Pompeii

second, eight in the third, and so on. More striking still had been their lengthening duration. Too small to measure at the beginning of the day, as the afternoon went on, Alexion had been able to use the accuracy of the water clock to estimate them – first at one-tenth part of the hour, and then one-fifth, until finally, for the whole eleventh hour, he had recorded one tremor only. The vibration of the wine was continuous.
    'We must change our nomenclature,' muttered Pliny, leaning over his shoulder. 'To call such movements an episode will no longer suffice.'
    And increasing in proportion with the movement of the earth, as if Man and Nature were bound by some invisible link, came reports of agitation in the town – a fight at the public fountains when the first hour's discharge had ended and not everyone had filled their pots; a riot outside the public baths when they had failed to open at the seventh hour; a woman stabbed to death for the sake of two amphorae of water – water! – by a drunk outside the Temple of Augustus; now it was said that armed gangs were hanging round the fountains, waiting for a fight.
    Pliny had never had any difficulty issuing orders. It was the essence of command. He decreed that the evening's sacrifice to Vulcan should be cancelled and that the bonfire in the forum must be dismantled at once. A large public gathering at night was a recipe for trouble. It was unsafe, in any case, to light a fire of such a size in the centre of the town when the pipes and fountains were dry and the drought had rendered the houses as flammable as kindling.
    'The priests won't like that,' said Antius.
    The flagship captain had joined Pliny in the library. The admiral's widowed sister, Julia, who kept house for him, was also in the room, holding a tray of oysters and a jug of wine for his supper.
    'Tell the priests that we have no choice. I'm sure Vulcan in his mountain forge will forgive us, just this once.' Pliny massaged his arm irritably. It felt numb. 'Have all the men, apart from the sentry patrols, confined to their barracks from dusk. In fact, I want a curfew imposed across the whole of Misenum from vespera until dawn. Anyone found on the streets is to be imprisoned and fined. Understood?'
    'Yes, admiral.'
    'Have we opened the sluices in the reservoir yet?'
    'It should be happening now, admiral.'
    Pliny brooded. They could not afford another such day. Everything depended on how long the water would last. He made up his mind. 'I'm going to take a look.'
    Julia came towards him anxiously with the tray. 'Is that wise, brother? You ought to eat and rest –'
    'Don't nag, woman!' Her face crumpled and he regretted his tone at once. Life had knocked her about enough as it was – humiliated by her wastrel husband and his ghastly mistress, then left widowed with a boy to bring up. That gave him an idea. 'Gaius,' he said, in a gentler voice. 'Forgive me, Julia. I spoke too sharply. I'll take Gaius with me, if that will make you happier.'
    On his way out, he called to his other secretary, Alcman, 'Have we had a signal back yet from Rome?'
    'No, admiral.'
    'The Emperor is concerned about you... '
    He did not like this silence.

    Pliny had grown too fat for a litter. He travelled instead by carriage, a two-seater, with Gaius wedged in next to him. Beside his red and corpulent uncle he looked as pale and insubstantial as a wraith. The admiral squeezed his knee fondly. He had made the boy his heir and had fixed him up with the finest tutors in Rome – Quintilian for literature and history; the Smyrnan, Nicetes Sacerdos, for rhetoric. It was costing him a fortune but they told him the lad was brilliant. He would never make a soldier, though. It would be a lawyer's life for him.
    An escort of helmeted marines trotted on foot on either side of the carriage, clearing a path for them through the narrow streets. A couple of people jeered. Someone spat.
    'What about our water, then?'
    'Look at that fat bastard! I bet you he's not going thirsty!'
    Gaius said, 'Shall I close the curtains, uncle?'
    'No, boy. Never let them see that you're afraid.'
    He knew there would be a lot of angry people on the streets tonight. Not just here, but in Neapolis and Nola and all the other towns, especially on a public festival. Perhaps Mother Nature is punishing us, he thought, for our greed and selfishness. We torture her at all hours by iron and wood, fire and stone. We dig her up and dump her in the sea. We sink mineshafts into