Part 28 (1/2)

My time has come at last.

CHAPTER 42.

The dawn did not reach into the cells deep under the countryside estate of Nigidius Maius. Ariella stirred with the vague awareness that the night had pa.s.sed, and stretched her limbs, grown stiff with the chill of the brown muck in which she spent the hours.

She stood and walked off the numbness, willing her body and her spirit to be ready for what should come next.

But it was hours before she saw or heard another. Had Valerius forgotten her, underground and out of sight? More likely he was sleeping off the excesses of last night. Best not to think about her brother, and what Valerius's celebrations may have included.

Micah. The momentary joy of finding him washed over her once again. Damaged, yes. But alive. And once they were away from the stench that was Clovius Valerius, she would love Micah back to health. They would be a family. She swiped at the unbidden tears with her palm. Later. She could give way to emotion when they were safe.

For today, for this moment, she would be Scorpion Fish once again.

They came at last, two of Valerius's slaves, with the news that her master prepared already to leave Pompeii, to return to Rome via the s.h.i.+p that had brought him. The two brutes seemed to enjoy dragging her upward to the daylight, though she would have come willingly, her singular focus driving her to face the vile man.

When to kill him? And how? She indulged a moment of imagination, of her trident in her hand once more, of Valerius on the ground, three p.r.o.ngs driven through his empty chest.

The wagon sat ready outside Maius's villa, and a muscular horse had been harnessed to a two-wheeled gilded cart. Slaves loaded Valerius's belongings into the wagon, his prime slave shouting direction and insults. The two that had brought her from the cell yanked her forward and lashed her wrists with a lead-rope that trailed from the wagon. The late-summer sun beat without pity on her face, and the day was still, silently watching her shame.

Micah appeared moments later to be tied to the rope beside her. She drank in the sight of his tanned face, even his wide, white eyes, and lifted her roped hands to touch his cheek. She sent him encouragement with her eyes, but dared not speak. He nodded, the only indication that hope also lived in him. Perhaps Valerius meant to humiliate them with the forced march through the town, but they were together, and that was a blessing.

Blessing. Had the Creator brought them together? Or was it chance, and the evil hand of Valerius? Could she accept their reunion as His gift? Would He also bless her hand as she raised it against the evil? Unknowable.

The voices of Maius and Valerius emerged from the villa behind them. She did not turn, but fixed her eyes on the winding gravel path that led downward from the estate, into the town. Their route to the sea would not pa.s.s through much of Pompeii, and she was unlikely to see many she knew.

Unlikely to see Cato.

She inhaled against the tightness of her chest and blinked away the sting of the sun.

She let them have their laughter and their fond good-byes. Yes, say good-bye, Maius. Her limbs trembled with fury and tension and she coached herself. Remember your training. She had only to secure a weapon somehow and find opportunity. There would be no difficulty in the task itself.

But she must also be wise. She desired more than vengeance, more than his death. She fought for freedom, as she always had. But now it would be freedom for them both. She could not risk capture or death in the pursuit of freedom, for that would be to once more abandon Micah.

A cool shadow fell against her face. She lifted her chin, eyes still trained forward.

”Rather worse for your night in the mud, I see.” Valerius's voice mocked, but in a low and familiar whisper at her ear. ”No matter. We shall make you pretty once we are at sea.”

She turned her face to his, focused on his grinning mouth, yellowed teeth, those blood-red lips. ”You shall find me dead before your vile hands touch me again.”

He slapped her. His delicate fingers stung her cheek and she tasted blood inside her mouth. She swung her face back to his and let her hatred pour from her eyes. His nostrils flared and he shoved her backward into Micah, who kept her upright with his roped hands.

”You have grown uglier during your holiday.”

He mounted the gilded cart with a wave to Maius, and the entourage jolted forward. Ariella and Micah struggled to keep pace with the wagon. Its wheels churned dust into her lungs and her eyes burned.

Away from one despicable man, on the heels of another, they trotted downward, through the Street of Tombs and past the towering north wall of the city that separated Maius and his estate from the common man. Valerius kept to the inner east wall of the city, choosing the most direct route to the harbor. The noon-day town seemed peaceful, and she remembered the strange pagan holiday.

They pa.s.sed through the Marina Gate, leaving the town once again. Good-bye, Pompeii. One foot caught against the other, and she nearly went down. The rope bit against her wrists, bringing tears.

Boats clogged the harbor, more than Ariella would have expected. They bobbed in the sapphire blue water, their white masts a reflection of the white sand. She inhaled the sharp tang of salt and fish, letting it purge the road dust from her chest.

Valerius's cart was met at the beach by more slaves, perhaps his s.h.i.+p's captain and oarsmen. She heard the words ill wind pa.s.s between them.

So that was the reason for the excess of s.h.i.+ps. The current did not favor setting sail. How would this affect her plan? Would they return to Maius's villa? When would her opportunity arrive?

They would wait, Valerius announced peevishly, though not long. He desired to reach Ostia Antica, the port of Rome, before nightfall.

Ariella and Micah were left where they stood, though the other slaves ranged themselves in the sand, shadowed by the wagon. Valerius paced the waterfront, as though his petulance would drive away the winds.

She surveyed the beach. Was this her chance? It seemed unlikely that she could free them both, find a weapon, deliver the blow, and escape unhindered. Did she need a weapon? She had been trained to kill without it.

Into her musings came a throaty growl, like a mighty beast trapped beneath the sand. Micah's eyes met her own. ”The wind?”

But it was not the wind.

On the beach, slave and sailor alike stood in silence, every head inclined to the sound.

And then came the tremors.

The sand s.h.i.+fted beneath their feet, but this was a deeper s.h.i.+fting, she could sense. She had felt it weeks ago, when Cato had been giving his speech in the theater.

One of Valerius's slaves stood beside her. She turned on him. ”Untie us. You must free us.”

He glanced at her face, her bound wrists.

”Have mercy, man. Where would we go?”

He threw a furtive look toward Valerius's back. Their master stood at the sh.o.r.eline, his stance wide and his arms extended, as though he balanced on a racing chariot. With a burst of decision, the slave released the loop of rope from the wagon's back and freed Ariella. She did not wait for him to free Micah. She could do it herself.

The underground snarl became a roar and the tremor turned to heaving. The sea swelled and those at its edge fled backward.

Were they not safe here on the beach? No columns or statues to crush them, no roofs to collapse on their heads. They needed only to ride it out. Micah wrapped his arm around her shoulder and she pressed into his strength.

Ariella lifted her eyes to the mountain. How did it fare under the earth's treachery?

With the question and its answer above, her courage failed.

Micah followed her gaze, and they watched as a gray-black cloud, darker than any storm cloud, churned and swirled above the mountain's summit.

And then, then-impossible yet undeniable-with the force of a cork blown off the top of the world . . . the peak of the mountain exploded.

The noise was a thousand dragons breathing fire, a million bonfires roaring, the screaming shriek of the end of the world.