“Has Calpurnius’ behavior changed recently? Has he acquired new friends?”
“To say ‘new friends’ would imply that he had old ones. He’s always been a solitary sort of man.”
“Do you know of any problem—”
I froze and my eyes widened as the earth shook. The four of us looked at each other. Then we felt another shock, stronger this time. Fabatus’ servants came pouring out of the house into the open garden, like ants when a child pokes their hole with a stick.
“We’d better get away from these walls,” Fabatus said, putting a protective arm around Sabina. “We don’t want them on top of us.”
Another shock made it hard to keep our balance as we joined the servants in the center of the garden, where they were holding to one another. A few were crying. It took all my strength not to join them. My heart was pounding, my hands shaking. I found it difficult to breathe. All the memories of five years ago were trying to crowd into my mind at once—the walls of our house shaking, the wagons rolling back and forth so uncontrollably that we couldn’t even get into them, the look of terror on my mother’s face.
“Stentor, have someone take a look,” Fabatus ordered. His calm voice helped me pull myself out of near panic.
Stentor tapped a young man on the shoulder and he quickly climbed the tallest tree in the garden.
“What do you see?” Fabatus asked.
“The mountain’s quiet, my lord.”
“No smoke or anything belching out of it?”
“Nothing more than usual, my lord.”
With Sabina huddled close to him, Fabatus addressed his servants. “It’s all right. You all know that we get these little rumblings now and then. This won’t be the last one. Let’s look for cracks and see what got tossed off the shelves.”
My eye happened to fall on Thamyras, standing on the other side of Fabatus and Sabina from where I was. I couldn’t understand the scowl on his face. I would have to ask him about it as we rode back to Naples.
We were beginning to relax and return to what we had been doing when another shock coursed through the house, raising a cloud of dust. I was standing beside a door into one of the rooms off the garden. To steady myself I grabbed a wall bracket designed to hold a torch. As I was knocked off my feet by the shaking, I felt the bracket give under my weight.
“Look out!” Fabatus cried as a huge stone crashed to the ground behind me.
†
“Are you all right, Gaius Pliny?” Fabatus said, extending a hand to help me up. Tacitus, on the other side of me, patted me on the back as I stood.
I moved a bit and was not aware of any injury. “I’m fine. What happened?”
“Well, you discovered one of my little secrets,” Fabatus said.
I brushed myself off and looked at where the open door had been. It was now blocked by a large, carefully hewn slab of rock. “Little secret?…Did the earthquake dislodge that?”
“No, you did.”
“What?… How?”
“It’s a trick I learned in Egypt,” Fabatus said with some pride. “When they constructed a tomb to conceal a king and his treasure, the Egyptians often rigged up a mechanism by which the last man out of the tomb could cause a large stone to drop into place, blocking access to the treasure chamber.”
“And this is your treasure room?” I said.
Fabatus cast his eyes down modestly. “ ‘Treasure’ would be too grand a word. It’s where I keep my strongbox. I designed it in case someone broke into the house. In these country villas we are more vulnerable than we like to think.”
I ran my hand over the stone. “No one’s going to get in there now, including you.”
“Don’t worry. The stones in the Egyptian tombs can’t be moved once they’ve been dropped into place. They’re too large and there’s no room to use a lever. But my servants will lift this one and reset the mechanism.”
I studied the device beside the door, peering into it as best I could. “So this is the lever that operates it. Do any of the other wall brackets mask surprises?”
“Now, Gaius Pliny, you’re asking me to reveal too many secrets.” Fabatus put a hand on my shoulder as though I was an annoying child.
Standing back, I examined the door and the wall around and above it. The house was two stories high, so it was easy enough to conceal the large block of stone in the wall of the upper story. Plaster and paint covered any cracks as effectively as they would on a Roman matron’s face. I was already thinking about how I could have such a thing built into any of my houses.
“My uncle would have found this fascinating,” I said. “Did you use this device in any of your other homes?”
“I hope you never have occasion to find out.” Apparently reluctance to answer questions was a trait that ran in the family, like red hair or a crooked nose.
The earth had been still for a long enough time now that I thought the danger was over. “I think we need to leave,” I said. “We should check on Aurelia.”
“By all means,” Fabatus said. “I don’t want anything to happen to that grandchild of mine. Thank you for trying to help my son. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
As we left the garden I turned to wave good-bye one more time and saw Sabina kiss Fabatus. His hand rested on her breast, like the figures in his prized sculpture.
†
“What an amazing device,” I said as we turned onto the road back to Naples. “I wonder what other secrets he has hidden in that place.”
“One was right in front of you, my lord,” Thamyras said from behind me.
“Is something bothering you?” I asked over my shoulder. “You didn’t want to bring us out here, and while you were there your face looked like you were sucking on something sour.”
“It’s that woman, my lord.”
I stopped my horse and turned to Thamyras. “Watch how you talk about her,” I said sharply. “Remember who you are, and who she is.”
“I can’t forget who she is, my lord. She’s his great-niece, his sister’s granddaughter.”
“His great-niece?”
“Yes, my lord. And she’s been his concubine since she was fourteen. That’s twenty years now.”
“What? But Fabatus had a wife. She died just a few years ago.”
Thamyras nodded.
We sat in silence for a moment while I tried to understand what he was saying. This was a shock as severe as the trembling of the earth that we had just experienced. I had to remind myself that Thamyras had been born in that household and grew up in it. “Did his wife know?”
“Everyone in the house knew, my lord.”
“But I’ve never heard a word of it,” I said. Something of that sort would be hard to keep secret in our circle.
“It’s the real reason why Fabatus never tried to have a public career, my lord. And it’s why Nero tried to implicate him in that plot with Junia Lepida.”
“Yes,” Tacitus said. “Nero accused his aunt Lepida of incest with her nephew. I’ve read about that. I never understood why he accused Fabatus of knowing about it, but now it all makes sense.”
“The man’s living like some Egyptian king.”
“Yes, my lord. That’s why my lord Calpurnius hasn’t been back in that house since Fabatus emancipated him.”
“And perhaps it’s why he wouldn’t talk to his father in the jail yesterday.”
XI
We rode fast on our way back to Naples, growing more anxious. At each milestone along the road the earthquake damage seemed to be worse.
“I hope the tunnel is still open,” I said.
“It’s survived for a hundred years,” Tacitus reminded me. “I think it can take the little jolt we got today.”
“I wonder if Augustus’ engineers ever came up with a device like Fabatus’.”
“I haven’t heard of one,” Tacitus said, “but his family certainly were no strangers to coupling with close relatives.”
We had to pick our way around a
pile of rocks in the road just before we got to the tunnel. From the western end of the tunnel, though, we could see light at the eastern end. All the same, I picked up the pace to get through the tunnel as quickly as possible. What we found as we emerged from the tunnel brought us to a halt.
“This area was hit a lot harder than where we were,” Tacitus said as we surveyed the damage.
A pall of smoke lay over the city. When buildings shake, lampstands fall over, spilling burning oil across wooden floors. Charcoal braziers, which the poor use for heating and cooking, tumble and their contents scatter. Pieces of clothing or bedding, left on the floor, burst into flames. Within moments, an apartment can become an inferno.
On this day several buildings had collapsed. Others, judging from the size of the cracks in their walls, would have to be knocked down. Naples, not entirely rebuilt from the eruption of Vesuvius, now had more work ahead of it.
“What if the jail was damaged?” I said.
“We’ll be going very near there, my lord,” Thamyras reminded me, concern for his master clouding his face.
“Let’s check on it then.”
As we drew closer to the south side of Naples the damage seemed to be more severe and a sense of foreboding crept over me. Some of the streets were blocked by the debris of damaged buildings. People were digging to find family and friends trapped beneath the rubble. I felt heartless for ignoring their pleas, but we had urgent business of our own. When we turned onto the street where Calpurnius was imprisoned, I breathed a sigh of relief. The buildings on that street appeared to have been spared. But when we reached the door of the vigiles’ headquarters Novatus met us, covered in dirt.
“Sirs, you’re a welcome sight! The back part of the building has collapsed. One of my men was back there with Calpurnius when it happened. I need help.”
“Where are your other men?” I asked.
“After the first shock I sent them out to assist where they were needed. Then we got a bigger rumble.”
“Let’s get to work,” I said. We dismounted and tied our horses. They pranced nervously, jerking at the reins.
“I don’t like the looks of that,” Novatus said.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“Haven’t you noticed how animals can sense things when we can’t? I think your horses are telling us there’s going to be another jolt.”
“Shouldn’t we stay outside then?”
“I’ve got a man trapped back there, sir, along with your friend Calpurnius. Alive or dead, I don’t know. If the earth shakes again, I doubt they’ll survive.”
We entered the building and began digging through rubble. Novatus had started a path back to the cells but had made little progress by himself. The back wall and part of the roof had collapsed. We could see the sky and the walls of the buildings behind us, which had also crumbled. We’d gone only a short distance when we heard a groan.
“At least someone’s alive,” Novatus said. “Steady, lad! We’re coming!”
“What was your man doing back here?” Tacitus asked.
“He was trying to persuade Calpurnius to eat a little something, clean himself up, and put on that tunic his servant brought. He’s just a young fella that helps out around here.”
“There’s an arm!” Tacitus said. “And it’s moving.”
Novatus grasped the hand that was sticking out of the rubble. “We’ll have you out in no time, lad.” He gave orders as though all of us were his subordinates. “Start down there. Make sure you’re not loosening something else when you move a piece.”
With our coordinated effort it didn’t take long to free the man, who was indeed hardly more than a boy. He was bloodied around his face and shoulders, but his worst injury seemed to be a broken leg, to judge from the odd angle at which the limb was turned. The bars of one of the cells had fallen across him and leaned against the wall behind him in such a way that they kept him from being crushed by anything heavier. We carried him to the front of the building and laid him on a small bed.
“I’ve got to set this leg,” Novatus told him. “It won’t feel good, but I’ve got to do it.”
“I know, sir,” the boy said.
I turned my crew toward the rear of the building, “We’ve got to get back there and find Calpurnius.”
The injured boy raised himself up on an elbow and called after me. “He’s not there, sir.”
I came back and stood beside his bed. “Not there?”
“When the second shock hit—the big one—the bars of his cell came loose.” He winced and groaned as Novatus straightened his leg. “Calpurnius…pushed them onto me…and ran out through the hole…in the back wall.”
“Well, at least he saved your life.”
“Yes, sir, I guess he did.” The young man gritted his teeth and drew in a sharp, hissing breath.
“But an escaped prisoner is a blot on my record,” Novatus muttered as he applied a splint and wrapped the leg. “I’m responsible for him.”
“Let’s see if we can find a track,” I said.
That proved easier to do than I would have hoped. Calpurnius must have been injured because he had left a trail of drops of blood out the back of the jail. We followed it through the rubble of the next block before we lost it.
“It just stops,” Tacitus said, “right here at the street.”
†
As we rode out south of Naples on the road to Aurelia’s villa, with Thamyras and our servants leading the way, I studied the paving stones on either side of us.
“Looking for blood?” Tacitus asked.
I nodded. “I know it’s unlikely we’ll pick up the trail again, but it’s worth keeping an eye open.”
“Why do you suppose it stopped like it did?”
“I think it means he found a horse wandering around loose. Or maybe someone in a cart picked him up.”
“Or someone pounced on an injured man and carried him off.” Tacitus always looks on the darker side of things.
“In that case,” I said, “I would expect to see a larger amount of blood. If he was struggling, the wound would have bled more freely.”
“You don’t seem overly concerned about his escape,” Tacitus said. “The man was injured seriously enough to bleed.”
I slowed my horse so that I dropped farther behind our servants. Tacitus kept his mount beside mine with some difficulty. The animals were still nervous, and that made me nervous. “I am worried about his injury, but I know where he’s going,” I said in a low voice.
“How can you know that?”
“He’ll do what any man would do in a moment of crisis. He’ll go home.”
Tacitus couldn’t hide his confusion. “Home? Won’t that be the first place anyone would look for him?”
“He won’t go to Aurelia’s villa. That’s not home to him.”
“So you think he’s going back to—”
I cut him off before any of the servants could overhear him. Thamyras especially seemed to be sitting up straight on his horse, with his head cocked to one side. I had to admire the fellow’s devotion to his master. At least I hoped that’s what accounted for his interest. “Yes, I think he’s going…home.”
“How will he get there?”
“It’s not that far.”
“But he’s hurt.”
“I think he’ll be determined enough to get there that he’ll crawl if he has to. His injury wasn’t bad enough to prevent him from bolting when he had the chance. If someone picked him up, they’ll likely care for the wound. If he can’t get any help, we may find him somewhere along this road. If we don’t, I think it’s safe to assume he got home.”
Tacitus swatted a fly that seemed particularly interested in his face. “So all we have to do is go down there and pick him up. We could even be waiting for him when he gets there. I’d like to see the look on his face when—”
“No. It’ll be better to let him get home and think no one is looking for him there. Give him a little time to recover, or t
o realize he needs help. Remember, Thamyras said they dug tunnels all through the house when they were trying to recover some of his possessions. After a day or two, when he’s hungry and thirsty enough and trying to deal with his injury, he’ll be glad to see us, and I expect, more cooperative.”
We fell silent and moved in single file to the side of the road as a cart drawn by an ox approached from the other direction. Whatever it was carrying was covered by a large blanket with straw sticking out from the sides. The driver, a man of fifty or so with leathery brown skin and his jaws sunken in, wore a tunic made from the same dingy fabric as the blanket.
“Good day, sirs,” the driver said. “What’s the damage up ahead?” He was missing enough teeth that he whistled when he spoke.
“It’s worst in Naples itself,” I said, turning my horse to ride alongside the cart for a moment. “Quite a few buildings were toppled.”
The driver nodded sadly. “That’s what my wife feared. I’m on my way to see about her sister and her husband.”
“I hope you find them well.”
“Thank you, sir. I just wish we knew what has made the gods so angry at us.”
We exchanged a wave and I turned my horse south again. Pulling up beside Tacitus, I looked out over the bay, as calm and innocent now as a boy after he’s pulled a trick and knows you can’t fix the blame on him. Maybe that’s why we invented gods, so we would have someone other than ourselves or mere chance to blame for our misfortunes.
Tacitus pulled me back to the matter at hand. “What if Calpurnius’ injury proves fatal?”
“Then we’ll be back in Rome long before the Ides, won’t we?”
“Why, Gaius Pliny, I didn’t know you were such a callous bastard.”
“I don’t mean to sound that way, but if Calpurnius is in such serious trouble that he poses a threat to his wife and child, his death might remove that threat.”
“And you’re more concerned about Aurelia’s safety than about Calpurnius’ fate?”
“Frankly, yes. The man won’t give us any help in trying to defend him. All we’ve learned so far is that his behavior in recent months has been very odd and that he claims someone is blackmailing him.”
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