Pompeii: City on Fire (19 page)

While there were a number of baths located throughout the city, drawing their patrons from the surrounding neighborhoods, Cato chose the Forum Baths for the patronage of those with whom he needed most to mingle. The lavish bath complex had been generously supplied by Emperor Augustus some time ago, and the dedicatory inscription chiseled into the marble lintel above the door proclaimed that the baths had been furnished
ex pequnia publica,
without the public's money.

Cato passed under the doorway and into the outer room, which was already warmer than the morning air. The effect of luxury was immediate, with soft music strummed somewhere within, the sound of running water, and the scent of perfumed oils. Ordinarily, Cato would have succumbed to relaxation, to joining others in this cult of luxury, this worship of the body. Today his muscles remained knotted. He had work to accomplish.

He crossed the mosaic floor and entered the
apodyterium,
the changing room for the men. The room was a celebration of the male physique, surrounded on three sides by sculptured pillars of impossibly-muscled men with their arms raised above their heads, holding up the wall above them that curved upward into a domed roof. Even the fantastical frescoes painted on every wall and across the dome chronicled the male gods of old in their feats of glory. The pillars, half flush with the wall, left cubicles between for personal belongings, and Cato stripped off his toga and tunic and placed them in one of the empty niches, then sat on a bench to remove his sandals and scan the room for any whose conversation he might seek. There was no one.

Perhaps the tepidarium would yield better results. He crossed into the warm room, with its blazing brazier and benches around the perimeter, and found several of the city's prominent men already lounging. A few heads turned his way, and nods signified his welcome.

In the days since deciding he would run for duovir, Cato had mapped out his main obstacles. The city was owned by Maius, and this would cause many to remain loyal despite the man's character and his crimes. Cato would need to inspire them with a fresh hope for something different, for change they had not yet seen. And for this he would need money, something lacking since his flight from Rome and purchase of Saturninus's vineyard, home, and wine shop.

He slid to a bench beside Oceanus, another native of the mother city who had retreated to Pompeii on a holiday and stayed ten years. The older man's graying head leaned against the warmed wall, and he opened only one eye to Cato, then closed it again.

"Good morning, Oceanus."

The man grunted.

In the corner near a brazier's heat, a seated lute player piped a slow tune and two naked women danced seductively. Cato watched for a moment, then dropped his gaze, fighting the usual battle, and failing, as usual. He searched for an opening to the conversation he must have with Oceanus. "I can see why you chose to stay here in Pompeii all these years. The luxury rivals even Rome, and the weather is perfection."

Oceanus nodded, eyes still closed. "Yes, this town gets into your blood, I'm afraid. For all its grandness of size and architecture, Rome begins to lose its luster from this distance."

"It's only a pity that all this beauty is not reflected in its leadership." It was a bold statement, but necessary.

Oceanus lifted his head now, glanced around the tepidarium, and looked sideways at Cato. "Ready for the
calidarium
?"

It was an invitation for more dialogue. Cato nodded and followed Oceanus into another elaborate room, the hottest of the complex, where the hot plunge pool at the end of the room already held several men seated within a cloud of steam.

The calidarium showcased the finest in Roman engineering, with water that started its journey through the massive aqueduct that fed the city from the port of Misenum, to the huge tank at Pompeii's highest gate, to one of over a dozen secondary tanks situated throughout the city, then through piping into the baths. The floor of the entire complex was built of thick stone over a shallow chamber of brick columns. A furnace outside the baths was fueled faithfully, pushing super-heated air into the sub-floor chamber, heating the brick columns that supported the floor, and in turn heating the room above. Other channels pushed hot air beneath the pool, keeping the water heated enough that Cato was forced to step in slowly, letting the water scald him by degrees.

But the heat seemed to loosen tongues as well as muscles, and before many minutes Oceanus had resumed their conversation, including the others in the bath. "Our newest citizen, Portius Cato, seems dissatisfied with the city's current leadership."

Curious eyes shifted toward him, then away, ever casual. Silence followed, so still that Cato could hear the condensation on the vaulted ceiling run down its ribbed channels into the narrow gutter at the floor. He tried to relax in the steamy heat, but his nerves were strung taut.

"Perhaps a change is called for." This from a man unknown to Cato.

With that, the conversation opened, and serious talk of the election began. Cato found himself the center of their attention, and used the opportunity to expound on his developing ideas for the city, for the changes he would enact, for the fresh breeze of integrity that needed to blow through the corrupt streets.

"You will need something big to announce your candidacy." Oceanus wiped condensation from his brow. "Something that will show people who you really are."

Cato gripped the side of the pool where they sat. "I have a plan."

Sometime later, after they had been oiled and scraped by slaves and had moved to the
frigidarium
for the cold plunge, Cato dried off and dressed, anxious to get to his next destination, where he would begin to put the plan into action that his new friends in the baths had endorsed.

Stepping from the bath complex into the mucky street was like a descent from the heavens into the unclean world of mortals, but Cato took little notice. He strode through the street that ran parallel to the Forum, not wanting to be waylaid by anyone, and reached the theater and the barracks behind it in a few minutes. So occupied was he with his plan that he didn't slow as he entered the training field, and found himself in the center of a dozen men pitched in mock battles.

"Whoa!" One of the men held up a hand and the others lowered theirs to let him pass. He glanced at each, but Ariella was not among them. This close, they were huge, most of them. How did Ariella even train against them? He turned to watch them, his eyes following every memorized move, his mind naming each tactic as it was executed. But he had other business.

There, at the end of the field, training alone against the wooden post. She looked so small down there, so isolated.

He tracked through the green grass to reach her. If she saw him, she gave no indication until he was upon her. Her dark hair was growing out a bit since the first time he'd seen her here. If it were up to him, she would not need to chop it again.

"Ari." He said it quietly, but still she jumped and twirled, her wooden sword at the ready.

He grinned and held up a palm. "Friend, not foe."

She jabbed her sword into the grass. "What do you want?"

He exhaled. "I—I have an idea. I need your help."

"How could I possibly help you?"

"I am going to run for duovir."

She shrugged and lifted her sword as if to go on practicing. "Some kind of city official, right?"

Cato bit the inside of his cheek. She was not Roman, nor Pompeiian. Why should she care about the city's governing bodies? He needed to reframe his proposal. "I have a way to help you, that will also coincide with the announcement of my candidacy."

She narrowed her dark eyes, and her lips tightened with suspicion. "Help me?"

"The upcoming games. I know that they are scheduled to be small, more of an exhibition, since no one has yet offered to sponsor something larger. But I am going to sponsor a grand display, and the centerpiece of it will be to show the people something they have never seen."

She straightened and stared him down. "A woman in the arena?" Her voice was low, but it carried the tone of fury, not conspiracy.

"It will be perfect. I am trying to show the city that I am the man to bring something new, to make changes. Giving them this extraordinary thing will set them talking, and it will keep you safe. Once they know, you will never be killed by an opponent."

She advanced on him, her eyes twin fires, dark and furious. "You will ruin everything!"

Cato tried to touch her arm but she stepped back. "No, don't you see—"

Her chest rose and fell under her brown leather, her anger barely harnessed. "Stop trying to help me, Portius Cato. You think you can save the world, but you cannot save me. I will make my own way!"

His own anger sparked in response. "And you know nothing but the fight. Are you too proud to see that you have need of someone to save you?"

She came at him again, shoving against him, her face turned up so that her full lips were just beneath his chin. "Drusus has scheduled me to fight Floronius. I am on the verge of making myself known as a fighter. To reveal myself now, before the city knows my name, would destine me to fighting dwarves and animals forever. A one-time surprise, soon forgotten. And then where will your help be?"

He grabbed her arms, but she yanked them away. She was like an injured animal, so quick to retreat. The sun seemed to flush him with heat suddenly, and he rubbed at the back of his neck, then paced a few steps away and back.

"You are too stubborn, Ari. It will get you killed."

"And what is that to you, Cato?"

He stopped before her.
What, indeed?

"I will tell you." She poked at his chest with her forefinger. "You cannot pass by someone in trouble without playing the savior. It's the only thing that makes you feel like a man, isn't it? Righting the wrongs of the world? Saving the women? Your sister, me. Well, you can keep your supposed
help
and find some other way to win your precious election. I want none of it."

The lanista approached, preventing Cato from barking a response. The aging fighter peeled an orange as he walked, tossing sections between yellowed teeth. "Portius Cato." His words were muffled by the mouthful of orange. "You favor us yet again. I see you have found your little pet."

The leer and wink made the man's meaning clear. Cato had paid far too much attention, and too much money, for Drusus to believe his interest in the young fighter was merely as an athlete. Beside him he sensed Ariella's tension, even her contempt—for him as much as Drusus.

"I am thinking of sponsoring your next exhibition, Drusus. And I will want it to be spectacular."

The man's bushy eyebrows shot upward, and then his head tilted back to the blue sky, as if he lifted a prayer of thanks to the gods above. "Shall we go somewhere to speak, then?"

Cato bowed, and followed the man. He looked back once to Ariella, where she remained motionless, watching him with those dark and furious eyes.

CHAPTER 23

It was done. He was committed. A quick appearance before the tribunes in the Forum offices to register his intention to run as duovir, then a couple of days of circulating through the city's elite and the heads of guilds, and the name of Portius Cato was soon on the lips of every Pompeiian. Already his slogan of "something you've never seen before" had been painted on city walls and repeated in meetings both public and clandestine. Cato moved through the churning tidepool of the Forum, gripping arms and greeting town leaders, and forced back anxious thoughts over what he planned for Ariella and the anger he had seen in her eyes.

The extent of Maius's hold on the town became more evident, giving Cato cause for worry. Numerous men had expressed a desire for new leadership, but also given him to know that they would not, could not, support him publically. Maius either controlled their source of income or held something over them they could not see revealed. Many had been muscled into submission by Maius's enforcers, and these could be swayed to vote for Cato, but there still remained a large block that would not be moved.

But at least the money had ceased to be an issue. Support from both the Fruitsellers Guild and the Jewelers Guild had flowed toward him, enabling him to announce his extravagant offer of games and a hunt in the arena, and ensuring that he would have funds needed for his campaign. He began to taste success already, though there was still much to do. Within a few days the city had begun to buzz with talk of Cato's "something new" and the games where he would surprise them all.

But the taste of success was soured by worry over his sister. Every day Lucius brought scraps of news, and Octavia and Isabella hung on each word, wringing meaning from every phrase until Lucius would hold up his hands and plead for them to cease. But for Cato, it was not enough, and he longed to see for himself that Portia was still well, as the Christians claimed.

And so his feet took him to the house of Europa and her husband Seneca, the night before the big event, and his heart told him it was only for Portia, that it had nothing to do with the chance of seeing Ariella there, in that place where race and class seemed of little import.

The doors of the house were closed, and when the large Persian answered his knock, he shook his head at Cato's inquiry. "They do not meet here this night."

"Elsewhere, then?"

But the slave seemed reluctant to part with secrets. He left Cato standing inside the doors and retreated into the house. Europa's husband appeared moments later, trailing the Persian.

Cato cleared his throat. "I'd like to meet with them again. For news of my sister. I want to see her."

The man cocked his head to the side, studied Cato, then nodded. "Come."

Through dark streets Cato followed the man, studying the "cat's eyes," the diamond-shaped white stones embedded in the sidewalk to catch the moonlight and guide the traveler. They reached a narrow doorway, where Seneca pushed into the house and beckoned Cato to join him.

The house was one of a poor man, only a few rooms and these small. Could the whole group be meeting here? Cato worried that he would not encounter those who had helped his sister. The front room was empty, but Cato could hear the group in the secondary room, and when they crossed the threshold, it seemed that they were all here, crowded and packed into the dingy room like slaves transported in the hull of a ship.