John Roberts - Under Vesuvius

Hermes already had his sword out, as did my other young men. All except Marcus had fought in Gaul or Macedonia or Syria. Being a serving magistrate I couldn't go about wearing a sword, but I was no fool, either. My sword hung sheathed from the near-front horn of my saddle and I had it out just in time. My attacker took a swipe at my head, but I ducked low and extended my arm, thrusting beneath his jaw. He went off his horse backward with a spray of blood and a gargling cry. My horse collided with his, and its shod feet went out from under it, scrabbling on the wet pavement.

As it fell I managed to jump clear and keep hold of my sword, a circumstance of which I was absurdly proud. I looked around to see the battle well joined, the quarters so close that I could smell the stench of the attackers' bodies and the garlic on their breath. I saw a Nubian go down with a spear through his chest, and then Hermes lopped the sword arm off a mounted man. The arm chanced to fall at my feet and I took the opportunity to appropriate its weapon-a good legionary gladius.

I was unarmored and had no shield, so I felt the need of a spare weapon. Besides, I wanted to try out some moves I'd seen that two-sword gladiator use in the Pompeii amphitheater. In Rome, I'd usually waded into street brawls with a caestus on one hand and a dagger in the other. In the legions, I'd fought with the customary sword and shield. I was intrigued by the possibilities of two swords, and I had my opportunity to try them out almost immediately.

A burly fellow wearing a rag of tunic and wool leggings charged me on foot, thrusting a sword at my chest. With my left-hand sword I banged it aside as I stepped in and slashed him across the belly with the other from left to right. He doubled over and I brought the left-hand blade down on the back of his neck, almost beheading him.

Two more closed in on me. The nearer held a club in both hands, presenting an interesting problem even if he'd been alone. As he raised the club for a blow, I sidestepped and brought my left-hand blade across in a backhand cut against his left wrist, severing it even as I brought the right-hand sword down on his skull, splitting it. The other man was on me even as the first fell, but Hermes rode up behind him and spitted him from back to front.

I spun around, looking for more men to fight. The only action was from a half-dozen horsemen who were pounding away into the mist, having had enough. The dead and wounded lay all over, bleeding, gurgling, cursing. The surviving Numidians were ruthlessly impaling anything that twitched.

"Stop them!" I shouted. "I need some who can talk!" But it was no use. The tribesmen were beyond control, furious to avenge their slain comrades.

"Casualties?" I demanded in disgust.

"Four of our party wounded," Hermes said, wiping blood from his sword. "Two Numidians killed."

Marcus walked up, having lost his horse somewhere. He was wrapping a cloth around his bloodied upper arm, but he was grinning. "For such a dignified magistrate," he said, "you seemed to be enjoying yourself, Praetor. Wait until I tell Julia."

"Wait until tonight, when that wound begins to hurt," I told him. "I want to see your face then."

"But the ladies will be fussing over me," he said. "I'm a hero, bloodied in defense of my patron. I'll-"

"Hermes!" I said, cutting him off. "Take the lictors and go into Baiae. Get all those officials out here and tell them the last to arrive gets a flogging." Of course I had no authority to do this to Roman citizens, but anger was getting the best of me. Besides, one of my uncles had once had a Roman senator flogged in public, and everybody knew it.

While we waited I examined the dead attackers. The rain stopped and the mist began to clear, making the task easier. They looked like army deserters, runaway slaves, ruined peasants-the sort of bandits who are never quite eradicated from Italy. Their filth and rags proclaimed that they had been living in the hills for a long time.

Two of the Numidians rode out to round up our scattered horses. By the time they returned with the wandering beasts, the good burghers of Baiae had begun to show up, looking none too pleased with my peremptory summons. Well, I was none too pleased with them. Uninvited gawkers also appeared. Violence and bloodshed attract them like flies.

To my surprise, Cicero was with them. "What's going on here, Decius?" he asked. "This district hasn't seen such a pile of bodies since the funeral games for Pompeius Strabo."

"Listen to me!" I said to the assembled officials. "The situation here is getting entirely out of hand. At first it was just a murder here, a murder there-nothing to get upset about. But today I was attacked by a whole crowd of bandits. They tried to assassinate me, possibly to kill this man in my custody." I pointed at Gelon with a sword and realized that I still held a weapon in each hand. Also, I was liberally bespattered with blood from head to foot. No wonder they were looking at me with such strange expressions. Quite a change from my snowy, purple-bordered toga.

"You people have let the situation here deteriorate into a shocking state," I said. "I am minded to call in the troops to restore order. Pom-peius has a training camp at Capua and I'm sure he'll be happy to lend me a cohort or two to establish martial law here."

"Praetor, Praetor, you are making too much of this," said Norbanus. "This is simple banditry. What sort of people usually travel on this road? Wealthy citizens, the caravans of merchants-all ripe pickings for bandits. The day was dark and rainy; there was ground fog. These wretches did not see that this was a well-armed band of military men and warriors until it was too late."

"Yes, Praetor," said Manius Silva. "We always have increased bandit activity whenever the volcano gets frisky."

"The volcano?" I said, not certain I had heard him correctly.

"Oh, yes," Norbanus chimed in. "You see, bandits fort up in the crater of Vesuvius. They've done it for centuries. The local farmers bring them food and wine rather than endure their raids. Most of the time they are content with this. There are only a couple of very narrow passes into the crater, so they are relatively safe there. But when there is a venting, the smoke and ash drive them out and they raid in the lowlands until it clears up." Everyone nodded and agreed that this was so.

"You lot," I said, "have to be the most useless pack of soft-assed degenerates on the whole Italian peninsula! You mean to tell me that you allow a whole colony of bandits to camp on your doorstep! Why don't you go up there and exterminate them?"

"This is Campania, Praetor," Norbanus said stiffly. "It's always been the practice here."

His wife, Rutilia, spoke up. "When some malcontent decides to be an enemy of society, Vesuvius gives him a place to go. We'd rather they do that than hang around here and murder us in our sleep."

I turned to Cicero. "Do you think Cato could be right? Is this what too much good food and soft living does to people?"

"Your troubles this day are not yet over, Decius," said the ex-consul.

I closed my eyes and sighed. "What now?"

"Ah," Silva began hesitantly, "Praetor, you see-well, there's been another killing in town. Discovered just this morning, in fact."

"No one important," Norbanus added hastily. "Just a slave."

"What sort of slave?" I asked bleakly.

"A runaway," he answered. "Someone identified her as a girl from the Temple of Apollo."

I didn't say anything for a while and they, quite wisely, didn't intrude upon my ruminations. Finally, I came to a decision.

"I am coming into town. Make a house available for my use. No craft are to leave the harbor, no one is to pass through the gates without my permission. I am sending for troops to enforce my authority and you may consider yourselves under siege until I find out what is going on here and have taken steps to correct it."