Read Online A Day of Fire: A Novel of Pompeii by Kate Quinn, Ben Kane, Stephanie Dray, Michelle Moran, E. Knight, Sophie Perinot, Vicky Alvear Shecter - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kate Quinn, Ben Kane, Stephanie Dray, Michelle Moran, E. Knight, Sophie Perinot, Vicky Alvear Shecter
Tags: Historical fiction, Historical, Literature & Fiction, Thrillers, Amazon, Retail, Genre Fiction, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense
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considered it one of his finest qualities—would hold.
“ Aedile ”—it cost Sabinus something to use the official form of address, and the slight bow he gave to accompany it cost him more still—“the signs, as I have told you before, are significant: wells and springs drying up outside the city despite the summer rainfall, dead fish in the Sarno, the increasing frequency and severity of tremors. Surely you felt the strong tremor a short while ago.”
“We’ve had tremors before. They are part of living in Pompeii and mean nothing. Nor are these the first to bring down scaffolds or walls since Nero’s quake.”
“Your family, like mine, was here then,” Sabinus replied, grasping on to the reference. “You lived through the devastation. Gods, Pansa, we are still rebuilding seventeen years later.” Longer than my bride-to-be has been alive. Where did that thought come from? This was not a time to think of women or weddings, but to be honest, Aemilia was never far from his thoughts lately. He could see her in his mind’s eye: bent over her mother, comforting that lady as he left the Lepidus villa to come in search of Pansa, her red hair, caught in the sunlight, making her lovely skin even more translucent.
“Yes.” Pansa’s voice shattered the vision, and he no longer sounded amused. “And one of the things you demand is that I order any scaffolding adjacent to primary roads be taken down. A major inconvenience to many. An order sure to delay work and make me unpopular. Yet you say this isn’t personal?” Pansa straightened his shoulders, showing off his height. Rubbing it in. “Forget your grandmother, Sabinus— you are an old woman! If I were to order evacuations every time a few pieces of crockery were shaken off the shelves in this city, Pompeii would be destroyed in no time. Not by tremors, but by fear. I cannot allow that. The Cuspii Pansae cannot allow that.”
“I am not asking for evacuations. I am asking you to lay plans for them should they become necessary.”
“And I,” Pansa stepped right up to Sabinus, thrusting a well-manicured finger into his chest, “am asking why I should do anything for you when you go behind my back? When you send letters of a hysterical nature, implying I am not doing my job?”
So he knew about the letter to Admiral Pliny. So soon. Sabinus had not expected his correspondence to go unreported. Pansa had spies in the same abundance that he had money. But Sabinus had believed it would take longer for his appeal to the august Admiral to be discovered.
He drew another measured breath. “Because, I am telling you that something enormous is coming. And because, Pansa, you have a duty to the city and to its inhabitants—a duty that encompasses more than presiding over public festivals.”
A step back. A smile re-fixed in place. Damn but Pansa was composed. “I like festivals. I like entertainments of all sorts. People cheer me. Has anyone ever cheered you, Sabinus?” Without waiting for an answer—“No, I thought not.”
Sabinus’ head was beginning to throb, possibly from clenching his jaw muscles.
“We have gladiatorial games coming up in a few days. The money has already been spent to host them. I am not going to start a panic that might thin the crowds. It is in the public interest that the games go forward. After all, they may appease the gods and stop the tremors that so worry you.”
“Have a bet on a gladiator, do you?” Pansa did not care about appeasing the gods, just about adding to his purse. Sabinus was not a betting man himself, but that was a wager he would have taken.
“The scaffolding will stay in place, the games will go on. I will have a lovely afternoon watching men bravely fight and then I will come to your wedding and admire your bride.”
Sabinus’ head wasn’t just throbbing now; he could actually hear his blood in his ears. He was fairly certain he was turning red as well.
“I’ll give you this, Sabinus, you secured a
“ Aedile ”—it cost Sabinus something to use the official form of address, and the slight bow he gave to accompany it cost him more still—“the signs, as I have told you before, are significant: wells and springs drying up outside the city despite the summer rainfall, dead fish in the Sarno, the increasing frequency and severity of tremors. Surely you felt the strong tremor a short while ago.”
“We’ve had tremors before. They are part of living in Pompeii and mean nothing. Nor are these the first to bring down scaffolds or walls since Nero’s quake.”
“Your family, like mine, was here then,” Sabinus replied, grasping on to the reference. “You lived through the devastation. Gods, Pansa, we are still rebuilding seventeen years later.” Longer than my bride-to-be has been alive. Where did that thought come from? This was not a time to think of women or weddings, but to be honest, Aemilia was never far from his thoughts lately. He could see her in his mind’s eye: bent over her mother, comforting that lady as he left the Lepidus villa to come in search of Pansa, her red hair, caught in the sunlight, making her lovely skin even more translucent.
“Yes.” Pansa’s voice shattered the vision, and he no longer sounded amused. “And one of the things you demand is that I order any scaffolding adjacent to primary roads be taken down. A major inconvenience to many. An order sure to delay work and make me unpopular. Yet you say this isn’t personal?” Pansa straightened his shoulders, showing off his height. Rubbing it in. “Forget your grandmother, Sabinus— you are an old woman! If I were to order evacuations every time a few pieces of crockery were shaken off the shelves in this city, Pompeii would be destroyed in no time. Not by tremors, but by fear. I cannot allow that. The Cuspii Pansae cannot allow that.”
“I am not asking for evacuations. I am asking you to lay plans for them should they become necessary.”
“And I,” Pansa stepped right up to Sabinus, thrusting a well-manicured finger into his chest, “am asking why I should do anything for you when you go behind my back? When you send letters of a hysterical nature, implying I am not doing my job?”
So he knew about the letter to Admiral Pliny. So soon. Sabinus had not expected his correspondence to go unreported. Pansa had spies in the same abundance that he had money. But Sabinus had believed it would take longer for his appeal to the august Admiral to be discovered.
He drew another measured breath. “Because, I am telling you that something enormous is coming. And because, Pansa, you have a duty to the city and to its inhabitants—a duty that encompasses more than presiding over public festivals.”
A step back. A smile re-fixed in place. Damn but Pansa was composed. “I like festivals. I like entertainments of all sorts. People cheer me. Has anyone ever cheered you, Sabinus?” Without waiting for an answer—“No, I thought not.”
Sabinus’ head was beginning to throb, possibly from clenching his jaw muscles.
“We have gladiatorial games coming up in a few days. The money has already been spent to host them. I am not going to start a panic that might thin the crowds. It is in the public interest that the games go forward. After all, they may appease the gods and stop the tremors that so worry you.”
“Have a bet on a gladiator, do you?” Pansa did not care about appeasing the gods, just about adding to his purse. Sabinus was not a betting man himself, but that was a wager he would have taken.
“The scaffolding will stay in place, the games will go on. I will have a lovely afternoon watching men bravely fight and then I will come to your wedding and admire your bride.”
Sabinus’ head wasn’t just throbbing now; he could actually hear his blood in his ears. He was fairly certain he was turning red as well.
“I’ll give you this, Sabinus, you secured a
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