To see the previous installments, click on the following links: #1, #2, #3, #4, #5, #6, #7, #8

And so it all began... I remember well the morning when my fate was written, when two imposing figures, Servius Albinus and Publius Quintilius, came in search of me. The pale light of dawn was just beginning to outline the streets of Pompeii, and the day, still warm in its awakening, already bore the weight of death. They soon arrived at the house of my master, Gnaeus Cornelius Rufus, a noble patrician whose generosity, though often calculated, had granted me freedom, but not complete autonomy. I still lived in his shadow, though that morning something would change.

The duoviri entered with a solemn step, but on their faces I sensed doubt, a bewilderment that could not be concealed. There was a crime to solve, a murder that shook the very foundations of the city, but I knew, before they even opened their mouths, that they had not come for justice. No, what they needed was someone on whom they could offload responsibility if things went wrong. Someone who, if the wind changed direction, could take the blame, exonerating them of any mistakes. And that someone was me.

It was not the first time that my cunning had placed me in complex situations. In fact, Pompeii seemed to enjoy whispering stories about me, about my uncertain origins, about how, despite my status as a freedman, I possessed a mind as sharp as any Roman-educated patrician. But what many did not know, what they could not understand, was that I did not quite belong to this time. He had lived and seen things they could not even imagine. At times, I felt that I carried the knowledge of centuries, as if my perspective was not tied to this present, but to something bigger, more distant. Perhaps that is why, when faced with the enigmas of this world, I could see beyond the obvious and, sadly, I knew the future of Pompeii.

Rufus, my master, listened to the duoviri's request with his characteristic calm. He knew he could not keep me if Pompeii demanded me, but he also knew that every situation could be profited from. They agreed on 1,500 sesterces for the mission, a generous sum for my services and a price that included me as a commodity in the transaction. Although I was not surprised, a slight uneasiness ran through me. It was not the first time I had been used and it would not be the last.

As the duoviri withdrew, I could not help but reflect on what lay ahead. The assassination of the patrician Lucius Flavius Crispus, a relative of the emperor himself, was something that could shake the foundations of Pompeii. And now, with no choice, he was at the forefront of that investigation. Rufus' thoughts were focused on profit, the duoviri's on protecting their positions, but mine... mine were far from here, watching from a place they could not comprehend.

I accepted the assignment with a mixture of resignation and curiosity. I knew that this task might lead me to discover more than I had set out to discover, both about the secrets Pompeii held and about myself. After all, there was something in the air, something that felt ancient and unknown, as if the shadows of this place were about to unveil a mystery that transcended the crime of a single man.

And so, in the growing light of a new day, my fate was sealed. The duoviri had got what they wanted and I had been drawn, once again, into a game of power, intrigue and death, in which, if I was not careful, I would end up as the sacrificial piece.

To be continued

Header Image:

Artistic recreation of a Pompeii street. Source: reddit.com