POMPEII

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.

Written by: L. Claudius Pulcher

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