appearance as it did. From a single, unbroken peak will emerge two, a reminder to mere mortals that they are but passing through this valley of bitter tears.
For ever and ever.
Verus sleeps too. The sleep of the just.
Tomorrow will bring neither rescue nor redemption, he can bet on that. But in the meantime he is alive, and wants for nothing.
Only peace and quiet, now. The rest can wait until sunrise.
Hang tough, Briton. Grit your teeth.
Rome awaits you, and you do not know it yet.
From mare nostrum to the Eternal City
The person you are matters more than the place to which you go; for that reason we should not make the mind a bondsman to any one place.
S ENECA , Epistulae morales ad Lucilium , I 28 , 4
Misenum to Rome, AD 79, AugustâOctober
WHO SAID ALL ROADS lead to Rome?
Maybe they do, but it is not easy to get there, especially when fate has decided you will be a slave.
Verus awakens with his body in pieces after a dreamless sleep.
Misenum is as peaceful as a lioness sleeping on the seashore. The air is still thick with cinders, the entire Gulf wrapped in ash and gruesome memories.
As he returns to life, the view that meets his eyes from the room he finds himself in is not something one sees every day. The monster is gone, Vulcan and his burning rage have returned to the bowels of Vesuvius. But the eruption has changed the coastline forever. And, even more than that, it has changed the souls of the people who were born and raised at the foot of the red god.
The smoke is a constant presence, building up in the air at the top of the room, filling it even all these miles away. Waves crash menacingly against the shore and the seabed boils with unquenched rage.
The worst has passed, but now the hard work begins.
There is a world to be remade, and the dead await their final farewell.
It is a new day, time to move forward.
Verus gets up off the wooden bed, pulling himself to his feet and looking around: yellow walls darkened by the mist seeping through the window, an earthenware jug, wooden bowls filled with ice water, and a chamber pot which the Briton mistakes for a fruit basket. Then again, the boy who has grown into a man still has a long way to go before he learns that sated dreamers get to piss into pots.
Too much luxury all around for it to be a prison, that much is certain. And yet the door is barred and there is no way out.
Verus has no idea what happened after he passed out. He only knows he is near the port. The two-hundred and fifty ships of the Imperial fleet lying at anchor down in the bay leave him in no doubt. Outside the window was all the hubbub of loading, unloading and good intentions, a procession of
hastati
and landing craft, provisions leaving and precious objects arriving.
It is hunting season and Rome thirsts for blood.
When the bolt slides open, Verus starts and puts himself instinctively on the defensive. But there is no brute behind the thick wooden door of the gilded cell, nor a hard-faced guard, but a red-cheeked maidservant. She is small but self-assured, a brisk-mannered girl with hands reddened by too many mornings spent at the washbasin, and the neat haste of someone who has not a moment to lose between sunrise and sunset.
âCome,â she says. âThe master is waiting for you.â
She uses the Latin word
dominus
, which means everything and nothing. It describes a man with money to spend and servants to command of course, but it does not tell you what kind of property he is absolute master of. As far as Verus knows, even Demetriusâmay his black soul roast in the underworldâmade certain people address him that way. Yet he was the first to kneel down and use the very same term every time he happened to find himself in front of a servant of the Empire.
Verus begins to walk and the servant leads the way. Unwittingly, the petite girl swings her hips as she moves. But even though it is a sight deserving of a closer look, it is another miracle that
For ever and ever.
Verus sleeps too. The sleep of the just.
Tomorrow will bring neither rescue nor redemption, he can bet on that. But in the meantime he is alive, and wants for nothing.
Only peace and quiet, now. The rest can wait until sunrise.
Hang tough, Briton. Grit your teeth.
Rome awaits you, and you do not know it yet.
From mare nostrum to the Eternal City
The person you are matters more than the place to which you go; for that reason we should not make the mind a bondsman to any one place.
S ENECA , Epistulae morales ad Lucilium , I 28 , 4
Misenum to Rome, AD 79, AugustâOctober
WHO SAID ALL ROADS lead to Rome?
Maybe they do, but it is not easy to get there, especially when fate has decided you will be a slave.
Verus awakens with his body in pieces after a dreamless sleep.
Misenum is as peaceful as a lioness sleeping on the seashore. The air is still thick with cinders, the entire Gulf wrapped in ash and gruesome memories.
As he returns to life, the view that meets his eyes from the room he finds himself in is not something one sees every day. The monster is gone, Vulcan and his burning rage have returned to the bowels of Vesuvius. But the eruption has changed the coastline forever. And, even more than that, it has changed the souls of the people who were born and raised at the foot of the red god.
The smoke is a constant presence, building up in the air at the top of the room, filling it even all these miles away. Waves crash menacingly against the shore and the seabed boils with unquenched rage.
The worst has passed, but now the hard work begins.
There is a world to be remade, and the dead await their final farewell.
It is a new day, time to move forward.
Verus gets up off the wooden bed, pulling himself to his feet and looking around: yellow walls darkened by the mist seeping through the window, an earthenware jug, wooden bowls filled with ice water, and a chamber pot which the Briton mistakes for a fruit basket. Then again, the boy who has grown into a man still has a long way to go before he learns that sated dreamers get to piss into pots.
Too much luxury all around for it to be a prison, that much is certain. And yet the door is barred and there is no way out.
Verus has no idea what happened after he passed out. He only knows he is near the port. The two-hundred and fifty ships of the Imperial fleet lying at anchor down in the bay leave him in no doubt. Outside the window was all the hubbub of loading, unloading and good intentions, a procession of
hastati
and landing craft, provisions leaving and precious objects arriving.
It is hunting season and Rome thirsts for blood.
When the bolt slides open, Verus starts and puts himself instinctively on the defensive. But there is no brute behind the thick wooden door of the gilded cell, nor a hard-faced guard, but a red-cheeked maidservant. She is small but self-assured, a brisk-mannered girl with hands reddened by too many mornings spent at the washbasin, and the neat haste of someone who has not a moment to lose between sunrise and sunset.
âCome,â she says. âThe master is waiting for you.â
She uses the Latin word
dominus
, which means everything and nothing. It describes a man with money to spend and servants to command of course, but it does not tell you what kind of property he is absolute master of. As far as Verus knows, even Demetriusâmay his black soul roast in the underworldâmade certain people address him that way. Yet he was the first to kneel down and use the very same term every time he happened to find himself in front of a servant of the Empire.
Verus begins to walk and the servant leads the way. Unwittingly, the petite girl swings her hips as she moves. But even though it is a sight deserving of a closer look, it is another miracle that
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