One year before the ash
Many centuries later, when people dig deep into the earth to rediscover Pompeii, they find the remains of a life cut short.
They find streets, houses, pottery, frescoes, workshops, jars, and coins. They find people who once walked the same streets, ate at the same tables, loved, fought, worked, and dreamed.
And one day, amid the silence of an excavation, archaeologists bend over a strange hollow in the solid layer of volcanic ash.
It is one of those voids left behind as the human body decomposed during the catastrophe.
The archaeologists pour plaster carefully into the cavity and wait.
When the plaster dried, the archaeologists painstakingly removed the ash, grain by grain.
And then something appears before them that makes even experienced men fall silent.
They find streets, houses, pottery, frescoes, workshops, jars, and coins. They find people who once walked the same streets, ate at the same tables, loved, fought, worked, and dreamed.
And one day, amid the silence of an excavation, archaeologists bend over a strange hollow in the solid layer of volcanic ash.
It is one of those voids left behind as the human body decomposed during the catastrophe.
The archaeologists pour plaster carefully into the cavity and wait.
When the plaster dried, the archaeologists painstakingly removed the ash, grain by grain.
And then something appears before them that makes even experienced men fall silent.
The discovery of the two figures
Two figures.
A man and a woman.
The man threw his arms around the woman, as if trying at the last moment to protect her from something falling from above.
The archaeologists do not know their names.
They do not know if they were spouses, lovers, relatives, or two strangers who met by chance in the hell of that last day.
They do not know their story.
But the story had begun one year earlier.
And back then, Pompeii was not a city of the dead.
It was a city full of life.
A man and a woman.
The man threw his arms around the woman, as if trying at the last moment to protect her from something falling from above.
The archaeologists do not know their names.
They do not know if they were spouses, lovers, relatives, or two strangers who met by chance in the hell of that last day.
They do not know their story.
But the story had begun one year earlier.
And back then, Pompeii was not a city of the dead.
It was a city full of life.
The awakening of the city
In August of 78 AD, the sun rose over the Gulf of Neapolis, bathing Campania in that golden light that made even the humblest stones look precious.
Pompeii woke up early.
From the narrow streets came the sound of footsteps, cartwheels, merchants' voices, and the noise of workshops starting their day. The smells changed from street to street. Bread, wine, fish, olives, smoke, soil, and the sweat of people who had already started their labor before the sun rose high.
The city was wealthy, but not equally so.
There were large estates with inner courtyards and gardens, frescoes and mosaics, but there were also small houses, workshops, and shops where people earned their daily bread.
Pompeii woke up early.
From the narrow streets came the sound of footsteps, cartwheels, merchants' voices, and the noise of workshops starting their day. The smells changed from street to street. Bread, wine, fish, olives, smoke, soil, and the sweat of people who had already started their labor before the sun rose high.
The city was wealthy, but not equally so.
There were large estates with inner courtyards and gardens, frescoes and mosaics, but there were also small houses, workshops, and shops where people earned their daily bread.
The green Vesuvius
And above all this towered Vesuvius.
To the people of the area, it was not yet the mountain of terror that the whole world would later come to know.
It was part of the landscape.
A great mountain, green on its slopes, looking more like a protector of the land than an enemy.
Across its slopes and the surrounding areas stretched cultivations.
Vineyards.
Olives.
Grains.
Gardens.
Fruit trees.
And among all these, thousands of tiny blossoms that to humans might have been just a part of nature, but to the bees they were an entire world.
Campania was a generous land.
And that summer it seemed to meet the expectations of its people.
Only no one could know how little time they had left.
To the people of the area, it was not yet the mountain of terror that the whole world would later come to know.
It was part of the landscape.
A great mountain, green on its slopes, looking more like a protector of the land than an enemy.
Across its slopes and the surrounding areas stretched cultivations.
Vineyards.
Olives.
Grains.
Gardens.
Fruit trees.
And among all these, thousands of tiny blossoms that to humans might have been just a part of nature, but to the bees they were an entire world.
Campania was a generous land.
And that summer it seemed to meet the expectations of its people.
Only no one could know how little time they had left.
The vineyards of Saturninus
In the vineyards of Marcus Holconius Saturninus, the day had begun before sunrise.
Saturninus was no ordinary landowner.
His lands spread across fertile areas around Vesuvius, where the soil could generously reward the man who knew how to cultivate it.
His name was well-known.
Even more famous was his wine.
His grapes produced high-quality wine, wine that could reach the tables of men who were not used to drinking anything mediocre.
Among them were men of Rome.
Saturninus had every reason to wait anxiously for the new harvest.
That morning, however, he was not looking at the grapes with the satisfaction of a man enjoying the view of his wealth.
He was watching the workers.
Saturninus was no ordinary landowner.
His lands spread across fertile areas around Vesuvius, where the soil could generously reward the man who knew how to cultivate it.
His name was well-known.
Even more famous was his wine.
His grapes produced high-quality wine, wine that could reach the tables of men who were not used to drinking anything mediocre.
Among them were men of Rome.
Saturninus had every reason to wait anxiously for the new harvest.
That morning, however, he was not looking at the grapes with the satisfaction of a man enjoying the view of his wealth.
He was watching the workers.
Titus the overseer
And the man giving the orders was his overseer.
Titus Claudius Atticus.
Greek by birth, experienced in agricultural work, and a man who left nothing to chance.
He walked between the rows of vines, examining the grapes one by one.
He stopped in front of a vine.
He reached out his hand and caught a cluster.
He lifted it toward the light.
The grapes were growing heavy.
Ripening was near.
—Get the sulfur ready, he said.
The workers stopped for a moment.
Atticus looked at them sternly.
—The grapes must be protected. We will not wait for a problem to appear and then run to fix it.
The men bent back over their tools.
The work continued.
The air smelled of earth and leaves.
Further away, the buzz of insects could be heard.
And above the vineyards, the sun rose.
It was an ordinary morning.
At least, so it seemed.
Titus Claudius Atticus.
Greek by birth, experienced in agricultural work, and a man who left nothing to chance.
He walked between the rows of vines, examining the grapes one by one.
He stopped in front of a vine.
He reached out his hand and caught a cluster.
He lifted it toward the light.
The grapes were growing heavy.
Ripening was near.
—Get the sulfur ready, he said.
The workers stopped for a moment.
Atticus looked at them sternly.
—The grapes must be protected. We will not wait for a problem to appear and then run to fix it.
The men bent back over their tools.
The work continued.
The air smelled of earth and leaves.
Further away, the buzz of insects could be heard.
And above the vineyards, the sun rose.
It was an ordinary morning.
At least, so it seemed.
Severus and the signs of nature
The overseer's son, Severus Atticus, was nearby.
He did not share his father's calmness.
He was stern, harsh, and demanding, a man who had learned to command others without needing to raise his voice often.
Mainly, though, he was a hunter.
He loved the forest, the trails, and the chase.
He knew the tracks of animals and could read the ground just as others read a book.
That morning, he had returned from the lower slopes.
And something had bothered him.
He could not explain it.
The birds were fewer.
Not enough for an ordinary man to notice.
But Severus was no simple observer of nature.
He was used to knowing where birds nested, where game hid, and when animals changed their paths.
That year, some nests remained empty.
It was not normal.
He did not share his father's calmness.
He was stern, harsh, and demanding, a man who had learned to command others without needing to raise his voice often.
Mainly, though, he was a hunter.
He loved the forest, the trails, and the chase.
He knew the tracks of animals and could read the ground just as others read a book.
That morning, he had returned from the lower slopes.
And something had bothered him.
He could not explain it.
The birds were fewer.
Not enough for an ordinary man to notice.
But Severus was no simple observer of nature.
He was used to knowing where birds nested, where game hid, and when animals changed their paths.
That year, some nests remained empty.
It was not normal.
The conversation between father and son
He told his father.
Titus Atticus raised his head.
—The birds are finding food elsewhere.
—Not all of them.
—What do you mean by that?
Severus did not answer.
Perhaps it meant nothing.
Perhaps, though, nature had begun to whisper something that no human could yet hear.
A few meters away, in another part of the estate, there was a smaller world.
A world of wood, wax, smoke, and endless buzzing.
The beehives.
Titus Atticus raised his head.
—The birds are finding food elsewhere.
—Not all of them.
—What do you mean by that?
Severus did not answer.
Perhaps it meant nothing.
Perhaps, though, nature had begun to whisper something that no human could yet hear.
A few meters away, in another part of the estate, there was a smaller world.
A world of wood, wax, smoke, and endless buzzing.
The beehives.
The beekeeper of Pompeii
There worked Felix Caecilius.
He was twenty-seven years old and knew the bees in a way that was hard to explain to someone who had not lived among them.
He did not see them just as honey producers.
He knew that every colony had its own order.
Its own strength.
Its own temperament.
Some colonies were calm.
Others aggressive.
Others hardworking to the point of exhaustion.
Felix could stand in front of a hive and understand a lot just from the sound coming from inside.
That summer, the bees worked nonstop.
They flew to the wildflowers, the gardens, the blossoming fields, and every little spot where nectar existed.
They returned heavily loaded.
The honey they gathered tasted of the land.
It was as if the summer of Campania was trapped inside it.
He was twenty-seven years old and knew the bees in a way that was hard to explain to someone who had not lived among them.
He did not see them just as honey producers.
He knew that every colony had its own order.
Its own strength.
Its own temperament.
Some colonies were calm.
Others aggressive.
Others hardworking to the point of exhaustion.
Felix could stand in front of a hive and understand a lot just from the sound coming from inside.
That summer, the bees worked nonstop.
They flew to the wildflowers, the gardens, the blossoming fields, and every little spot where nectar existed.
They returned heavily loaded.
The honey they gathered tasted of the land.
It was as if the summer of Campania was trapped inside it.
The living golden wave
Felix carefully smoked the hive and turned it upside down to look inside the honeycombs and see how the honey collection was progressing.
The bees moved over them like a living golden wave.
He smiled.
He did not fear the bees.
He respected them.
And they, as much as a human can say such a thing, knew him.
He raised his gaze.
Above the green landscape, Vesuvius was visible.
For a moment, he felt an inexplicable shiver.
It was not fear.
He did not know what it was.
He bent back over the hives.
The work continued.
The bees moved over them like a living golden wave.
He smiled.
He did not fear the bees.
He respected them.
And they, as much as a human can say such a thing, knew him.
He raised his gaze.
Above the green landscape, Vesuvius was visible.
For a moment, he felt an inexplicable shiver.
It was not fear.
He did not know what it was.
He bent back over the hives.
The work continued.
The character of the Emperor
Meanwhile, far from Pompeii, in Rome, Emperor Vespasian had his own interests.
The empire was huge.
The matters countless.
Messengers brought news from distant provinces, officials asked for decisions, and the people of the court waited for his next command.
Vespasian, however, had a way of facing life that made even the most serious people around him smile.
He liked jokes.
He liked clever witty sayings.
And even more, he liked to say them at the very moment others expected him to be absolutely serious.
During those days, he was waiting for something else too.
The wine.
The new harvest.
The red wine that would arrive from Campania.
The empire was huge.
The matters countless.
Messengers brought news from distant provinces, officials asked for decisions, and the people of the court waited for his next command.
Vespasian, however, had a way of facing life that made even the most serious people around him smile.
He liked jokes.
He liked clever witty sayings.
And even more, he liked to say them at the very moment others expected him to be absolutely serious.
During those days, he was waiting for something else too.
The wine.
The new harvest.
The red wine that would arrive from Campania.
The fame of Campania in Rome
The vineyards of Saturninus had gained fame in Rome as well.
The emperor had tasted previous harvests.
And now he was waiting for the next one.
An official was speaking with a boring, formal voice about new taxes and the affairs of the day.
Vespasian listened to him, nodding his head slowly.
Then he interrupted the senator, smiled slyly, and said:
—All this is great, my friend, but if the wine from Campania is late, your taxes will be the only thing leaving a bitter taste this year! Make sure the roads are clear for the barrels, because Rome can live without your reports, but the emperor cannot rule while thirsty!
The bystanders burst into laughter.
For him, the new harvest was just another pleasant event in a world that continued normally.
No one in Rome could know that in one year, the word "Pompeii" would sound in a completely different way.
In Pompeii, however, there were people who had already begun to think about the future.
The overseer of the estate had a daughter.
Valeria Prima.
The emperor had tasted previous harvests.
And now he was waiting for the next one.
An official was speaking with a boring, formal voice about new taxes and the affairs of the day.
Vespasian listened to him, nodding his head slowly.
Then he interrupted the senator, smiled slyly, and said:
—All this is great, my friend, but if the wine from Campania is late, your taxes will be the only thing leaving a bitter taste this year! Make sure the roads are clear for the barrels, because Rome can live without your reports, but the emperor cannot rule while thirsty!
The bystanders burst into laughter.
For him, the new harvest was just another pleasant event in a world that continued normally.
No one in Rome could know that in one year, the word "Pompeii" would sound in a completely different way.
In Pompeii, however, there were people who had already begun to think about the future.
The overseer of the estate had a daughter.
Valeria Prima.
The overseer's daughter
Prima was young, beautiful, and caught everyone's eye without trying to.
Her hair had a golden color that seemed to hold the light of the Mediterranean sun.
She had grown up in a world where family decisions mattered greatly.
And now her father had made a decision that concerned her whole life.
He had agreed to betroth her to Vivius Scorpus.
Scorpus was forty years old.
He had a name and a position.
He was a man who could be considered a suitable groom for a family like the overseer's.
For her father, the agreement made sense.
For Prima, not so much.
Her hair had a golden color that seemed to hold the light of the Mediterranean sun.
She had grown up in a world where family decisions mattered greatly.
And now her father had made a decision that concerned her whole life.
He had agreed to betroth her to Vivius Scorpus.
Scorpus was forty years old.
He had a name and a position.
He was a man who could be considered a suitable groom for a family like the overseer's.
For her father, the agreement made sense.
For Prima, not so much.
A silent agreement
She did not rebel.
She did not shout.
She did not refuse.
When her father spoke to her, she listened in silence.
—It is a good agreement, he told her.
Prima lowered her eyes.
—If that is what you wish, father...
That was all she said.
She was not excited.
But she had learned to obey.
And at that moment, she believed her life had already taken its path.
She did not know yet that this path would cross with another.
A path that no one had chosen.
Her best friend was Aegmilia Vitalia.
Aegmilia knew Prima well enough to understand what her silence hid.
She looked her in the eyes at one point.
—You are not happy.
Prima smiled faintly.
—Should I be?
Aegmilia did not answer right away.
—I do not know.
—My father knows.
—Fathers know a lot about their families, Aegmilia said. They do not always know what is inside their children's hearts.
Prima looked at her.
For the first time that day, she smiled truly.
—You speak like a philosopher.
—No. I speak as your friend.
And both laughed.
It was a small moment.
One of those that get lost in a whole lifetime.
And yet, some small moments are the ones that later gain the greatest meaning.
She did not shout.
She did not refuse.
When her father spoke to her, she listened in silence.
—It is a good agreement, he told her.
Prima lowered her eyes.
—If that is what you wish, father...
That was all she said.
She was not excited.
But she had learned to obey.
And at that moment, she believed her life had already taken its path.
She did not know yet that this path would cross with another.
A path that no one had chosen.
Her best friend was Aegmilia Vitalia.
Aegmilia knew Prima well enough to understand what her silence hid.
She looked her in the eyes at one point.
—You are not happy.
Prima smiled faintly.
—Should I be?
Aegmilia did not answer right away.
—I do not know.
—My father knows.
—Fathers know a lot about their families, Aegmilia said. They do not always know what is inside their children's hearts.
Prima looked at her.
For the first time that day, she smiled truly.
—You speak like a philosopher.
—No. I speak as your friend.
And both laughed.
It was a small moment.
One of those that get lost in a whole lifetime.
And yet, some small moments are the ones that later gain the greatest meaning.
At the estate's spring
In the afternoon, the two girls were walking near the stone spring of the estate.
The August heat was heavy and suffocating.
Felix was there.
He had just left the hives, and the heavy beekeeping suit forced him to run to the spring to cool down.
He had taken off the top part of his suit.
He drank water with his cupped hands and splashed his chest to catch his breath.
His body was well-toned from the daily hard work with the hives, and his eyes flashed with intelligence and spirit.
Prima stopped involuntarily and looked at him.
Their eyes met for the first time through the water droplets falling from his face.
Only for a few moments.
Then Prima, feeling her heart beat fast, turned her head and continued on her way with Aegmilia.
The August heat was heavy and suffocating.
Felix was there.
He had just left the hives, and the heavy beekeeping suit forced him to run to the spring to cool down.
He had taken off the top part of his suit.
He drank water with his cupped hands and splashed his chest to catch his breath.
His body was well-toned from the daily hard work with the hives, and his eyes flashed with intelligence and spirit.
Prima stopped involuntarily and looked at him.
Their eyes met for the first time through the water droplets falling from his face.
Only for a few moments.
Then Prima, feeling her heart beat fast, turned her head and continued on her way with Aegmilia.
Felix and Rufus
A bit further away, his friend Rufus, who was waiting to help him, had seen the whole scene.
Rufus was one of those people who could keep company even when there was nothing to say.
He approached Felix, who had remained staring toward the direction the girls had gone.
—How are the hives? Rufus asked to bring him back.
—Strong colonies, Felix replied, wiping his face.
—And the honey?
Felix smiled, but his mind was still on the girl at the spring.
—Good.
—Just good?
—Very good.
Rufus looked at him slyly and smiled.
—Do you know her?
—No.
—Then why are you looking at her like that?
Felix did not know her name, nor that she was the overseer's daughter. He did not know she was already betrothed, nor that in one year Pompeii would become a grave. He only knew that this glance at the spring changed something inside him.
Felix did not answer.
He looked back toward the path.
The girl had already vanished behind the trees.
Rufus was one of those people who could keep company even when there was nothing to say.
He approached Felix, who had remained staring toward the direction the girls had gone.
—How are the hives? Rufus asked to bring him back.
—Strong colonies, Felix replied, wiping his face.
—And the honey?
Felix smiled, but his mind was still on the girl at the spring.
—Good.
—Just good?
—Very good.
Rufus looked at him slyly and smiled.
—Do you know her?
—No.
—Then why are you looking at her like that?
Felix did not know her name, nor that she was the overseer's daughter. He did not know she was already betrothed, nor that in one year Pompeii would become a grave. He only knew that this glance at the spring changed something inside him.
Felix did not answer.
He looked back toward the path.
The girl had already vanished behind the trees.
Night in Pompeii
That night, Pompeii continued its life.
People ate.
Drank.
Talked.
Fell in love.
Made plans.
The merchants calculated their profits.
The farmers waited for the harvest.
The winemakers watched the grapes.
The beekeepers cared for the colonies.
And the young dreamed of tomorrow.
People ate.
Drank.
Talked.
Fell in love.
Made plans.
The merchants calculated their profits.
The farmers waited for the harvest.
The winemakers watched the grapes.
The beekeepers cared for the colonies.
And the young dreamed of tomorrow.
The secret of Vesuvius
On the slopes of Vesuvius, the wind passed through the vines.
Somewhere among the leaves, a bee returned to its hive.
It still carried on its body traces of the blossoms it had visited.
The darkness fell slowly.
And above the city, the mountain stood still.
Quiet.
Green.
Indifferent.
No one knew that the earth beneath their feet held a secret.
No one knew that the days ahead would now count downward.
No one knew that a romance would be born where no one expected it.
And no one knew that, when one day the ash would fall upon Pompeii, two people would try to stay together until the end.
Somewhere among the leaves, a bee returned to its hive.
It still carried on its body traces of the blossoms it had visited.
The darkness fell slowly.
And above the city, the mountain stood still.
Quiet.
Green.
Indifferent.
No one knew that the earth beneath their feet held a secret.
No one knew that the days ahead would now count downward.
No one knew that a romance would be born where no one expected it.
And no one knew that, when one day the ash would fall upon Pompeii, two people would try to stay together until the end.
The end of summer
For now, though, it was August.
The summer was still hot.
The grapes were nearing ripeness.
The bees flew over the blossoms.
The honey filled the hives.
And Prima had not yet truly known the beekeeper.
They had just looked at each other.
And sometimes...
a whole life begins from a single glance.
The summer was still hot.
The grapes were nearing ripeness.
The bees flew over the blossoms.
The honey filled the hives.
And Prima had not yet truly known the beekeeper.
They had just looked at each other.
And sometimes...
a whole life begins from a single glance.
End of Episode 1
Melissocosmos
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