Part 10 - Herculaneum Burned

In the summer of that last full year in Herculaneum, my Escha often came to me scraped up and blooded. I would ask him, "Wherecome you by such injury?" and he would tell me that he was climbing the fig trees on the side of our hill, and that Iovita was shaking him out of them. "Don't climb, little one," I would tell him, and he would say, "I want to eat them. I want to eat the figs," and that the sweetest ones were high in the upper branches. I told him that if he was hurt, it would do too much damage to me, but he would keep coming, bleeding and smelling sweet. 


"We got eggs this morning when the sun came up," he would tell me, chattering and playing with my jewelry, which of late he had wanted to try wearing. "Tonight we'll have those and some lamb. We got some olives at the market, all kinds. I want some goose tomorrow. I want some mushrooms, but the ones I like they aren't selling yet." He would chatter and I would listen. 


One evening, as summer waned, I looked up to find Nataniellus in my doorway, who had seemed so uneasy after our argument in the peristyle. "I brought figs and honey, some cheese," he said, holding up the large ceramic dish. "Will you eat them?" 


"And the children?"


"They are cracking crabs in the garden. I think they've had enough of figs. They were offered this plate, first, I assure you." I smelled the sweat on his skin, those hottest days of the year, and the potent, heady scent of fear, and anxiety.


I gestured for him to come, and he sat on my bed across from me, legs crossed and plate balanced between his knees. "Have one," he offered. 


He took a fig by its narrow stem, and squeezed the bulbous lower end so that it split, and the pale flesh inside unfolded like a blooming flower. He turned it inside out with his clever fingers, and dipped it in the honey. Looking into my eyes, he sucked the sweet juice which had run down his arm.


I took a deep breath in, closed my eyes, and let it out slowly. 


"Your little one, Escha," he said. "He plays so rough. The other children can't keep up with him. It makes me laugh. He takes off at a run and we always catch up with him panting and red in the face. His voice is going hoarse from his throat being dry from sucking wind all the time while he's running. He wants to taste everything at market, and he's always tugging on the hem of my tunic to buy him things."


"I find him very sweet," I said.


"Oh, sweet?" he laughed. "No, no," smiling, "he is very vain and greedy but he's so cute. He wears your ring on his thumb and when he asks for things for free at market, he gets them. Between his cuteness and the gold, they think him some rich patrician's son and us all of his slaves chasing after him like children after a goose."


"Should I speak with him?" I asked, watching him lick sweet juice from his clever fingers. 


"No, I don't think so," he said, looking into my eyes, sucking on his fingertips. "He's that age. I would let him enjoy the little pleasures of being seven years old and easy to love," sucking his fingers slowly, "I am under no illusion that he led an easy life before he came to you, and the other boys make it hard on him sometimes as well. They will keep him grounded. I assure you that."


"Do you miss the brothel still, Orpheus?"


He shook his head, putting a salty olive on his tongue. No, no.


"I enjoy you singing songs of my children more than any other I have ever heard." 


"What of your former stewards?" he asked me, as if he had been thinking of it long.


"What about them?"


"Do you wonder where they've gone? Do you think they have betrayed the children?"


"I don't think of them at all, Iellus. They have made their choice, and have struck out, and fate will care for them how it chooses."


He chewed the olive, swallowed, and set the plate aside. On his knees, he leaned forward for a kiss, and I gave it to him, lips shut against his salty tongue. "Open your lips," he said. "Relax." He kissed side of my mouth. "Let me in." I noticed how he pointed his toes.


"Did you learn that in the brothel?"


"I will ignore that because I know that you are tactless," he whispered, frozen in that position for a moment.


Then, he jerked sideways and I pulled him to me by the hips, and held him while the earth shook, throwing the ceramic dish to the floor. We heard the children screaming in the garden, and Iovita yelling for them to lie flat, because only he of all of them had been alive for the greater earthquake in 62, and I treasured him then, and forgave him everything and any trespass in the future. "Ah," Nataniellus whispered, a small breath of air against my neck, "ah, Faya, it will all be on fire. Oh, when I was a boy, it brought all fire. They will all be dead down by the docks. Those buildings were so cheaply built. They will be crushed." I kissed him at the corner of his eye, holding him tightly as his heart screamed beating, like the wings of a hummingbird. 


When the earth was calmed again, I held him still, kissing him about his head, and he cried long, soft cries, which I knew he had been holding onto. And while I held him, he passed through several of those vacancies which I had seen before, going quiet and staring, rigid, and confused upon returning to his body. He trembled as the earth trembled, when its shaking made small returns over some hours. He murmured to me, drowning me in his heat. "Orpheus," I said, "see that the children are alright."


"No," he murmured, the tremor in his voice, "no, no. Squeeze me." 


I wondered if it was in his nature to be so many moods. I asked him again to go, and he was angry, pushing at me, and crying. Out of bed, he crouched low to pick up the figs which had fallen to the floor. Even then, it was only the poorer classes who crouched, rather than bending, and I looked on him softly, unable to understand his nature. "Don't be angry with me, Orpheus. I am sorry to offend you. I know so little about most things, about feeling. You have even taught me much about love."


He was silent, and stalked out, and I felt the loss of him in the room. For awhile I sat there by myself, listening to the sound of flames very far distant, and the wailing coming from Herculaneum, like a whisper on the wind. I smelled the particular smell of roasting flesh, and drew up my knees as the light grew long and thin, and the coolness of evening blew in through my window, which was as a breeze to fan flames. 


It was a little while before Escha came in to find me, and I canted my hips to the side, so that my drawn up legs would not interfere with his embrace. 


"Nataniellus did not want me to disturb you," he said. "Iovita agreed. They said that we children should stick together, because desperate people are dangerous. We could see the fire from the cliff path. The south side of the market is all on fire behind the third level, where all the single story houses are. We can even hear the screaming."


I gave him the bangle from my forearm, unable to speak because I could hear that screaming still, and he took it. 


"Master, I know that you feel very deeply. They don't know that. They think you're quiet so you want to be alone, but I know you're trapped in there. You don't have to talk to me. I know you're in there. I'll talk to you."


I sighed.


"Were you scared when the earthquake came? I was. Iovita told us to lay on the ground. We're not dumb. All the figs and apples shook off the trees on the hill. The chicken coop collapsed. All the chickens were trying to fly up and get out. Iovita held my hand very tight, so I'm alright. My heart beat very fast though." He rested his head against my chest. "They told me to stay in our room but I got away, and now I'm here. I won't ever leave you or let you be scared."  


He spoke as if I belonged to him, and I relaxed my body so that he could lie against me properly. He smelled like the crabs he had been cracking, and like salt water, and like soap. 


"I smell the fire. Is that smell people?" he asked.


I nodded. 


Herculaneum burned for two days, and after the numbness, I found that I had gone a little mad, because the sounds and the smells were so familiar. They had touched a memory that I had forgotten, and I dreamed that I was back in a place of burning flesh and screaming children, three hundred years before, when I had been quite different, and the sort of creature who would burn children for no reason better than spite. And the anguish broke my mind, and broke me open, the way that I am broken open now.

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