However, at the moment, people were coming and going about their daily business as much as they were able. They were used to this.
This area was not residential and there were few women around. Men bustled in and out of the palaestra, looking important and talking in loud voices. My Latin returned, as it always does whenever I hear it spoken, and I listened. Three of them, the loudest and presumably the most important – in their eyes, at least – were strolling along the portico, enjoying the shade and discussing the dismal performance of their chosen chariot team – the Greens.
Few men wore togas. Tunics seemed to be the accepted garb. I saw a variety of colours – ochres, browns, some reds. One or two wore blue – next to purple, the most expensive colour there is, but sadly prone to fading.
No one paid me the slightest attention. In this world, as in any other, people don’t see the bizarrely dressed, the odd ones who live outside normal society. Nobody would catch my eye in case I demanded money. I told myself I was as good as invisible.
The high, arched walls of the amphitheatre reared up in front of me. Posters advertising future events covered the lower levels. An external stone staircase led to the higher tiers. Two slaves in dingy tunics were slowly sweeping the steps. Very slowly. This was light work. They would be in no rush to finish.
The surrounding area was filled with tiny taverns and eating places. Here and there, temporary booths had been set up, to sell snacks and souvenirs to the hungry and gullible.
The ground shook again, reminding me why I was here. I needed to keep moving. I needed a crowd to get lost in and a densely built area in which to hide.
I headed west to one of the main streets, the one which ran right through town, more or less north-east to south-west. The crowds here were much more diverse and some women were present, going about normal household duties. It was still a little early for the other sort of commercial transactions. I skipped past a bakery, with its distinctive smell of hot flour and scorched bricks. I passed a wine shop. The owner, a stocky man in a dingy tunic and with an unlovely roll of fat around his neck, was still setting up his amphora. He had no idea what was about to happen. None of them did.
In twenty-four hours’ time, Pompeii and its neighbour, Herculaneum, would be gone – lost under vast layers of volcanic ash. I looked at the people around me, all shouting, arguing, laughing, and haggling. All living out the last hours of their lives. This time tomorrow, they would be dead and, when the world saw them next, they would be pitiful, hollow shells, their shapes preserved over the centuries, long after their bodies had gone. I always remember the woman, trying to shelter her child and the little dog, still chained, unable to escape, twisted in his death throes …
The temptation is to jump on a cart, wave your arms and shout, ‘Run! Run for your lives. You still have time.’
But I didn’t.
I pulled myself together. I needed to get an idea of the layout. I had only about half an hour and then I was going to be running for my life.
Again.
I made my way down to the Forum, using the stepping-stones to cross the road and jumping on and off the raised pavements. The Romans used their streets as storm drains. I could imagine the floodwaters flowing down from Vesuvius and coursing through the streets, sweeping away everything in their path. Only this time the flood would consist of volcanic debris, pumice, super-heated mudflows …
I mingled with the crowds outside the Forum, which was packed. Ironically, there was a great view of Vesuvius, its summit wreathed in what might be light cloud but was more probably smoke.
My wrist beeped. Leon had lent me his watch. One hour gone. The Forces of Darkness should be turning up any minute now.
The town was laid out on a grid system. I’d concentrated on the north-east corner and had the rough layout in my head. I had my route planned. I’d found two or three spots where I could conceal myself for long enough to hold them up. I couldn’t do any more. All I could do now was stay alert, keep moving, and stay ahead of them. And the volcano, of course.
Another half hour passed. I stood with my back to a wall, admiring the Temple of Jupiter and watching the crowds go by.
They were late. The bastards were late. Wouldn’t it be just typical if they didn’t turn up at all and I was jumping around a major volcanic incident for absolutely nothing?
I sighed with frustration and then everything happened all at once.
I was cupping my hands at a street fountain when a large cart clattered by. I turned at the noise and there they were in their black cloaks, standing at the street corner. Faintly, I heard the electronic beep. They were triangulating. Time to go.