Pompeii. Part 32

Cato pushed him toward the hall. "Go. Take anyone you wish and flee the city. He will not have need of you again."

The slave hesitated a moment. Cato was unsure whether it was loyalty to Maius or a desire to fight alongside Cato that held him, but then he was gone. Speed and good health, my friend. He drew Ariella close and spoke in whispers. "I will deal with Maius. You find Portia, bring her out."

She nodded her understanding.

"Ready?"

Another nod.

He touched her face above the mask, traced a line under her eye. Then he strode ahead, to the opening of the room. He felt Ariella slip behind him, toward the entrance to the lower levels.

Maius did not look up at once. He reclined on a couch with Nigidia beside him and a table filled with excess before them. His distraction gave Cato a fleeting moment to absorb the scenes of horror painted on the triclinium walls. He took in the story at once, the terrible mystery rites of a young girl's initiation, the horror on her face before, and the resignation after. The sight filled him with something he could not at first name.

Righteous anger. His chest swelled with it and it burst from his mouth in a shout of rage. "Gnaeus Nigidius Maius! The Holy One has looked down on your acts and has pa.s.sed judgment!"

Maius's head jerked up from the table, his mouth still stuffed with grapes and his eyes wide.

Cato stood at the center of the room's opening, his stance wide and his sword raised. A tremor shook through him, deeper and more profound than any earthquake.

Surrender. He gave it all in that moment-all the responsibility he felt for his sisters, his mother, for Ariella. All the commitment to free Pompeii of Nigidius Maius, to free the world of all injustice. It was not his battle, it was the Lord's.

And he was full of something new, something with power and glory, a strength he had never known, a freedom from bondage. He was a sword wielded in the Name of the only Just One.

And in that Name, he had no doubt of victory.

Maius struggled to his feet, lifting his bulk above the cus.h.i.+on and stepping back against the triclinium wall, beneath the fresco of the lounging Bacchus. Nigidia did not move, and Cato sensed in her a fearsome dread, of the ending of both the world and her father. There had been guilt at leaving her earlier. It would not happen again.

Cato expected Maius to cower in fear, as he was unarmed. He had been naive. The man's face filled instead with amus.e.m.e.nt. And then laughter, such as they had heard in the hall, filled the room.

"I should have known you would come. You cannot leave a thing undone, can you, Portius Cato? Even on a day such as this." He gestured toward the darkness outside. "When everyone with sense is indoors. Still you come, always the rescuer."

"The mountain will kill us all, Maius. I am taking Portia with me."

"Are you?" He pulled Nigidia to her feet and wrapped an arm around her. Then turned his eyes to Cato and stared him down, his bushy brows drawn together.

Cato swallowed, trying to free a tightness in his chest. Around him, the frescoes blurred as though viewed through water, then seemed to come to life, to swirl around the room. Wispy satyrs playing their pan pipes, a nymph suckling a goat, the leering Bacchus. Evil personified.

Have I gone mad? Did Maius see the apparitions? Nigidia's face blanched and she ducked and swerved, still gripped by her father's right arm.

Maius opened his mouth, but did not speak at first. When he did, the words seemed to stream from his mouth in a torrent, as the flames now poured from the mountain above them. "Come to me now, Jupiter! Heed my call and deliver me! Strike down my enemy. Accept my many sacrifices and grant me favor. Venus and Mercury, I call on your mighty power!"

Cato raised an arm, but his strength faltered. His limbs were weighted with the force of Maius's words.

Fight. You must fight.

No. You must surrender to Me.

The words were not his, they were spoken into his heart. He gave himself to the words, to the Word, who opened his mouth and spoke for him. "'If you say, "But we did not know," does not He who weighs the heart perceive the truth? Does not He who guards your life know it? Will He not repay each person according to their deeds?'"

Maius wavered on his feet, took a step backward.

"'The wicked are like chaff that the wind blows away. For the Lord watches over the way of the righteous, but the way of the wicked will perish.'"

The words were not his own. Never had he even heard them spoken. He was a mouthpiece only, a willing tool in the hands of a mighty G.o.d.

This is what it means to be a champion for G.o.d.

"Nigidia." He looked into the girl's frightened eyes, her gaze skittering around the room in terror. "Nigidia, look at me." She focused on him at last.

"We are leaving now. Come to me."

Maius's lips drew back from his teeth and a hiss like that of a snake rushed from him. The unnatural sound filled the room, but the man did not move.

"Nigidia, now." He spoke to the girl as a father to a daughter. Her own father did not release his grip on the girl.

"What are you doing, Portius Cato?"

"I am taking the only good thing you have, Maius. And I am leaving you to the demons you wors.h.i.+p, to be judged along with them."

Nigidia did not take her eyes from him. He nodded slowly, pa.s.sing his strength to her, willing her to move. And then he saw something s.h.i.+ft in her blue eyes, saw freedom unfold in her expression, and knew that she had pa.s.sed through the unseen veil herself, into the arms of a Savior, mighty to deliver. Her head lifted to the beams above her for a moment, and a smile broke across her face like the coming of dawn in this impossibly long night.

She stepped aside, Maius's hold on her broken.

Maius flailed out to grab her, but did not move toward her. She sidestepped his clutching hand, staring at it as though it were a foreign object.

Cato held his sword outstretched, pinning Maius to the ground. "'You lifted praise to the G.o.ds of silver and gold, of bronze, iron, wood and stone, which do not see and cannot hear or understand. You have not honored the G.o.d who carries your life and all your ways in His hand.'"

Nigidia seemed to float across the room, until she reached his side and he nudged her to stand at his back.

Maius's chest heaved, and flecks of white dotted his mouth. He glanced back and forth between Cato and his daughter. "You think you have defeated me?"

The election. Cato smiled. Such matters seemed to belong to another world. There would be no election now. And yet it had never been about the election, had it? He had always been meant to defeat the evil that Maius represented, and this he had done, here in the man's own villa, through a power not his own.

"Not I, Maius. The One True G.o.d has defeated you. You and your G.o.ds." Again the words that were from elsewhere. "Your G.o.ds hold sway over the hearts of the Empire now. But it will not always be thus. A day is coming when even the names of those you wors.h.i.+p will be forgotten. Even then, the One G.o.d will make His name great, and His people will remain!"

Beside him, Cato felt Nigidia draw herself up, his ally against the evil she had known. Maius saw it too, and the loss of her seemed to steal whatever arrogance remained. His knees buckled and he lurched forward onto a couch.

Cato pulled Nigidia with him, away from the triclinium and toward the hall that led to freedom.

And behind them, Maius began to scream.

CHAPTER 48.

Ariella ducked through the opening to Maius's private cells, leaving Quintus to contend with Maius in the triclinium above.

Would she face guards at the bottom? She adjusted her grip on her sword and moved downward on silent feet into the darkness.

The cells were nothing more than a mud hole beneath the house, but the fact that Maius kept such a place spoke much about his character.

Little light filtered down the steps, and no torch extended from the wall socket at the bottom. Ariella felt her way along the narrow channel, tracing the wall with her left hand, while her sword hand remained extended.

There appeared to be no guard. Small wonder, given the destruction that reigned above. If Maius had not dismissed them, they likely fled their posts.

"Portia?" She whispered the name, unsure why she felt the need for stealth, except that the place seemed unholy, as though she tread in the domain of Rome's underworld. She breathed a prayer to Hashem once more and felt His presence.

No answer returned to her. She called for the woman again, then paused to listen for any sign of life. A rattled breathing sounded from beyond.

Ariella edged forward. She had been insensible with rage when Maius had consigned her to his cells, and barely remembered the arrangement of them. That there was no latrine she remembered well, and the smell disgusted and angered her.

She reached a small barred gate, its post anch.o.r.ed in nothing more than solid dirt. The latch would require a key, but she saw none about.

So Maius would leave Portia to die. Not surprising. His grudge against Portia's brother had become much more than personal or even political.

"Portia, are you there?" She drew up close to the gate, and tried to discern something in the dim light. A whitish form on the ground. Ariella heard again the labored breath.

Whether it was the woman she sought she could not be certain, but whoever it was would perish if Ariella did not open the gate.

She searched the murk for a tool, found nothing, and set to work on the dirt around the latch with her sword. Pity about the dullness it would cause, but in the past hours she had needed a shovel more than a sword, and it was the best she had.

The dirt gave way with difficulty, and Ariella felt her neck dampen with the effort. In the end, it was thoughts of Maius, his feast with Valerius, and the beliefs the two men shared that gave her the furious energy to hack without mercy at the latch and the earth that held it. The latch became to her the bondage the two men forced upon others, and her sword the instrument of freedom. A frenzy of redemption swept her and she drove at the dirt again and again, until her hands blistered and her muscles ached.

At last, the latch gave way with a thwack. She kicked at the gate. Inside the cell she heard the scuttle of rats and made out a p.r.o.ne body. She bent to the form, felt leg and arm and face, chilled with a fine sheen of sweat. "Portia, I am Ariella. A friend of your brother."

"Hmmm." The woman stirred and shook her head.

"Can you stand?" She switched her sword to the other hand and slipped her free arm under Portia's body.

Portia struggled in her grasp and moaned. "Leave me be." The voice was cracked and hoa.r.s.e, the flesh too warm. A fever, perhaps. Could she carry the half-conscious woman up the steps?

"Portia!" She whispered harshly into her ear, trying to rouse her. "It is time to leave. Quintus waits for you."

"Quintus?"

In the darkness, Ariella saw the woman's eyes flutter open. "Yes, he is above ground. You must stand. It is time to leave this place. Time to go home."

"Home."

The word was uttered with heartbreaking simplicity. Ariella cradled her body. "Come, Portia. Let me take you home."

She succeeded in getting the woman to her feet, pulling her through the cell door and toward the steps. The light that drifted down from the torches above shadowed Portia's face, but still Ariella saw a reflection of Cato's features there and her heart swelled with a love for the woman, because she was his sister. She felt the pain of Portia's imprisonment in her own body.

The steps were steep and painstaking, with Portia propped on her. Above them, she could make out angry words, but not their meaning.

They reached the head of the steps where the light was stronger, and Ariella looked over Portia's chalky face and bloodless lips. Even if they should escape Maius, how would she make it from the northern outskirts of the city, all the way to the south wall?

She saw Quintus at once, exactly where she had left him, feet planted at the entrance to the triclinium. Had he not moved?

Maius yelled to him, something about defeat, and Nigidia drifted across the feast room, away from her father. Portia bent her head to Ariella's shoulder as though she would sleep.

She watched as Quintus drew himself up and delivered words that sounded to her ears more like prophecy than argument, a denouncing of Maius's G.o.ds, indeed of all the Roman idols, and the pledge that the Holy One would ultimately triumph.

He speaks as a Jew. And yet, more than a countryman. She could see it in the set of his jaw, read it in the corded muscles of his outstretched arm, hear it in the force of his voice. He had become a follower of the Jewish Messiah, had given his heart and his allegiance.

What did this mean for them? No slave or free. No Jew or Roman.

There would be time enough to think on it later. For now, Quintus was leaving.

And Maius was screaming.

CHAPTER 49.

Against logic, Cato left Maius in the triclinium, and left Ariella underground. His newly heightened sense of G.o.d's word spoken over him said, Go now. Trust now. And so he did. With a hand at Nigidia's elbow he sped through the inner halls, toward the devastated atrium, filled with a strength and confidence unknown since the mountain exploded over their heads.

Maius's screams followed them, echoing through corridor and mind with a demonic shriek. Had he rooted the man to the floor through the power of G.o.d?

However it had happened, the duovir was alone, bereft of that which he most prized.

They twisted through the halls when Cato heard footsteps behind. He turned, still holding Nigidia. Ariella gave him a half-smile from the end of the hall. Supported by her arm, but alive and upright, was his sister, Portia. His heart leaped with the sight of her. Of them both.

They met in the middle of the hall, and Cato took Portia from her, bore the weight of his sister's feeble body with his own.

"Maius saw us outside the triclinium." Ariella's voice held wonder. "We walked right past him. He shrieked at us, but did not move."

Cato s.h.i.+fted forward and led them again, helping Portia. "It is an act of your G.o.d."

"And yours?"

He glanced at her. Of course she would somehow see the change in his heart. Portia stumbled, and the group slowed.

"She is a bit feverish, I believe." Ariella touched Portia's face gently. "But I think most of all she needs food and water."

Cato dared not ask his sister about the child she carried. Not now.

Beside him, Nigidia stirred to life. "Follow me."