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The chamber she sought was well down the beach from the stairs. Sibyl endured several terror-filled minutes, creeping along past gaping boat chambers. She was nearly sucked out to sea when a breaker caught her in one of the broad openings and knocked her down. Sibyl clung to the beach with toes and fingernails and held her breath until the water receded, then scrambled back to her feet and lunged for the wall on the far side of the opening. She shuddered for breath and gulped down terror, but kept going.
Almost there... Just another few yards.
She finally made it and pressed back against the crumbling stone edge, then peered cautiously around the corner. Sibyl caught her breath.
Silhouetted against golden lantern light, his back turned toward her, stood Tony Bartlett. He was watching two slaves dig a deep hole near the back of the chamber, just where she remembered it. At his feet rested the heavy wooden box she had helped unearth less than a month previously... .
He was whistling the song she had grown to hate from their days on the dig, about the only man who'd ever been to hell and come back alive. There was no sign of Charlie Fly
Okay, Sib, you've caught him, all right. Red-handed.
Just what, she wondered wildly, was she supposed to do now?
Chapter Fifteen
Silver nearly killed them both.
Charlie couldn't really blame the horse. But the panic-stricken gelding very nearly killed Charlie and Lucania before he managed to wrestle the animal under some semblance of control—with the help of several men who jumped to his aid.
"Thank you!" Charlie gasped.
One of them held the horse for him while another asked, "Are you hurt, sir? You're limping."
"I'll be fine," Charlie managed. "Thank you again... ."
He led the horse farther down the street and rounded a corner before sagging against the nearest wall and giving vent to tears of agony. His daughter clung to his neck, trembling.
"Pater..." She was touching his face. "Pater. Wet." Her baby giggle was one of the most beautiful sounds he'd ever heard. She's not afraid....
"Papa," Charlie said softly in English. "Papa."
"Pa-pa." He closed his eyes. He had one bright little girl to raise. He kissed her forehead, afraid she might break in his grasp. Then, very carefully, checked his little girl for injuries. If I'd dropped her... But he hadn't. "We're okay, little Lucky, we're okay. Let's find Sibyl, now... ."
It was harder than ever, climbing into the saddle while trying to balance a baby over one shoulder, but Charlie managed it. He settled her onto his lap, chubby little legs on either side of Silver's bony withers. She squealed and played with the horse's mane.
The men who'd witnessed their initial upset handed Charlie back his helmet, which he jammed on before any of them could notice the brand on the side of his throat or the collar half hidden by his cloak.
"And my slave woman?" he asked hopefully.
"She ran that way, calling for you."
Charlie headed back the way he'd come, cursing fate and the foul luck that had separated them. He set Silver at a brisk trot, which elicited squeals of alarm from Lucania—squeals which turned to delighted gurgles once she realized "Papa" wasn't going to let her fall off. Charlie marveled, felt something hard and brutal inside him soften. She trusts me.
Nothing—nothing—was ever going to threaten this child the way it had threatened him. The gladius, secure for the moment in its sheath, hugged his hip reassuringly. He was armed, mounted...
More than a match for anything.
Except Vesuvius.
He started calling Sibyl's name every few minutes, not caring how many passersby stared in his wake. Charlie searched for hours. Lucania fell asleep in the crook of his arm, a limp little bundle of damp red-gold curls and dirty linen. He asked people if they had seen a woman wearing an Egyptian gown and collar, gave them Sibyl's description. A few had seen her. But every time Charlie set out in the direction they pointed, he came up empty.
Everywhere he looked, Charlie found earthquake rubble and wavering torches and lanterns. Citizens and slaves were busily shoring up roofs, repairing walls, or simply gossiping. Charlie couldn't believe anyone with two brain cells to rub together was still here, but the streets were crowded. Many houses appeared to be occupied, judging from the number of rooftop parties in progress.
He tracked Sibyl in circles for at least three hours, shouting her name until he was hoarse. Then people simply stopped reporting having seen her. As he sat beneath the massive equestrian statues of the basilica, trying to figure out why, a terrible thought occurred to him. What if Bericus had somehow laid hands on her again? She could be imprisoned at the townhouse.
How much time had passed since the eruption's first explosion at midday? He tried to gauge it, failed utterly. The false twilight had deepened into the genuine darkness of night. All he knew for certain was, the town would die near midnight.
He was ru
He had no trouble recalling which house was Bericus'. The main door stood wide open, spilling torchlight carelessly into the street. Agitated slaves milled uncertainly in the entrance. Charlie halted a safe distance away and called out to them.
"You there, is your master home?"
"Sir?" The slaves turned. One stepped forward. "No, sir. He is gone, and the mistress is dead, and we are afraid." The man was actually wringing his hands.
Charlie frowned. Another slave pushed his way to the front of the group and glared up at Charlie. A nasty bruise swelled one side of his face. "The crazy fool went ru
"Kill who?" Charlie asked sharply.
"His new plaything. He's already killed his wife, beat her to death, then he went to look for the slut. She was gone."
"What was this slave's name?"
The man spat. "Who cares?"
The sword was in his hand before he could even pause to think about it. He kicked Silver around. Lucania woke up and squealed in surprise. The slaves scattered, all except for his target. Charlie pi
Very softly, he repeated his question.
"Please—sir—mercy—" The man's eyes had widened. His lips quivered.
Another voice broke into Charlie's awareness. "Sir—I beg of you— Marcus does not know. Her name is Aelia, noble sir—"
Charlie stared down into a terrified woman's face.
"And no one knows where either of them have gone?"
General murmurs of denial reached his ears. Charlie swore.
"Get me a lantern!" he snapped.
The woman fled and returned so fast Charlie wondered if they'd had it waiting, already lit, for a pla
The unfortunate Marcus said something irreverent and fainted. Charlie reined Silver away from the slaves and left them standing in the street.
Damn, damn, damn...
The sea was terrifically rough, smashing into the seawall with foaming whitecaps. There was no sign of anyone along the visible stretch of beach in either direction—and no sign of a boat anywhere in the harbor.
Charlie balled his fist under Lucania's arm and spat something vile into the wind, which whipped the cloak back off his shoulders with a snap of heavy cloth. Somewhere in this shrouded, doomed city, Sibyl Johnson was fighting for her life.
He had to find her.