Pompeii

stroked forwards. He could hear his personal standard, emblazoned with the imperial eagle, catching the wind from the stern-post behind him. The breeze was on his face. He felt a tightening of anticipation in his stomach. The whole of the town had turned out to watch. He could see them lining the streets, leaning out of the windows, standing on the flat roofs. A thin cheer carried across the harbour. He searched the hillside for his own villa, saw Gaius and Julia outside the library, and raised his hand. Another cheer greeted the gesture.
    'You see the fickleness of the mob?' he called happily to Attilius. 'Last night I was spat at in the street. Today I am a hero. All they live for is a show!' He waved again.
    'Yes – and see what they do tomorrow,' muttered Torquatus, 'if half their men are lost.'
    Attilius was taken aback by his anxiety. He said quietly, 'You think we are in that much danger?'
    'These ships look strong, engineer, but they are held together by rope. I'll happily fight against any mortal enemy. But only a fool sails into combat with Nature.'
    The pilot at the prow shouted a warning and the helmsman, standing behind the admiral, heaved on the tiller. The Minerva threaded between the anchored warships, close enough for Attilius to see the faces of the sailors on the decks, and then she swung again, passing along the natural rock wall of the harbour, which seemed to open slowly, like the wheeled door of a great temple. For the first time they had a clear view of what was happening across the bay.
    Pliny gripped the arms of his chair, too overcome to speak. But then he remembered his duty to science. 'Beyond the promontory of Pausilypon,' he dictated hesitantly, 'the whole of Vesuvius and the surrounding coast are masked by a drifting cloud, whitish-grey in colour, and streaked with black.' But that was too bland, he thought: he needed to convey some sense of awe. 'Thrusting above this, bulging and uncoiling, as if the hot entrails of the earth are being drawn out and dragged towards the heavens, rises the central column of the manifestation.' That was better. 'It grows,' he continued, 'as if supported by a continual blast. But at its uppermost reaches, the weight of the exuded material becomes too great, and in pressing down spreads sideways. Wouldn't you agree, engineer?' he called. 'It is the weight that is spreading it sideways?'
    'The weight, admiral,' Attilius shouted back. 'Or the wind.'
    'Yes, a good point. Add that to the record, Alexion. The wind appears stronger at the higher altitude, and accordingly topples the manifestation to the south-east.' He gestured to Torquatus. 'We should take advantage of this wind, captain! Make full sail!'
    'Madness,' said Torquatus to Attilius, under his breath. 'What sort of commander seeks out a storm?' But he shouted to his officers: 'Raise the main sail!'
    The tranverse pole which supported the sail was lifted from its resting place in the centre of the hull and Attilius had to scramble towards the stern as the sailors on either side seized the cables and began to haul it up the mast. The sail was still furled and when it reached its position beneath the carchesium – 'the drinking-cup', as they called the observation platform – a young lad of no more than ten shinned up the mast to release it. He scampered along the yard-arm, untying the fastenings, and when the last was loosened the heavy linen sail dropped and filled immediately, tautening with the force of the wind. The Minerva creaked and picked up speed, scudding through the waves, raising curls of white foam on either side of her sharp prow, like a chisel slicing through soft wood.
    Pliny felt his spirits fill with the sail. He pointed to the left. 'There's our destination, captain. Herculaneum! Steer straight towards the shore – to the Villa Calpurnia!'
    'Yes, admiral! Helmsman – take us east!'
    The sail cracked and the ship banked. A wave of spray drenched Attilius – a glorious sensation. He rubbed the dust from his face and ran his hands through his filthy hair. Below decks, the drums had increased to a frantic tempo, and the oars became a blur in the crashing waves and spray. Pliny's secretary had to lay his arms across his papers to prevent them blowing away. Attilius looked up at the admiral. Pliny was leaning forwards in his chair, his plump cheeks glistening with sea-spray, eyes alight with excitement, grinning wide, all trace of his former exhaustion gone. He was a cavalryman on