POMPEII

DIES MARTIS A.D. III KAL. IVL. DCCCXXXII A.U.C. (29 Jun 79 CE),

My prayers have gone without response.

I do not go to the hill to wonder at the message of the gods.

Gnosos hints and quivers at my wife.

I see sometimes a look in her eye, an askance glint not meant to be seen, that makes the slave flee the room, pale.

The earth beneath our feet has taken to shaking.

VIII days ago, I furiously took notes after our augury for aedile. The auspices were quite foul and raised a fair amount of impious muttering from the magistrates presence. We will try again in X days, seeking the blessings of the gods, who appear quite querulous and dark-minded these days. I fell into a deep sleep after I had squeezed from my mind every last detail, and sketched out a templum on a wax tablet, hoping to project my visions onto that space of divination, if only in my head.

When I awoke, I was covered in blood. My desk and table were likewise soaked. The bodies of three crows were exploded before me, wings outstretched, lying over my tablet and notes.

My screams raised my wife and Gnosos from their respective slumbers. Julia fainted as she entered, seeing the carnage, with Gnosos catching her as she fell, fortunately.

The next day I began my vigil at Venus’ shrine, seeking wisdom and forgiveness. Neither yet has been forthcoming, but I have given up my pursuit of those dark omens. My wife’s mind seems much calmed by this and I give her a smiling front, but inside I am full of doom. Even the earth, the Mother of us all, shakes…in fear or anger, I don’t know.

DIES MARTIS A.D. X KAL. IVL. DCCCXXXII A.U.C. (22 Jun 79 CE),

Dearest Venus, Protectrix of our City -

I write you this solemn petition in hopes of wisdom in the service of my city and my family. Today, I will publically offer you 5 head of fine cattle for your blessing upon the following:

* Please forgive my transgression in seeking to divine the will of you and the gods yesterday.

* Please do not allow my sin to fall upon the city.

* Please grant me a way to see and understand the message you have been sending me, for it fills me with dread. They are strong portents, but I am the only one who sees. Allow me a way, Oh Beauteous!

Your Servant,

Lucius Claudius Pulcher

DIES LUNÆ A.D. XI KAL. IVL. DCCCXXXII A.U.C. (21 Jun 79 CE),

Post Meridian

I suppose I’d better be a little clearer, now that the excitement has truly passed and I’ve had time to consider.

This is the third day this has happened. V days previous, the birds behaved in a very peculiar fashion. I made note, mentally, but in a frame of amusement. The sort of thing my friend Gaius Plinius Secundus and his nephew would point out with some glee and then scrawl out on a tablet or any scroll that happened to be nearby. In the shape of a spearhead, a great flock of blackbirds would come out of the northwest, LX or so, circle overhead and then explode in a thunderous flutter in a mad rush toward Pompeii. And in the hazy morning air, they’d reach the city and disappear. Once was astonishing, as anyone reading this might imagine. But it happened three times that morning. By the third, my amusement was much diminished and I imagined a hot breeze against my back as I strained to see where the flock had gone.

Gaius, Gnosos and I sat out the next day, at about the same time, wondering if there would be a repeat display. Gaius was particularly excited and had two fresh wax tablets at the ready; he’d even canceled a small naval exercise in hopes of catching it. But nothing happened. Until the next day.

Alone, I was walking in the northern country-side, as I’m wont. It was afternoon. My mind was abuzz with interpretations of the event previous, but without the templum scrawled into the ground, it was difficult to judge the sectors of the sky involved. I was half-considering the impiety of setting up a false templum on the site and attempting to re-imagine the moment. I paused in my perambulations, intending to march to the site, when our esteemed Neighbor gave a rumble. This altered my frame of mind, a vague suspicion that perhaps the gods were sending me a gentle note of disfavor concerning my plan. So I stood there, a tad befuddled; as Seneca said: "If one does not know to which port one is sailing, no wind is favorable." Then, as I loitered blinkingly, I saw it. The flock. Still of a great quantity, on the same course. And still a trilogy.

Even in the heat, the hairs stood on the back of my neck.

The next day, I canceled everything on my schedule, giving my apologies to a number of clients and a few magistrates that squinted at my reckless disregard for their consideration. Gnosos and I grabbed stools and sat all day on the hill where I’d first seen this event. We sweated and spoke little in the stupifying heat. They’ll likely rename me Strabo after spending that whole day straining my eyes, staring at the sky. As Gnosos unwrapped dinner, he thought it an opportune time to share some gossip concerning my wife. By that time, I was in rather a foul mood, and dizzy from the heat and wine I’d been diluting my boredom with over the previous few hours. It was plainly absurd and quite impossible. I was very tempted to beat him, but given that he’d been drinking as well, I kept still and retreated into a sulk. As the sun set, we went home, robbed of a day.

Yesterday, I hinted to the college that perhaps there was something afoot. Or aflutter, rather. I only managed to raise a vague interest, however. The height of my excitement was purchasing a new scroll for my thoughts in the forum.

Today, though, it has happened again. And I have a mighty opportunity! There will be augury this afternoon and I will choose this spot for the templum. As the college seeks the omen for our esteemed city’s maintenance, I will be reading something entirely different. By tonight, I will know the thoughts of the gods. I will know what message they intend solely for me.

DIES LUNÆ A.D. XI KAL. IVL. DCCCXXXII A.U.C. (21 Jun 79 CE)

Up early today. Gnosos wasn’t particularly pleased at being rousted before Sol Indiges had even rolled his way around from Autochthon. Or, if you prefer, the round underbelly of the Earth where the Indians or whoever were forced to walk on their heads. Who knows what colorful nonsense sloshes around in the head of a Greek? Needless to say, whatever it was, he kept his mouth shut and got me properly equipped for my day.

The air was heavy with moisture and a foreshadowing of heat. There would be no need to watch the birds to understand that by noon, we’d all be forced into the weak shelter of shade. I’d have to cancel my lunch with Gaius Plinius; with his steady eye for natural doings, he’d no doubt see that the trip over from Miscenium would be a severe trial.

I decided to proceed out to the hill we’d be using later for some augury. We’d have public auspices to take, giving our aedile permission to begin repair work on our poor collapsed temples. No doubt the gods would be a bit peevish, considering we’d been happy to leave the damn things in a pile for XVII years.

The air was still sullen and I was quite damp by the time I’d finished trudging my way up. The view of our city, which was steadily coming to life as the morning progressed, and the docile Bay beyond was becoming quite clear, though, as the mists dissipated. A deep breath gave me the scent of the sea. Gulls sounded.

When I could put aside my irritation at being away from Roma, Pomeii really *was* quite delightful. It is a playful town, busy with shipping and whoring and trade. Really quite a fine representation of the whole Imperium, when I thought about it. I’d been pulled back from Rome and a feisty start of Senatoring,to watch the decline and fall of my dear uncle, and adopted father. A little too much into trade for my taste, but he’d been a fine man who’d raised me from relative obscurity, introduced me to my two wives and paid off enough of the mob to get my first election to office. He’d even suffered through being my first client, as I attempted lawyering. How awkward for him. But it worked; I’d raised a fine reputation. He’d gotten old and fat, though, and he’d had a fall from the deck of one of his ships. He lived for three weeks after I’d arrived.

I considered all this while gnawing at the bread Gnosos had tucked into my toga.

Ah-hah! There it was again!

Of course, the scenario was all wrong. No templum, no pipers, no collage of nattering idiot priests. The birds, though. Those fluttering, inane puppets of divine will…were speaking. Out of turn, and privately, to me.

Normally, I’d think it chance. Weird luck. But it was so deliberate! And it repeated! Over and over and over. Until someone else would arrive to shatter the moment.

And my gods…hints of ira deorum that made my blood turn cold.

DIES SOLIS A.D. XII KAL. IVL. DCCCXXXII A.U.C. (20 June 79 CE)

It’s a fine thing to be a Roman. The mere fact of your election indicates that you have what it takes to do job. The citizens are the truest barometer of ability. It’s caused me no end of amusement to find myself elected Augur, here in Pompeii. Apparently, the mob is equipped as well to evaluate my otherworldly perceptions, my attention to the subtleties of our Gods-driven world.

I’ve had to start a new journal. Given the time that I spend watching the skies, I find my mind filling with all manner philosophic effluvia. Having been at this role for VII months, I find myself attuned to the nature of the omens I read and no longer needing the assistance of the professional bullshitters who actually run the temple. Yes, my mind drifts and a spill it all out onto these scrolls, like some sort of Greek.

Things of interest have been occurring. But I must go. My wife, Julia, has sent Gnosos to find me.