Pompeii

eating a fig. He always seemed to be eating. His wife sent him to work each day with enough food to feed half a dozen. He stuffed the last of the fruit into his mouth and sucked his fingers. 'That's where he comes from. Pompeii's where he made his money.'
    'And yet he was born a slave.'
    'So it goes these days,' said Musa bitterly. 'Your slave dines off silver plate, while your honest, free-born citizen works from dawn till nightfall for a pittance.'
    The other men were sitting towards the stern, gathered around Corax, who had his head hunched forwards and was talking quietly – telling some story that required a lot of emphatic hand gestures and much heavy shaking of his head. Attilius guessed he was describing the previous night's meeting with Pliny.
    Musa uncorked his waterskin and took a swig then wiped the top and offered it up to Attilius. The engineer took it and squatted beside him. The water had a vaguely bitter taste. Sulphur. He swallowed a little, more to be friendly than because he was thirsty, wiped it in return and handed it back.
    'You're right, Musa,' he said carefully. 'How old is Ampliatus? Not even fifty. Yet he's gone from slave to master of the Villa Hortensia in the time it would take you or I to scrape together enough to buy some bug-infested apartment. How could any man do that honestly?'
    'An honest millionaire? As rare as hen's teeth! The way I hear it,' said Musa, looking over his shoulder and lowering his voice, 'he really started coining it just after the earthquake. He'd been left his freedom in old man Popidius's will. He was a good-looking lad, Ampliatus, and there was nothing he wouldn't do for his master. The old man was a lecher – I don't think he 'd leave the dog alone. And Ampliatus looked after his wife for him, too, if you know what I mean.' Musa winked. 'Anyway, Ampliatus got his freedom, and a bit of money from somewhere, and then Jupiter decided to shake things up a bit. This was back in Nero's time. It was a very bad quake – the worst anyone could remember. I was in Nola, and I thought my days were up, I can tell you.' He kissed his lucky amulet – a prick and balls, made of bronze, which hung from a leather thong around his neck. 'But you know what they say: one man's loss is another's gain. Pompeii caught it worst of all. But while everyone else was getting out, talking about the town being finished, Ampliatus was going round, buying up the ruins. Got hold of some of those big villas for next to nothing, fixed them up, divided them into three or four, then sold them off for a fortune.'
    'Nothing illegal about that, though.'
    'Maybe not. But did he really own them when he sold them? That's the thing.' Musa tapped the side of his nose. 'Owners dead. Owners missing. Legal heirs on the other side of the Empire. Half the town was rubble, don't forget. The Emperor sent a commissioner down from Rome to sort out who owned what. Suedius Clemens was his name.'
    'And Ampliatus bribed him?'
    'Let's just say Suedius left a richer man than he arrived. Or so they say.'
    'And what about Exomnius? He was the aquarius at the time of the earthquake – he must have known Ampliatus.'
    Attilius could see at once that he had made a mistake. The eager light of gossip was immediately extinguished in Musa's eyes. 'I don't know anything about that,' he muttered, and busied himself with his bag of food. 'He was a fine man, Exomnius. He was good to work for.'
    Was, thought Attilius. Was a fine man. Was good to work for. He tried to make a joke of it. 'You mean he didn't keep dragging you out of bed before dawn?'
    'No. I mean he was straight and would never try to trick an honest man into saying more than he ought.'
    'Hey, Musa!' shouted Corax. 'What are you going on about over there? You gossip like a woman! Come and have a drink!'
    Musa was on his feet at once, swaying down the deck to join the others. As Corax threw him the wineskin, Torquatus jumped down from the stern and made his way towards the centre of the deck, where the mast and sails were stowed.
    'We'll have no need of those, I fear.' He was a big man. Arms akimbo he scanned the sky. The fresh, sharp sun glinted on his breastplate; already it was hot. 'Right, engineer. Let's see what my oxen can do.' He swung his feet on to the ladder and descended down the hatch to the lower deck. A moment later, the tempo of the drum increased and Attilius felt the ship lurch slightly. The oars flashed. The silent Villa Hortensia dwindled further