New Pompeii (17 page)

Just like the day before, he appeared to be the only one up. The front door was shut, the house secure from intruders. Nick stood for a moment, letting the patter of the atrium’s fountain soothe away his tiredness, before he made his way through to the
tablinum
.

The House of McMahon’s main room of business wasn’t as grand as the atrium but it did have the benefit of a large map of New Pompeii painted on to one of its walls. The details were scant – an illustration of roads and main buildings rather than a detailed, modern town plan – but after two days of exploring, every feature on it now seemed very real.

The surrounding countryside was also sparse, showing only the location of the main agricultural villas and a few tracks. A large residential villa sat on the town’s northern approach. Nick thought back to the journey from the control villa, but couldn’t remember such a structure. Perhaps McMahon was planning a summer retreat to complement his townhouse?

Whatever the answer, the hinterland surrounding New Pompeii was clearly a work in progress. Given that McMahon received Pompeians in this room, he wasn’t going to reveal too much. The control villa looked like all the others – isolated maybe – and screened by the surrounding hills. But the map showed no indication of its helipad or real function.

“Where do you intend to go today?”

Nick turned quickly. Patrick was standing behind him.

“I’m not sure.”

“Heading back to the forum?”

“Maybe.” Nick paused, uncertain. There was clearly something else playing on the translator’s mind.

“Look,” said Patrick, finally. “It appears I was wrong. Whelan told me you’re not here to do any translation work.”

Nick offered a conciliatory smile, thinking about the awkwardness he still felt towards the spoken form of Latin used here. “I think that comes as a relief to both of us.”

“I’ll have to find time to give you a proper tour,” Patrick continued. “Probably in a couple of days, once I’ve got Whelan and Astridge set. You know: the temples, gladiator barracks, amphitheatre. You name it.”

Nick nodded. In a couple of days, he’d probably have seen everything anyway. But the offer seemed genuine. “Thank you. They say you don’t understand Romans until you’ve been to the baths…?”

* * *

“Excuse me, sir?”

Nick ambled to a halt. He’d only just left the House of McMahon, and was heading south towards the forum. Although this was one of the town’s wider streets, there wasn’t much room to pass the man now standing in front of him. Sure enough, as he stepped to one side, his path was blocked.

It was the same man who’d been watching him and Patrick in the forum. There was determination in his eyes. And they were locked directly on him. Like he was a target.

“Hi,” Nick said. He gave a friendly smile, but it wasn’t returned. He shifted his gaze skywards, moving his left hand to the buckle of his belt. But he didn’t call for help. Not yet, anyway. “Looks like another nice day?”

The man didn’t follow his glance. “You will come with me. My master – Manius Calpurnius Barbatus, the
duumvir
of Pompeii – wants to see you.”

The man spoke without moving his lips, his mouth slightly parted to reveal broken teeth. It took Nick a few moments to work out but, when he did, it only added to his discomfort. The man’s lips were missing. It looked like they’d been cut off.

“Okay,” replied Nick, trying to repress a shudder. He dropped his hand from his belt. This was clearly a slave. A fact about New Pompeii he suddenly realised he’d been trying to ignore. Because as well as transporting Roman citizens, NovusPart would have also rescued slaves. And slavery, something that was utterly abhorrent in the modern world, was never going to be extinguished in their attempt to recreate Pompeii. “I’d be happy to see him.”

They walked in silence for ten minutes, heading into the north-east quadrant of the town. Straight into one of the zones which hadn’t been excavated in the original Pompeii. Which meant he was walking into an area built entirely from the imagination of Robert Astridge.

Their destination was a building that looked much like the House of McMahon. Whereas the townsfolk gave the NovusPart base a wide berth, this one seemed to be a centre of activity. A long queue snaked out of its doorway, but Nick wasn’t taken to join the end of it. His escort took him straight inside and along the atrium corridor.

At the threshold to the house proper, a porter was stationed inside a cubicle, his feet poking out, and acting as a rudimentary gate. The slave stepped around them and waved Nick past. A small, scrappy dog yapped to announce their arrival, and Nick couldn’t help but flinch at the animal’s sudden appearance. He heard a few people at the head of the queue mutter in tones of amusement and frustration. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to pick out individual comments. Not that they’d be very complimentary. After all, he’d just jumped ahead of them, and there was no telling how long they’d been waiting.

“Stay here.”

The slave headed towards the
tablinum
, its entrance hidden by a blank wooden screen. Nick turned back towards the doorway. He was being closely watched by the porter, and remembering his first night at the House of McMahon, he quickly removed his sandals. This done, he surveyed the rest of the atrium. Just like at the House of McMahon, the roof opened at its centre directly above a shallow pool. However, the area was clearly being refitted. There was the smell of wet plaster and paint, and decorator’s equipment was scattered around. The layout was also subtly different; while McMahon’s mansion was long and thin, this one was notably wider, allowing for what looked like a second atrium off to the right. Whoever owned this property had clearly acquired the building next door, and was knocking the two properties through to make an even larger house. Which only confirmed his view that the transformation of New Pompeii was well under way.

A man walked towards him from the
tablinum
followed by the slave. This must be Manius Calpurnius Barbatus, the
duumvir
.

“Cato? This is the man from the northern gatehouse?”

The slave nodded. Barbatus gave Nick a cursory glance. Even when compared with the rest of the Pompeians, the
duumvir
was short. But he was stocky, his rounded shoulders giving him a look similar to that of a bulldog. And he also had something else which most of the population didn’t yet possess: age. This was a man clearly in his fifties or early sixties, his skin wrinkled and flecked like an old oil painting.

Nick smiled cautiously. Barbatus, however, was already heading back to the
tablinum
. Nick followed. The
duumvir
’s main room of business was nothing like McMahon’s; it had been embellished with painted columns framing scenes from Greek myth. Without thinking, Nick ambled to a halt. The decoration created the illusion of both grandeur and space; and all in the deep red and black of classical Pompeii.

The
duumvir
hadn’t stopped, but had carried on through the
tablinum
into the traditionally more private space of the garden beyond. Nick glanced behind him before continuing. If the people in the hallway hadn’t liked him jumping the queue, then they’d be mad as hell if he was seen in the relative privacy of the
peristylium
. Fortunately, the wooden screen meant they wouldn’t see the further snub.

And as it was, the garden was anything but private. Just like the house, it was more of a building site than a finished home. The wall through to the next-door property had been dismantled, and several columns lay on the ground, presumably ready to be erected in another location. A deep pit marked the location of a planned pool.

Barbatus led the way to the back of the property, where a shallow niche had been cut into the rear wall at about chest height. It had two shelves built into it, the upper one housing a painting of three figures and a snake. The lower shelf held an oil lamp, and a few crumbs of bread. The
duumvir
inclined his head slightly, then reached forward and tossed a crumb into the lamp’s flame. He waited for Nick to do the same.

“I don’t know why it’s out here,” said Barbatus, nodding at the family shrine. The action emphasised his thinning mop of grey-blond hair. “The idiots renovating the house thought it was a suitable spot. Soon, I’ll have it moved back into the atrium.” He gestured towards the painting of the three figures. “It’s adequate in summer, but I think they’ll be cold in winter.”

Nick smiled, but kept quiet. He was only just about understanding, struggling with Barbatus’ pronunciation. He’d need to do his best to imitate it. The last thing he needed was to sound like he’d done at the
taberna
.

“So tell me,” Barbatus said. “Are you a god, or simply one of their helpers?”

For a second, Nick’s mind went blank, trying to recall Whelan’s preferred script. “I’ve been brought here to advise,” he said, his Latin still sounding clunky even if the
duumvir
didn’t noticeably react to it.

“Interesting. And your name?”

Nick hesitated. “Decimus Horatius Pullus,” he said, pronouncing each syllable as clearly as he could. Barbatus listened politely, but raised his eyebrows sceptically. Nick suddenly realised that the
duumvir
– one of the most important elected officials in Pompeii – was not wearing a toga but just a simple off-white tunic. Why?

“A good Roman name.”

“Yes.”

“Well, Pullus, I’ve heard about your intervention at the northern gatehouse. Thank you for telling your friends to obey the rules set down by the new aediles.”

“It was nothing.”

Barbatus issued a deep sigh. Frustration. Disappointment. Maybe somewhere between the two. “Really? Your friends would have just pushed through that gatehouse and ignored our man.”

“As I said, I’m here to advise.”

There was a flutter of movement from the
tablinum
.

“Father? Father, I…”

Nick turned to find two women standing at the entrance to the peristyle. One was young, and wearing a modest
stola
and
palla
. The
stola
’s sleeves completely covered her arms, and its hem reached the floor as she walked. The other woman hovered in the background and, from her dress, was presumably another household slave.

“Begone, girl,” shouted Barbatus, suddenly angry. “Haven’t you seen the length of the queue?” He waited for the girl to retreat before giving Nick an apologetic shrug. “My daughter. Too silly to stop and think for a moment. Just like her mother.”

Nick nodded, but didn’t pass comment. “I’m still a little puzzled as to why you brought me here.”

“Invited.”

“Pardon?”

“I
invited
you here.”

The
duumvir
continued to smile politely, but his voice was firm. Nick hesitated. “I didn’t feel like I had much choice.”

“Surely gods can choose where and when they go?”

Nick didn’t answer, but felt his cheeks burn. He was being played with.

“Still,” continued Barbatus, “no matter. Perhaps Cato was a little too aggressive. That is the fault of many a slave. You give them an instruction, and they carry it out. But I’m still pleased you’re here.”

“Why?”

“Simply put, you’re new and I wanted to meet you. From what I’ve been told you’ve already taken a keener interest in our town than many of your friends. And that makes you stand out.”

Nick nodded. “Even in its current state, it’s a fine town.”

Barbatus ignored the compliment. “You came in on the northern road?”

“Yes.”

“And how did you find your journey?”

Nick swallowed. He needed to remember the script. “As you know, chaos has consumed much of our land. The roads between the towns are very dangerous. I myself travelled with a guard.”

“Yes, this calamity has changed everything.” Barbatus laughed humourlessly. “You know, the money still rolls in from my estates, but I don’t know when I’ll next see them. And here we are – eating bread from a nearby villa I’m not even permitted to visit.”

“Things will no doubt improve.”

“Good.” Barbatus leant closer. “Because the people elected me
duumvir
. So, this should be my town. But for the moment, it’s your people that run things.”

A sudden thought struck Nick. Something that had first occurred to him at the gatehouse, but which he’d not had chance to ask Whelan.
Duumvir
. There should have been two of them, the
duoviri
, running Pompeii as an equal partnership, with the aediles below them. “And your counterpart?” asked Nick. “The other
duumvir
?”

“You tell me,” replied Barbatus. “Quintus Valerius Bibulus is in Rome.”

“He travelled there before the eruption?”

Barbatus stared at him blankly. “So have you brought any news from the Senate? Any word from our Emperor?”

Nick shook his head. “No.”

Barbatus shrugged. “No, I thought not. You see, other than the odd proclamation, we’ve heard nothing from the capital. And yet, since our return, I’ve been writing regular letters to Titus.”

“I’m sure he’s very busy.”

“He’d make time for me. We’re close personal friends.” Barbatus’ eyes narrowed. “Maybe my letters aren’t reaching him.”

“He’ll be receiving letters from across the Empire.”

“So he’s alive, then?”

Nick didn’t reply. He knew he needed to get out of this conversation. Because if Whelan hadn’t yet wanted him attending meetings with the aediles, then he’d surely not want him meeting the
duumvir
on his own. Especially if Barbatus was asking detailed questions about their back story.

“As you say,” Nick said, “we continue to receive the Emperor’s proclamations. And I doubt the god-emperor Augustus would have saved a town as small as Pompeii only to let Rome fall.”

Barbatus nodded, smiling. “Good point.” He leant forward again and slapped Nick’s shoulder. “You know, I really thought I was going to die when Vesuvius turned to fire. But now the memory of that terrible day is falling away like the ash did from my hair. And I’m sure my letters will get through to Titus eventually.”