around. Marcus saw a hint of worry in his father’s eyes. But mainly what he saw was curiosity, a hunger to learn and understand. It was the same look Tata used to get in Linus Selius’s library when he was chasing down a new theory. Suddenly, Tata was not a slave on the run. He was a scientist, searching for answers.

  And the truth was that after spending a lifetime working with Linus, Tata probably knew more about science and nature than most people in the empire. In recent years, Linus would ask Tata to join him when important guests came, eager for his friends to hear Tata’s ideas.

  Tata hopped down from the boulder.

  He held out his hand to Marcus, pulling him to his feet.

  “Let’s keep heading up the mountain,” he said, handing Marcus Peg’s reins. “We’ll discover more as we get closer to the top.”

  Tata set out, climbing the rocky path.

  Marcus took a deep breath, and gave Peg’s reins a tug.

  But the mare didn’t budge.

  She looked at Marcus with her wise brown eyes. Her expression was so thoughtful. Marcus would not have been shocked if she had opened her mouth and started to speak to him.

  “What is it?” Marcus said.

  The mare looked up the mountain.

  She stamped her foot.

  “You don’t want to go up there, do you?”

  Snort.

  “Me neither,” Marcus said.

  Tata’s voice shouted out. “Marcus!”

  Marcus and Peg eyed each other.

  “We can’t let Tata head up there by himself,” Marcus said.

  Peg made a noise that sounded like a sigh, and she stepped forward.

  Together they followed Tata toward the top of Vesuvius.

  They took the twisting path that wound up the mountain.