Pompeii

coast, before vanishing in the purple haze towards Capri.
    A marine centurion in full uniform of breastplate and crested helmet, with a sword swinging at his belt, was hurrying away as the engineer arrived. The remains of a large meal were being cleared from a stone table beneath a trellised pergola. At first he did not see the admiral, but the instant the slave announced him – 'Marcus Attilius Primus, aquarius of the Aqua Augusta!' – a stocky man in his middle fifties at the far end of the terrace turned on his heel and came waddling towards him, trailed by what Attilius assumed were the guests of his abandoned dinner party: four men sweating in togas, at least one of whom, judging by the purple stripe on his formal dress, was a senator. Behind them – obsequious, malevolent, inescapable – came Corax.
    Attilius had for some reason imagined that the famous scholar would be thin, but Pliny was fat, his belly protruding sharply, like the ramming post of one of his warships. He was dabbing at his forehead with his napkin.
    'Shall I arrest you now, aquarius? I could, you know, that's already clear enough.' He had a fat man's voice: a high-pitched wheeze, which became even hoarser as he counted off the charges on his pudgy fingers. 'Incompetence to start with – who can doubt that? Negligence – where were you when the sulphur infected the water? Insubordination – on what authority did you shut off our supply? Treason – yes, I could make a charge of treason stick. What about fomenting rebellion in the imperial dockyards? I've had to order out a century of marines – fifty to break some heads in the town and try to restore public order, the other fifty to the reservoir, to guard whatever water's left. Treason –'
    He broke off, short of breath. With his puffed-out cheeks, pursed lips and sparse grey curls plastered down with perspiration, he had the appearance of an elderly, furious cherub, fallen from some painted, peeling ceiling. The youngest of his guests – a pimply lad in his late teens – stepped forward to support his arm, but Pliny shrugged him away. At the back of the group Corax grinned, showing a mouthful of dark teeth. He had been even more effective at spreading poison than Attilius had expected. What a politician. He could probably show the senator a trick or two.
    He noticed that a star had come out above Vesuvius. He had never really looked properly at the mountain before, certainly not from this angle. The sky was dark but the mountain was darker, almost black, rising massively above the bay to a pointed summit. And there was the source of the trouble, he thought. Somewhere there, on the mountain. Not on the seaward side, but round to landward, on the north-eastern slope.
    'Who are you anyway?' Pliny eventually managed to rasp out. 'I don't know you. You're far too young. What's happened to the proper aquarius? What was his name?'
    'Exomnius,' said Corax.
    'Exomnius, precisely. Where's he? And what does Acilius Aviola think he's playing at, sending us boys to do men's work? Well? Speak up! What have you to say for yourself?'
    Behind the admiral Vesuvius formed a perfect natural pyramid, with just that little crust of light from the waterfront villas running around its base. In a couple of places the line bulged slightly and those, the engineer guessed, must be towns. He recognised them from the map. The nearer would be Herculaneum; the more distant, Pompeii.
    Attilius straightened his back. 'I need,' he said, 'to borrow a ship.'

    He spread out his map on the table in Pliny's library, weighing down either side with a couple of pieces of magnetite which he took from a display cabinet. An elderly slave shuffled behind the admiral's back, lighting an elaborate bronze candelabrum. The walls were lined with cedarwood cabinets, packed with rolls of papyri stacked end-on, in dusty honeycombs, and even with the doors to the terrace pushed wide open, no breeze came off the sea to dispel the heat. The oily black strands of smoke from the candles rose undisturbed. Attilius could feel the sweat trickling down the sides of his belly, irritating him, like a crawling insect.
    'Tell the ladies we shall rejoin them directly,' said the admiral. He turned away from the slave and nodded at the engineer. 'All right. Let's hear it.'
    Attilius glanced around at the faces of his audience, intent in the candlelight. He had been told their names before they sat down and he wanted to make sure he remembered them: