Lady Jane Grey

by Sue Reid

  I was near to tears when at last we found him – sniffing around the slave market. My, what a terrible place that is. Only human livestock is for sale there. We pushed through the crowds, past dawdling buyers and drooping slaves – the air as hot as Vulcan’s forge by then – and there I saw Pollux, his nose resting in a boy’s hand. The boy was in chains, his reddish hair matted, breeches filthy, but he was smiling, though I could not think what he had to smile about. One dirty hand rested on Pollux’s head.

  And what did I do? Pull Pollux away, snuff that smile out.

  The slave master had been watching. I saw how greedily his eyes flickered over Father. A rich man. Aye. I will get a good price from him. He edged his way close, bowing at Father and me. “A fine boy, honoured master. He is next to be sold. If you can but just wait… A Briton. A barbarian – yes. But see – he is good with animals. A fine horseman too. And strong.” He punched the boy’s arm, and I winced.

  Father put up his hand. “I am not buying,” he said. “I am a baker. I have no need of a horse boy.”

  “He is strong, honoured master,” the slaver wheedled, edging closer still. “He will turn the millstone faster than any donkey.” He drew back his arm to punch the boy again.

  “Come, Claudia,” said Father, eyeing the slaver distastefully. As did I! We do not use slaves to turn our millstones! Behind us I heard the slave master shout harshly at the lad, kicking him up the steps to the rostrum where slaves are paraded before they are sold. Father sighed. “Poor lad,” he murmured. “Poor lad.” And then, just as I was thinking how awful I’d feel if it was me, I heard Father exclaim: “By the gods, it’s Vastus.” I looked back. A small crowd of buyers had collected below the rostrum. And there, puffing up the steps, was a man in a spotless tunic, rings sunk deep into fat fingers. Vastus. Father’s friend and one of the richest bakers in Pompeii.

  Father wanted to stay then, so I crouched down, pretending to play with Pollux. I did not want to watch. I hate slave auctions – I hate to see people prodded and poked as if they are things – not people at all. Father was a slave himself once, and if he’d not been freed by his old master, I’d be a slave now too. I never forget that.

  When I glanced up again I saw that most of the bidders had wandered away. Only two remained. One, Vastus. The other?

  “The lanista. It is he who buys the gladiators for the arena,” Father told me, pointing out a man in a rough brown tunic. “Vastus will not want to be outbid by a man like that. He will pay the price. The slave master will be pleased.” I asked Father how he knew who he was. Father laughed. “He bears the scars of his trade,” he said. He pointed out the scars on the lanista’s face. “He will have been a gladiator himself once.” I stared hard at the lanista, and it was as if he felt my gaze on him for suddenly he turned and stared straight at me. I shivered. Great dark eyes he had – the eyes of a man who had seen and done terrible things. Even now, writing hours later, I can still see those eyes.

  I felt sure that he’d buy the boy but Father was right. It was Vastus whose head was bent close to the slave master. Vastus who was ordering the boy to be sent up to his house. I jumped up and clapped as the lanista stalked angrily away. To be sold as a gladiator is one of the worst fates that can befall a slave.

  “That’s a fine-looking boy you’ve bought,” Father said, as we greeted Vastus.

  Vastus clapped Father on the shoulder. “Aye, I’ll get a lot of work out of him,” he growled. I gave his back a hard stare. I am sure he will. Vastus does not treat his slaves well even though he was a slave himself once. I’ve seen the weals on their backs and legs. He told us that the lad’s sister was also for sale. “The slave master tried to throw her in too,” he said contemptuously. “He wants to be rid of her. And who would want a scrawny little package like that.” He jerked his thumb at a girl crouching nearby. I am sure she heard – there was such hate and fury in the look she turned on him. It quite turned my stomach. And then I thought how I’d feel if it was me being parted from my brothers.

  And that was when it began. Pollux was growling – as if he was angry too. Then suddenly he leaped forward, pulling me with him. Vastus stepped back hastily. Too hastily. He wobbled, and for one awful moment I thought he’d fall over. A man guffawed and Vastus went purple. You do not laugh at a man like Vastus. He scowled at me – as if it was all my fault! Father looked stern. “Pull that dog away,” he commanded me.

  I tried to do as he bid, but Pollux was straining forward so hard now that I could barely hold him. Link by link I felt the chain slip through my fingers. Suddenly Pollux stopped still, ears cocked. I heard something rumble – as if a wagon was driving straight across the Forum towards us. But there was no wagon and anyway wagons aren’t allowed in the Forum. I’d barely time to wonder how odd it was when Pollux whimpered and the chain in my hands slackened as he crept back to cower round my ankles. I bent down to comfort him. As I stroked him I felt his body begin to shake – and then I realized that I was too.

  “Father!” I cried, grabbing his arm as I felt myself topple. “The ground – it’s shaking!”

  On a stall nearby a pot wobbled and smashed to the ground. “By Jupiter,” I heard the stallholder cry. “The girl’s right. The ground is shaking.”

  “The gods are angry,” people muttered, looking down at their trembling feet. But I found my eyes drawn north towards Vesuvius, the great mountain that looms over our city. That mountain has always scared me. At the top it is black and charred from the flames that used to devour it. When I was little I thought it was the home of the god Vulcan. I’d imagine him working at his forge, deep inside. And then suddenly I felt sure I was right. I told myself that I was being silly – Vulcan did not live inside Vesuvius. And what did the ground shaking have to do with the god of fire and smiths? But I had such a clear picture in my mind – it was almost as if I was sitting inside the mountain myself. I could feel the heat of the flames leaping from the forge fire; see the sparks fly as Vulcan smote his anvil, making the ground shudder all the way from Vesuvius to Pompeii.

  And then the picture faded and I realized that the ground was still again. The stallholder picked up the shards of broken pottery. “Naught to worry about,” he said, shrugging.

  “Nay. You are wrong. Vulcan has sent us a warning,” I heard an old voice quaver. Ancient! One wobbling finger pointed north – towards Vesuvius! People turned to stare. Ancient struggled to his feet. He spoke again, his voice stronger now. “The god is angry. We should heed his warning.” He prodded his eyes. “Have you not eyes to see? Or ears to hear? Vesuvius is stirring.”

  “The old fool,” I heard Vastus mutter next to us. “What has a little earth tremor to do with Vulcan, or Vesuvius? ‘Vulcan is angry. Vesuvius is stirring!’” he mocked. “What nonsense! Anyway, why should Vulcan be angry? It is a mere two days since we did him honour.”

  That should have reassured me, but it didn’t. There was something stirring in that mountain, there was. Something that boded ill for us. Ancient knew. Though what it was or how he knew I could not say.

  I looked into Father’s face. It looked serious, but he said nothing, merely drew me away from the crowd.

  It is a wise man who heeds the words of the old, Father always says. They are nearest to the gods. I wish I could forget that.

  My brothers had felt the tremor too, of course, but it did not frighten them. “We were at the bakery,” Marcus told me. “Samius looked so funny – he nearly fell over.” (Samius is our baker.) “Look, Claudia!” He clawed at the air, pretending to fall sideways. “And then his eyes went round and round – like this.” He rolled his eyes. I hate it when Marcus does that! And then Sextus, my younger brother, went round the house jumping up and down to see if the ground would shake again until Father threatened him with the strap.

  But later Sextus told me he’d squeezed his little finger into the crack too. “It’s got bigger, Claudia,” he said, his eyes a
ll round and frightened. “Do you think our house will fall down? Marcus says it is sure to.” Sextus is only seven, and I did not want to scare him, so I told him that I didn’t think it would, though I am none too sure myself. Sextus put his arms tight round me. I held his chubby little body close, feeling how much I loved him. But my, I was cross with Marcus. He should not frighten his little brother, and I told him so.

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  First published in the UK by Scholastic Ltd., 2012

  This electronic edition published 2012

  Text © Sue Reid, 2012

  Cover illustration © Richard Jones, 2012

  All rights reserved

  eISBN 978 1407 13349 2

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