Pompeii

flowers in her basket. She hesitated to disturb him, because of course he would immediately start to get excited. He reminded her of how their father had been in the days before his death – the same corpulence, the same shortness of breath, the same uncharacteristic irritability. But if she let him sleep he would no doubt be even more furious to have missed the peculiar smoke, so she stroked his hair and whispered, 'Brother, wake up. There is something you will want to see.'
    He opened his eyes at once. 'The water – is it flowing?'
    'No. Not the water. It looks like a great fire on the bay, coming from Vesuvius.'
    'Vesuvius?' He blinked at her then shouted to a nearby slave. 'My shoes! Quickly!'
    'Now, brother, don't exert yourself too much –'
    He did not even wait for his shoes. Instead, for the second time that day, he set off barefoot, lumbering across the dry grass towards the terrace. By the time he reached it most of the household slaves were lining the balustrade, looking east across the bay towards what looked like a gigantic umbrella pine made of smoke growing over the coast. A thick brown trunk, with black and white blotches, was rolling miles into the air, sprouting at its crown a clump of feathery branches. These broad leaves seemed in turn to be dissolving along their lower edges, beginning to rain a fine, sand-coloured mist back down to earth.
    It was an axiom of the admiral's, one which he was fond of repeating, that the more he observed Nature, the less prone he was to consider any statement about Her to be impossible. But surely this was impossible. Nothing he had read of – and he had read everything – came close to matching this spectacle. Perhaps Nature was granting him the privilege of witnessing something never before recorded in history? Those long years of accumulating facts, the prayer with which he had ended the Natural History – 'Hail Nature, mother of all creation, and mindful that I alone of the men of Rome have praised thee in all thy manifestations, be gracious towards me' – was it all being rewarded at last? If he had not been so fat he would have fallen to his knees. 'Thank you,' he whispered. 'Thank you.'
    He must start work at once. Umbrella pine... tall stem... feathery branches ... He needed to get all this down for posterity, while the images were still fresh in his head. He shouted to Alexion to collect pen and paper and to Julia to fetch Gaius.
    'He's inside, working on the translation you set him.'
    'Well, tell him to come out here at once. He won't want to miss this.' It could not be smoke, he thought. It was too thick. Besides, there was no sign of any fire at the base. But if not smoke, what? 'Be quiet, damn you!' He waved at the slaves to stop their jabbering. Listening hard, it was just possible to make out a low and ceaseless rumble carrying across the bay. If that was how it sounded at a distance of fifteen miles, what must it be like close to?
    He beckoned to Alcman. 'Send a runner down to the naval school to find the flagship captain. Tell him I want a liburnian made ready and put at my disposal.'
    'Brother – no!'
    'Julia!' He held up his hand. 'You mean well, I know, but save your breath. This phenomenon, whatever it is, is a sign from Nature. This is mine. '

    * * *

    Corelia had thrown open her shutters and was standing on the balcony. To her right, above the flat roof of the atrium, a gigantic cloud was advancing, as black as ink, like a heavy curtain being drawn across the sky. The air was shaking with thunder. She could hear screams from the street. In the courtyard garden slaves ran back and forth, to no apparent purpose. They reminded her of dormice in a jar, before they were fished out for cooking. She felt somehow detached from the scene – a spectator in a box at the back of the theatre, watching an elaborate production. At any moment, a god would be lowered from the wings to whisk her off to safety. She shouted down – 'What's happening?' – but nobody paid her any attention. She tried again and realised she was forgotten.
    The drumming of the cloud was getting louder. She ran to the door and tried to open it but the lock was too strong to break. She ran back on to the balcony but it was too high to jump. Below, and to the left, she saw Popidius coming up the steps from his part of the house, shepherding his elderly mother, Taedia Secunda, before him. A couple of their slaves, laden with bags, were following behind. She screamed at him