Death in the Ashes

by Albert A. Bell, Jr.

  The sun had set and darkness was deepening over Ostia, the air offering a hint of autumn’s coolness. I left the inn, walked to the corner, and turned onto the cross-street. Earlier in the day I had noticed a recessed doorway just a few paces past the corner. It was part of my plan. I ducked into it and waited.

  I wasn’t disappointed. I had barely gotten out of sight when a figure turned the corner. As he walked past my hiding place, I grabbed one of his arms and pulled him into the recess, shoving him face-first up against the door and pinning his arms behind him so he couldn’t draw a weapon.

  “Who are you?” I snarled into his ear. “And why are you following me?”

  “My lord Gaius, let go. You’re hurting me.”

  I could not mistake Aurora’s voice.

  †

  “By the gods! What are you doing here? And in that disguise?”

  I released her and stepped away. She turned around and pulled off the head-covering she’d been wearing. She had disguised herself as a young man in Eastern garb, in a brown robe and scarf drawn over part of her face. When I had glimpsed her twice earlier in the day, I thought she was an Arab. She had darkened her olive complexion even more with makeup.

  “I was concerned about you, my lord, so I followed you.”

  When we were children Aurora and I went out into the streets of Rome and listened in on conversations, at first playing at being spies but soon discovering we might stumble onto information my uncle found useful in his investigations for the princeps Vespasian. In the last few years I’ve given Aurora permission to leave my house without answering to anyone but me. She sometimes disguises herself, saying that every household should have eyes and ears in all sorts of places. This was the first time I’d known her to range so far.

  “Concerned about me? Why?”

  “Even before you left Rome, my lord, Dorias was on her way to Regulus’ house.”

  I recognized Dorias’ name, but her duties in my house kept her in the laundry or the kitchen most of the time, so I had trouble recalling her face. “And you think she’s Regulus’ spy?”

  Aurora nodded. “Or one of them, my lord.”

  “But why would Regulus care if I’m going to Naples?”

  “He cares about every move you make, my lord. He’s looking for any little misstep that will enable him to destroy you.”

  I couldn’t dispute her. Regulus had given up a sure victory in a court case just to have the opportunity to defeat me. We stayed in the recess, standing close together. I glanced out to see if anyone else was on the street. “How did you get here?”

  “I hired a horse, my lord.” She smiled and lit up the darkness around us. “I kept you in sight all the way down here.”

  I give Aurora small sums of money now and then, to enable her to buy drinks for people to loosen their tongues or even to bribe them outright. She must have been saving some of it, if she had enough to hire a horse.

  “You’re not as clever as you think, young lady,” I said. “I knew someone was following me.”

  “But you didn’t know who, did you?” I noticed that she dropped the domine, but I didn’t care. This was just the two of us, and I felt as close to her in my heart as I was to her physically.

  “Well, no… Does my mother know you’ve left the house?”

  “No. I waited until she was in the latrina. Demetrius knows I have your permission to leave as I wish, so he did not try to stop me.”

  I was torn between my pleasure at seeing her—and knowing she cared this much for me—and a feeling that she had taken advantage of the liberty I’d given her. I decided I had to be her master right now. “I appreciate your concern for me, but…you’ve gone too far. You have to go back to Rome.”

  She looked down and then back up at me. “Are you going to punish me?”

  We were standing close to one another, too close perhaps. Her shoulder pressed against mine, her breast caressing my chest. She wasn’t wearing her perfume, but my awareness of her had never been keener. I had trouble keeping my breathing under control. “You know I could never punish you…or hurt you in any way.”

  She looked straight into my eyes. “Could you ever love me, Gaius?”

  I was stunned by the impertinence of her question and just as much by my inability to answer it immediately. It was the question I’d been asking myself since the moment my mother informed me that she had arranged a marriage for me. Now Aurora had given voice to it. Until a question is put into words for another person to hear, it can be mulled over, even ignored. Once it’s been heard, though, it has to be answered, no matter how difficult or painful the answer might be.

  But how could I answer it? My mouth moved, but no words came out.

  “That’s what I thought,” Aurora said.

  “No, you don’t understand.”

  “Yes, I do understand, my lord.”

  No servant had ever dared speak those last two words to me in that tone.

  She put the head scarf she’d been wearing back on and started to step around me. “I’ll be on my way back to Rome tomorrow morning—or tonight, if you wish, my lord.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Let me get you a room.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for anyone else in the household to know I’ve done this, my lord. It obviously was a mistake, my lord.” She wiped her face with the tail of the scarf. “I’ll find my own room, my lord.”

  “Aurora, please…let me explain.” I grabbed her arm, but she jerked away from me and was gone before I could decide what I ought to do.

  †

  As the first rays of the sun fell on the docks Tacitus and I, with our servants, stood beside the Jupiter, waiting to be called aboard. The oars on the dock side of the ship had been pulled in to allow the vessel to be tied up. There was a great deal of activity on the ship as last-minute supplies were laded, the crew of rowers took their places, and a dozen armed legionaries found their positions on the deck.

  “You look like Dawn stuck one of her rosy fingers in your eye,” Tacitus said.

  “I didn’t sleep well.”

  “Something bothering you?”

  “Just anxiety…about this voyage,” I lied, “and the bed bugs.” The last part wasn’t a lie. I had spent the night scratching and recalling my last meeting with Aurora. At one point I even got up and was about to go out into the streets to search for her. Then I reminded myself that she had money and a horse. She could be anywhere.

  “Well, this is a big ship,” Tacitus assured me. “Once we’re underway you won’t notice any more bouncing or bobbing than you do in a litter. Decius was right about that.”

  “How big do you think it is?”

  Tacitus eyed the Jupiter like a potential buyer. “I’d say…forty paces long and perhaps six paces wide.”

  Decius appeared at the bow of the ship and waved to us. “Come aboard, sirs. We’re ready to leave.”

  We climbed the ladder that was extended from the ship to the dock and stowed our belongings where Decius showed us. In addition to the three banks of oars, the ship had a large sail mounted on a mast a bit closer to the bow than to the stern and a smaller sail on the bow. The deck was covered and flat, so we would be left open to the elements for the whole day. On each side of the deck a row of shields had been mounted vertically for protection during a battle. Below them a protective cover extended farther out as a kind of wooden awning over the rowers’ seats.

  Decius offered us the use of the small tent set up at the stern that was the captain’s quarters. “You can go below if you need to, but it’s crowded down there, and the air gets a little ripe as the day goes on. The most important thing to remember is, when you need to relieve yourself, be mindful of the wind.”

  Two smaller boats tossed lines to the ship so they could pull us away from the dock and out into open water. The ship creaked and pitched slightly from side to side. I clutched the rail and tried to appear comfortable, in spite of having been on a ship this large only once since I
was fourteen. That was when my uncle gave up trying to make a sailor of me.

  After seeing that all was in order, Decius came back to stand beside us and watch the operation. “These harbor rats know their business,” he said with a nod of approval. “They’ll have us out of the port in no time. We’ve got a good following north wind, so I’m going to use the sails and the oars. I’ve a mind to see just how fast we can make this trip. You’ll be having dinner in Naples this evening. I guarantee it.”

  When we were clear of the harbor we came to the mouth of the Tiber. Several things happened at once. Sailors released the tow lines and dropped them into the water. The harbor rats scrambled to pull them into their boats. The belly of the ship rumbled as the rowers slid their oars into position and turned the ship to the left, heading south.

  “Brace yourself,” Tacitus warned me, but I wasn’t quick enough.

  At Decius’ command the sails were unfurled and caught the breeze with a crack so loud I was afraid the mast had snapped. The ship seemed to leap ahead. My grip on the rail was too loose and I was thrown down on my backside. Tacitus laughed and extended a hand, but I couldn’t grab it before I rolled through a gap in the row of shields, slid down the wooden awning protecting the oarsmen, and tumbled overboard.

  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.

&nb
sp; 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.”