Robert Harris - Pompeii

“Who are you anyway?” Pliny eventually managed to rasp out. “I don’t know you. You’re far too young. What’s happened to the proper aquarius? What was his name?”

“Exomnius,” said Corax.

“Exomnius, precisely. Where’s he? And what does Acilius Aviola think he’s playing at, sending us boys to do men’s work? Well? Speak up! What have you to say for yourself?”

Behind the admiral Vesuvius formed a perfect natural pyramid, with just that little crust of light from the waterfront villas running around its base. In a couple of places the line bulged slightly and those, the engineer guessed, must be towns. He recognized them from the map. The nearer would be Herculaneum; the more distant, Pompeii.

Attilius straightened his back. “I need,” he said, “to borrow a ship.”

He spread out his map on the table in Pliny’s library, weighing down either side with a couple of pieces of magnetite that he took from a display cabinet. An elderly slave shuffled behind the admiral’s back, lighting an elaborate bronze candelabrum. The walls were lined with cedarwood cabinets, packed with rolls of papyri stacked end-on in dusty honeycombs, and even with the doors to the terrace pushed wide open, no breeze came off the sea to dispel the heat. The oily black strands of smoke from the candles rose undisturbed. Attilius could feel the sweat trickling down the sides of his belly, irritating him, like a crawling insect.

“Tell the ladies we shall rejoin them directly,” said the admiral. He turned away from the slave and nodded at the engineer. “All right. Let’s hear it.”

Attilius glanced around at the faces of his audience, intent in the candlelight. He had been told their names before they sat down and he wanted to make sure he remembered them: Pedius Cascus, a senior senator who, he dimly recalled, had been a consul years ago and who owned a big villa along the coast at Herculaneum; Pomponianus, an old army comrade of Pliny, rowed over for dinner from his villa at Stabiae; and Antius, captain of the imperial flagship, the Victoria . The pimply youth was Pliny’s nephew, Gaius Plinius Caecilius Secundus.

He put his finger on the map and they all leaned forward, even Corax.

“This is where I thought originally that the break must be, admiral—here, in the burning fields around Cumae. That would explain the sulfur. But then we learned that the supply had gone down in Nola as well—over here, to the east. That was at dawn. The timing is crucial, because according to a witness who was in Pompeii at first light, the fountains there were still running this morning. As you can see, Pompeii is some distance back up the matrix from Nola, so logically the Augusta should have failed there in the middle of the night. The fact that it didn’t can only mean one thing. The break has to be here”—he circled the spot—“somewhere here, on this five-mile stretch, where she runs close to Vesuvius.”

Pliny frowned at the map. “And the ship? Where does that come in?”

“I believe we have two days’ worth of water left. If we set off overland from Misenum to discover what’s happened it will take us at least that long simply to find where the break has occurred. But if we go by sea to Pompeii—if we travel light and pick up most of what we need in the town—we should be able to start repairs tomorrow.”

In the ensuing silence, the engineer could hear the steady drip of the water clock beside the doors. Some of the gnats whirling around the candles had become encrusted in the wax.

Pliny said, “How many men do you have?”

“Fifty altogether, but most of those are spread out along the length of the matrix, maintaining the settling tanks and the reservoirs in the towns. I have a dozen altogether in Misenum. I’d take half of those with me. Any other labor we need, I’d hire locally in Pompeii.”

“We could let him have a liburnian, admiral,” said Antius. “If he left at first light he could be in Pompeii by the middle of the morning.”

Corax seemed to be panicked by the mere suggestion. “But with respect, this is just more of his moonshine, admiral. I wouldn’t pay much attention to any of this. For a start, I’d like to know how he’s so sure the water’s still running in Pompeii.”

“I met a man on the quayside, admiral, on my way here. An augur. The local ferry had just docked. He told me he was in Pompeii this morning.”

“An augur!” mocked Corax. “Then it’s a pity he didn’t see this whole thing coming! But all right—let’s say he’s telling the truth. Let’s say this is where the break is. I know this part of the matrix better than anyone—five miles long and every foot of her underground. It will take us more than a day just to find out where she’s gone down.”

“That’s not true,” objected Attilius. “With that much water escaping from the matrix, a blind man could find the break.”

“With that much water backed up in the tunnel, how do we get inside it to make the repairs?”

“Listen,” said the engineer. “When we get to Pompeii, we split into three groups.” He had not really thought this through. He was having to make it up as he went along. But he could sense that Antius was with him and the admiral had yet to take his eyes from the map. “The first group goes out to the Augusta—follows the spur from Pompeii to its junction with the matrix and then works westward. I can assure you, finding where the break is will not be a great problem. The second group stays in Pompeii and puts together enough men and materials to carry out the repairs. A third group rides into the mountains, to the springs at Abellinum, with instructions to shut off the Augusta.”

The senator looked up sharply. “Can that be done? In Rome, when an aqueduct has to be closed for repairs, it stays shut down for weeks.”

“According to the drawings, senator, yes—it can be done.” Attilius had only just noticed it himself, but he was inspired now. The whole operation was taking shape in his mind even as he described it. “I have never seen the springs of the Serinus myself, but it appears from this plan that they flow into a basin with two channels. Most of the water comes west, to us. But a smaller channel runs north, to feed Beneventum. If we send all the water north, and let the western channel drain off, we can get inside to repair it. The point is, we don’t have to dam it and build a temporary diversion, which is what we have to do with the aqueducts of Rome, before we can even start on the maintenance. We can work much more quickly.”

The senator transferred his drooping eyes to Corax. “Is this true, overseer?”

“Maybe,” conceded Corax grudgingly. He seemed to sense he was beaten, but he would not give up without a fight. “However, I still maintain he’s talking moonshine, admiral, if he thinks we can get all this done in a day or two. Like I said, I know this stretch. We had problems here nearly twenty years ago, at the time of the great earthquake. Exomnius was the aquarius, new in the job. He’d just arrived from Rome, his first command, and we worked on it together. All right—it didn’t block the matrix completely, I grant you that—but it still took us weeks to render all the cracks in the tunnel.”

“What great earthquake?” Attilius had never heard mention of it.

“Actually, it was seventeen years ago.” Pliny’s nephew piped up for the first time. “The earthquake took place on the nones of February, during the consulship of Regulus and Verginius. Emperor Nero was in Neapolis, performing onstage at the time. Seneca describes the incident. You must have read it, uncle? The relevant passage is in Natural Questions . Book six.”

“Yes, Gaius, thank you,” said the admiral sharply. “I have read it, although obviously I’m obliged for the reference.” He stared at the map and puffed out his cheeks. “I wonder—” he muttered. He shifted round in his chair and shouted at the slave. “Dromo! Bring me my glass of wine. Quickly!”