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 centre 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 colour 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 see 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 centre, 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 which holds that winds are caused by the earth travelling 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 behaviour of the vapour 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,
'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 centre 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 colour 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 see 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 centre, 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 which holds that winds are caused by the earth travelling 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 behaviour of the vapour 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,
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