Page 56 of Vesuvius

‘Hey!’ Felix cried. ‘What was that for?’

But Aurelia spoke as if she hadn’t heard. ‘One day I think this will all go away. Disappear. Where will we be when the tide comes?’

Chapter XIV

LOREN

Gladiators battled it out in the arena below, but Loren quickly realised the real manoeuvring was relegated to the stands, where the most vicious battles fought were bloodless.

‘Stay at my side,’ Julia muttered, smile plastered tight. They paused outside the private row, reserved for the upper class. ‘Some in this audience will be interested in you. Too interested.’

As if that weren’t ominous. Nerves swirled in Loren’s stomach.

‘You’ll be stunning, dear. No need to worry.’ Julia patted his cheek and linked her arm through his. Together they pushed through a heavy curtain.

Pompeii’s amphitheatre adhered to strict class lines. The lower in society you were, the higher you sat. Loren had never been so close to the action. The roar hit him first, concentrated in the belly of the bowl-shaped stands. Above the elite bench, men and boys had their pick of the plebeian seats, while women and slaves were on the uppermost outskirts.

Women, with one exception. Not a soul blinked at Julia as she drew Loren along.

Unlike the crammed public stands, the private row had room to spare, with wide aisles and cushioned benches. Even giant Gus couldcomfortably walk, silently bringing up the rear of their party as Ax had lurked off to lick his wounds. Loren tried not to gawk at the faces they passed. Politicians, patricians, rich Romans here on holiday – men he recognised from the Forum meetings he’d crashed. His nerves amplified.

Julia led Loren to the centre front, above where the champion fighters emerged, and dismissed Gus, who retreated to stand with the other private guards. A handful of men, all robed in togas, glanced up.

‘Lady Julia!’ A portly man stumbled up from his sprawl, gold circlet askew. He clutched a half-empty goblet and threw out his other arm in welcome.

Loren took a swift breath. Here was his chance.

‘Umbrius,’ Julia said, cool as ever. ‘Pleasure. Might I introduce you to—’

‘Come, come. Sit.’ Umbrius, Priest of Jupiter and head of the council, flopped down, wine sloshing. He patted the cushion beside him with excess enthusiasm. ‘The drink is truly excellent, our sponsor outdid himself. Have your servant bring a glass.’

Julia tucked her skirts neatly as she sat. ‘Loren isn’t a servant.’

‘I was about to say, he does look different. Where’s your regular? The woman?’

‘Incapacitated, unfortunately.’

‘Shame.’ Umbrius beckoned to nobody, and a cupbearer appeared to refill. ‘Who did you say this boy is?’

‘He’s my—’

‘It’s Loren, sir,’ he blurted. If he thought his nerves agitated before, now they boiled over. ‘I don’t know if you remember, but we met, not quite a month ago.’

Umbrius frowned, unspeaking. Sweat prickled Loren’s palms. He wiped them on his toga.

‘In the Forum,’ he continued. ‘After a meeting.’

‘Part of the council, are you? I don’t recall seeing you before.’

‘Ah. Well.’ He sucked in a deep breath. ‘No, sir. But I follow the council’s votes avidly. It was after you gave that speech on cutting education funding— ’

‘Oh, dear,’ Umbrius said.

‘And I know you said not to approach you again, but I must urge you to reconsider—’

‘Now that you mention it, Idoremember you.’ Umbrius clutched his wine tight to his chest, a wrinkle between his brows.

‘Do you?’ A spark shot through Loren. He nearly floated.

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