Most were gone, along with their boats. A few beggars dressed in rags had fallen asleep in the boat chambers. They'd wake up, soon enough; then, of course, they'd sleep forever. One poor fellow was working on an overturned boat, caulking its bottom and casting fearful glances over his shoulder.
He'll never finish that job in time, not even with help.
Charlie rode past him and kept searching.
Desperation was beginning to overtake him when he found, near the end of the seawall, a young man and woman trying to drag one of the heavy fishing boats out of a deep boat chamber. They'd put the mast up, but were making progress across the breaker-washed sand by inches only. Deep breakers smashing into the seawall lifted the boat and tossed it backwards; then, when the sea retreated again, left the boat high on wet sand. The woman—a tiny thing, barely four feet tall—could scarcely keep her footing in the rough surf. They paused, gasping for air, when Charlie thundered through the breakers toward them.
"I am not a thief!" the man began defensively. "This is my boat. The longer I watched that mountain, the more it frightened me. I'm not a thief!"
"Did I say you were?" He pointed to the heavy boat. "You'll never get that thing into deep water by yourselves."
The man's voice was bitter. "My friends laughed at me when I asked for help."
"Then tie a rope to my saddle. I'll have my horse drag it down for you. If "—he paused significantly, and watched a wary, frightened look come into their eyes—"if you take me with you. Me and my child."
The man blinked in open surprise. His wife whispered into his ear, her face a mask of terror.
"Why does a Roman soldier wish to sneak out of the city by night?" The question came out with transparently false bravado. In the light from Charlie's lantern he could see the man's knees knocking together.
Charlie didn't know spit about the administration of Roman legions or what their rules of conduct were. It was entirely possible citizens were given rewards for turning in an AWOL trooper.
He felt instinctively this was not the time to play it tough.
"You're not the only one, my friend," he said quietly, "who's been watching that mountain. You must know from my accent I'm a provincial recruit. I've seen mountains blow up before, just like that one. Sometimes they'll spit fire and ash like this for hours, even days, harmlessly. Then, without warning, they'll destroy everything for stadia and stadia around. Cover it with fire and death. I owe the Empire my best service, to keep her strong and safe from danger, but I can't serve Rome if I'm dead and burned on the beach at Herculaneum. And there will be a great many dead on this beach."
As one, the three of them turned to look at the baleful glow of the mountain. Eerie lightning discharges played through the ash cloud and shot down the upper slopes of the mountain. The glow from the volcano's mouth lit the underbelly of the boiling black cloud. It visibly churned and seethed like something alive and infinitely malevolent.
Charlie held in a shiver and added, "Think about this, as well. When you make harbor, you will undoubtedly find chaos and much fear. Will you not be better off in the company of a soldier of the Empire than alone?"
They went into a fearful huddle. After a moment, the man straightened. "I am Decius Martis. Phillipa and I would welcome your presence on our boat, Centurion."
Huh. That's a decent rank. He'd wondered what kind of soldier those bandits had killed and robbed. Charlie just nodded. "Get me a stout rope."
Decius strung a rope from the prow of the boat around Silver's chest and secured it to the saddle. Charlie, holding tight to Lucania, clucked and kneed the animal forward. The stout horse dug in and pulled. Charlie kept Silver guided into the swells, while Decius and little Phillipa pushed and guided the prow over the beach.
Knee-deep, belly-deep, chest-deep, Silver plowed forward into heavy surf, dragging the fifteen-foot boat, lunging forward as Charlie shouted encouragement. Abruptly the pressure let off and the rope went slack. Silver began to swim straight out to sea. Charlie fought to bring his head around toward land. The boat floated free behind them, rocking violently up and down as the sea surged, retreated, surged again. The two Romans were already aboard, working to get the sail up.
"There is not space for your horse," Decius called as the tired animal waded toward the little craft. "He has saved us. I am sorry."
For a moment, Charlie sat frozen on Silver's back. Not take Silver? Charlie turned his head away to hide a sudden rush of grief. He would have died—many times over—without this animal. He couldn't simply turn Silver loose on the beach to be roasted alive. Not and continue to look himself in the eye. What was it they said a man had to be able to do? Shoot his own dog?
I'm sorry, dammit, I'm sorry.
"Take Lucania!"
Decius manhandled the toddler aboard.
Charlie drew his sword and cut the rope between his saddle and the prow of the fishing boat, then handed over his crutch to the waiting Decius. The fisherman dropped it into the little boat without so much as glancing at it. Charlie's lantern, he secured to the rigging, near the mast. Carefully, Charlie slid out of the saddle into rough water.
He wallowed, half-floating, waist-deep in the troughs, nearly chin-deep in the swells and foamy whitecaps. He gripped the sword, then pulled Silver's head down. Charlie stroked his ears, murmured softly to him.
"Hey, fella, you did real good, Silver, you did real damned good..." He shut his eyes, trying not to think about what he had to do. "I'm gonna miss you, you big, faithful lummox..."
I can't...
He'd killed untold numbers of men. But one, stupid horse... Ruthlessly, Charlie brought to mind the image of Silver screaming, burning to death, trying to run into the sea, his mane crisping in the lethal, burning air—
With a quick thrust, he cut the great jugular vein.
The horse screamed. Charlie's insides flinched from the sound. Silver tried to rear. Blood sprayed horribly. Charlie grabbed the edge of the boat and pulled himself clear of Silver's thrashing legs. Decius and Phillipa grasped his arms and hauled him aboard.
They'd lit more storm lanterns, which swung wildly from ropes running from mast to stern and prow. Charlie slithered over the gunwale like a gaffed fish and landed with a pain-racked thump in the bottom of the boat. He dropped the sword and lay still for a moment, fighting waves of pain and weakness, then struggled to sit up. He was half blinded by salt water, only partly from the Mediterranean.
When he could see, he found Silver in the water, still struggling. But the light slowly went out of the horse's eyes. His front legs buckled and the frightened sounds faded. Silver finally rolled over onto his side, wet hooves glinting in the lantern light. The horse went under once, then finally bobbed quietly in the churning black water. Charlie squeezed shut his eyes, then groped for his daughter and cradled the sleepy little girl close. He would not think about Sibyl.
"Get the hell out of here!" He didn't care that his voice broke raggedly.
As the Roman fisherman set his prow seaward, Charlie didn't know whether he wept for the horse, for Sibyl, or for himself.
Chapter Sixteen
"Don't I even get a last meal?" Francisco asked quietly.
Lucille sobbed in one corner and pleaded with a man named Nelson. "Don't kill him—please, Nelson—"
"Shut up!" Nelson backhanded her.
Francisco swung before he could think better. He ended up on the floor, doubled over and retching.
Janet Firelli ran to him, kneeling at his side to see how badly they'd injured him. She glared at Nelson while Francisco fought for sufficient breath to hush her.
"Why kill him?" The young woman's voice shattered on a sob. "He's no danger, not here..."