Death in the Ashes

by Albert A. Bell, Jr.

  Thamyras shook his head and looked at me as though pleading with me. “That’s all I’ve been thinking about, my lord, and I can’t remember anything else. Calpurnius was standing over the woman, with the knife in his hand. As soon as he saw me, he told me to go get help. That’s all I can tell you.”

  I wanted to get him thinking differently about what he had seen. Often, when a person witnesses some dire event, he can recall it only from the perspective from which he viewed it. Someone has to coax him to look at it from another angle, to imagine himself standing somewhere else in the scene.

  “Who was the woman who was killed?”

  “She was called Amalthea, my lord.”

  “What were her duties in the house?”

  “She worked in the kitchen, my lord. She was one of the lady ­Aurelia’s people.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “When Calpurnius and Aurelia married, my lord, they moved into Aurelia’s house, because Calpurnius’ villa had been buried in the eruption. Some of the servants are Calpurnius’ people that he brought with him, like me, but most are Aurelia’s people.”

  “How are you getting along? Is there any animosity between the two groups?”

  “No, my lord. I think we’ve mixed well, like water and wine.”

  At least he didn’t say water and olive oil. “Did Calpurnius even know Amalthea before the marriage?”

  “No, my lord, I’m sure he didn’t.”

  I couldn’t detect any telltale signs of lying. Everyone has them—a blinking of the eye, an inability to look at a person—but Thamyras seemed straightforward. “Do you know of anyone who had argued with Amalthea or had any complaint against her?” I asked.

  “No, my lord. She was quiet, minded her own business.”

  “Have Calpurnius and Aurelia had any arguments recently?”

  He seemed surprised by the leap I had made. “No, my lord. They’re very happy and so pleased about the child. I haven’t heard a cross word between them.”

  He seemed to be relaxing. His back wasn’t quite as straight and he was looking around at the gear stowed in the captain’s quarters. I felt it was time to shift attention back to the murder scene. “You said you found Calpurnius in an orchard behind the house?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “What were you doing there?”

  “It’s my job, my lord. I take care of the garden and the orchard.”

  So he had every reason to be there. I was sorely missing Phineas and his notes. “Why was Amalthea there, if she was a kitchen servant?”

  “She went out every morning for some sort of religious ritual, my lord.”

  “Religious ritual?”

  “Yes, my lord. She had carved a mark in one of the trees. I guess she worshiped it. She did it before my lord and lady got married. She went into a kind of trance. The morning I spoke to her, she didn’t know I was there until I touched her arm. I told her not to go carving up any more of the trees.”

  “Can you show me that tree when we get there?”

  “Certainly, my lord.”

  “Now, what can you tell me about Calpurnius when you found him there?” I realized that was too vague a question. “What about the expression on his face? Did he seem frightened? Surprised? Angry?”

  “I would say more like…confused, my lord. He looked at the knife, at me, then back at the knife.”

  “How much blood was there on his clothing?”

  Thamyras brushed his thinning hair out of his face and pondered a moment. “That’s interesting, my lord. Now that you mention it, there wasn’t any blood on him that I could see. I hadn’t thought about that.”

  Now I had a trail I could follow, like a hound picking up a scent for the first time. “How was he standing when you saw him? Was he facing you?”

  “Not entirely, my lord.”

  “Show me.”

  Thamyras stood and turned so that I was looking at him from the side. “Well, my lord, he was like this when I came up to him. Then he turned partway toward me.”

  “You were looking at him from the right side, the side where he was holding the knife?”

  Thamyras nodded.

  “So you saw at least that side of his tunic.”

  “Yes, my lord, and there was no blood on it.” He blinked as he took in the meaning of what he’d just said. “Does that mean he didn’t kill her?”

  “It’s not conclusive proof, I know, but if a man was standing close enough to stab someone, I would expect to find blood on his clothes.”

  “Certainly, my lord. That’s what happens in the arena, when the gladiators fight.” His face showed excitement, either at the memory of the slaughter he’d seen or the realization of some slight hope of proving his master innocent.

  “Don’t put too much weight on one little observation,” I cautioned him.

  He sat back down, arms resting on his legs. “It’s a relief to have any hope, my lord, no matter how small. I can see why the lady Aurelia sent for you.”

  “You seem quite devoted to your master and lady.”

  “I’ve served Calpurnius since I was a boy, my lord.” He straightened his back with pride. “He’s always been kind and fair with me—and with all his servants. And now the lady Aurelia has brought him much happiness, long overdue happiness. For that I owe her loyal service.”

  I cocked my head. “ ‘Overdue happiness’? Was Calpurnius not happy before his marriage?”

  Thamyras’ face told me that he knew he had said too much. “Excuse me, my lord, but I think I’m going to be sick again.” He bolted out of the tent, leaned over the rail, and began to make retching noises, but only noises, like a storm that never brings rain.

  †

  At about the tenth hour Decius found me standing by the rail. “Sorry to disturb your musings, sir, but we’re about to come into the bay.”

  I saw what I had been looking at without paying any attention. “Oh, yes, that’s Cumae, isn’t it?” I wondered if the Sibyl could give me any advice on the questions I’d been pondering.

  “Yes, sir, and Misenum is just ahead.” Decius pointed to the promontory looming larger with every stroke of the oars. “Once we’re around it, we’ll strike the sails. With the wind from this direction, they won’t do us any good when we’re crossing the bay.”

  “I’d better get Tacitus,” I said.

  “Yes, sir. And I’m sure he’s going to want to hear our stories about the eruption.”

  “You know more about it than I do, Decius. You sailed right into the teeth of it. I sat back and tried to read while the world was falling apart, just because I didn’t want to get on a ship. I’ve often wondered if it would have made any difference if I had gone with my uncle. Could I have saved him?”

  “Don’t trouble yourself with thoughts like that, sir. The commander always had trouble with his breathing. You know that. He just couldn’t get a breath in that hot air. You’re more likely to have died with him than to have saved him. Don’t trouble yourself.”

  He put a hand on my shoulder. Something about the gesture made me feel twelve years old again. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d called me “lad.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself about what?” Tacitus asked as he came up behind us.

  “Things that can’t be changed,” I said.

  “That’s good advice indeed.” Tacitus leaned on the rail beside me. “In all areas of your life. Is this Misenum ahead of us?”

  “Yes, sir,” Decius said. “We’ll slip between the point and the island of Prochyta over there and turn east into the bay.”

  “Will we be able to see your villa?” Tacitus asked me.

  “If we look behind us. It’s on the east side of the point, at the top of the hill. That’s why we could see the eruption so clearly.”

  “Do you want to stop there, sir?” Decius asked.

  “No. Let’s just go on to Naples. Thamyras will still have to show us where Aurelia’s house is once we get there. I want to a
rrive before dark, if at all possible. If we have time, I might stop here on the way back.”

  “A surprise inspection will keep them honest,” Tacitus said.

  Once we had passed Prochyta and were turning into the bay I pointed out my villa to Tacitus. Misenum is a cape with the Tyrrhenian Sea on one side of it and an inlet of the bay on the other. Puteoli sits on that inlet, rather than on the bay itself.

  “Didn’t I hear you say once that you were born in Puteoli?” I asked Decius.

  “Yes, sir, I was. That part of the bay was spared the worst of it, thank the gods.”

  Passing the inlet gave me the feeling of being on completely open water, too far away from land. I’m a competent enough swimmer that, if I had to, I could make it from where most ships sail to the shore, but not to the other side of the inlet. I was glad to get past it and see a coastline again.

  “The land still has a gray cast to it,” Tacitus said, “even under the canopy of leaves.”

  “Yes, sir,” Decius said. “The ash still gets into everything, even this far away. Some days I feel like I’m eating it and breathing it.”

  I had turned my back to the coast and leaned against the rail. “It’s amazing how light the ash feels, like warm snow, when you pick up a handful of it, but when it piles up, the weight can crush you.”

  “That’s what almost happened to you and your mother, wasn’t it?” Tacitus asked.

  “I’ve not heard that part of the story, sir,” Decius said.

  Now that we were here, there was no way to avoid thinking and talking about those days. I’d known from the start that was how it would be. “After you and my uncle left, the ground began shaking so badly I ordered everyone to gather in the garden, so we wouldn’t be crushed if the house fell. Even that didn’t seem safe, though, so I decided to leave the house and move north, as everyone around us was doing. We couldn’t get the wagons to stay still to board them, even with the wheels chocked, so we started walking. A servant helped me hold my mother up. She told me to leave her behind so that she wouldn’t be the cause of my death.”

  “You would never do that, sir,” Decius said.

  “No, of course not. We got several miles up the road when my mother simply couldn’t go any farther. We took shelter behind a milestone so we wouldn’t be trampled by the crowd. It was dark as night and people were crying, looking for those they’d lost and wailing in despair. Some thought it was the end of the world, and I wouldn’t have argued with them.

  “After we’d been sitting down for a bit I tried to move and that was when I discovered that the ash was burying us. I couldn’t see it happening because it was so dark, but I felt it. I managed to get up and get my mother on her feet. We stayed there, getting up often to shake off the ash, until a bit of light returned to the sky. Then we turned back to home. If we had fallen asleep, we would still be buried there. You know how tall milestones are.”

  “Oh, yes, sir,” Decius said. “Usually taller than a man.”

  “Exactly. That’s how this one was when we sat down. When we left, the top of it was even with my waist.”

  Decius shook his head in disbelief. “And you were that far from the mountain! Speaking of the accursed thing…”

  I dreaded looking ahead, but Tacitus pointed and said in awe, “By the gods! So that’s Vesuvius.”

  VI

  We could not yet see the eastern coast of the bay, but the mountain was already looming on the horizon, as though jutting out of the sea like an island, or like the Pharos lighthouse as you approach Alexandria.

  “It looks like it has two peaks,” Tacitus said.

  “It used to be almost a cone.” Decius tented his hands to show the shape. “The eruption tore the top off.”

  “There’s a wisp of smoke coming out of it now,” I said, drawing a deep breath to try to steady myself.

  “It does that now and then.” Decius didn’t seem concerned. “We’ve gotten used to it. Some folks around here say it’s just old Vulcan belching—or farting, if you’re inclined to be earthier about it.”

  “The eruption started one afternoon in August, didn’t it?” Tacitus asked.

  “Yes, sir. Nine days before the Kalends of September.”

  My stomach tightened as more of Vesuvius’ mass rose into the sky. “My uncle, my mother, and I were sitting on the terrace after lunch when my mother spotted the cloud,” I said.

  Decius’ voice softened and deepened. “The commander sent me an order to get a ship ready—this ship. He wanted to investigate. But by the time I could round up the crew and get them on board, we had a message from a friend of his, Rectina, the wife of Tascus, begging for help. So, instead of satisfying the commander’s curiosity, we got several ships ready to go rescue people.”

  Tacitus looked puzzled. “If people could send messages, why did they need rescuing?”

  “Rectina sent one of her servants by land,” I said, “before the eruption got really bad. She was elderly and given to hysterics. Her house was right at the foot of Vesuvius. At the first sign of trouble she went into a panic. Most people didn’t realize how serious the situation was until it was too late.”

  “And you didn’t want to go?” Tacitus asked me.

  Before I could answer Decius said, “It seemed a good idea to have a man in charge back home, especially since we didn’t know quite what lay ahead of us.”

  Tacitus looked at me with something like pride. Someday I would have to tell him the truth. I simply had not wanted to get on a ship, and no one had any idea how vast a disaster we were facing. He turned back to Decius. “What did you see as you crossed the bay?”

  “The cloud kept rising from the volcano. We couldn’t believe how high it got. Have you seen the Parthenon, sir?”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “You know how you feel when you stand at the feet of that image of Athena? Your eyes are barely at a level with her toes, and you almost fall over backwards as you try to see the top of her.”

  Tacitus chuckled. “Yes, I’ve done that.”

  “Well, that’s what it was like as we got closer to the end of the bay. I never imagined anything could go that high.”

  “I think the cloud was probably two miles high,” I said

  Tacitus whistled in disbelief.

  “Oh, it was at least that,” Decius assured him. “The wind was behind us. The cloud was drawing the air up with it, so we made good time. The commander told us to get in close to shore, but we couldn’t. It was as though the water in the bay had drained out through some hole in the bottom of the sea.”

  The eastern coast was emerging now, a gray line that ran all the way across the horizon, with Vesuvius brooding above it.

  “Many times I had sailed up to the docks at Herculaneum,” Decius said, “but that day we couldn’t get any closer than, say, the length of the Circus Maximus.”

  “That far?” Tacitus said. “That’s almost half a mile.”

  “Yes, sir. I saw it—still see it in my dreams—and I can’t believe what I saw. Fish and sea creatures were flopping around on the rocks and in the shallow water between us and the shore.”

  “That’s what we saw at Misenum, too,” I said. “It was worse than a nightmare. At least with a nightmare you can wake up. This was real, and we didn’t know when, or how, it was going to end.”

  “People were standing on the shore,” Decius said with a shudder, “their arms raised, pleading for help, and there was no way we could get to them. That’s what I still have nightmares about—the people on shore. Some of them tried to launch their boats and get out to us, but they crashed on the rocks. They were desperate to get away from the cloud behind them. As Gaius Pliny said, it went up into the air for what seemed forever.”

  “It went straight up,” I said, raising my eyes, “then flattened out at the top, like the branches on a pine tree, one that looks like a mushroom. Then it collapsed, and dust and ash came rushing down the sides of the mountain. I could see that much even from Misenum.
”

  “And the heat, sir.” Decius shook his head slowly. “We felt it all the way out on the water. Even at that distance it was like having your face in a blacksmith’s forge. That’s what made us turn away to Stabiae.” Decius pointed to the south side of the bay. “I don’t know how anybody on shore could have survived.”

  “Stabiae was where your uncle died, wasn’t it?” Tacitus asked, turning to me.

  “Yes. He tried to calm everyone in the house where he went ashore by having a bath and dinner, but they had to leave the house during the night. Two days later they found him on the shore, dead.” The coastline was clear before us now and suddenly I wanted to get away from the retelling—and reliving—of this horrible memory. “What is it like living down here now?” I asked Decius.

  “There’s been a lot of cleaning up.” Decius pointed at several spots on shore. “Naples and the towns and villas along the north shore of the bay are back to something like normal. People have shoveled the ash out from their houses and streets.”

  “Where do they put it?” Tacitus asked.

  “That’s the problem. There’s so much of it that there is nowhere to put it all. Buildings that used to be level with the ground, you now have to step down to get into.”

  “The place looks like a gray desert,” Tacitus said.

  Decius nodded. “Everything has changed—utterly changed. I can’t recognize anything, and I’ve lived on this bay all my life. It’s been reshaped, just like a sculptor took his chisel to it. The volcano threw out so much ash that the coastline is farther out than it used to be. Herculaneum sat right on the coast. As I said, I’ve sailed up to its docks many times over the years. It was at the foot of Vesuvius—a little to the right as we’re looking at it now—so I guess I know generally where it was, but there’s nothing to tell you a town used to be there. And you would never know that a busy and prosperous town like Pompeii even existed just a few miles farther down the coast.”