Time Wept

“Roll already, Lucius” Aulus complained. Lucius snapped out of his stupor and focused on the tesserae board. He shook the cup in his hand and put it down. All three of the alae came up marked six. “Wow! A Venus” Aulus exclaimed, but Lucius didn’t pay attention. He threw a piece from his panis bread to his pet dog, Cerberus. But like his master, Cerberus paid no attention to his companion, barking incessantly at Vesuvius instead. All of a sudden the ground began to rumble and the tesserae board bristled and shivered knocking off all of the ivory pieces on top of it. “Neptune, be merciful” prayed Aulus. And just as abruptly as it came the shaking stopped. “Just the usual tremor” Lucuis’ brother Aulus said, more to himself than anyone else. But looking toward Vesuvius, an eerie fear gripped Lucius. They’re not the usual tremors, it said, They are a part of something bigger. And that feeling clutched at his heart in a vice-like grip, squeezing out every ounce of courage left in and drowning him in a tidal wave of fear. Hundreds of cubitum away, a similar grip clutched at a messengers throat, dragging him to the cold depths of death. ____________________ Pliny the elder was inspecting his troops getting ready to sail. Everything was going smoothly. Order was omnipresent and chaos was inexistent, as it should be. Order and rigidity was one of the main principles upon which the Roman Empire was wrought. And so, Pliny stood on the docks, rigid and stoic, and observed the ongoings like a hawk. Vitallus, his manservant, came forward while balling his fist and banging his chest with it with his head bowed throughout the time. Pliny nodded. “Sir, there’s a messenger from Herculaneum” Vitallus addressed his masters boots. “ It’s from the Villa of Papyri,” he said. Pliny Frowned, trying to fathom why Rectina would message him now having dined with him only a few days before. “Bring him forward” Pliny ordered. “I can’t sir” he replied “the messenger choked to death a few minutes ago after handing me this” Vitellus produced a tightly furled scroll from the depths of his toga. Pliny’s nerves tingled as he took the scroll from Vitellus. After he read it, they were on fire. Tring to keep himself calm, he ordered Vitellus “Have the galley’s crow work double-time and ready my cutter as fast as possible. Now!” Vitellus’ fears were confirmed as he saw the fire that had died along with the messenger rekindle in his master’s eyes. A fire fueled by fear and sparked by panic. A raging fire. Something was happening in Herculaneum. Something disastrous. And they were going to run headlong into it. _____________________________ Lucius was at the public bath, mulling over his thoughts when the ground rumbled again. All around him shelves began to rattle, shaking and throwing their contents away. Brightly painted porcelain jars containing perfumes and scented oils shattered against the cold floor. The earth shook wilder this time, its fury greater. All around him the plastered pillars shook and looked as if they were going to give in. Lucius hastily got out of the water, and pulled on his kilt and Chiton ran out of the room. What he saw outside made him want to run inside. Vesuvius was bristling with fury, smoke pouring out of its mouth at a ferocious pace. All around him everything seemed to be shivering in fright. Mud thatched houses and plastered walls crumbled to dust. “Oh Lord Zeus” Lucius cried. And Zeus answered. With thunder and lightning. Ravens flew away from the base of the volcano. People came rushing out but as soon as they got out they stood paralyzed, mouths agape. The wind picked up a ferocious pace, shrieking for the villagers who stood mute. “Oh Lord Zeus” muttered Lucius as the very same prayer escaped the lips of the roman commander Pliny the Elder as he rushed inland to rescue his childhood friend. _________________ Pliny gripped the rail of his galley’s starboard deck. The wind was blowing inland, helping them sail faster. Vitellus came near Pliny and saluted. “Captain said that we’ll arrive in an hour if the winds keep up” he announced. Pliny nodded and Vitellus took this as is dismissal. Pliny stared towards the distant speck of land. Was it his imagination or was there smoke pluming towards the sky. Pliny scrunched up his eyes and it seemed to dissolve in the fierce rays of the sun. Get a hold of yourself, he ordered himself. With an almighty effort, he rid his mind completely of suspicions and fears and fixed his iron-clad gaze upon the horizon. ________________ “The elders gathered at the forum,” Aulus told Lucius over the low monotonous rumble of the earth. “They said that it’s nothing huge and that it will be alright.” But Lucius was far from being relaxed. He was tensed up like a compressed coil, his reflexes waiting to spring. Vesuvius pulled his gaze towards itself like a magnet pulling metal towards itself. “And the smoke?” Asked Lucius. “They said that Vulcan just stoked his forge and that Vesuvius was not aflame” Aulus replied promptly, a bit too promptly perhaps and Lucius realised that Aulus was a lot more shaken up than he let on. Lucius remained silent but the plume of smoke billowing from the volcano's mouth which grew denser by the moment didn’t look like the offset of a tiny spark. No, it heralded something else. Something bigger, stronger and more dangerous. It heralded the oncoming of a disaster, the voice in his head whispered. And as that voice once again gripped his heart in an almighty grasp he resisted their dragging, refusing to sink into the depths of fear. Wrenching his mind away from everything else, Lucius turned to look at somewhere where Vesuvius wouldn’t loom like a foreboding presence. His eyes locked on the small amphitheatre where there would be a play every week. They were going to play the story Aeneas tomorrow, the story of the hero who found Rome. Perhaps he would go see it, Lucius thought. A cloud shifted and the sun's rays strengthened. On the distant amphitheatre, the dark and foreboding silhouette of the smoking volcano was drawn covering it entirely and the amphitheatre seemed to be cowering in its shadows. Lucius scrunched his eyes and stared at the amphitheatre, scared and mesmerized. And as quick as it had left the cloud came back, diminishing the day’s brilliance and pulling the shadow back into its former hazy self. His face distorted in a frown, Lucius crouched and scratched Cerberus under his chin. But the poor mutt was restless and agitated still barking madly at the distant volcano. And it’s not just Cerebrus, Lucius realised. None of the dogs around was silent. None of them. Amid this cacophony of howls and barks, Lucius had the sinking feeling that something was wrong. And once again his gaze fell upon the bristling volcano in the distance. It shook as if indulging in evil mirth, pulsing with power. And in a moment of rushing thoughts and fragmented misgivings, he mused that it looked like the glowing coals which lay scattered around a cooking pit in their home. Disaster, the voice whispered in his head. _____________ “Drop Anchor” the Captain boomed. The whole crew bustled around, eyes down, as their commander waited for the gangplank to be lowered. The ship opposite of them mimicked their actions, steadying themself so that Pliny could come over. Pliny climbed aboard the merchant’s vessel. “Pompanus” he greeted the owner of the ship with no hint of an emotion in his eyes. The pot-bellied merchant, however, managed a grim smile. Lowering to a small bow he greeted the Roman General with a small touch of respect. "On a business trip?" Pliny asked looking around. Pompanus shook his head. "Vesuvius is angry, my lord." He said in a dire tone "And it's anger may consume us all. I tried to warn the villagers but they are not among those who pay heed to reason. 'Neptune will save them' they said. And I left them at Neptune's mercy. I, however, make my own fortune as I have done since my birth. I would rather try to escape than wallow in the hope of salvation from god's unseen. But '' he swept his arms around him " the winds are against me. The same auraei that pushed you here pulls me back to the shore. My only hope is if Vesuvius' anger won't reach me here, but to be honest I am prepared for the worst." concluded Pompanus in a grim tone. "The people want to escape now" Pliny replied, holding the scroll up so that Pompanus could see. "I am going to their aid but two hands are better than one. Will you help me?" he asked and to this Pompanus smiled grimly again. "I am nothing but a businessman, my lord" he replied with a sombre expression. My courage is as feeble as the summer wind that does nothing but stirs up some meagre dust. And even if my courage was forged in the fires of Vulcan, there would be no point in going back. This fire, this rage that threatens to engulf us all, it picked it's to arrive like a battle seasoned general. With the wind blowing inland, there is no escape from the m******e that is coming in all surety. Moreover, there is no point in going back. They are too far away." Pompanus said with the air of a man resigned for the worst. "Farewell, my friend" Pliny bade him. Without a moment's hesitation, he started walking towards the gangplank. At the last moment, he turned around, his eyes blazing with determination. "But remember my friend, Fortune favours the brave" and with that, he turned on his heel and returned to his ship. ______________________ “I don’t have a good feeling about that” Aulus said, jerking his head towards Vesuvius. Lucius turned to look at the now visibly shaking volcano, its mouth spewing smoke at a ferocious pace. Every time he looked at it his heart constricted and hands clutched at his throat, making it hard to breathe. At first, he thought he was panicking. But he understood now. Smoke from the mountain had settled all around them, imbuing the whole town in a hazy film. People were coughing and retching, but they still told themselves that nothing was wrong. That everything would be okay… How far from the truth were they, asked the voice in Lucius’ head and all at once the whispering voices came rushing back into his head. Lucius squeezed his eyes and tried to force silence, but the voices screamed and clamoured and banged at his head. Snatches of phrases floated, nay raced apart in his head. But they all chanted one word in unison. And all of a sudden the whispers died with that one word echoing in the deepest recesses of Lucius’ mind…. Disaster. And just as suddenly, a loud roar ripped the air and a comet streaked, nought from the sky but towards it, etching a second sun upon the vast heavens. It grew branches and withered and slithered growing into a glowing coniferous, shaping into Hades’ scythe. Disaster… the whispers echoed. ______________________ Pliny and his troops were riding as hard as he mares allowed to when the blazing pine was etched on the sky. “Oh Lord Zeus” Pliny exclaimed, unable to control his shock. HIs stared at the blinding scene above, his mouth agape frozen for all except his ragged breaths. Vitellus, the only person present with the privilege to approach the general, addressed his lord’s feet “My Lord” and at his words, Pliny snapped out of his reverie. “Forward” he ordered, his voice cracking into ragged pieces. And they rode faster… harder. Determined to save at least the people living in the outermost town. But the flames were faster. They weren’t burning, they were flowing. They chased the troops like flaming chimaeras. And in an instant, Pliny and his men were in the middle of fuming forest of flames. This was when people gave up, when they curled up and succumbed to death. This was when the saw their end. But the men atop mares were no ordinary citizens. They were soldiers of Rome, whose valour was forged in the strongest fires of Vulcan. Unfazed they rode ahead parting, as much as hey could, the wall of flame with their shields. But the moment they reached a village on the outskirts of Herculaneum, their courage was tested. For at that moment, that village was a breathing image of hell on earth. Flames swirled around everywhere. On the streets, on the haystack in the stables, in and outside houses. Everywhere the eye turned it saw fire and smoke. People ran about with no sense of direction, some lay down clutching their throats choking to death while some others ran around trying to quench the flames that burned them alive. The troops finally had to admit defeat. They turned towards their leader and what they saw rocked them to their cores. There etched clearly in their leader’s eyes, which had looked at the face of death battle after battle, was terror. Terror in the face of an adversary which he hadn’t faced before.Terror… “Retreat” he commanded in a ragged whisper, and in a sudden bowing motion he doubled over as violent coughs shook his entire body, splattering his mares white mane with red flecks. He turned his horse around, his hands slipping on the reins, and his men followed. But this time they didn’t ride. This time they flew… flew for their life from an oncoming deluge. They reentered the forest they had passed on their way, and smoke rushed into their lungs, constricting their breaths. Pliny couldn’t take it anymore. “Halt!” he ordered and everyone stopped, their steeds pawing the ground restlessly. Pliny tried to get down from his saddle, but his tired and emaciated limbs failed him and he fell down in a heap. “My Lord” Vitellus cried as he rushed towards his master. But Pliny shook away his outstretched hand and drew his ceremonial sword, laid with silver and precious stones. He gave it to his servant and looked into the depths of his soul. And when his lips failed him, his eyes spoke. They pleaded, pleaded for death… they pleaded for salvation from the oncoming deluge. Salvation from being burned to a state beyond ashes. “Kill me” Pliny croaked, his voice ragged and broken. Vitellus nodded, tears streaming down his face. “Invenium Elysium” he whispered. May you find heaven. And with those departing words Vitellus brought down the sword and Pliny crumpled towards the ground, still and lifeless. At this sight, a heart-rending wail escaped Vitellus’ lips and upon the same sword, which dripped with his master’s blood, he fell and departed the world to join his master even in death. Pliny’s troop stood around this scene dumbfounded. And slowly the truth that their commander had grasped seeped in. They understood what he had. They understood that this deluge was there reckoning, which trapped them in like a cornered prey. This deluge which in its power glowed, which in its rage pulsed with the beat od demons was to be their reckoning. All sides were cut off. There would be no escape. __________________________ Flames flowed down like a crashing wave, and before it engulfed om wave after wave of despair and anguish gripped his heart. He stood there, a boy barely thirteen years old, and death was racing towards him without a single doubt. Aulus gripped his hand, and at that moment his fears were washed away. He would die, that was for sure. But he would not die alone as was the ill fate of many. He would die, there was no doubt about it, but he would have died after having loved, loved back, laughed and experienced the pleasures of having a deeply cherished family even if it were only for thirteen years. He placed his head on his brother’s chest and at that moment he was surprised to find that no tears escaped his eyes. The flames flowed over them, a glowing mass of uncontained and unmeasured potency. Flowing hell. And in its fury, it consumed everything beneath it- dispassionate to the rich and poor, the old and young. It consumed all into oblivion, to a state beyond ashes within a fraction of a moment. All that was left of them was the solid domes that formed around the victims. Domes shaped like bodies. And as he felt himself begin to burn, time slowed down to a standstill and seconds were fractured and those fractures were split, and in that infinitesimally minute scrap of time, one word echoed. But this time they were not echoed by voices that whispered at the back of his mind. This time the voice that spoke was the voice that spoke for him every day. And this time it spoke not of disasters unforeseen, but of love- love for himself and his companions, his family and friends. And with that final thought, Lucius soul bid farewell to the dome that covered the ground where he had last stood. _____________________________ Pliny the youngers eyes spilt with tears that weren’t held back. News of Vesuvius had just reached them. Under the cover of stars, his uncle’s two-year-old toddler came waddling towards him. Sitting on his lap, the infant placed his head on Pliny’s chest and asked in his sweet voice “Where is father, Uncle?” and at that question, tears came rolling out of his eyes again. “He is in Elysium, dear. Waiting for you with gifts and toys.” was his reply. ____________________________ Millenia later, Archaeologist poured liquid plaster into the cast made by the molten lava that formed over another one of the victims of Pompeii. As the solid plaster saw the light of day, the sun once again shined on Lucius’ face as he contently laid his head on his brother’s chest