Lucius and Servilia

 Lucius and Servilia

Following a few years’ absence, we recently returned to Ercolano, known to many as ancient Herculaneum.  From Calitri, we traveled through picturesque Campania along SS-7 toward Avellino.  Joining the A-16 Autostrada, we then headed west toward distant Naples and soon found ourselves in the shadow of towering Mt Vesuvius.  Rounding it, we proceeded along the coast to Herculaneum, lying just a few miles north of Pompeii.  

Herculaneum Today, One Third Revealed

Centuries earlier, with its fine weather and charming sea views, Herculaneum became a luxurious retreat for wealthy Roman landowners.  In many respects, Herculaneum is a smaller version of Pompeii.  While both are buried Roman cities, we find Herculaneum better preserved, far more compact, and with significantly fewer modern-day visitors. 

In 79 A.D., Herculaneum was buried under layers of volcanic material more than 50 feet deep at the western base of Mount Vesuvius.  Today, little more than a third of the ancient city has been exhumed, and for good reason.  Much of it lies below the present-day city of Ercolano, making excavating the entire city unlikely.  What has been uncovered is nearly intact.  Today, Herculaneum is a ghost town—water basins, furniture, and racks of amphoras preserved in carbonized multi-story buildings, complete with wooden doors, window frames, shutters, and second-story balconies.  Only their inhabitants are missing.  However, this wasn’t the case when we took the cloverleaf exit from the Autostrada toward the remains of Ercolano. 

Blue and white team streamers, banners, and flags were everywhere following Naples’ soccer victory in the round-robin Scydetto Cup tournament, crowning them champions of their Italian Serie-A league.  The added excitement of this being their third tournament victory explained why “3” appeared on pennants draped throughout the city.  

Our arrival was hindered by it being market day.  It made passage even with the mirrors in our little Fiat pulled in, challenging to say the least.  A sea of pedestrians surrounded us, suffocating our Fiat as they milled through cars parked in that every-which-way style Italians so enjoy.  I tried my best to avoid contact as cars jockeyed for advancement, competing to move forward even an inch.  Within this press of vehicles, the surprising whir of scooters on either side added to the fluidity of the chaotic scene.  I hesitated to even chance a look; the buzz of their engines convinced me they were too close.  Everything seemed in motion except us.  With the help of GPS “Margaret” and a few scavi (excavations) signs, we eventually recognized something familiar, a pizzeria with a rooftop seating area and just below it, the parking area for the archeological site.  

Over a series of visits, I have come to know the scavi better.  Walking its streets from the Decumanus Maximus (main street) down the various Cardi (streets running vertically to Decumanus) to its former waterfront, I have poked and pondered at what life on the seacoast of the Roman Empire, midday on 24 August 79 A.D, was like.  The italicized fiction which follows is my musing of how it may have unfolded that day for two of Herculaneum’s inhabitants, Lucius and Servilia.

His name was Lucius.  Like his working-class father before him, Lucius was a muratore (mason).  In August 79 AD, Lucius was 25 years old, which was just about middle age for a Roman at the time.  He lived outside the gates of Herculaneum with his family and his mother since Lucius’ father had died

Lucius' Wine Shop with
Four Wine Choices Depicted

in a building site accident three years earlier.  Their family descended from Greeks situated on the Gulf of Tarentum (today’s Ionian Sea) near the city of Sybaris, which had a reputation for luxury based on the wealth of its inhabitants.  This prosperity fueled the demand for new construction and sustained their ancestors through the years, allowing them to become masters at their trade.

Early that fateful morning Lucius made his way through the triumphal arch along the crowded high street of Decumanus Maximus.  A pillar at the entrance to a shop he frequented in this part of the city bore a familiar sign depicting four different color jugs of the varieties of wine sold there and nearby the price of each.  He’d stick with diluted posca.  It was popular with the general populace because of its pleasing taste, reasonable price, and, most importantly, since it kept his breath fresh, especially on a day like today when he had a potential job ahead.  The figure of Semo Sancus, the divinity often associated with Hercules by whom people swore in business dealings, and the inscription ‘ad Sancum’ stood out at the top of the advertisement.  This thriving shop also hosted an inn where drinks and food were served since it was customary to have cibus meridianus (the midday meal) away from home. 

Restaurant  Where Fish With 
Garam Sauce Was Served 

Lucius had arrived before the midday surge began, yet he decided to eat since he hoped to be working the remainder of the day. Besides, the scent of the garum sauce, a local delicacy of Ercolano, teased his nose.  He opted for some fish topped with garum sauce, along with plump olives, cheese, and salted bread, along with that cup of wine.

He hadn’t far to go along Cardo II to reach his destination.  A slave by the door announced his arrival and Lucius paid the man he’d hired to bring along the rest of his tools and building materials.  The cloud rising above Vesuvius had grown larger from when Lucius first saw it earlier that day.  As he waited in the vestibulum hallway of the main entrance, his gaze drifted into the atrium.  The columns surrounding a rectangular impluvium basin were heavily damaged, exposing their brick interiors.  He could only imagine the condition of the columns surrounding the larger perstylium to the rear of the home.  If his suspicions were correct, this job could take time, days in fact, especially since the surfaces of these columns were fluted. 

Lucius had worked for Servilia before, repairing downspouts important for collecting water in the cistern for her garden.  She clearly appreciated his earlier work, for a slave had delivered a message to

Water Downspout

the Collegia Fabrorum craftsmen’s guild days earlier demanding Lucius’ return.  

The earth had been shaking for several weeks.  Tremors occurred intermittently, and the townspeople were accustomed to these frequent vibrations.  Priests in many city temples offered sacrifices to Neptune, God not only of the sea and storms but earthquakes.  Lucius recalled how Herculaneum had been badly damaged by an earthquake 16 years earlier.  Repairs had been going on ever since, accounting for the abundance of work available and the gold and silver denarii in his pouch.  This new shaking would only mean more work.

Servilia’s home was relatively large.  A sizeable wooden partition separated the atrium and the tablinum (the office in a Roman home), where her husband received his clients.  Glancing about, Lucius could see that someone had updated the domus since his last visit adding large-scale murals with archi-tectural, floral, and bird motifs in several rooms.  Unique mosaics of stone, marble, and glass coalesced to create sophisticated scenes that looked lifelike on many of the floors.  

When Servilia appeared, she was everything 

Servilia's Garden

he recalled, down to the gold bracelet hugging her wrist and matching earrings dangling from her ears.  She was attractive, to say the least, of the patrician aristocratic class who, like many wealthy Roman citizens, sought a pleasant place to escape their daily lives in a larger city.  It may have been nearby Neapolis, but where exactly, Lucius was unsure. 

He knew few details about her husband other than what he’d overheard while waiting from conversations of house staff.  He had discovered that her merchant husband was away in Neapolis arranging his next shipping venture.  In the oppressive heat of late August, Servilia was enjoying their oceanside Herculaneum villa in anticipation for his return.  

Tall, with green eyes, she evoked an appearance bordering on Egyptian, similar to a few other striking women he’d seen, evident of the diversity of their community.  Her lean, lithesome figure rivaled that of Venus, and her manner had a precision and orderliness that started with her hair, immaculately arranged in the latest style where not a curl escaped a pin.  No trace of scarring from excessive scratching of lice.  Women like Servilia would never think of emerging from their cubiculum before their personal slaves had anointed them with rose petal water, applied their makeup, precisely arranged each curl on their heads, and the folds on their long stola extending to their feet. 

Damaged Pillars

     At that moment, however, Servilia had a pressing matter to address.  She explained how the brick interior of some of the columns in the atrium had been exposed when their plaster outer layers had cracked and subsequently fallen apart and crumbled to the floor.  With a dinner party to follow her husband’s return, the current situation was unacceptable.  As materfamilias, she managed all household affairs, which she ran like a small corporation.  Decisions as to the maintenance of the domus were her responsibility, and in its current state, it would reflect poorly on her husband if not quickly repaired in time for the party.  

Lucius had become more than proficient in the various skills of masonry.  Of all the types of stonework, he preferred making brick columns most, those that were round versus square.  If he wasn’t building one from scratch, the next best would be repairing them.  Their symmetry, with their rounded clay brick interiors, intrigued him.  

Lucius at His Trade

Most of all, he enjoyed shaping the outer surfaces of these upright pillars.  Through years of experience, he’d developed a finesse for preparing a superior plaster mix for the outer coating—not too stiff and certainly not runny.  He had also developed
special forms to draw through the plaster to shape its final fluted or etched surface.  Therein lay his secrets which made all the difference in the final product to the delight of his customers.  It was a skill he had mastered, putting put him in high demand. 

Servilia showed him the damage throughout the public areas of the domus.  The inspection confirmed his worst suspicions. Fourteen of the silent sentinels needed repair.  Pressed for time, Servilia insisted that he provide her with an estimate of how long repairs would take, including the time for drying, to include painting.  As she feared it would take days, which unfortunately infringed on her upcoming dinner plans unless he

Rounded Roman Bricks 
Used for Columns

dedicated himself to her project and began immediately.  Time was of the essence, and for this, she was willing to pay double for his undivided attention to the job.  Lucius didn’t hesitate to accept.  Hours later, his tools arrayed at his feet, found him prepping the surface of his first column.

It was well past noon when a distant explosion sent a thunderclap across the city.  They were unaware of it, but Vesuvius blasted a massive cloud of debris, super-heated gases, and smoke miles into the sky.  By 5 pm, ash, along with bits of pumice and blackened stones, charred and cracked by flames, was falling from the sky.  It was accumulating,

A Badly Damaged Column

growing thicker by the minute.

It grew dark outside.  Even with candles, Lucius found it hard to see his work and had to stop.  He feared the rain of debris and intensifying tremors were becoming cataclysmic by the minute.  He urged Servilia to evacuate immediately rather than chance being crushed if the building collapsed.  At first, she refused to leave, rejecting the ever-growing evidence accumulating about them, believing the volcano would quiet down. 

By this time, Lucius was convinced he should have abandoned the job when he first sensed danger… made up a story, anything to slip away as many of the household slaves had seemingly already done.  He’d never experienced anything like this before.  Now alone with Servelia in a house on the verge of collapse, he feared it might be too late. 

 It was only when a particularly violent quake brought a portion of the ceiling crashing down into the cistern in the floor of the atrium that she acknowledged the danger and reluctantly agreed to leave.  There would be no dinner party.  The Fates had turned on them.    The shock of it had 

Unearthed Remains of a 
Herculaneum Boat

shattered her concern for her home, which had been her life’s work.  She realized it was now a matter of survival.  

 The decision now made to evacuate, Lucius tried to decide where they could go to escape the chaos.  With danger everywhere, where was the closest refuge, their best remaining avenue of escape?  With the sky falling in this strange darkness, Porta Marina seemed their safest bet.  It wasn’t far away. His uncle had a boat there.  Besides, the Roman navy, stationed not many miles away in Misenum, might mount a rescue.  They would head for the Porta Marina Gate, hope to board the boat, or at least seek the protection of the boat sheds. 

Servilia thought there was enough time to gather some of her valuables.  In the precious minutes remaining, she ran to her room to gather a few personal possessions, including the small deity she prayed to, in addition to adding emerald and ruby rings to her braceleted hand. 

It was dark beyond description outside, black as though their eyes were shut tight.  They moved slowly and from memory, a hesitant step at a time.  Lucius kept his hand on the outer walls of the homes they passed and held Servilia’s free arm as they edged forward, downhill toward the sea.    Ash, pumice, and at times stones continued to rain from the sky on the pillows they had thought to bring for protection.  The pricks of the fiery projectiles stung their arms and legs while the growing accumulation of rubble and hot fragments burned their feet. 

 Servilia staggered, went down on a knee, and dropped her

A Streetside Cistern

bag when she was struck by a large stone.  Lucius tugged on her arm, preventing her from stopping to try to retrieve the bag somewhere in the thick blanket of debris at their feet.  All she had now in evidence of her status were some coins in a bag on her hip, her earrings, a few gold bracelets, and the rings on her left hand.

Although he couldn’t see much in the swirling ash to confirm it, Lucius sensed that there weren’t many others in the streets.  Their torment could be heard by an occasional muffled cry or scream competing with the pinging sound of the storm.  As short as the distance was, it was a nightmare getting there.  The wreckage of a toppled wall or abandoned possessions at times forced them into the center of the street.  Returning to the walkway, Lucius bumped into a cistern.  Quickly removing a rag from his belt, he swiped his hand across its surface to clear it of ash and floating balls of pumice.  He then dipped the rag into the water and tied it over his mouth.  He pulled Servilia to his side and tore the hem of her stola for some additional fabric which he knotted around her lower face.  They continued, staggering toward the beach. 

From the bottom of the steps at the shore, he turned right only when his feet touched the sea.  He couldn’t see much in the swirling debris whether any boats remained.  Lucius reasoned that if there had

Six of Twelve Boat Sheds Once on the
Tyrrhenian Sea 
(The sea has subsided considerably over the centuries) 

been any, by now, they were long gone.  It would be better to find shelter in one of the boat grottos he knew lined the beachfront and wait out this strange storm. He moved forward until he found the door to a shed slightly ajar, pulled it open against the accumulated ashfall, and together they slid inside.  Visibility inside was better.  There were no boats inside, only people.  Lucius estimated twenty or more, some of them children, had taken refuge there.  Feeling somewhat safer, Lucius and Servilia found a space near the wall and sat—wealthy patrician and common laborer—waiting for the horror to end. 

Rescue boats never came.  In the hours before dawn, their suffering came to a swift end when the towering fiery

A Long Distance Look into
a Boat Grotto

column that loomed 20 miles above them collapsed, and two waves of blistering 750-degree Fahrenheit gases swept down over Herculaneum at a speed up to 450 miles an hour.  The future would call it a pyroclastic surge.  Everyone in its wake was killed when their flesh, body tissue, and fluids vaporized in a fraction of a second.^[1]   So quickly did it seize them, there wasn’t even time to suffocate.  As the city settled into its tomb, those crushed, asphyxiated, or vaporized were frozen in time.  

It wasn’t until 1982 that excavations along the shoreline, including those in each boat shed, uncovered 300 skeletons.^[1]  In one of the grottos, the skeleton of a woman, my Servilia, today known as the “Ring Lady,” lay on her right side among nameless others who had sought shelter there.  Her emerald and ruby rings were still visible on the skeletal fingers of her left hand, her bracelets and earrings nearby.  Beside her were the bones of an apparently strong, formerly muscular man.  His belt and pouch,

Today, These Boat Shed Remains
Are Known as 'The Ring Lady'

containing three gold coins and some silver, possibly a man like my Lucius.

 Today, you can visit homes much like Servilia’s, which in my imagining, is a composite of the many preserved there.  Two thousand years after that fateful day, the homes of Herculaneum have been repaired, not by Lucius but by teams of archaeologists, including skilled masons.  Impluvium and perstylium columns are much like Lucius had seen them, still needing repair.  While its former inhabitants, now ghosts, may walk the streets, Vesuvius remains very much alive and menacingly looms over the city.  Around three million people live in its shadow.  The center of Naples is just over eight miles from the summit.

Today’s inhabitants rely on new gods to protect them from further eruptions.  These gods take the form of thirty sensors that monitor Vesuvius’ volcanic activity.  They measure the volcano’s heartbeat by picking up quakes, the temperature of the emitted gases, and bulging and subsidence near the surface.^[3]  The data is fed to the Italian National Institute of Geophysics and Volcanology in Naples.  However, on the opposite side of Naples lies a far greater danger than Vesuvius, a conspicuous threat always visible on the horizon.  Few people know of this behemoth or that it is being closely watched on a bank of 60 screens.  It warrants close monitoring because five miles below the surface of neighboring Pozzuoli, a vast magma reservoir estimated to be 300 feet deep stretches over 250 square miles.^[2]

Naples' Millions Lie Between Two Volcanic
Threats, Familiar Vesuvius, and the Little 
Known Though Far More Dangerous
Campi Flegrei Supervolcano

This is the energy source of the Campi Flegrei (Phlegraean Fields).  It is one of the world's largest, most dangerous volcanoes, largely invisible, without a cone.  In comparison, Vesuvius is nothing more than a pimple on the back of this sunken supervolcano.  A worst-case estimate sees it not only annihilating the millions inhabiting the Naples area but obliterating much of life in Europe.^[2]  As Lucius, Servilia, and countless others likely prayed that day in 79 A.D., may the gods protect us.

From That Rogue Tourist 

Paolo 

[1] Herculaneum-skeletons, https://moatmtv.weebly.com/herculaneum-skeletons.html

[2] Phlegraean_Fields, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phlegraean_Fields

[3] Vesuvius's Big Daddy: The Supervolcano that Threatens all Life in Europe, https://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/moslive/article-1342820/Vesuviuss-big-daddy-supervolcano-Campi-Flegrei-near-Naples-threatens-Europe.html