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Just over a month later, on the Nones of February, it is still dark when Amarantus wakes to the sound of iron-rimmed wheels on the road outside. Pistor the baker is delivering bread to some of the biggest and richest houses. Immediately Amarantus remembers that today is Fabia’s birthday. But something feels wrong. He gazes up at the ceiling, flickering in the faint light of an oil-lamp, and he frowns. Then he has it. Usually the cockerels of Pompeii are crowing but when the sound of the baker’s wheels fades, he hears nothing. There is a strange silence in the air, as if the world is holding its breath. Before he even rises from his sleeping mat, he prays to the god of wine. Protect Fabia today, he says, and all those I love. And me, too. He grips the amulet around his neck. It is a present from his mother: a little diamond-shaped leaf of bronze with dots meant to represent grapes, and therefore sacred to the god of wine. Sometimes Amarantus imagines his favourite god as a chubby baby in the arms of Mercury, sometimes as Liber Pater, the handsome young god of wine and sometimes as jolly old Bacchus who loves to ride a mule. But today he imagines him as Dionysus in his prime, as he once saw him on an antique Greek mixing bowl. The god looked like kingly Zeus and only his ivy garland and wine-cup told otherwise. It is still dark, but the oil-lamp has just enough fuel to show Amarantus the place in the corner where Potiscus used to sleep. He misses the mule, and he hopes Nico is not mistreating him. Protect Potiscus, too, Dionysus, he whispers, and gives the amulet an extra rub with forefinger and thumb. Because he sleeps in both tunics he only needs to put on his sandals. It is a chilly February morning, so he wraps the still- warm blanket that doubles as a cloak around his shoulders. Out in the atrium he sees a half moon about to sink behind the roof. He kisses his hand to it and murmurs, ‘Hail, Diana.’ Then he goes to splash his face with water from the basin by the tablinum. He taps the folding wooden door. ‘Time to get up, Scumnicolus,’ he says. He is going to wake Superbus, too, but then remembers that he was up late drinking with Celadus the gladiator, who is lodging in one of the upstairs rooms. By the time Scumnicolus is back with bread for the house and bar, the sky is pale yellow. The small kitchen is filled with the scent of hot wine and honey as Coquus heats a pan of mulsum. From the wine garden comes a whiff of slow roasting lamb with rosemary. Grata comes in from the crossroads fountain with the third bucket of water, her bushy red hair tied up in a scarf. This is their winter morning routine, done in silence. |
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Coquus pours the sweet hot wine into six beakers: three silver and three ceramic. As he sprinkles cheese and barley onto each one, he says, ‘Thank you, Dionysus, for this wine.’ In the same way Amarantus thanks Ceres for the bread as he breaks the loaf into six triangles using the guide marks scored into it. Grata never has the honeyed wine but accepts some bread. As she stands by the warm hearth, chewing daintily, Amarantus notices shadows under her eyes. ‘Are you all right, Grata?’ he asks. ‘You look tired.’ ‘Bad dreams,’ she says, and makes the sign against evil. She pops the last piece of bread in her mouth and heads for Pompeia’s bedroom, taking one of the silver cups and a triangle of bread with her. An eager tapping of toenails on the brick floor announces the appearance of Pertinax. Amarantus tosses him a morsel of bread and takes one of the other silver beakers upstairs to Fabia’s room. Really, he should be waiting on Pompeia while Grata serves Fabia, but Grata hates going upstairs. She says leaving solid ground to mount the air on wooden boards seems deeply wrong. She says it is almost as bad as sailing in a wooden box over the heaving sea. She needs to feel mother earth’s blessing flowing up through her bare feet. |
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‘Good morning Amarantus!’ Fabia sits up in bed and stretches. He puts the cup on her bedside table. Unlike the others, she never eats this early. ‘Happy Birthday, dear Fabia.’ With a trembling hand he reaches down the front of his tunic and pulls out a pyramid- shaped chunk of clay about the size of his thumb. It has a red ribbon around it. ‘A loom weight?’ She pouts prettily, not trying to hide her disappointment. ‘It has an amphora on it, for Dionysus,’ he says. ‘And for our bar.’ She sighs and forces a smile. ‘Thank you.’ But she puts it on her bedside table, and he can see she isn’t impressed. Of course, the clunky loom weight is a foolish gift. Fabia finds weaving to be a boring occupation, unlike Grata who stands happily at the loom. But Superbus still hasn’t paid back the money he borrowed and Amarantus can’t afford an expensive gift. Fabia lies down again and gazes up at the ceiling. ‘Do you know who’s coming to my banquet this afternoon?’ ‘Everybody you invited,’ he says. ‘All your suitors: Mestrius, Vatia and Successus.’ ‘And Celadus, the sweetheart of all the girls?’ She is still looking up at the ceiling. Amarantus tries to ignore the pang of jealousy. ‘Celadus says he can’t promise but that he’ll try to come.’ ‘And the lamb will be ready?’ She sits up. ‘Yes. Can’t you smell it? It’s been cooking for nearly twenty- four hours. And I have the perfect vintage to go with it.’ She pushes back the cover. ‘Garlands?’ ‘I’m going out to get them as soon as we’ve said prayers. The fresher the flowers are, the better. What will you do this morning?’ She stands up and stretches again. Wearing only a long linen undertunic and with her dark hair tumbling around her shoulders, she looks very beautiful. ‘Weave at my loom, I suppose,’ she says. Then her face brightens. ‘I want to finish a cloak I’m making for Celadus. I’ll add my new loom-weight to the others!’ She picks up the small clay pyramid. Amarantus nods miserably. Fabia and her mother and Grata have set up their three looms in the garden and they spend mornings weaving and talking. He sometimes lingers behind a column to listen. But lately all Fabia talks about is how much she wants to go to the gladiator games and see Celadus vanquish his foes. Amarantus can’t imagine why all the girls like Celadus. The gladiator is short and stocky, with a layer of wobbly fat around his middle. He has scars that look like pink worms on his leathery skin and one of his eyes is always red and weeping. ‘It’s so quiet this morning.’ Fabia pulls a pale pink woollen tunic over her cream linen undertunic. ‘Have you noticed?’ |
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He nods. ‘None of the town cockerels crowed at dawn,’ he says. ‘Which is very strange.’ Then he hears a sound that is both familiar and worrying. A high, steady yapping from downstairs. Frowning, Amarantus goes to the wooden walkway. Down in the garden, he sees Pompeia and the others standing near the shrine, ready to make the offering. They have turned to watch Pertinax who is giving high yips as he runs in a circle. He has only done that twice before… ‘Fabia!’ Amarantus cries. ‘Get out!’ He runs back into the room, grabs her wrist and tugs. ‘Amarantus!’ cries Fabia. ‘What are you doing?’ But she lets him pull her onto the balcony. ‘Everyone! Stay in the open!’ he shouts down to Pompeia. He prods Fabia downstairs, then runs to the lodgers’ rooms to get them out, too. He leads the three of them, Celadus included, down the inside stairs. Just as they come into the garden, the tiles on the roof begin to clink and clatter. Then one falls and smashes into the half wall surrounding the garden. ‘Everyone! Stay in the open!’ cries Amarantus again. ‘I think it’s …’ ‘Earthquake!’ screams Pompeia. For with a deep rumble, the earth has already begun to move. |
