Blood and Sand Page 25

  Attia could feel her lips twitching, as though she wanted to snarl at the bastard. She clenched her hands at her sides to keep still.

  Tycho cocked his head at her while his fingers reached up to his chest to toy with something pinned to the fabric there. Attia’s eyes inadvertently followed the movement, flitting down past the luster of the gold torque around his neck and the purple sash across his shoulder. Past the gold threads on the neckline of his tunic, and down to a pendant fastened to his clothing.

  In that one moment, the entire universe—from the particles of dust in the air to the very breath of the gods—stopped. All Attia could comprehend was the distinct silverwork of the pendant, the falcon in flight, the sparkling fire of the clear stone in the center.

  This was what Rory had seen. Tycho had had it all this time.

  Her pendant.

  Something inside of Attia shifted then. She’d heard men call it a trance, a bloodlust, a berserker fury that overwhelmed warriors with the need to kill. But there was nothing numb about this feeling. It was hot and cold and fast and slow, all at the same time. It was like lightning in the middle of the sea, an inferno in the heart of a storm. And before she could think another thought, she had her hands wrapped tight around Tycho Flavius’s neck.

  The soldiers and guards rushed into action. They put a knife to Attia’s throat to try to stop her. Like Xanthus, she had no fear of the blade. She didn’t care if they cut her or bled her dry, but they got in her way, loosening her grip for a fraction of an instant.

  Tycho crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath. As he tried to crawl away toward the back wall, his eyes went wide with shock, trained on a spot in the back of the room—on a terrified little girl curling up in the corner. His face twisted.

  “Titus…,” he whispered, just as a thunderous boom echoed through the villa.

  Attia took the chance to fight off the guards and reach for Tycho again. But another roar shook the walls, and chunks of marble began to fall all around them.

  Everyone ran.

  They screamed and pushed and clawed their way to the doors as the air vibrated with sound. Marble and dust rained down, and Attia struggled to her feet, pushed along by the stampeding Romans as they rushed into the courtyard. Almost immediately, people doubled over, gasping and choking.

  Smoke and sulfur filled the air. Small flakes of white stuff floated gently to the ground. It looked like snow, but it was warm rather than cold, and it turned to dust at the slightest touch.

  Ash.

  “Gods, help us!” someone screamed, and Attia followed the man’s terrified gaze to the northeast.

  It was only then, as they all stood beneath the ink-black sky, that she saw it: Mount Vesuvius, alive and furious, spitting fire onto the city of Pompeii.

  CHAPTER 24

  The blackened crest of the mountain spewed flame into the sky. The ground shook violently as a river of molten rock spilled out from Vesuvius and began to snake its way through the streets like a fiery serpent. It consumed the houses and people in its path, slowly but steadily.

  The air was still cool around Timeus’s villa by the sea, as though it hadn’t quite realized that the world around it was burning. Attia couldn’t move. She stared around the courtyard in a daze, the sounds of the Romans’ terror muted and dull. All she could comprehend was their mouths opening wide in silent screams. She saw the tears streaming down their faces and watched as they ran over each other like frantic animals.

  A red-hot rock fell into the courtyard, making the ground around it steam and sink. Attia was knocked down onto her hands and knees by a woman running past her. Less than a second later, another rock fell right on top of the woman with a terrible thud, breaking her back and melting her skin like wax. The sight jarred Attia out of her paralysis, and suddenly the sounds were magnified. The woman screamed. Gods, how she screamed.

  Attia tore her eyes away from the woman’s burning body to focus on the main gate, where dozens of people were fighting to get out. Then she saw that a handful of men were trying to get in.

  And Xanthus was leading them. He and a group of men dressed in black pushed through the gate, every one of them armed. She kept her eyes on Xanthus as they ran to each other. She didn’t stop until she could wrap her arms around him, holding tightly so she knew he was real.

  “You’re alive,” he whispered into her hair. “Thank the goddess, you’re alive.”

  “I told you I’d wait,” Attia said, but her voice was cracked and dry from the smoke.

  “My brothers!” Xanthus shouted, pointing toward the training courtyard. One of the men in black ran to free the gladiators from their quarters while the others focused on ushering slaves and servants to the gates. None of them paid any mind to the patricians screaming for help.

  The gladiators appeared and headed straight for the outer storeroom, filling their arms with skins of water and sacks of grain. Sabina was helping corral the kitchen slaves out of the villa, and Lucretia tugged a long tunic over her sheer dress as she led the house slaves into the courtyard. Albinus and Ennius accepted swords from the men in black.

  Attia knew she should be doing more than simply standing there. But there was someone else who’d appeared with the group—someone she’d thought she would never see again. Someone she’d thought had died in the hills along the Aegean.

  “Crius?” she gasped.

  Her father’s captain kissed her hand before pulling her roughly into his arms.

  “How are you alive? How—?”

  “Later, Attia. We need to get out of here.”

  “But…” She turned to stare at the other men, the strangers in black with the bloodred strips of cloth banded around their necks. And she realized they weren’t strangers at all. They were Maedi.

  How? How were they alive? How had they survived the war and avoided capture? And where? Where had they been while she’d lived as a slave in Timeus’s house? And why? Why hadn’t they come for her? Why had they abandoned her to the Romans?

  The questions practically choked her as they fought each other to her lips. But in the next second, all coherent thought flew out of her head anyway.

  A new sound cut through the night, shattering the unnatural silence of her shock. A sound clearer than anything else—a child’s scream coming from inside the villa. “Attia!”

  Rory was still inside, alone and terrified because Attia had left her behind when she’d been pushed out to the courtyard. She’d promised to keep her safe, and now the child called for her. That was all Attia needed to know.

  She ignored the protests of Crius and Sabina and Xanthus, sprinting straight back into the collapsing villa just as another volley of burning rock landed in the courtyard and blocked the doorway behind her.

  Inside, the opulence of Timeus’s house had been reduced to ruins—a grotesque husk of marble and stone. Huge chunks of the walls and pillars had crashed to the floor. Food, linens, and dead bodies were strewn everywhere. Dust and ash hung heavy in the great welcoming room, already coating the floor.

  Attia ran past all of it, calling for Rory. She finally found her near the back of the room where Tycho’s dais had stood. The child was curled into a tight ball and weeping, but otherwise unharmed. Attia pulled her into her arms.

  “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m going to get you out of here.”

  The northern entrance was blocked. The eastern door—a massive bronze thing that Timeus had imported from Greece—was so hot that Attia couldn’t even stand near it. There seemed to be only one way out, and that was up.

  Attia pulled Rory up the stairs to the second floor, searching for a room with a window that looked out over the courtyard. Just as her feet hit the top step, the whole house shook, causing a wall to collapse behind her. She pushed Rory out of the way just before a piece of marble the size of her head slammed right against her left arm. She fell to the side with a pained cry.

  When the house was still again, she swatted at the dust that coated her face and
tried to inspect her arm. A long, jagged gash stretched from her wrist to her elbow, dripping blood onto her lap. At least it didn’t look like the bone had been broken. The falling columns had completely sealed off the staircase now.

  Rory was still sobbing quietly, and she wrapped her arms around Attia’s neck.

  “It’s all right,” Attia said. Her voice was steady despite the pain. “I’m fine.” And she had to be. She couldn’t die yet. Rory needed her too much.

  With a determined grunt, Attia ripped the hem of her tunic and wrapped the fabric around her arm, pulling it tight to stem the slow, deep flow of blood. When she was done, she took Rory’s hand. “Hurry now! Run!”

  The wall along the top floor had buckled, exposing wide gaps between it and the ceiling and weighing down the doors. Attia tried to push into one of the rooms, but it was like shoving her shoulder into a mountain. The doors wouldn’t budge. She repositioned herself, focusing instead on the cracks in the wall. If she could find a weak spot, she thought she could make a portion of the wall break completely.

  A few feet down, the wall had splintered with a long, deep crack. Attia took a running start from the other side of the hallway and threw all her weight against the wall. It caved, and she tumbled into the room with a spray of stone.

  But the impact had dislocated her shoulder with a loud pop. Attia rested her forehead against the floor and tried to hold back a scream. When she could see straight again, she got to her feet and staggered to the door. She took a deep breath, clenched her jaw, and jammed her shoulder into the door, forcing her arm back into its socket. Her vision nearly went black from the pain, but she fought off the darkness. She reached blindly for Rory and took several more deep breaths. The child’s pale face was wet with tears.

  Attia staggered to the window and saw Xanthus in the courtyard below, his eyes desperately scanning the upper floor.

  He shouted an expletive as soon as he saw her. “It’s blocked off—we can’t get in! You’ll have to jump!”

  Bodies littered the courtyard. Attia knew that some people had already been killed by the rocks and the stampede. But she also saw dead soldiers and guards with gaping sword wounds. The gladiators and Maedi must have struck them down.

  Attia snatched the linen from the bed and threw one end around Rory’s waist, looping it several times before pulling the knot as tight as she could. She tied the other end around the post of the bed. Her wounded arm throbbed and bled onto the floor. “Rory, look at me,” she said softly, kneeling in front of the child, who had her hands over her eyes.

  Attia knew that in another few minutes, the fires would reach the villa. If they didn’t escape soon, they’d be left to burn.

  Attia hardened her voice. “Rory! Look at me!”

  The child reluctantly lowered her hands.

  “I need you to be brave now. We can’t stay here. I have to lower you down, okay?”

  “I can’t,” Rory sobbed. They were the first words she’d spoken since Attia had found her.

  “Don’t be afraid. Just hold on to this sheet as tightly as you can and keep your eyes on me.” Attia lifted her onto the windowsill. “Be brave, Rory. Xanthus will catch you.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll be right behind you. I promise.” Attia looked out the window. Xanthus was standing ready below, his arms outstretched. “Don’t be afraid,” Attia said again and kissed Rory’s cheek. “Everything is going to be okay.”

  Rory clung to the linen rope as Attia lowered her to the ground in jagged, uneven intervals. She could only use one arm, and small as the child was, her weight was pulling Attia down. Soon, she was low enough for Xanthus to reach, and Attia felt the relief in the tension of the sheet. Rory looked so small, so frail in Xanthus’s arms. Sabina quickly untied her and carried her away, leaving the sheet hanging free from the window.

  Xanthus looked up at her. “Your turn!”

  Attia was more than ready. She swung one leg over the windowsill, but before she could get a firm grip on the roped up linen, the earth rumbled again and knocked her back into the room. Her head hit the floor with a loud thud.

  Everything became fuzzy. The walls, the ceiling, and the sky all blurred together. Even the sounds of shouting were dull, as though she was listening to everything underwater. She knew she had to move. She knew she had to get out. “I’m coming,” she mumbled. “I’m coming.” But it took so much effort to even lift her head up off the floor.

  All she could see out the window were flames. Pompeii glowed red. Vesuvius roared at the sky, and a piece of the mountain broke away, letting loose another torrent of liquid fire. Everything burned. People stood huddled together and screaming on their rooftops, praying for help that would never come.

  But he came for her.

  Attia should have known that he would.

  Before she realized what was happening, Xanthus had climbed the knotted sheet and was right beside her, cradling her close. He slung her across his shoulders, one hand holding her arm while he used the other to climb back down to the ground.

  Crius waited for them along with Albinus, Lebuin, and two of the Maedi warriors. They’d taken some of Timeus’s prized horses and were ready to mount.

  “I sent the others ahead,” Crius said. “We’ll have to move fast. Here—I can carry her.”

  Xanthus said nothing, but a moment later, Attia felt him toss her onto a horse and then vault up behind her. His arms held her tight against him, warming her against the abrupt coolness of the breeze coming off of the Tyrrhenian. In the distance, three black ships sailed away.

  “Hold on,” Xanthus said. “Just a little farther.”

  “Too far,” Attia said. The fires were getting close. Extreme heat made the air around the villa shimmer like a mirage.

  Xanthus’s face hardened with determination. “Bullshit.” He kicked his horse’s flanks, and they broke into a gallop, clearing the crumbled remains of the estate’s outer wall with a single leap. The jarring movement made Attia’s injured arm throb from shoulder to fingertip.

  As they rode away, Attia looked back over Xanthus’s shoulder. Behind them, the flames had reached the gate to the villa. The river of fire completely consumed the courtyard in a matter of minutes. A great rumble reverberated through the ground. Attia watched in horror as a whole piece of the cliffside broke away and the western section of the house fell into the sea. The heat of it singed the ends of her hair and made sweat bead all along her face.

  The horses proved a tribute to their breed—their little group was actually managing to outrun the flames. Attia vaguely heard Ennius shout out to them from some point ahead.

  Then the earth began to shake, and this time, it didn’t stop.

  A few of the horses stumbled, and the next thing Attia felt was rough grass under her cheek. Her arm dangled over empty space, and she was dizzy. So dizzy.

  Everyone was shouting as the ground beneath them fractured, chafing and grinding against itself. Lebuin clung to the turf with one hand. With his other, he tried to hold on to one of the Maedi warriors who lay unconscious beside him. But the man was too heavy. Lebuin groaned as his grip failed and the Maedi fell.

  Farther away, Xanthus sprawled on a piece of rock that was starting to separate from the cliff. His eyes were closed, and blood pooled beneath his temple. Attia struggled to reach his hand.

  The other gladiators and the Maedi rushed back to help. Ennius limped along behind them as fast as he could. Albinus and Crius grabbed branches and vines—anything they could reach.

  Xanthus’s eyes fluttered open. He turned his head and looked straight at Attia. “Breaking,” he whispered. “It’s breaking.” He blinked rapidly as though trying to clear his vision.

  “Just hold on!” Attia cried.

  Lebuin managed to lift himself a little higher, reaching out for the vines, but they snapped as soon as he tried to pull on them. He lunged for a branch hanging nearby and missed. Then he fell, his body slicing through the air and down to t
he sea. He didn’t make a sound.

  Attia’s voice became sharp with panic as she called Xanthus’s name. It took so much of her strength to fight off the darkness that loomed at the corners of her eyes, but she had to.

  He’d come back for her. He’d kept his promise, despite the danger. He was willing to die for her, and she didn’t think she’d ever loved anyone more than she loved Xanthus in that moment.

  With everything she had left, she reached across the divide and finally grabbed his hand. The rock beneath him was crumbling faster, slipping out from under him.

  “I’ve got you,” she said. “Just hold on.”

  Xanthus met her eyes before placing a soft kiss on the back of her hand. The rock beneath him cracked in half. “Run.”

  Then he let go.

  Attia screamed and screamed as Xanthus tumbled over the edge, her cries following him down into the depths of the Tyrrhenian.

  CHAPTER 25

  It took all of the gladiators to keep Attia from following Xanthus into the sea.

  Crius pressed his fingers against her neck in a series of movements that forced her into unconsciousness. The silence that followed made their ears ring.

  They ran as fast as they could, heavy with so many burdens.

  Pompeii burned in their wake.

  By the time Attia opened her eyes again, dawn was only a few hours away. They’d stopped to rest at the base of a grassy hillside. Their backs were turned so that they didn’t have to look at the devastation they’d left behind.

  Attia scrambled to her feet, looking frantically around. Forgetting. Just for a second. “Xanthus!”

  Crius stood and shook his head, reaching for her. “He’s gone, Attia.”

  “No!” She pushed him away with a violent lurch, her eyes skittering desperately over the landscape. “No! We have to go back!”