Page 55 of Vesuvius

‘A letter, maybe,’ he said. ‘I recognise the form, if nothing else.’

Silence fell as Aurelia scanned the writing. ‘I know that signature. It’s—’

‘Julia,’ Felix said.

Aurelia stared over the parchment edge, puzzled. ‘Julius. Julia Fortunata’s father. He owned an estate in town, don’t know which. But I suppose now that he’s passed, Lady Julia would’ve inherited.’ Her eyes flicked down. ‘This doesn’t make much sense. A business deal, or a favour, but it fell through.’

Felix sighed. ‘Read it out loud.’

Aurelia pursed her lips and began, voice unsteady:

‘My dear friend Sen. M. Servius R.,

It grieves me to hear of your dismay at the termination of our trade negotiations. I imagine such transactions are handled differently in Rome. As expressed in my last letter, I am both unfit and unwilling to conduct exports of this nature. Regardless of promised earnings, I’m simply past the age where reward outweighs risk. I expect to live out the remainder of my days in Pompeii, alongside my daughter and household. As for the future of my estate – and my dear man, I am old but still sharp – I would see it kept within my family.

Do pass my regards to the emperor.

‘Sincerely,’ Aurelia concluded, ‘Spurius Julius Fortunatus.He was a wine merchant, I know that much. That must be whatexportsmeans.’

‘No,’ Felix said, realisation hitting with a sick lurch. ‘It’s a mask-term smugglers use. I heard it too often growing up not to recognise it now.’

It made sense. The room of relics, his so-called specialised interest – if the statesman had a history ofexporting, no wonder a divine helmet had caught his eye. Felix’s mouth dried. Rome was full of smugglers. But he rather hoped he’d left that lifestyle behind.

‘How did you find this letter again?’

‘Stole it, how else? What do you know about Julia?’

She passed back the letter and resumed her sketch, detailing an eye, shading the nose. ‘Mamma says she’s a recluse. After her father died, nearly five years ago, Lady Julia stopped going around, shut herself in the house. Comes out for festivals mainly. Voting and council meetings, sometimes.’

‘But she’s a woman.’

Aurelia shot him a withering look. ‘And? Oh, don’t explain yourself. I’m too young to be so exhausted by boys. As long as Julia owns the house, she has a say in how Pompeii is run.’

Felix examined the letter again, hoping another look might reveal more answers. What mess had Loren tangled himself in? Worse, how much messier would it become before Felix coulduntangleit? Smugglers, politics – when he promised four days to Loren, Felix hadn’t agreed to this.

Neither had Aurelia. How she stomached living among Pompeii’s snakes and wolves was beyond him.

‘You know a lot about this city,’ he said, ‘don’t you?’

Again an eye roll. ‘I live here.’

‘There’s more to it than that. You collect details like they’ll save your life someday.’

‘Not only mine,’ Aurelia said grimly. ‘I’m smart. I can piece things together. Things I see and hear. You know how it is to live by your wits.’

Felix studied her, the way she oscillated between childlike and piercingly keen. The way she tied her skirt to the side so she could run faster, climb higher. Her messy braid and scratched knees. How she gathered stories, and worried, and never slowed.

That’s what Felix didn’t understand. She lived comfortably, didn’t she? With a mother, a home? Loren treated her as his sister, if not by blood. She had friends, too.

What was Aurelia so desperate to run from?

Somewhere both distant and too near for comfort, bells began to clang. Under the sound hummed a low current of footsteps, chanting. The procession must be approaching.

‘You know, this is all wrong,’ Aurelia muttered, her voice nearly drowned by the growing cacophony. She scratched another chalk line. Felix peered down, startled to see his own face, rendered in white streaks with surprising depth, staring back. But it wasn’t like seeing his reflection in a mirror or pool. Here, his face was distorted, carved and hollowed by something he couldn’t name. Twin protrusions, like wings of a dove, splayed from his curls.

As though he wore Mercury’s winged helmet. As though he had become the helmet.

With a snarl and a swift movement, Aurelia scraped the broad side of her chalk across Felix’s face, sweeping it away entirely. She hurled the chalk against the wall opposite, and it shattered into a thousand fragments.

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