Pompeii

'Shouldn't you be praying to the holy matron, Livia, for guidance? Ach,' he spat, 'get out of my way, the pair of you.' He dragged Corelia along the path towards the staircase. The other two did not move. He turned and pushed her up the steps, along the passage, and into her room. She fell backwards on to her bed. 'Treacherous, ungrateful child!'
    He looked around for something with which to punish her but all he could see were feeble, feminine possessions, neatly arranged – an ivory comb, a silk shawl, a parasol, strings of beads – and a few old toys which had been saved to be offered to Venus before her wedding. Propped in a corner was a wooden doll with movable limbs he had bought her for her birthday years ago and the sight of it jolted him. What had happened to her? He had loved her so much – his little girl! – how had it come to hatred? He was suddenly baffled. Had he not done everything, built all of this, raised himself out of the muck, for the sake of her and her brother? He stood panting, defeated, as she glared at him from the bed. He did not know what to say. 'You'll stay in here,' he finished lamely, 'until I have decided what should be done with you.' He went out, locking the door behind him.
    His wife and son had left the garden. Typical, feeble rebels, he thought, melting away when his back was turned. Corelia had always had more balls than the rest of them put together. His little girl! In the drawing room the magistrates were leaning forward across the table, muttering. They fell silent as he approached and turned to watch him as he headed towards the sideboard and poured himself some wine. The lip of the decanter rattled against the glass. Was his hand shaking? He examined it, front and back. This was not like him: it looked steady enough. He felt better after draining the glass. He poured himself another, fixed a smile and faced the magistrates.
    'Well?'
    It was Holconius who spoke first. 'Where did you get these?'
    'Corax, the overseer on the Augusta, brought them round to me yesterday afternoon. He found them in Exomnius's room.'
    'You mean he stole them?'
    'Found, stole –' Ampliatus fluttered his hand.
    'This should have been brought to our attention immediately.'
    'And why's that, your honours?'
    'Isn't it obvious?' cut in Popidius excitedly. 'Exomnius believed there was about to be another great earthquake!'
    'Calm yourself, Popidius. You've been whining about earthquakes for seventeen years. I wouldn't take all that stuff seriously.'
    'Exomnius took it seriously.'
    'Exomnius!' Ampliatus looked at him with contempt. 'Exomnius always was a bag of nerves.'
    'Maybe so. But why was he having documents copied? This in particular. What do you think he wanted with this?' He waved one of the papyri.
    Ampliatus glanced at it and took another gulp of wine. 'It's in Greek. I don't read Greek. You forget, Popidius: I haven't had the benefit of your education.'
    'Well I do read Greek, and I believe I recognise this. I think this is the work of Strabo, the geographer, who travelled these parts in the time of the Divine Augustus. He writes here of a summit that is flat and barren and has been on fire in the past. Surely that must be Vesuvius? He says the fertile soil around Pompeii reminds him of Caetana, where the land is covered with ash thrown up by the flames of Etna.'
    'So what?'
    'Wasn't Exomnius a Sicilian?' demanded Holconius. 'What town was he from?'
    Ampliatus waved his glass dismissively. 'I believe Caetana. But what of it?' He must learn the rudiments of Greek, he thought. If a fool like Popidius could master it, anyone could.
    'As for this Latin document – this I certainly recognise,' continued Popidius. 'It's part of a book, and I know both the man who wrote it and the man to whom the passage is addressed. It's by Annaeus Seneca – Nero's mentor. Surely even you must have heard of him?'
    Ampliatus flushed. 'My business is building, not books.' Why were they going on about all this stuff?
    'The Lucilius to whom he refers is Lucilius Junior, a native of this very city. He had a house near the theatre. He was a procurator overseas – in Sicily, as I remember it. Seneca is describing the great Campanian earthquake. It's from his book, Natural Questions. I believe there is even a copy in our own library on the forum. It lays out the foundations of the Stoic philosophy.'
    '"The Stoic philosophy!"' mocked Ampliatus. 'And what would old Exomnius have been doing with "the Stoic