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!”
“Are you ill, uncle?”
“No, no.” Pliny propped his chin on his fists and returned his attention to the map. “So is this what has damaged the
Augusta
? An earthquake?”
“Then surely we would have felt it?” objected Antius. “That last quake brought down a good part of
Pompeii
. They’re still rebuilding. Half the town is a building site. We’ve had no reports of anything on that scale.”
“And yet,” continued Pliny, almost to himself, “this is certainly earthquake weather. A flat sea. A sky so breathless the birds can scarcely fly. In normal times we would anticipate a storm. But when Saturn, Jupiter, and Mars are in conjunction with the sun, instead of occurring in the air, the thunder is sometimes unleashed by nature underground. That is the definition of an earthquake, in my opinion—a thunderbolt hurled from the interior of the world.”
The slave had shuffled up beside him, carrying a tray, in the center of which stood a large goblet of clear glass, three-quarters full. Pliny grunted and lifted the wine to the candlelight.
“A Caecuban,” whispered Pomponianus, in awe. “Forty years old and still drinking beautifully.” He ran his tongue round his fat lips. “I wouldn’t mind another glass myself, Pliny.”
“In a moment. Watch.” Pliny waved the wine back and forth in front of them. It was thick and syrupy, the color of honey. Attilius caught the sweet mustiness of its scent as it passed beneath his nose. “And now watch more closely.” He set the glass carefully on the table.
At first, the engineer did not grasp what point he was trying to make, but as he studied the glass more closely he saw that the surface of the wine was vibrating slightly. Tiny ripples radiated out from the center, like the quivering of a plucked string. Pliny picked up the glass and the movement ceased; he replaced it and the motion resumed.
“I noticed it during dinner. I have trained myself to be alert to things in nature, which other men might miss. The shaking is not continuous. See now—the wine is still.”
“That’s really remarkable, Pliny,” said Pomponianus. “I congratulate you. I’m afraid once I have a glass in my hand, I don’t tend to put it down until it’s empty.”
The senator was less impressed. He folded his arms and pushed himself back in the chair, as if he had somehow made himself look a fool by watching a childish trick. “I don’t know what’s significant about that. So the table trembles? It could be anything. The wind—”
“There is no wind.”
“Heavy footsteps somewhere. Or perhaps Pomponianus here was stroking one of the ladies under the table.”
Laughter broke the tension. Only Pliny did not smile. “We know that this world we stand on, which seems to us so still, is in fact revolving eternally, at an indescribable velocity. And it may be that this mass hurtling through space produces a sound of such volume that it is beyond the capacity of our human ears to detect. The stars out there, for example, might be tinkling like wind chimes, if only we could hear them. Could it be that the patterns in this wineglass are the physical expression of that same heavenly harmony?”
“Then why does it stop and start?”
“I have no answer, Cascus. Perhaps at one moment the earth glides silently, and at another it encounters resistance. There is a school that holds that winds are caused by the earth traveling in one direction and the stars in the other. Aquarius—what do you think?”
“I’m an engineer, admiral,
” said Attilius tactfully, “not
a philosopher.” In his view, they were wasting time. He thought of mentioning the strange behavior of the vapor on the hillside that morning, but decided against it. Tinkling stars! His foot was tapping with impatience. “All I can tell you is that the matrix of an aqueduct is built to withstand the most extreme forces. Where the
Augusta
runs underground, which is most of the way, she’s six feet high and three feet wide, and she rests on a base of concrete one and a half feet thick, with walls of the same dimensions. Whatever force breached that must have been powerful.”
“More powerful than the force that shakes my wine?” The admiral looked at the senator. “Unless we are not dealing with a phenomenon of nature at all. In which case, what is it? A deliberate act of sabotage, perhaps, to strike at the fleet? But who would dare? We haven’t had a foreign enemy set foot in this part of
Italy
since
Hannibal
.”
“And sabotage would hardly explain the presence of sulfur.”
“Sulfur,” said Pomponianus suddenly. “That’s the stuff in thunderbolts, isn’t it? And who throws thunderbolts?” He looked around excitedly. “Jupiter! We should sacrifice a white bull to Jupiter, as a deity of the upper air, and have the haruspices inspect the entrails. They’ll tell us what to do.”
The engineer laughed.
“What’s so funny about that?” demanded Pomponianus. “It’s not so funny as the idea that the world is flying through space—which, if I may say so, Pliny, rather begs the question of why we don’t all fall off.”
“It’s an excellent suggestion, my friend,” said Pliny soothingly. “As admiral, I also happen to be the chief priest of Misenum, and I assure you, if I had a white bull to hand I would kill it on the spot. But for the time being, a more practical solution may be needed.” He sat back in his chair and wiped his napkin across his face, then unfolded and inspected it, as if it might contain some vital clue. “Very well, aquarius. I shall give you your ship.” He turned to the captain. “Antius—which is the fastest liburnian in the fleet?”
“That would be the
Minerva,
admiral. Torquatus’s ship. Just back from
Ravenna
.”
“Have her made ready to sail at first light.”
“Yes, admiral.”
“And I want notices posted on every fountain telling the citizens that rationing is now in force. Water will only be allowed to flow twice each day, for one hour exactly, at dawn and dusk.”
Antius winced. “Aren’t you forgetting that tomorrow is a public holiday, admiral? It’s Vulcanalia, if you recall?”
“I’m perfectly aware it’s Vulcanalia.”
And so it is, thought Attilius. In the rush of leaving
Rome
and fretting about the aqueduct he had completely lost track of the calendar. The twenty-third of August, Vulcan’s day, when live fish were thrown onto bonfires, as a sacrifice, to appease the god of fire.
“But what about the public baths?” persisted Antius.
“Closed until further notice.”
“They won’t like that, admiral.”
“Well, it can’t be helped. We’ve all grown far too soft in any case.” He glanced briefly at Pomponianus. “The empire wasn’t built by men who lazed around in the baths all day. It will do some people good to have a taste of how life used to be. Gaius—
draft
a letter for me to sign to the aediles of
Pompeii
, asking them to provide whatever men and materials may be necessary for the repair of the aqueduct. You know the kind of thing. ‘In the name of the Emperor Titus Caesar Vespasianus Augustus, and in accordance with the power vested in me by the Senate and People of Rome, blah blah’—something to make them jump. Corax—it’s clear that you know the terrain around Vesuvius better than anyone else. You should be the one to ride out and locate the fault, while the aquarius assembles the main expedition in
Pompeii
.”
The overseer’s mouth flapped open in dismay.
“What’s the matter? Do you disagree?”
“No, admiral.” Corax hid his anxiety quickly, but Attilius had noticed it. “I don’t mind looking for the break. Even so, would it not make more sense for one of us to remain at the reservoir to supervise the rationing—”
Pliny cut him off impatiently. “Rationing will be the navy’s responsibility. It’s primarily a question of public order.”
For a moment Corax looked as if he might be on the point of arguing, but then he bowed his head, frowning.
From the terrace came the sound of female voices and a peal of laughter.
He doesn’t want me to go to
Pompeii
, thought Attilius suddenly. This whole performance tonight—it’s been to keep me away from
Pompeii
.