Vesuvius by Night

Chapter 5

It was one of the twins who first noticed that something was happening. Varius, the two-year-old boy, had gone out of doors, crying, after being told for the umpteenth time he could not have any more nut-custard, because there was no more. There would be none until Marciana brought money home, whenever that would be. Ollia was reasonably certain Larius would send something, yet since he had once absconded without warning, she never felt entirely secure. She kept an old cooking pot of coins, buried in the garden, a bit of money collected in better times and hoarded, in case she was suddenly destitute.

Those had been hard years for her, when Larius was in Britain. On her own, she’d had to scrape a living. When she could, she took in other people’s children to mind, but most folk around here had families for that. She did mending. Some women spun wool, a Campanian cottage industry but Ollia, who grew up in Rome, had never been taught. Patching tunics or strengthening their necks where seams often tore was tedious and only brought in a pittance.

In summer she could get horrible temporary work serving in a bar, or helping out in kitchens as extra banquet staff when the rich descended on their holiday homes, but then she had to find somewhere to park her own infants, who resented it and played up. She hated having to plead, the risk of being fondled by men she despised, the hostility from others who were equally desperate for the work. She missed her children.

Larius did return, with money, but then she had to fight down her anger against him. He wasn’t naïve; he must have realised, when he left, what his absence would mean. Ollia had been furious. When he turned up again, she could so easily have sent him packing, but she had to think about their children. She had to pretend.

Things were better now. She was here while most of the time he worked away in Pompeii, but they counted themselves a family. In some marriages separation is a good idea. Larius had always been a one for ideas. Their children, who only saw him when he came jauntily bearing presents, adored him, never understanding his faults. They saw their mother all the time and each one had her measure, so her role was more difficult. Plus the struggle to look after them was every day and unrelenting.

Angrily she called Varius back. Screaming no, he ran to hide. She left him to it.

He was more of a handful than any of her others, a defiant little tyrant, but she knew where he would be. He always crawled into the hencoop. He would come to no harm there. When enough time had passed for him to calm down and start to feel he was missing things, Ollia would waddle out to fetch him. She and her toddler would have a little chat as usual – he smelling of poultry shit, whimpering and hiccupping, while she too settled down as she cuddled him. She would sigh, and maybe shed a tear or two herself. Holding her hand, he would then come indoors meekly.

She was tired. It was still barely noon, yet she felt she had been on her feet all day. Sultry weather was not helping. She knew she was expecting again. If it was more twins, she would kill herself. Maybe she needn’t bother: nature would do it. Her mother had carried triplets once. They all died in the birth, including her mother.

No, it mustn’t happen to her. Somebody had to look after these. She had to take care of herself, make sure she was always here for them.

She liked children, fortunately. Hers, with their dark curls and attractive features, were generally a pleasure. They had good times together, at least when there was enough to eat and none of them were sickly. If Ollia had to choose the memory she most cherished, she would pick a lazy day when she took them along the coast to Oplontis for a picnic, sat on the beach there, gazing out to sea. In her mind, this scene took place when Larius was away. It was just her and them. One child lolling against her, the others playing quietly. The blue of the sea meeting the uniform blue of the Neapolis sky, while the hot sun made everyone drowsy. The scent of newly landed octopus cooking on skewers over a fire right there on the shore at sunset. Friends she had known since before she was married, who treated her like family.

The fisherman, Vitalis, her old flame.

Would he have been a better choice? It was too late now, and Ollia had enough folk wisdom to know you should never waste time on regret, not for a man. Well, bloody hell, Ollia; not that one!

Vitalis had never married. A fool might imagine the bronzed, muscular lump was pining for her, but Ollia was too wise to think it. More likely he remained alone because other girls had been wary of his roving eye and, let’s face it, his laziness. When his father and then his uncle died, he took over their fishing boat but he never changed. It was a hard life, so not ideal for Vitalis. He would never put himself out unless he had to, yet he seemed surprised when he then did badly.

Ollia was not surprised at all. Long ago she had palled up with his mother, two wise women shaking their heads over him.

When Larius left her that time, when he went off to Britain without saying a word, Ollia could have had her chance with the fisherboy, She was too taken up with little Marciana and her newborn twins, so she never did anything about it. Nor did Vitalis. His inaction was not due to respect for her married status, nor fear of the burden of children, but just because Vitalis never did anything about anything.

That was life. She knew to this day that Larius might well have stayed away, so she would really have been stuck. But the fisherboy was no better.

Larius did come back, though he was rarely here with her. But since then, he sent money almost every week; Marciana brought it, and there was plenty. Figure painters were well paid.

One thing you had to say for him, Larius worked hard. He loved to paint. He loved that more than he loved Ollia and the little ones, she had to accept it. But this was probably how it would be now, this was probably permanent. To drive him away entirely she would have to make his life very miserable indeed, so she would not do that; it was tempting to nag when they came together, but she resisted. They would survive somehow. And Ollia felt safe that she was no longer alone; in any real emergency, Larius would come to help.

Varius was a child who looked around him, hoping for an excuse to yell his head off in exaggerated terror or disgust. Today he noticed Vesuvius looked peculiar, so after a second of bafflement, he began screaming. As she went out to her little boy and saw what was happening to the mountain, Ollia’s first thought was Larius. He would come for them, he would tell her what to do.

One of her neighbours called out, hurrying away. ‘Have you seen it? We are all leaving, Ollia. Grab your tots and come along with us.’

She was grateful for the offer. But Ollia, wife of Larius the painter, gazed at Mount Vesuvius as it spewed a plug of ash from the depths of the earth and sent clouds of fine material flittering all around the peak, and said no, no thank you. She had to wait here until her husband came, because he would need to know where to find them.

The first emission looked like forest fires smouldering on the side of the mountain. That continued for some time, covering the peak entirely. Ollia went out to watch occasionally as she tidied up after giving the children lunch. Then came a huge noise as if all of Campania was breaking apart, so she ran out of doors again, and witnessed the beginning of the first big eruption. Horrified, she watched a massive column of molten rock and gas climbing ever higher from the peak, desperately close to Herculaneum. The pulsating cloud was grey, with lighter and darker parts as different materials were thrown up. She noticed fires on the mountain itself, then bursts of flame amongst the rising column and flashes like lightning in the dark clouds that were reaching into the sky. The very air felt hot on her face; it seemed to reek of poison.

It was ten miles for Larius to come, even if his journey was not impeded. Logistics were not Ollia’s strength. She did not immediately grasp that to reach his family he would have to travel up the coast road through Oplontis, approaching much closer to this vigorous new volcano. Larius, who had their eldest daughter with him, would want to find safety – and, for him, that lay in the opposite direction.