The Bull Slayer

keep your chest warm.”

Pliny gave her a tender kiss. “Hush now, go to sleep. It’ll soon be dawn and then I’m off.”

***

But dawn came with a sickening lurch of the floor that threw them both out of bed. The floor buckled and a water jug on the bedside table fell to the floor and smashed. The shaking lasted only moments but when it stopped the bedroom wall was crazed with cracks and plaster dust hung in the air. Pliny lay on top of his wife, shielding her with his body, his heart hammering. From distant parts of the palace he heard shouts and cries for help. Then there was the sound of running footsteps and Zosimus and Ione burst through the door-their bedroom was close by-Ione holding Rufus to her, the child screaming.

“Patrone!”

“We’re all right. Give us a minute. I want everyone outside in the courtyard, at once. See to it.”

Zosimus dashed off. Ione helped Calpurnia to her feet and together they tried to comfort the child.

Damage to the palace, it turned out, was slight, only one roof had fallen in and no one was badly hurt. But from the top of the wall Pliny looked out over the city and saw, through an ochre haze, smoke rising in half a dozen places. The sight brought with it a sudden overpowering memory of the explosion of Vesuvius-the buried towns, the flaming countryside, the refugees stunned by disaster. He had been seventeen years old and barely escaped with his life. It still haunted his dreams.

With an effort, he shook off the memory. Fire and looting were their twin enemies now. He ordered his soldiers into the streets to protect the treasury and the temples. He had only two cohorts of auxiliaries, a pitifully small force; they would have to do their best. With his lictors and a gang of public slaves he raced through the rubble-strewn streets to the marketplace where several shops were ablaze, the air filled with flying cinders. To his amazement, he found the citizens simply standing and staring, doing nothing to extinguish the flames. Trajan had taken the extraordinary step of banning every kind of private association in the province-burial societies, workers’ clubs, trade guilds, cult associations, even something as innocent as a volunteer fire department-on the grounds that they always turned into political cabals. Pliny and his men, with much yelling and shoving, got bucket brigades organized. By nightfall the worst was over. He left the scene only when Marinus, his physician, seconded by Calpurnia, insisted that he return to the palace and rest. He was already composing in his head a letter to the emperor begging him to authorize a fire brigade, which he would guarantee to supervise closely. But he knew what the answer would be.

Pliny delayed his departure until some degree of order was restored. Within a week, rubble was carted off and weakened walls were shored up, shops reopened, the taverns and brothels of the harbor returned to bustling life. Yet a sense of dread persisted. Street corner soothsayers harangued the crowds with dire warnings, you could see fear in the eyes of ordinary citizens and even within his own household. Little Rufus wouldn’t let his mother out of his sight. Calpurnia looked tense.

An earthquake is a sign from the gods. Why had Poseidon the Earth-Shaker chosen this particular moment to strike the ground beneath their feet? Was it because a new governor had arrived who would shake them and squeeze them and bend them to his will? Or was it a warning to the Roman to tread lightly? Pliny was not a man who believed in omens. Most of the time. He ordered sacrifices to Poseidon at his temple near the harbor and led the procession himself. What more could he do? Finally, his departure could not be put off any longer. But as he set out at last on the road to Prusa he sent up a silent prayer that all would be well.

Chapter Six

A week later

The 5th day before the Kalends of October

“Got herself pregnant by her slave? What a little fool!”

“I can hardly believe it of her, the mousey thing.”

“It’s true. Why else did Fabricius send her back to Rome?”

“That man! No wonder she played around.”

“Well, ladies, be honest. How many of us have tried it on with a slave-thought about it anyway?”

“These wretched Bithynians? I’d rather do it with a donkey!”

“Now, Nubians. When we were stationed in Alexandria I had six Nubian litter bearers.”

“They carried you by day and you carried them by night?”

“Ask me no questions.”

“Faustilla, you’re terrible!”

“I wish I were in Alexandria. Or Antioch, or anyplace but here!”

“My husband goes to Antioch on business twice a year, never takes me, though.”

“Well, my astrologer assures me I’m going to travel someplace exciting.”

“He probably means Dacia. That’s exciting, you can dodge arrows.”

“Oops! Sorry.”

“Memmia, you’re soused already. You there, whatever your name is, come here and mop this up and pour us more wine. Why do you stand there like a post?”

“Well, what else is there to do but drink? Where is Calpurnia, anyway? I’m starving. Late to her own party, what manners!”

“She’s an odd one, no mistake. Too quiet.”

“Stuck up, I say. The way she looks at you, you don’t know what she’s thinking.”

“I like him, though. Sense of humor, anyway. Not like mine.”

“I don’t know. My husband says he’s all talk and no action.”

“Can I ask, does anyone know a doctor they can trust? I’m at my wit’s end.”

“What, is your youngest sick again?”

“The poor thing. Children! We go through torture to bring them into the world just to worry ourselves sick over them. I swear by Juno I think I’d rather be childl-“

“Ssh! She’s coming!”

“Please forgive me, ladies. I’ve been all morning with my tutor, we lost track of the time.” Calpurnia, out of breath from racing up the stairs, settled herself on her couch in the small upstairs dining room.”

“You’re taking it quite seriously, Greek.” This was Faustilla, the wife of Pliny’s staff officer Nymphidius, a ribald old lady who had been born in Claudius’ reign. She gave Calpurnia an indulgent smile. “I mean we all speak it enough to talk to the cook but why on earth do you want to go reading Homer, or whatever he’s set you to.”

In fact, Timotheus was dragging her through the Odyssey’s archaic Greek line by line, which was not what she wanted at all, but she couldn’t persuade the man to simply talk to her. She wouldn’t admit this to Faustilla, though. “It keeps my mind occupied for one thing. Haven’t you ever wondered why Latin and Greek have exactly the same words for father and mother but quite different ones for son and daughter?”

This was met by blank stares. Clearly, they hadn’t.

“Timon, you can start serving the fish course,” Calpurnia said in painfully correct Greek to her head waiter. She had taken a lesson from her husband and made it her first task to learn the name of every servant in the household.

Such airs! Fannia smiled to her couch-mate, Cassia, behind her hand. Conversation subsided while plates were passed and the women settled down to eat. Calpurnia and Pliny had brought their own chef with them from Rome but he had fallen ill en route and they had been forced to leave him behind in Athens. She had had to find a local replacement when they arrived. The man came with good references, probably forged. The roast hares were underdone, the grilled smelts were burnt black. Everyone tried not to notice.

Fabia, Balbus’ wife, belched and spoke around a mouthful of food: “Poor you, Calpurnia, living in this shambles. Can’t the governor requisition better quarters?” She gestured with a thick arm at the peeling fresco on the wall. It was unkind, and meant to be. Malice glittered in her eyes.

Calpurnia would not allow this woman to make her angry. She forced a smile. “Soon to be repaired. I’ve made