Trust me.
Falco felt the emotion, more that he heard words inside his head. He had trusted no one in his life other than Drusilla. He closed his eyes. He saw the arena inside his head as if from above. He could see the two closing on him, edging in, swords at the ready.
They both charged. Falco saw it, and he also could sense it as he had always been able, the two views complementing each other. He turned, shield out, and took the tall one’s blade on the shield, while he caught the short one’s blade with his own steel, sliding along until they locked guards. He shoved, pushing both men back, and they disengaged, retreating to ponder the strange fact that they were fighting a man who had his eyes closed, the easy kill they had anticipated turning out to be not so easy.
In Pompeii everyone could see the tall cloud that rose out of the top of Vesuvius. It was higher than anyone could recall, reaching into the heavens. The tremors in the Earth had also been felt. But what were they to do? Leave everything they had and run away every time the Earth moved and smoke came out of the volcano? They all knew they were living on borrowed time, but the hope was the note would not be called in during their lifetime.
At Porta Vintus, Flavius Lucella was finally asleep, decadent dreams floating inside his head. Phaedra and Fabron waited nearby for his summons, seated together underneath an olive tree. They knew their life was not difficult, especially when compared with the slaves who worked the fields. But they had seen what Lucella did to the other household slaves when they reached a certain level of physical development. Both had seen his eyes going over their bodies as they fanned, and they knew the time was getting close.
“I will not allow him to take me.” Phaedra had been saying that every day for months now.
“Father will come for us,” was Fabron’s stock reply.
“He cannot come,” Phaedra replies, picking up a twig and snapping it. “He is bound to the arena as tightly as we are bound here.”
Fabron looked at the fat man sleeping on the hammock. “If he does not come and Lucella tries to force either of us, I will kill him.”
“Then we will be killed.”
Fabron shrugged. “I would prefer death.”
“Why don’t we escape?” Phaedra asked.
Fabron smiled at his sister. “And go where?”
“Anywhere.”
“The Romans put to death anyone who helps a slave escape. All around us is the sea. We would need to get on a ship. And north are the mountains. I have talked to men who have seen them. They say you cannot get across them unescorted.”
“It is not fair!” Phaedra threw a stick down.
“It is the life we have been given,” Fabron said.
“Why?” She pointed at Lucella. “Why does he have the power and money he has, and we are slaves? He didn’t choose that, as we didn’t choose this. He didn’t work for this wealth or freedom.”
“I don’t —” Fabron began, but he halted as the Earth trembled. They looked up the slope and were the first to see the initial eruption. Directly above them, a thousand feet higher, a hole was blasted outward in the side of the mountain with a loud sound like the crack of thunder. They started, staring as the jet of black smoke raced out laterally from the side of the mountain, going over their heads and extending outward for several kilometers.
“What is it?” Phaedra asked as her brother wrapped an arm around her frail shoulders.
Fabron didn’t have a chance to reply, as a wave of searing gas came down the slope, burning everything in its path. He saw the trees above them bursting into flames, pulled Phaedra to his chest, and turned his back to the coming wave.
The two gladiators were closing again, this time more carefully. Falco hefted his shield and sword in preparation when a shaft of pain blanked out the vision being sent to him and even his own sense of the arena. He fell to his knees, crying out in anguish, dropping his shield and sword.
He had not been certain Phaedra and Fabron were alive, but now he was certain they had just died.
Kaia jumped to her feet. “Emperor!” she called out.
Titus turned, irritated. “Priestess, you —”
“It comes, Emperor,” Kaia pointed to the south. “Stop the fight.”
Titus raised a hand, which surprised even him. Trumpets sounded, and the two gladiators froze, just scant feet from finishing off Falco.
Silence fell over the stadium. Titus stared at his hand as if it wasn’t his. He felt as if he had been a puppet for that brief moment, the strings pulled by someone else. But he didn’t signal the action to begin.
The first explosion on the side of Vesuvius was minor compared to what happened next. It gave enough warning to the people of Pompeii for most of them to get out of their houses and into the streets. Then the top of the volcano blew. The sound washed across the town first.
Just behind it, a wall of black, containing superheated gases and choking ash, raced over the countryside. Thousands died as the wall swept over the town, killing every living thing it touched, either by heat or suffocation, depending if they were indoors or out.
“Kill me.” Falco could no longer see the gladiators, but he knew they were close by. “Kill me,” he begged.
The stadium had been unnaturally silent for almost a minute. Now there was a murmur as the crowd wondered why the emperor had signaled all to stop. And he had yet to indicate what should happen to Falco, on his knees, head bowed in the arena.
In the imperial box, Kaia had made her way past all the flunkies surrounding the emperor. She stood in front of him.
“I see nothing,” Titus said. “I hear nothing. What is this thing you say has happened?” He was angry now, himself unsure why he had stopped everything.
Kaia reached up and touched her neck. “You may strike here with your sharpest blade if I am wrong. It has already happened.” She pointed to the arena. “He knows.”
The emperor signaled for Falco to be brought forward. Two soldiers ran out and grabbed his arms, dragging him to his feet and across the sand. He hung limply in their arms. The crowd noticed and began signaling, thumbs up or down, what they desired. The majority were in the down position, the years of entertainment Falco had provided forgotten in the desire to see more blood.
“Gladiator, why did you stop fighting?” Titus demanded.
Falco’s head came up, his eyes filled with tears. “Pompeii is gone. Vesuvius has erupted. They are all dead. All dead.
The murmuring in the crowd grew louder, as those who heard spread the word around the stands.
“How do you know this?” Titus was on his feet.
“My children were there. I felt them die.”
Titus laughed, but there was a nervous edge to it. “I am growing tired of seers and those who see what has happened far away. He raised his hand, and his thumb was extended downward.
At that moment, a deep rumble cause the entire arena to quake. Titus had to grab the arm of his chair for a second to steady himself. On the north side of the stands, people were pointing. Looking in that direction, they could all see the plume of smoke on the far horizon.
Titus turned for the tunnel that led out of the imperial box. “Bring her,” he jabbed a finger at Kaia.
“We need him also,” Kaia was pointing toward the arena, where one of the soldiers had drawn his sword in preparation for killing Falco. “Immediately,” Titus ordered Thyestes.
Falco had washed his eyes with water, and he could see, but his vision was still blurry. It was good enough, though, for him to note that he was in the reception hall of the emperor’s Imperial Palace. The strange woman was in front of the emperor’s throne, and the escort shoved Falco to the front to join them. As he went forward, he noted Cassius, Epione, and Senator Domidicus along with other notables off to the side, among the various statues of the Caesars. In the arena, Thyestes had stopped the soldier just as the steel was ready to slice across his neck. Falco had felt the coldness of the blade, and he even had a scratch where the razor-sharp edge had rested. He’d wanted the relief of nothingness, of not feeling pain, but it was not yet to be.