I Survived the Destruction of Pompeii, AD 79

by Lauren Tarshis

  The sun was barely up, but already it roasted their backs.

  Tata kept stopping to look around. He seemed to be taking the mountain apart with his eyes, inch by inch. He kept crouching down, scooping up handfuls of soil, rubbing it between his fingers. He ripped up pieces of grass, sniffing them, and even touching them to his tongue.

  “Do you notice the quiet?” he asked at one point. “There are no birds or insects anywhere.”

  Tata was right.

  Normally at this time of morning, the air would be alive with chirping and singing and chattering. But Marcus had not seen one creature since they came up on the mountain, not a deer, a squirrel, nor even a fly. No people, either. There were pastures on this side of Vesuvius, and they’d passed two shepherd shacks. But they hadn’t seen a soul.

  “Where did they all go?” Marcus asked, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

  “It might be that there’s not enough water,” Tata said. “It could be the heat drove them off.”

  They’d already discovered that the streams higher up on the mountain were mysteriously dried up. They’d managed to find just one that still ran. And the trickle of water tasted so foul they could barely choke it down. Peg wouldn’t go near it, even though she’d barely had a drink since before they’d slept last night. Maybe that was why she was walking so slowly, why she kept stopping and stamping her feet.

  But now, as they passed through a cluster of pine trees, Peg stopped short. Tata pulled at her rope, but she refused to move. Marcus gave her a pat.

  “Come on, Peg,” he said.

  The mare refused to budge.

  She looked at Marcus with wide, fearful eyes.

  Neigh!

  Was she trying to warn them about something?

  Marcus found the answer when he peered through the trees, into a meadow. The first thing he noticed was the grass was brown, as though it had been burned.

  Then he saw the sheep — at least twenty of them — all splayed out on their sides or backs.

  Marcus knew right away that they were all dead.

  “Good Jupiter,” Tata whispered in shock, stepping slowly into the field.

  Once again, Marcus had to force himself to follow his father.

  Tata crouched down next to one of the sheep.

  “There’s not a mark on her,” Tata said, laying a gentle hand over the poor creature’s head.

  It was true — there was not a speck of blood, no bite marks, no wounds at all.

  But her tongue bulged out of her mouth and her eyes were wide in agony.

  All the sheep looked the same.

  What could have killed them?

  Tata said a prayer in his old Germanic language and then stood up.

  “I’ve seen enough,” he said. “We must leave here. Now.”

  But as they turned, there was a low rumbling from deep inside the earth. It quickly rose to a roar as the ground started to shake. Marcus half expected a great beast to burst through the soil, for a giant clawed hand to grab him around the throat.

  What he saw next was almost more horrifying.

  As the ground boiled, the field suddenly ripped apart right in front of them. The gaping crack looked like an evil smiling mouth, ready to devour them. Great chunks of earth and dead sheep tumbled into the blackness. Marcus and Tata staggered back.

  And then —

  Boom!

  An explosion shattered the air. Fire leaped out of the crack, a massive flaming tongue that seemed to lick the sky and then disappear.

  The force of the blast knocked them over, and sent Marcus tumbling down the steep slope.

  He rolled and twisted, his neck cracking, his arms tangling, his face scraping the rocky dirt as he slid down the hill.

  He crashed into a tree, which knocked every bit of air out of his lungs.

  Finally the ground stopped shaking. The fire was gone. But now ash rained down on them, a silent blizzard of hot flakes.

  Marcus sat there, numb with terror, dizzy from his fall.

  Tata came hurtling down the hill with Peg.

  “Are you hurt?” he gasped, dropping to his knees next to Marcus.

  Marcus shook his head dumbly, slowly rising to his feet.

  Moments later, they were speeding down the mountain on Peg.

  The mare ran like she had the day before, her hooves barely touching the ground.

  Finally, Tata spoke.

  “A terrible fire is burning under the mountain,” he warned. “I believe the entire mountain will explode.”

  Marcus was too stunned to speak, or even think.

  All he could hear was a ragged voice whispering in his mind.

  The beggar woman’s voice.

  “This world will burn.”

  Tata was silent for most of the ride down, hunkered deep inside his thoughts. Marcus could sense that he was trying to assemble a huge puzzle in his mind, to make sense out of all they had seen.

  As they came to the bottom of the mountain, Tata had his theory, and he explained it all to Marcus in terrifying detail.

  “Some mountains are not just solid rock,” Tata began. “They are filled with gases and fire and melted rock. Virgil wrote about such a mountain in Greece, called Etna.”

  Virgil was one of Rome’s most famous writers.

  “Virgil told of a terrible eruption, maybe a hundred years ago,” Tata continued. “He said that fire and ash shot from the mountain into the sky, that day turned to night, and a burning cloud swept down the mountain, destroying everything in its path.”

  Tata turned to look at Marcus.

  “I never imagined it could be true,” Tata said. “I thought it was just an exciting tale. But now we’ve seen for ourselves.”

  Yes, they had, though Marcus still couldn’t quite believe it had all happened. The earth tremors. Killer clouds. Foul water. Dead sheep. Flames shooting out of the ground. And that terrifying explosion. It was stranger than any tale Marcus had ever read.

  “It all makes sense,” Tata said. “What is happening now on Vesuvius tells me that the worst is yet to come, that the entire mountain is about to explode.”

  Marcus shivered, though the heat was searing.

  “Will Pompeii be destroyed?” he said.

  Tata was silent for a moment.

  “I have no doubt,” Tata said finally.

  Marcus held Tata tighter.

  “I met an old woman yesterday, a beggar,” he said, remembering the woman’s shining green eyes and gnarled hands. “She said the strangest things to me — that Pompeii was doomed, that the city would burn. I thought she was a madwoman. But what she said was right! She could read the future!”

  “I don’t believe in prophets and witches,” Tata said. “But nature sends out warnings. Why do you think all of the animals have fled? They felt the tremors, scented the sulfur, tasted the water. Their instincts told them to flee. Linus would say that the old woman is keenly sensitive — or that she has the mind of a great scientist.”

  It was hard to imagine that poor old hag discussing science with Tata and Linus. But what Tata said made sense.

  “Where will we go?” Marcus asked.

  Tata didn’t answer right away.

  Then he slowed Peg to a stop and turned in the saddle to face Marcus.

  “We need to warn the people of Pompeii,” he said. “They have no idea what is about to happen. If we don’t warn them, they could all be killed.”

  It took Marcus a moment for Tata’s words to sink in.

  Was he really saying they should go to the very city about to be destroyed? A city where slave hunters were prowling through every alley with their spears and chains?

  Marcus didn’t want to go anywhere near that wretched city! He and Tata needed to save themselves, to get as far away as they could. Now!

  “I don’t understand,” Marcus said.

  Tata touched Marcus’s hand. “But you do. There are more than ten thousand people living in Pompeii. It’s our duty to warn them of what is
about to happen.”

  Marcus tried to look away from Tata, but their eyes were locked together.

  And Marcus recognized something in Tata’s gaze.

  It was the same determined look that Marcus had always imagined on the faces of his heroes as they prepared for their battles.

  Hadn’t Odysseus and Hercules risked their lives over and over? Hadn’t they plunged into danger without thinking about whether they’d come out alive?

  Marcus had read so many stories of heroic warriors. But it was only now, looking at his father, that he finally understood what it meant to have honor, to be a hero.

  Marcus reached deep inside himself, trying to summon some courage of his own.

  To his surprise, he found more than he expected.

  He sat taller. “Yes, I understand, Tata.”

  Marcus saw the flash of pride on Tata’s face before he turned back around. He gave Peg a pat.

  And off they galloped, on their tattered mare, toward the doomed city of Pompeii.

  The sun was high in the sky as they approached the city.

  They tied Peg to a tree in an olive grove, about a half mile from Pompeii’s eastern gates.

  Marcus hugged Peg. “I’ll be back.”

  The mare nosed him in the chest, looking him in the eye.

  The ground rumbled again — the tremors were definitely getting stronger.

  Marcus looked back nervously at the mountain and loosened Peg’s rope.

  “If we’re not back, you need to break free from here and get out on your own.”

  Peg eyed him.

  “You understand me?” he said. “Don’t wait for us.”

  The mare snorted.

  Marcus hoped that meant yes.

  He hugged her one last time, and Tata rubbed her nose before they headed for the city gates.

  Tata’s plan was to speak to Pompeii’s magistrates — the men elected to lead the city. They would know the best way to warn the people of Pompeii.

  Marcus and Tata wove through the crowded streets, keeping their eyes out for men who might help — and those who might be hunting for them.

  It didn’t take long to reach the Forum — an open square surrounded by five buildings and the city’s main temple, dedicated to Jupiter. Statues of emperors and generals seemed to glare at Marcus as he followed Tata to the magistrates’ building. Marcus’s heart pounded as they approached the entrance, where three steely-looking guards stood watch.

  “Stop, slave,” a guard ordered.

  Tata held his head up.

  “Sir, I have an urgent message for the city’s leaders. The city is in danger. We must warn the people of Pompeii.”

  The man barely glanced at Tata from beneath his helmet.

  “Be gone,” the guard ordered, shooing him as though he were a stray dog.

  “Sir,” Tata said. “It’s the mountain. There will soon be a terrible explosion. We —”

  The guard raised his spear menacingly.

  “Go from here! Nobody in there wants to talk to a filthy slave!”

  Suddenly Marcus couldn’t help but see what the guard saw when he looked at Tata. With his tattered tunic and body stained with bruises, Tata looked little better than the beggar woman.

  The other guards stepped up, their spears glinting in the sun.

  This was hopeless, Marcus realized.

  “You are making a mistake,” Tata warned, taking Marcus’s arm and hurrying him away.

  They walked out of the Forum and headed toward the main street.

  “We’ll have to tell people ourselves,” Tata said. “We’ll go to the shops and restaurants. Hopefully some people will listen.”

  Marcus hoped Tata couldn’t read his thoughts: They were wasting their time. Nobody would take the word of a slave.

  They stood on the sidewalk, waiting to cross the crowded street.

  Two laughing little boys ran behind their mother. One held a wooden sword.

  “I’m Cyclops!” the boy sang.

  The gladiator match! That’s where everyone was heading!

  Marcus watched the boys, but then his eyes drifted up to Vesuvius.

  What he saw stopped his heart: a wisp of smoke, rising out of the peak.

  The mountain seemed to be coming alive.

  “Tata …” Marcus pointed up at the smoking mountain.

  Tata stared in horror — and fascination.

  They both stood there, their eyes glued to the mountain. Which is why they didn’t see the golden chariot that had stopped suddenly right in front of them — or the pair of cold, pale eyes that glared at them.

  By the time Marcus saw Festus and his guards rushing toward them, it was too late. Penned in by the crowds, he and Tata were trapped.

  And seconds later Marcus was staring at the glinting tip of a spear.

  “Idiots,” Festus hissed. “You actually believed you could escape?”

  Tata shook his arm from the guard’s grip and stepped toward Festus.

  “Sir, please, a disaster is coming. The mountain is about to explode. People must leave the city right away.”

  Festus laughed cruelly. “You think you can save yourself by telling tales?”

  The guard grabbed Tata roughly, and once again Tata shook himself free. He seemed to be gaining strength from the crowd, from the fear and panic in the eyes of the people all around them.

  “You’ve felt the earth tremors. And now look at the mountain. You can see for yourself, the smoke! Any moment it’s going to explode.”

  Festus didn’t even look at the mountain. He put his face close to Tata’s, screaming, “You dare try to outsmart me? You think I’m a fool?”

  “Think of your uncle, sir, of Linus,” Tata said, struggling as the guard gripped him again. “He would agree with me. I’m certain.”

  Festus’s fat cheeks turned bright red.

  “My uncle was a weak-minded idiot,” Festus said, spitting out the words. “He cared more for a slave than me, a man who shared his own blood!”

  And suddenly it was all clear to Marcus — why Festus had sold Tata so quickly.

  Few people in Rome were as admired as Linus Selius. And yet he had never been impressed by Festus’s chariots and villas and fine stallions. Linus knew the truth about his nephew, that he made his money by cheating people.

  Tata had the one thing that Festus’s fortune couldn’t buy: his uncle’s respect.

  And Festus hated Tata for it. He hated him so much that he would make Tata suffer the worst fate imaginable: death in the arena.

  “Take this slave to the lanista!” Festus ordered. “He will be just in time for his match against Cyclops.”

  As the guards dragged his father away, Marcus’s blood boiled in his veins. His heart smoldered with hatred.

  He stepped close to Festus, looking him squarely in his fishlike eyes.

  “You are evil.”

  “Marcus!” Tata gasped.

  Marcus couldn’t miss the flicker of shock on Festus’s face.

  But, of course, Festus had the last word.

  “Take the boy to the lanista, too. Tell him it’s a gift from me. It will be quite a show today for the people of Pompeii.”

  As the guards took hold of Marcus, something exploded deep inside him.

  He opened his mouth to scream, to curse Festus and this dark and evil world.

  But it was not Marcus’s voice that filled the air.

  It was the voice of Vesuvius — two shattering explosions.

  BOOM!

  BOOM!

  The ground shook as Marcus had never felt before, as though hundreds of monsters were waking up in their underground caves, pounding the earth in fits of fury.

  Panicking, the guards let go of Marcus and Tata. Marcus ran to his father and clung to him, struggling to stay upright as the earth rose and fell like waves on a wild river.

  The top of the mountain had blown off, and from the jagged opening gushed an enormous billowing brown cloud. The cloud seemed to stretch int
o the heavens. Flames shot through the smoke as jagged bolts of lightning ripped at the sky.

  People streamed out of the shops. Beggars rose to their feet. Slaves dropped their bundles of wood and water jugs.

  For a moment, nobody spoke. Nobody even seemed to be breathing.

  All eyes were on the mountain.

  But then came the shouts.

  “It’s the end of the world!”

  “Why are the gods punishing us?”

  “Everyone must leave Pompeii!” Tata shouted. He started pulling Marcus through the crowd.

  But Festus called to his guards. “No! Stop those slaves!” Festus bellowed.

  The guards lunged for Marcus and Tata.

  But Tata held up his hand. “You must listen!” he boomed. Somehow his voice rose up over the roar of Vesuvius.

  To Marcus’s shock, the guards did not move. They were just as scared as everyone else.

  “If you want to live, you must leave now,” Tata warned. He spoke not only to the guards but to the gathering crowd. “Get out of the city, and go as far away from the mountain as you can.”

  Just then a man stepped out of Festus’s chariot. His fine toga swished around his powerful body. In his hand flashed the seal of a senator, one of the most powerful men in Pompeii. But it was not Festus that this man had come out to talk to. It was Tata.

  “What you say about the mountain,” he demanded. “How do you know this?”

  Festus stepped up. “He is just —”

  The man silenced Festus with a wave of his hand.

  “Speak,” he ordered Tata.

  Tata did not shrink back from the powerful man. He met his challenging gaze.

  “Sir, for years my master was the scientist Linus Selius. My son and I were on the mountain last night. We saw many signs that this disaster was coming. Soon it will be too late to escape with our lives.”

  The man looked up on the mountain, at the boiling ash cloud that now filled the sky. The mountain’s power seemed to be growing. It was now only a matter of time before this blanket of doom fell over the city.

  “How much time do we have?”

  “A few hours at the most,” Tata said. “The worst will come after the mountain runs out of power. I believe all of the gases and ash in the sky will come back down, and explode. A great wave of fire will sweep down over Pompeii.”