To see the previous entries, click on the following links: #1, #2, #3

And so it was that Marcus Varius, still with the weight of tragedy blocking his breath, decided to invoke the highest authorities of the city. With a determination that only duty to his family could give him, he sent a slave to fetch the duoviri, the magistrates who hold the power of law in Pompeii. They had to arrive before the sun went down, so that, with their impartial eyes, they could shed light on the shadows that had covered his home with horror.

Meanwhile, the peristyle, normally a haven of peace, remained unchanged, more in appearance than in substance. The garden, once teeming with life, now bore the stains of the cruel fate that had been unleashed there. The roses and lilies seemed oblivious to the scene, while the fountain, which used to reflect children's laughter and quiet murmurs, now bore mute witness to misfortune. The air was thick with silence, as if the gods themselves had held their breath at the brutality of what had happened.

The slaves, following their master's orders, dared not touch anything. Blood, still fresh, dripped slowly from the leaves of the flowers onto the tiles, leaving an ominous trail that mingled with the beauty of the garden. On one of the white columns, a torn garment, barely perceptible, fluttered to the rhythm of a gentle breeze that failed to dispel the shock of the moment.

To be continued

Header Image:

Image of Pompeii. Source: Artistic recreation in watercolour through Artificial Intelligence