A Day of Fire: A Novel of Pompeii (42 page)

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

WE are indebted to our readers for their encouragement and support of this project; Michelle Moran for writing such a lovely introduction; Simon Scarrow for his kind words of praise; Margaret George for suggesting the possible connection of Nero’s empress to Pompeii; Kevan Lyon for her support and encouragement; Adam Dray for his tireless but cheerful fact-checking, nitpicking and proofreading; Lea Nolan for beta-reading; our talented cover designer, Kim Killion; Giorgio for giving us logos; former fire marshal Brandon Rice for help with fire, deadly vapors, and asphyxiation; Edna Russell for consulting with us on the laws and customs surrounding prostitution in ancient Rome; Kelly Quinn for researching relevant quotes from the writings of Pliny the Younger and doing some last-minute proofreading; Ginger Emshoff for providing help with Latin and supplying us with fantastic information about graffiti. Also helpful was
Pompeii: The Living City
, by Alex Butterworth and Ray Laurence;
The Complete Pompeii
by Joanne Berry; and Mary Beard’s multiple volumes of scholarship about the eruption, the town, and the population of Pompeii.

NOTES FROM THE AUTHORS

ARCHAEOLOGICAL evidence indicates that the eruption took place sometime in late September or October. Physical evidence includes the presence of autumnal fruits including pomegranates (which ripen in late September and October in Italy), as well as dried dates, prunes, and figs, typically harvested in late summer. Also, jars with fermenting wine were found, indicating that the grapes had been harvested and wine production was well underway. The most compelling evidence is the presence of a Roman coin printed after September 7 or 8 of the year 79 found in a stratification that would rule out looters or investigators dropping it there later.

Another choice we made was to present the volcano as an unprecedented event. Astounding as it may seem, the citizens of Pompeii apparently had no idea that the mountain looming over their town was a volcano. There were plenty of warning signs of an imminent volcanic eruption, and although incomplete archaeology suggests the city may have emptied, the first person account by Pliny the Younger suggests that the catastrophe caught the city and its surrounds largely unwarned. We elected to favor his eyes-on-the-ground account. Our epigraph quotes are largely lifted from his famous letters to Tacitus, though some are tweaked for easier reading.

Astute readers will notice that the locations of some buildings, such as the
caupona
where several characters work or take a drink or meal, have been shifted slightly for fictional convenience. And while all graffiti mentioned in the stories come from the walls of Pompeii, the exact locations of that scrawl may vary. The
freshness
of the election graffiti in ancient Pompeii suggested to us the names of important city officials, but did not tell us who prevailed. Because we wanted to involve historical figures rather than make them up out of whole cloth, we chose the winners and had them begin their terms of office.

And now for your individual notes...

THE SON

PLINY the Younger was not Pliny the Elder’s son, but his nephew, adopted at seventeen when the elder died in year 79 during the eruption of Vesuvius. The younger Pliny provides us with the only eyewitness account of the disaster. Named Gaius Caecilius Secundus for his father, his mother Plinia was Pliny the Elder’s sister. Caecilius’ father died when he was young. Although posthumous adoptions were common, it was also common for Roman men who did not have male heirs to adopt during their lifetimes—which left me wondering,
why didn’t Pliny the Elder adopt his young nephew while he was alive? And how might this have affected the young man?

I was also fascinated by that fact that Pliny the Younger had the opportunity to join his uncle in the investigation of the eruption.
So why didn’t he go?
At seventeen, he most likely had completed his manhood ceremony. The Roman code of manly
virtus
demanded stoic fearlessness and bravery in the face of danger. And what was his excuse for not joining his uncle? He said he had to
study
: “He offered me the opportunity of going along,” Pliny the Younger wrote twenty-five years later to his friend Tacitus. “But I preferred to study—he himself [meaning Pliny the Elder] happened to have set me a writing exercise.”

Really?
He stayed away from the most fascinating natural phenomenon anyone had ever seen (they didn’t know it was killer yet) because he had to
study?
I found the excuse flimsy. What if, I wondered, there was another deeper, possibly more embarrassing reason he declined? And what if his elderly uncle understood the reason and therefore didn’t push him, as one might think he otherwise would? And what if this reason was so private, he covered it up a quarter of a century later with a lame excuse about hitting the books?

From those questions, this story was born. Historically, all we know is that Pliny the Younger did not join his uncle and that he was adopted posthumously in his uncle’s will. Everything else preceding his description of events is conjecture. But as historical fiction writers like to say, “It
could’ve
happened this way!”

—Vicky Alvear Shecter

THE HEIRESS

THERE is more that is mysterious at the Villa of the Mysteries than the famous murals lending the ruins their name. Located just outside the Herculaneum gate, it is uncertain who owned the villa. A seal found during its excavation bears the name of a freedman from the powerful Istacidii family, and some scholars have proposed him as a possible owner. Others posit he may have been an overseer during the property’s reconstruction (ongoing for years) after Nero’s quake. For narrative purposes, I chose to associate the seal with such an overseer—one who does not appear in my story. Three bodies were uncovered at the villa: two women and a child. These victims may have been members of the household or, alternately, individuals seeking to escape the city who took shelter in the villa during their failed flight. I choose to imagine one in particular, a woman who clawed and scrambled to stay atop the growing pile of falling
lapilli
for hours before succumbing, as Aemilia’s faithful nurse.

Since Aemilia and her family are fictional, I might have selected any setting for their story. Why the Villa of the Mysteries? Like the many tourists who flock to the site, I was drawn to the villa by its significant collection of decorative frescoes. Many of these artworks were already very old (the most famous date to the first century BCE) at the time Pompeii was lost. As a writer, I was more interested in imagining who might have dwelt among such masterpieces than in describing them (pictures are readily available for readers who want to look more closely), but any art I do depict actually exists. For example, the statue of Livia mentioned was found, missing fingers, during the villa’s excavations. Of course the most compelling feature of the villa is the murals that give it its name. These are located in its rich, red
triclinium
. Often described as portraying the rights of the cult of Bacchus, for
The Heiress
I have adopted the less popular explanation of the artwork as a metaphor for a young bride’s transition into marriage. Thus interpreted, the murals echo the development of my central character, Aemilia, who changes from a headstrong girl to a confident woman during the course of my story.

Finally, a note about Sabinus. Unlike Aemilia, I did not create Sabinus out of whole cloth. In
The Fires of Vesuvius
, Mary Beard identifies the candidates for the office of
aedile
in 79. Yes, Cuspius Pansa is on that list, and so is a man named Gnaeus Helvius Sabinus. Graffiti in the city suggests that candidate Sabinus was supported both by followers of the Isis cult and by his grandmother. For the purposes of our novel, the assumption was made that Sabinus ran unsuccessfully.

—Sophie Perinot

THE SOLDIER

WHO wouldn’t jump at the chance to write a tale set in Pompeii at the time of the eruption of Mount Vesuvius? I owe big thanks to Kate Quinn for inviting me, and to the other authors, with whom it has been an absolute pleasure to work. Part of the appeal to me was that I could write the tale of a retired soldier, a guy who’d survived a lifetime of war. My novels are usually set during wars or rebellions, and it’s a little frustrating never to be able to find out what happens to my main characters.

A few interesting details about my story: Satrius Rufus was a Pompeian home-owner, whose nameplate survives and tells us that he was a retired Imperial secretary; his son, my hero, is a fictional character. Pugnax the gladiator is mentioned in Pompeian graffiti, and Jucundus was a Pompeian banker whose name was well documented in the town.

Gladiators often fought in multiple pairs, however this was by no means universal—hence my depiction of Pugnax fighting his bout against one opponent.

It’s possible that no lions/big cats fought in Pompeii’s amphitheater, as the safety parapet was probably not high enough to contain them, so the portrayal of lions there was my decision.

Odd as it sounds, the giant “wine carrier” made of leather is depicted in artwork found in Pompeii.

The mosaic with the crouching black dog, and the famous warning, “
Cave Canem,
” is famous throughout the world. I hope readers will forgive me using it in my story—it was too much to resist, even though the poor, savage dog didn’t make it.

—Ben Kane

THE SENATOR

SENATOR Marcus Norbanus and Diana of the Cornelii have appeared in several other novels of mine, starting with
Daughters of Rome
where they struggle through the infamous Year of Four Emperors referenced in their story here. Marcus is fictional, therefore both his terms as consul and his descent from the line of Augustus are invented. Diana is also fictional, though the horse breeding business, chariot racing, and the various circus factions (including the Reds) were an obsession in ancient Rome among patrician and plebeian classes alike. The level of freedom Diana enjoys as an unmarried woman is unusual for her time, but not impossible—Roman law gave fathers the right to manage their daughters’ lives (as Diana herself points out to Sophie Perinot’s Aemilia), but despite the traditional image of the stern
paterfamilias
, historical records are full of indulgent or absentee fathers who did not rule their women with such an iron fist. As a result there were Roman women who seized startling freedom of movement, travel, and financial independence.

The brothel (
lupanar
) where Marcus and Diana take shelter is a real building, with some of the most notorious erotic frescoes and filthy graffiti to survive in Pompeii. The villa where Diana retrieves her horse is the Villa of Mysteries featured earlier in Sophie’s story.

Marcus and Diana’s appearance in this collection was a surprise to me. I had never planned for any of my old characters to cross paths in Pompeii, much less these two, but around the time this project was conceived, Marcus’ polite voice and Diana’s ruder one piped up in the back of my head informing me that they were present when Vesuvius erupted. The pairing of opposites has been a classic trope for a long time—think buddy-cop movies—but in Marcus and Diana I had the ultimate comic juxtaposition of brain vs. brawn, with the added twist that for once the girl was the brawn—and the rescuer instead of the rescuee. The resulting possibilities for comedy delighted me, though it’s probably irreverent to say that I enjoyed finding opportunities for humor in an epic disaster like Pompeii. I don’t feel too guilty, however, since my fellow collaborators explained that it was my job to give the readers a few laughs before they got their hearts ripped out by the ending. I hope I made you chuckle, whether at Marcus and Diana’s bickering or at the rephrased line from Bastille’s chart-topping song “Pompeii,” which I couldn’t resist slipping into the story. Readers interested in Marcus and Diana’s future should take a look at
Mistress of Rome
, which picks up two years after the eruption of Vesuvius.

—Kate Quinn

THE MOTHER

WITHIN the house of Julius Polybius, the remains of thirteen skeletons were found—one of whom was a baby cradled in its mother’s womb. The mother also clutched a bag full of coins and was decked out in jewels. Graffiti on the walls of the house asks for votes for Julius Polybius. Inside the house, a ring was found inscribed with the name Julius Phillipus, as was a mural on the wall. Given the campaigns for Polybius and that historians have named the house after him, I concluded that Polybius was descended of a freedman and was an aspiring politician—although we decided to make him a
praetor,
he could have also been a
duumviir
.

According to the DNA tests there were two older men who died in the house and were not related—we will probably never know for certain who actually died within the house walls. It is unclear whether both Polybius and Phillipus were in the house (or if Phillipus was even living) at the time of the eruption, so I left him out of my story, and instead had the second older male be a servant.

However, the DNA revealed that several
were
related subjects, which led me to the conclusion that this was a family with several slaves. During the testing, it was found that two of the skeletons suffered from minor cases of spina bifida—one a twelve-year-old boy, and the other Julilla. It was likely so minor they were not aware of it. Decima’s testing revealed that she was likely ill quite often.

It is not clear how the people within the home died, but a vial was found in the hand of one of the skeletons—a male leaning against the wall. There is conflicting evidence as to what the vial held. Some have said it was poison, others say it was just wine or water. For purposes in this story—and wishing to give Julilla a strong and fitting end—I made it poison.

The prayer whispered at the end is a line from Apuleius:
I approached the confines of death, and having trod on the threshold of Proserpine, I returned therefrom, being borne through all the elements. At midnight I saw the sun shining with its brilliant light; and I approached the presence of the Gods beneath, and the Gods of heaven, and stood near, and worshipped them.

Within the household was found a statue of Apollo, mythological murals, and a painted
lararium
, which was used to worship the Lares, or domestic divinities. In the painted mural you see the snake
agathodaemon
(protector of the hearth) and the
genius
, protector of the head of the household. A pet turtle’s remains were found within the home, and an excavation done on the courtyard showed that the family had figs and other trees/plants growing there.

The way I had our family placed, is the way in which the bodies were found. While doing research for this story, one of the parts I struggled with the most was the placement. Why would three of them be in the other room? Looking at the house, it appears the rooms were connected by a door—why wouldn’t they just walk through? Using research and a liberal amount of creative license, I recreated a version of events that took place at the House of Julius Polybius, and I hope that in living through them, we can memorialize their lives and give them the peace their last moments certainly did not contain.

—E. Knight

THE WHORE

UP to this point in my career, I’ve written about ancient queens. My heroine in
Lily of the Nile
is Cleopatra’s daughter, a messianic Egyptian princess who looks to Isis to save her dynasty. So I wasn’t surprised when my fellow authors looked to me to provide a spiritual element in this novel. However, I’m sure that I surprised
them
by insisting I was going to do it through the eyes of two lowly prostitutes.