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
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
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