Pompeii

finished here.'

    She was still asleep, or at least he thought she was. She was lying beside the more distant of the two wagons, curled up on her side, her legs drawn up, her hands raised in front of her face and balled into fists. He stood looking down at her for a moment, marvelling at the incongruity of her beauty in this desolate spot – Egeria among the humdrum tools of his profession.
    'I've been awake for hours.' She rolled on to her back and opened her eyes. 'Is the work finished?'
    'Finished enough.' He knelt and began collecting together the papyri. 'The men are going back to Pompeii. I want you to go on ahead of them. I'll send an escort with you.'
    She sat up quickly. 'No!'
    He knew how she would react. He had spent half the night thinking about it. But what other choice did he have? He spoke quickly. 'You must return those documents to where you found them. If you set off now you should be back in Pompeii well before midday. With luck, he need never know you took them, or brought them out here to me.'
    'But they are the proof of his corruption –'
    'No.' He held up his hand to quiet her. 'No, they're not. On their own, they mean nothing. Proof would be Exomnius giving testimony before a magistrate. But I don't have him. I don't have the money your father paid him or even a single piece of evidence that he spent any of it. He's been very careful. As far as the world is concerned, Exomnius was as honest as Cato. Besides, this isn't as important as getting you away from here. Something's happening to the mountain. I'm not sure what. Exomnius suspected it weeks ago. It's as if –' He broke off. He didn't know how to put it into words. 'It's as if it's – coming alive. You'll be safer in Pompeii.'
    She was shaking her head. 'And what will you do?'
    'Return to Misenum. Report to the admiral. If anyone can make sense of what is happening, he can.'
    'Once you're alone they'll try to kill you.'
    'I don't think so. If they'd wanted to do that, they had plenty of chances last night. If anything, I'll be safer. I have a horse. They're on foot. They couldn't catch me even if they tried.'
    'I also have a horse. Take me with you.'
    'That's impossible.'
    'Why? I can ride.'
    For a moment he played with the image of the two of them turning up in Misenum together. The daughter of the owner of the Villa Hortensia sharing his cramped quarters at the Piscina Mirabilis. Hiding her when Ampliatus came looking for her. How long would they get away with it? A day or two. And then what? The laws of society were as inflexible as the laws of engineering.
    'Corelia, listen.' He took her hands. 'If I could do anything to help you, in return for what you've done for me, I would. But this is madness, to defy your father.'
    'You don't understand.' Her grip on his fingers was ferocious. 'I can't go back. Don't make me go back. I can't bear to see him again, or to marry that man –'
    'But you know the law. When it comes to marriage, you're as much your father's property as any one of those slaves over there.' What could he say? He hated the words even as he uttered them. 'It may not turn out to be as bad as you fear.' She groaned, pulled away her hands and buried her face. He blundered on. 'We can't escape our destiny. And, believe me, there are worse ones than marrying a rich man. You could be working in the fields and dead at twenty. Or a whore in the back streets of Pompeii. Accept what has to happen. Live with it. You'll survive. You'll see.'
    She gave him a long, slow look – contempt, was it, or hatred? 'I swear to you, I sooner would be a whore.'
    'And I swear you would not.' He spoke more sharply. 'You're young. What do you know of how people live?'
    'I know I cannot be married to someone I despise. Could you?' She glared at him. 'Perhaps you could.'
    He turned away. 'No, Corelia.'
    'Are you married?'
    'No.'
    'But you were married?'
    'Yes,' he said quietly, 'I was married. My wife is dead.'
    That shut her up for a moment. 'And did you despise her?'
    'Of course not.'
    'Did she despise you?'
    'Perhaps she did.'
    She was briefly silent again. 'How did she die?'
    He did not ever talk of it. He did not even think of it. And if, as sometimes happened, especially in the wakeful hours before dawn, his mind ever started off down that miserable road, he had trained himself to haul it back and set it on a different course. But now – there was something about her: she had got under his skin. To his astonishment, he found himself