Vesuvius by Night

Chapter 4

Slowly it dawned on Nonius that the street noises were unusual.

He must have dozed off after his first awakening and could not tell how long had passed. Had he slept through another bloody big earthquake? Six hundred sheep slaughtered in the fields by poisonous gases? Upper floors of houses damaged so badly they would simply be bricked up and never used again? Temples tottering, granaries groaning, columns smashing down in pieces? Some buildings destroyed so completely they had to be demolished and their plots given over to agriculture? People killed?

Hades, it had better not be any of the clients he had carefully sweetened up for his financial projects! Don’t say his efforts had been for nothing. Nonius hated waste.

He jumped out of bed.

Sudden motion was an error. He sat back down on the mattress edge, allowing his sore head to normalise before he stirred again. Once the room slowly stopped spinning, he found last night’s tunic, his scruffy one, which was scrubbled up on the floor where he had dropped it. He pulled on the garment, automatically straightening the folds to hang well. He was so vain, he stayed to comb his hair. Too befuddled to find his nitcomb, he used the painter’s. When he had finished, instead of putting it back on Larius’s small bedside tray, Nonius dropped it into his own luggage pack.

Only then did he finally drag himself down the steps into the street outside. As he opened the door, the light beyond seemed hazy. Nonius coughed. People were walking or running downhill towards the port. There was constant movement through the streets, like when the amphitheatre disgorged its audience after the games and everyone went home at once. Hundreds of people were flowing in one direction, purposefully. Some carried bundles, some hoisted small children on their shoulders so they could move faster. He saw wheel-barrows, piled with household goods. There were cries of alarm, even screams of panic. But most walked as fast as they could in grim silence.

A pattering sound was everywhere, a sound like heavy rain in a Mediterranean storm. It was unceasing and regular, though occasionally broken by a loud crack. When Nonius ventured over the threshold, he jumped back, exclaiming. Bloody hell, it hurt! Small pebbles, like hail but harder, were showering from a darkening sky. There were gusts of a really bad smell.

Nonius, who was still woozy, took his time to gather what was going on. The rain of stones, ash-coloured, cinder-like, stinging and biting, filled the air. He wanted to hide, to cover up bare skin, to duck his head, to flee back indoors. But even half asleep, Nonius soon saw that sheltering was not for him.

Seeing his puzzlement, someone named the mountain. ‘Vesuvius!’ Vesuvius had blown up? Jupiter Best and Greatest.

He had to be out. He had things to do. He would be extremely busy. This was his great chance. The foolish people of Pompeii were leaving their homes. Stupidly or not, they believed it was a temporary evacuation, after which they would come back. So they left most of their possessions behind.

Let them flee. Flight was for fools. Not Nonius.

He understood at last. Fabulous. For him, this was the best opportunity ever.

Bracing himself, Nonius went out into those streets, where anxious escapees were following each other full of uncertainty, whereas he was full of purpose. Trying to dodge the battering lapilli, the crowd hurried frantically yet seemed to have little idea where they were going. Wailing and selfishly trying to save themselves, while getting in his way, people had no idea. Nonius had to use his chance. Some wore cushions tied on their heads, or were huddled in cloaks, too muffled up and much too scared to see where they were running – and nor did they notice what Nonius was doing. As if he had been born for it, Nonius was making the most of this situation. He worked with joy in his heart.

A middle-aged woman was struggling with her doorlock. ‘Oh madam, let me help with that!’ insisted Nonius, shoving her on her way in a fluster, while palming her latch lifter.

A man left his keys in their usual hiding place, under a plant pot. Nonius observed. After the householder scurried off, Nonius retrieved them.

A pregnant woman had trouble carrying treasured possessions; Nonius offered to help her, seized the bag manfully – then vanished in the gloom.

A slave who had been left behind to guard a place, answered the door to Nonius’ urgent knocking. He sounded official. ‘You have to get out! Everyone has to leave now. Don’t stop for anything, run for it!’

Soon he was madly gathering silver dinnerwares, bronze household gods, gladiator figurines, coins, male and female jewelry. Glass was too fragile, more’s the pity. Bankboxes were beyond him to force, he was in too much of a hurry and had no strong tools; cupboard doors eventually gave way.

A young female slave who had been hiding in a backroom came to investigate the noise. She had the bad luck to run into Nonius, to his delight. Already terrified by the eruption, she could not escape. ‘Well, hello there, darling!’ Her lucky day.

It wasn’t rape.

Rapists always say that though.

She really wanted it. She was a slut, a slave, she made me do it. She shouldn’t have screamed. She was screaming because she enjoyed it. She knew I couldn’t help myself. It wasn’t rape.

Hades. This was the most exciting event in this town. Nonius was more thrilled than he had ever been. The spoils were his. All of it, everything. What else could anyone expect?