From Mago’s Cellar

By Titch Laudrigan

This is a partial story and account of a long lived man residing below the the killing embrace of Vesuvius at story’s beginning. It is a full life of a man soon coming too an end, one that began in the formative years of the Roman Empire. Memoirs finished just as Vesuvius destroys his estate.

Two millennia later, a thief of antiquities, a grave robbing nighthawk, discovers the near perfectly preserved manuscripts portraying this man’s life and begins to write them up.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gatekeeper Press
• Release date: Feb 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9781662901768

Book preview

Mago

PART ONE

Truth Comes Out In Wine

Pliny The Elder

Less Pleasant Were Other Extracting Ways

Mago

From the Translator and Co-author, Myself~Titch:

Following, besides my own offered inanities, are reconstructed ramblings of a fellow known throughout this narrative, amongst compatriots and peers, as Mago, sometimes Magon, it once a common name of ancient Phoenicia. No more, no less, just Mago, this usually as seen throughout his writings. This common Punic name was given to a Roman citizen long decades after Carthage’s swansong, a grief-stricken funereal dirge, mournfully given in background accompaniment were it ever as a story to need a soundtrack, or script; thus, when long into distant pathways of hazy memory. A name bestowed in childhood’s infancy onto an eventual time-stolid full-dress Roman citizen/soldier; its origin is explained additionally when later we are further journeyed into this tale. Perchance, maybe, this name initially intended as only a childhood nickname, but it stayed solidly embedded until end of life. His name preference this is throughout this tale, these journals I translate. Nowhere in his chronicles does he use another.

Discursive ramblings of discovered chronicles~~mostly, scrolls of preserved vellum, some papyrus, follow and not the full given story, this is not the fault of the story’s protagonist, but myself. Some accounts of unfolding war, murder, and mayhem follow; some content of the scrolls, quite a bit, inane and rambling, but written in a time of meaningful tumult, a dynamic age of budding Empire. Beginning years after a never returning Republic, inarguably gone of only short decades~~or the end of the great Augustus~~shortly before his dying. It is not so much an in-depth storytelling, but a thumbnail smattering of occasional detail. Scholars, of another time coming, can do as they wish when again the chronicles of Mago are found anew for further translation and study.

Described within are destruction and murder, committed from many layered levels, ordered by ruthless powers from above. Agents of Tiberius, Sejanus, and Caligula to name some few. There were others with whom he served, but in a full soldiering life, he oft operated independently with a picked group of roughly forty from his guerrilla days of Germania. Soldiers, many oft staying together for twenty or more years; anyway, serving together for a long time. A scout and butcher amongst the same ilk, operating in the northern German forests, becoming more so a killing beast following the defeat and loss of three Eagles.

Then, a time later and after ‘The Varian Disaster,’ Germanicus dealt ignominious defeat and revenge to Arminius and brethren. Thorough devastation given to those German tribes, ravaging ruination made less complete when a perverse milk-livered Tiberius commanded Germanicus back to Rome out of jealousy and spite.

In time, referencing the above paragraph, I sometimes imagined myself as Mago when reading his vellum (parchment), sometimes papyrus scripts and/or scrolls. Occasionally, when thinking of him, reading his work, I am he in those junctures of tale’s instance. I at times, standing in Mago’s sandals, hate the Germans for what they did in 9AD and then remember in same course of thought, Romans were rarely lovely chaps in their own right, uncommonly so at any time in their history; perhaps, sometimes at best, only the lesser evil. Wherever it was they wandered. As well, to also remember, it was a long time ago.

Orders were given him commonly through intermediaries and those orders were delivered from those to be mentioned; from powers possessed of life and death in Rome and Empire. Little doubt was there to the origins of desired mayhem or to them that ordered questionable maintenance of security to themselves and Empire, brooking no questions to why. Deeds done, forthwith, regardless of who or where. Jerusalem, Egypt, Anatolia’s sea provinces and Greece were hotbeds of activity in Mago’s time~~for years. Assassinations, murder, were the orders given, but too, the oft bog-standard removal of pirates and bandits… seemingly, the latter commonly Mago’s favorite pastime. Too, spying and intelligence gathering became a common activity. Elimination of Rome’s enemies, within and without. Those that were real, perceived or not~~little doubt in my mind as reading these scrolls, ever, as to the origins of orders which followed. However, undoubtedly, he was commonly a lonewolf and indeed, exegetically liberal with written orders, sometimes creating convincing forgeries. This was some of Mago’s world I garnered through slow organizing readings of the originals before beginning my English-written transcriptions, along with copious notes I kept~~once all was photographed, organized, and consequently translated, I then started writing.

Of this tale told, one I have deciphered and transcribed, it was done laboriously with great effort and time, long before the writing of a story began. Languages I have long known, those taught in school and those that are real, of any age of time and place, are rarely the same. This, as I came to know and find over the years, knowing even more so through this work. Can well say that much of what I have written is of small questioned accuracy, but think if dubious, thought dodgy, all is still close enough to truth and will be proven in due course when the scrolls are discovered afresh and reassembled.

Besides, Mago, not seeing the whole, was a considerable ground level eyewitness to the times and had his own prejudiced opinions, just like everyone ever known of any discipline and too, subject sometimes to errors of judgment. Of note, oft a witness from the center’s midst. Again, such error of commitment is like that of any human ever known. Only with time passed and look back, do we see more clearly of the whole.

Have done my best with what follows of this story, though some things admittedly, I have presumed from imagination, including meanings of many words. Mago also had a noted talent for staying out of the limelight when it came to high-level politics and palace intrigue, as he was often entangled within such after Germania, often being right in the thick of such things. Commonly, on the sidelines as a close witness. Ambitious, adventurous, and surprisingly bizarre, ever without desire for power at the top. Power coveted, yes, but nothing done to gain himself into direct line of sight of another’s ambition.

Of the people maneuvering significant events of the times, he was oft shoulder-to-shoulder, directly in their midst. However, in one instance of a brewing power struggle, one of earthshaking possibilities, he made sure to be well away and gone and that landed him in another situation of great drama, one of two millennia’ fame, but that event still lie in Mago’s future. Except, he oft managed to keep comfortable distances from intrigue and in those times, succeeded in avoiding the attention of superiors. Because of their own desires to gain and wield power, Mago was commonly, as personally wished, ignored through passing years.

Messengers coming to the field, delivered orders and there is where Mago liked to receive. And watch. Also, on many occasions, liberally enacting self-interpretation of command.

The Face Of Defeat Was Oft There

And We Of Those Times Seeing

Sought Amidst Only To Play

Mago

Be it known, much of what I have written is interpretation of meaning by only myself, and I have written most here as I would think Mago meant. Its eisegesis, my interpretive slant, my rendition, was nothing biblical and done solely by the self as I felt like doing. Much in this were my words, my meaning, and in this, I think I have remained faithful enough. I do also think, Mago had a quirky dark-sense gallows humor that could in but a moment, disappear into a fit of arrant coldhearted violence. Perhaps, a manic neurotic bordering on sociopath, not full time in its being but exhibited often enough in those early years, at least in his early years. My opinion this all is and it is my writing, so I have opined willfully throughout this personal version arrangement, all done as seen fit.

In this presentation forthcoming, more times than not, I have usually gone with modern spellings and pronunciations, at times using both old and new if no question to meaning. Gaul or Gallia is France for example, though I do sometimes use those former names as a singular land location, despite size and other province area names within. Distances are British/American when used and not metric. Times and dates are modern such as BC, AD, BCE, and CE with our present used calendar; personally, I prefer BC/AD because that is what I grew up with~~as example: Pompeii was destroyed in 79AD (or CE).

If wanting to criticize or argue, you would be wasting your time; I am getting old, my wealth is safely hidden, I do not bloody well care to your opinions and… I will not be paying attention to petty nonsensical whingeing~~except, I do thank you for buying the book before complaining. If you would be so kind, I would appreciate a decent review.

When this book hits the bookstores, under a pen name, I will likely be walking away from this endeavor right thereafter~~perhaps getting and enjoying royalties from an overseas bank. Will see of course and probably, not much money involved, regardless. All of me remains unknown, as are my additional hidden artifacts still possessed, stolen from the ancient world. Presently, am hidden from legal minded persons, mostly being law enforcement, as well as everything else. Much of all owned, I illegally possess, and… much is kept right under the noses of those wanting all returned.

Nature Does Nothing In Vain

Aristotle

Nature Does Enough In Vengeance

Mago

With exception possibly of describing Vesuvius’ eruption, some few other things, this fellow Mago was not oft flowery of term and phrase, in most instances, or at all; sarcastic and cynical I suppose and a similar being in this regard of myself, if honest. Merely get information down, the ink dried, be done, and fuck all petty inane criticism~~editors are generally not worth shit in my opinion, but sometimes, undoubtedly, critically necessary…; this I grudgingly admit. This story may be proof of that need. Requisite, primarily, used as a second set of eyes as to grammar and punctuation and perhaps quality of story. Regarding these writings of Mago~~usually succinct, terse, to the point, and at any time, as few words used as possible in most entries, but not always, nor have I ever written all as such~~a sometimes result of my own writing style~~be it also known, I like adjectives. This being my undertaken project, it is my personally given and taken liberties of verse. Usually.

Of perhaps relevance, this fellow oft said the costs of high-quality vellum, papyrus, and ink were of no issue, it may be that they were difficult to afford at one time. Perhaps. From his story, his vellum was specially prepared, stretched, scraped, and cut to preferred varying sizes of width and length. Why not all uniform in size, I do not know, and many an instance there was of this that I wondered why. I do not know as said, other than this written affair was essentially a rough draft and he did not care of the varied sizes. From my limited knowledge of the time, such things to write upon, other than wax, were sometimes prohibitively expensive. Additionally, plenty of spelling and grammar errors exist throughout the scrolls, but not too often hard was it to figure the English meanings, as I personally chose to determine in my interlingua (essentially bilingual) renderings; these scrolls now translated, mayhap, were rough drafts of rough drafts. Thus, making mine a polished rough, one still needing in-depth touchup.

All mistakes I could determine were left as they happened by Mago and done so with an intention of purpose, this I am sure. Other errors of word, in time, meant he had probable plans to later return where and when others, professionals, could set things to right. Story and flow wise, adding beauty, perhaps doggerel, but allowed with better choices of desired verse. Their own decisions, not Mago’s or mine. Anyway, thought Mago was aware of this situation with grammar and spelling (Latin verse, sometimes Greek or Hebrew/Aramaic. Plus, on occasion, my insertion of occasional asynchronous Yiddish.), but did not care in the moment, and ink erasure of then was not so conveniently easy on either vellum or papyrus. Merely he wanting thoughts and story down before forgetting an idea or running out of time; being in most instances, he was an old man when writing the majority and finishing last final entries and preservation of the whole enterprise when only hours from death.

That someone with whom setting things to right as a biographical enterprise now happens to be me and not suspect Greek scribes of nineteen-hundred plus years back. Scribes and an organized rewrite as I think Mago mayhap intended, then or now, with intent to cohesively compile a grand story of the times to presumptuously rival Virgil’s Aeneid. Well…, it is here an interesting story overall, but doubtful to be called an epic of any form or partially because, I did not write my part to be anything more than chronicling a small part of a larger story.

I only surmise this just said, but it seems logical to my way of thinking, plus Mago made similar remarks as later found. I doubt he harbored ideas of rivaling Virgil (Virgil’s time was about a century before Mago and famous then as a poet/writer~‘The Æneid’ his renowned creation.) or any other ancient writer in any manner. In all read, I saw nowhere where he considered himself anything other than an annalist, one not wanting his life forgotten to the ages of future worlds; except, not done as a poet or an overly detailed historian.

Probably, most likely to be stated more than once in following discourse, I discovered these scrolls in a thieving nighthawk excavation, literally; soon, materiels secreted to America via a coastal trawler traveling south down the Italian west coast to eventually rendezvous with a New Orleans bound tramp freighter. Yes, a trawler, motoring south to a small oceangoing Liberian registered cargo ship, one headed for New Orleans carrying building materials, such as granite slabs and roof tiles~~the perfect cargo to hide mine own amongst, which on first glance, looked nothing more than modern pottery unless anyone deigned to inquire more closely. They did not. A month-plus voyage was ahead, plus considering likely time in other ports lying en route. Marseilles, Malaga, and Rabat amongst others. Somewhere in the Canaries, perhaps Tenerife Island and its port, De la Cruz(?)~~have forgotten precisely this last port, but the Canaries were a good jumping point to the Americas, ask Columbus. A bit of slow wandering it was, no doubt. Did not mind, for I had an excellent cabin and I contentedly enjoyed the high seas, once sure I was away from the peninsula and going safer by the nautical mile as traveling west.

As Trusting Eyes And Heart So Trust Your Ears

Mago

Me, The Translator, Again:

On this sea journey, I looked and acted the eccentric wealthy tourist with plenty of tranquil time to be had while on a leisurely business venture, not a hard character to portray, no acting necessary, and this while accompanying an illicit investment of urns to Stateside; yes, not a problematic going at all. No affectations, the real thing in my eyes, no doubt. I was a sometimes certifiable bleeding nuthook with little carried around in the way of conscience. Greed and ego were everyday driving forces in my being. That is the truth.

The urns were full of the scrolls mentioned and each urn was contained of added gold ingots and silver coins, also a few small figurines not crushed by earthmovers gouging the earth in the rush to thieve~~all I wanted was now crated and loaded onto the ship with little fanfare or interest from anyone. My small crates, hidden behind and amongst the regular laded consignment were garnering no second looks for any reason and not to forget, they took up little room relative to surrounding cargoes.

Looking approximately the same as all else stored in the holds, plus a few bribes, put my cargo through with the rest when it came time to deal with customs. I was an investor with the owners I told any of the few officious askers and little else was said but mayhap, Welcome. All cargo in this instance, looked as all else and a rented van would take care of my moving needs when ended the voyage.

From New Orleans, I drove northeast to a countryside cottage in West Virginia, a quiet estate alongside the Tygart River in sylvan Randolph County; a beautiful, peaceful, rural valley of little economy. From the rented farm I drove the scrolls, a few at a time, to a lab used in the western DC area, a suburb, and on occasion going to NYC to do the same when wanting city style entertainment; also to there if needing other specific restoration facilities.

Gingerly, delicately, it was opening scrolls after removal from fragile leather tubes (a few), all the while photographing as quickly as possible without risk of damage; no precipitate actions taken with this treasure, all slow and measured to deal with slightly brittle parchment. With each following opening and photographing, they were hidden secretly in museum vaults in both NYC and DC. Though, will repeat some of this detail I am sure, probably often, and that is about all need said; all scrolls are safe and left stored in better condition than when stolen and brought Stateside. Much better, I assure.

My only work with the scrolls, as in physically handling, was slowly, gently, opening them in humidity and temperature controlled environments for photographing. No risk of ensuing rot or mold. Most still possessed of decent elasticity; still, I was extremely gentle in handling at all times. Hundreds of camera takes, electronic tablet scans, all which I could afterward print and additionally, many hours involved for each and every scroll, perhaps doing two a day, if lucky, three; then, following laborious cataloguing, all returned tenderly to the urns from whence they came, less their original light leather covers. The jars afterward secretly stored in vast climate-controlled halls and vaults of the Smithsonian and New York Museum of Natural History… mostly. Do not physically require the scrolls anymore, all are photographed and filed digitally with backups; also do not need the monies I could get by selling, surreptitiously, in any blackmarket throughout the world. Such anyway, too dangerous by far to unload to any buyer or museum. Of note, I still have eight urns left, ones only partially indexed and not yet given to a museum. Of these, I will work on later and see if they fit anywhere into this story, I anticipate a few inserts.

Too many questions, needless to say, to anyone presently seeing. As well, this was a danger to the sanctity of the scrolls themselves. I did sometimes, but rarely, feel a bit of impelling responsibility to preserve and protect these writings even more than what I was, but such inclinations passed quickly enough. A conscience, sense of responsibility, realistically, can only go so far in my world.

In a few years, if my completed writings find an audience in brick and mortar bookstores, then I suppose the manuscripts will be frantically searched for, once known they exist somewhere not far; following, a driven war to acquire full content between the museums will blossom to put all writings back together as one. If still living, a fun watch to be, no error.

As to initially acquiring these treasures is of another story, but one I will in short time tell…, as I think when necessary. I found the villa by use of historical texts regarding Pompeii and environs and in this case, came across information detailing large Roman estates due east and slightly north of Pompeii. Word of mouth (verbal lore), satellite imagery, and LiDAR to name some few methods and tools employed when finding potential digs. My own eyes as well when scanning surrounding landscapes of an area. I even used ground imaging sonar in some instances, but that of little value in this event, as it only showed I was in several layers comprising twenty or more feet of ash and rubble; so therefore, nothing detectable for some good ways down. I figured a building of some size had once existed below because of the unnatural increase in elevation relative to surrounding land. Essentially, a slightly raised mound lying over what I correctly surmised were semi-flattened ruins. From the use of these tactics and assets, I narrowed desired sites to five or six and from these, chose one well-nigh randomly. A site sitting more remote than others, looking larger in outward dimensions with no other substantial mounded anomalies directly close to be seen; this place seeming the most promising and because, picked first to explore with feeling I could eventually check other unexplored locations in the months and years to come.

Provided, not built upon by aggressive developers, something wont to happen in this part of a densely crowded world. That random choice on this go for the first excavation was one of grand fortuity. Regarding the other sites, I wanted to tackle each singularly. Well…, I never did but for only this spot to be described, it which kept my hands and mind full from wanting other projects and distractions for the times to come. Though, am still curious of those other sites. Imagine they too hold treasures buried of Vesuvius’ killing day and why not ever earlier discovered by archaeologists or doghearted nighthawks like myself, I know not. Assuredly, this was not known to me and so later, I gave place locations of two probable worthwhile sites to the crew used in this venture with the villa. Anyway, again, never went after anything else, as I hit a motherlode of personal desire on the first go, this is what I have supposed. Without a doubt, decidedly unquestioned, this place found was a trove of unbounded significance. This newest finding has defined my work for the remainder of my working life, with only small exception.

To add, in France, Italy, and Greece, a few other places in Europe, as well places in the Americas, I had plenty of people I could employ when confirmed, strongly suspected, I had a site I wanted explored and in end, robbed~~in process reality, desecrated.

These were tried crews employed, experienced, hungry for work, and paid well with discoveries of the past; life-fortunes sometimes achieved in just hours of effort. These people doing my bidding, made their primary livings in much the same manner as ‘grave robbers,’ though the graves were commonly the ruins of antiquity lying below and not necessarily tombs. Incomes otherwise not derived in such lucrative manner as I gave to my crews; typically, opportunistic thievery this was and all knew, I was the more resourceful amongst this lot of doaty thieves, bampots to a one if left on their own. Too, all knew this to be an absolute. Moreover, everyone was exceedingly grateful for the commonly generous incomes provided and so because, rarely questioned my intent or ways and if ever bothering, unlikely to again hear from me. A few who crossed, I killed.

Not always the jackpot motherlode in these robbed digs, though most times something always of worthwhile selling value was found wherever sinking the shovel or in most cases, the earthmovers. Anyway, these people had not the base talents or means to find bounteous troves as I regularly provided and…, consistently did. Therefore, everyone responded with enthusiasm whenever I made request or proposition to assist in an endeavor. Rarely had I let them down and I was as well with job properly done, generous in divisions of spoils; they needed me and so crossing or cheating was never in their best interests, so… all acted accordingly to see the bigger picture~~that being, money. I liked gold and jewelry, as much as the next scofflaw, but I was always aware of diverse valuables, which others typically could not tell were such~~of note, again, one fool slip and never again heard from me.

Admitted only here, not proved or seen by others, imagine not known, there were workmates killed over the years in different parts of the world, a short tolerance for treachery or incompetence I had, ever, and therefore, something of a no choice situation. They went into backfilled pits, this to a grave for other excavators to find. My crews though, knew well their business as a team effort… the inviolable rules… work hard, fast, and smart~~smart was necessarily doing absolutely as told, when told. Hard fast into a digging project with energy and quickly out after removal of whatever relished sought for finds. Always. In any situation, it was to forever see the bigger picture.

On the occasion forthcoming, I picked six people, all past used and kept in ironfisted control by one of those six, a hard-nosed crew boss who knew well to follow my lead at all times. They were people who had experience working with me at one time or another~~my line of work, theirs too. All, conveniently in this instance, lived in Naples or surroundings and so, could be together on short notice while possessing, delivering, necessary gear and equipment to do the job I had in mind and do it rapidly. Efficiently. Time in and out had to be split-second perfect or close enough.

Where I was for this mentioned caper coming was spitting distance from the original Pompeii, just over three, maybe as much as five miles due east from the approximate old city border, perhaps further. Matters little. These people knew the proper equipment needed and present at the start were two bulldozers~~one being large, a front loading scoop and a dump truck to move loaded earth was but a short distance, if and when needed.

After getting forged papers to justify our presence, if documentation was required from nosy authorities, should anyone ask, we set up for work. We met in a fallow field of a few olive trees to one side, right next to a brush covered hill. More of a sizable mound this was, with gradual rising sides to about ten feet above from where we parked our equipment in preparation to remove that ‘hill’ and turn it next, into a hole. I could detect signature flows of ash around a structure or of what remained. A mound, rapidly to be gone. When starting the dig, one test trench gave us our digging parameters north and south, working out from a predetermined line and off we went with quick back and forth scraping removal of tonnes of earth. The crew appeared from casual observance, utterly respectful and professional, looking and operating just like seasoned construction crews seen anywhere, ones experienced in preparing grounds for construction. This included typical safety helmets.

My plan initially was to go down as much as twenty feet, perchance thirty, where I considered lay the considered approximate original level of August AD79 and do that expanded, sixty by sixty; in this case, another additional twenty to thirty feet pushed in directions west and south. I had to keep in mind all surrounding areas were higher than the ancient levels and so, would go even deeper if necessary.

Except… in this case, the depth of the mound to target was only twenty feet or less, shallow relative to what was expected. Extremely shallow, considering what heard of so many other Vesuvius areas through the years. My thought, this land was on the very eastern edge of the killing ash flow, that portentous day in 79AD, and so had less ash pass through.

Time-compressed sand-like ash and rock moved and pushed mostly south by earthmovers where lie a broad irrigating gully that of times past, must have carried away plenty of ash. Now it had more. The dimensions I saw as they unfolded piecemeal, told me a wealthy fellow had once been here~~his riches if still there as expected, soon to be ours. I saw no signs of past disturbance anywhere and this encouraged me to work faster and harder. A massive haul of compacted ashed debris we accomplished in less than three hours with only specific detailed clearing after; digging and pushing massive mounds of debris to a comfortable distance as fast as reasonably possible. We soon hit the voluminous rubble of a collapsed villa, ash debris had filled in between the many standing walls of but five to six feet high. Easy to see, it was once two stories minimally in height, but now only small sections of the villa’s first story remained when we reached desired depth. From there we rapidly cleared outward until we had clear sight of the boundaries and dimensions of the villa. The rubble and debris went fast in removal without regard to preservation of anything, including any mosaic/fresco walls left, except for some specific areas thought or known to be personal living spaces or of what remained after collapse. Quickly seen, perceived, this villa collapsed en masse from both quakes and ash flow.

Some of this debris, as we got deeper, we now sifted by scoop into a large shaker to make sure nothing desired of value got past; approaching the bottom, we were looking at collapsed debris with more diligence to possible treasure. Gold, silver, and gems it would be.

Many a time, most, this is when I committed the worst of sacrilegious abominable thuggery in the eyes of the archaeological world, all worlds valuing antiquity, as large indiscriminate machinery was one terrible bane of their existence; the undeniable wholesale destruction of valuable artifacts crushed by heavy machinery. Profane. In mere moments, two millennia of history destroyed like swatting an insect. This of no matter to the crew (sadly, the same with me), since only precious metals and gems was it they desired and smashed gold was still gold when gone to the pot. It was indeed sad when I saw a few beautiful pieces of ceramic turned into dust fragments with utter disdain for what they were; must say, I was only ever able to save few such articles intact. Something I never went out of my way to do was to either destroy or save. However, on occasion, if possible, I would hand carry undamaged artifacts before crushed to a safe place to be found by others. I was many times sorry for this irreverent destruction, but only momentarily; still, a pity all the same. Except…, this was the way of such things in my line of work. No other choice but desecration to get to what sold quickly and easily. Nighthawkers the world over knew of my ways.

If damaged statuary were representation of living Gods, would they take revenge? I am sure over time, I destroyed many shrines and occasionally, that made this avowed infidel a bit uneasy. In those happenstances, had to assuredly remind myself I was a full-blown atheist. One with, occasionally of thought, a few doubts to that verity; perhaps, grey areas when partaking of too much Scotch. Maybe, closer to the truth, an avowed agnostic.

Cassandra Of Ilium Worry Not

I For One Have Believed

Mago

My expectations of this ravished site were more than spot on, a place which was an expansive vineyard/farm which had once flourished in grand style and therefore, there would be cellars and stoutly built storage areas within or around, including directly below the main house. Next educated assumption, at least one substantial cellar lie below, perhaps more, all under the main house and that is what I keenly sought.

One large reinforced cellar with several surrounding rooms is what came to be; right beneath where removing tons of two millennia debris, all covering this villa.

It was a considerable amount of earth removed in minimal time, done to rapidly push or carry ash a short distance beyond to expose the desired site. The remaining nearly full height first floor walls, if even that, were destroyed, including many with visible art upon. My assumed belief was that cellars lie below and that any space(s) beneath would survive the ever back and forth passing weight of two fast-moving bulldozers. However, with some small worry of weight, I now used the smaller equipment to push debris away to the sides for the larger machines to remove, not taking too many chances at this stage of being nearly through to base level. When over or near target, I never let machinery idle in place, just in case of possible collapse. The other equipment removed all from the periphery and besides, I felt the vaults would have withstood well the wages of time. Yet, I kept in mind, the villa above had collapsed, looking as if merely tossed away. The Romans, in my experiences, almost all instances, built well to last; my revealed onslaught showed no contradiction to that opinion.

Detailed frescoes of great beauty were found on remaining walls, only briefly seen, and they I saw, highlighted a vibrant time of long ago; the bulldozers demolished them without intent or opportunity to study…, as they richly deserved. Sacrilege in uttermost description. As I saw, almost all the villa walls had caved southward in some manner two millennia past, long prior to our existent unhallowed desecration. A collapse of two stories, perhaps even what may have been a small third and this told me, earthquake violence here was possibly more robust than that of nearby Pompeii or so surmised in casual observation. Really no way to know if this was the case, though many buildings still stand throughout that nearby city and many with minimal structural damage, this in relative comparison to where I now stood. Regardless of anywhere devastated, this structure had undeniably disintegrated in that maelstrom of quake and ash given by Vesuvius. In my mind, with added earthquakes prior, there followed a harsher more forceful flow of lesser depth ash than that of Pompeii.

That Thought Between Us Is Over

Mago

Instantly, when ground zero was exposed, the crew knew right where to go and soon, troves of silver coin and gold bars were found in a far corner of the villa’s first floor (a presumed onetime money vault), before even finding and reaching the anticipated cellar. So much so after screened of ash and debris, several available burlap bags were quickly filled by scooping hands alone and we had not yet hit the expected cellar, which I fancied would be free of ash. Small vases, figurines, bowls, cups, (those not crushed) were also some of the hauls as we moved amidst what once was a main floor. I kept some, coins and gems mostly, small undamaged figurines, but it was little in relative numbers to what lay below; I was after something bigger and had an unerring hunch something of its sort was present. Not far, and it was an extensive underground room for stored valuables to find and there I believed, a hoped library awaited. It was and did.

As the crew found the riches of precious metals and jewels, I in brief time found my own fortunes. The cellars, one large with smaller adjoining, those latter moderate to small. For storage of oils and wines I presumed for most of these side vaults and additional personal valuables in much greater volume than what already seen were also located.

The sizable entrance doors, though creaky with age, opened as if only yesterday of late summer or early fall of 79AD. Oiling helped.

Gingerly, these doors to below were opened, for not quite two millennia past was the last time used; yes, a small amount of lubricating helped with both still seen leather straps and iron hasps. Below with the general supplies lie more riches, in plentitude, and that in all manner, located in a vault off the main room, just outside the most prominent vault and separately aside from the one just mentioned~~the other side rooms appeared primarily for food and wine storage.

Plenty of unfashioned gold alone~thinnish bars~was stacked by the several hundreds in the side room first encountered, large amounts piled elsewhere in disintegrating wooden chests. I took an approximate one hundred gold bars, some silver coin, but left the several remaining hundreds, maybe thousands, to the crew. Odd I thought for anyone to hoard so much wealth in just one place; know, this seen wealth was far beyond what I expected. Maybe, a once fear of tax collectors and what knowledge they could gain of this place’s wealth if not careful.

Why so much precious metals and gems? Yes, as I later thought, this was wealth once used to forever buy and improve land and perhaps, Mago wanted no one to know of its existence, or providing to anyone an awareness of his true wealth. Nor any outside knowledge from afar giving way to the depth of his monies.

Was not terribly interested in the gold, though availed myself. I desired something else entirely, which I suspected early on might be in a villa like this. I wanted scrolls of history and biography, records like perhaps those found from the Herculaneum or Ercolano areas where once resided Julius Caesar’s father-in-law.

More precisely to point, a library is what I desired, yearned, and sure enough after opening the large angled doors and entering, I found dozens of flat-bottomed urns outside the side vaults. One lift and shaking of one vessel told me there were no oils or fluids within this ceramic collection standing alone from everything else. Medium sized jars, all possessing significant numbers of written documents. I had read of this before, lying under the ashes, but those were carbonized in most cases; none ever found, acquired, or observed by me. Many such things survived the tremendous heat of the eruption as heard from historians; much of what found severely burnt, scanned later by x-ray or specialized imaging technology.

In later thought, I figured this section was not a library, but solely a storage room for the owner’s memoirs. Why I expected this with the writings, do not rightfully know, but heard such things were common in the Empire amongst the wealthy, a preserving volcanic disaster provided the perfect avenue to discovery. Here, lie an office and place of personal escape. A personal library, which I am sure he possessed, had existed above this cellar and assuredly, destroyed long ago by the eruption; if not solely the eruption, then further, not inadvertently, by me in my haste to clear away the above floors to find this cellar. So be it. A terrible loss, if such is the truth. Shortly, only briefly, I was distraught at any loss of histories and literature, but the urns’ discovery cured me forthwith of rueful regret.

Of note, this for me was the first time ever digging in the ashes of Vesuvius on such a scale. Though having dug and robbed in hundreds of places near and far, I found this particular area too dangerous to operate safely unnoticed, even briefly, and besides, Italy had a wealth of other unchecked areas to root.

I opened sealed containers, picked randomly, and discovered high-quality well-preserved vellum and papyrus, mostly the former; all such things of this age gone-by possess a high level of fragility, obviously, but these documents were amazingly well preserved and such was beyond all expectations I could have had. Several scrolls (I use ‘scrolls’ whether or not they were) with written word were in every urn, just lightly rolled documents and that alone was what was stored in these pots I craved. Now owned. Nothing else. I resealed the opened containers, glanced briefly in others and told the crew they could have everything else, but I wanted these documents, another bag of gold, along with a bag of Vespasian silver coins. At hearing my request, all readily agreed, in unison, smiling with judgmental shakes of their heads at that self-desire of concluded foolishness. In their eyes, I was a beefwitted buffoon of the highest order, my taking only what they saw as a fraction of my share as leader~~yet, quickly enough, my urns/vases/pots were loaded and stored to transport north. My plan was to haul this treasure to elsewhere for an ocean voyage from one of two places to the north. Which then next, I removed to a small oceangoing freighter destined eventually for New Orleans, the perfect place for my heist’s release into America. Livorno or La Spezia is where I would go this day. Actually, both.

The crew loaded my cargo, taking less than twenty minutes~~they were in a hurry to see to their own interests and in this, not entirely trusting one another out of eyesight. As that happening, I further searched several dust-covered recesses and hollows not displaying stored items. Erelong, in a tucked away alcove, I found a skeleton lying supine upon a granite slab. Not a place so easily noticeable amidst everything else and one assumed, rightfully, to be his writing/working/eating platform; pottery, plates, cutlery, and oil lamps abounded close on a stone ledge surrounding. Nothing of his face to see as I wished and wanted, but only that of an entire skeleton lying in front. Some slight mummification appeared elsewhere on his body, which told me, he was probably at least lean of build~~in assistance to some of the witnessed preservation, the air had apparently become cool and dry after eruption. Odd that, I would have thought such would be otherwise, especially in the beginning aftermath. First perusal told me the presumed laird had not done himself violence, as arms seemed purposefully, peacefully, crossed upon the now partially collapsed chest. No one but him to do so to his final posture; he had asphyxiated or died of heat, possibly even cooking to death as if in an oven, though doubt this latter, he looked too peaceful in repose.

Perhaps, a poison if suicide, or a cut vein. In estimation, he asphyxiated in place after most likely falling asleep with the added dulling benefit of ample amounts of robust wine. Maybe ataractic herbs to help with the final moments. Am wildly guessing.

The depth and thickness of the heavily supported ceiling, plus fallen masonry above as additional insulation, layered ash above the covering protective rubble of the house, would have added protection from the worst of the heat. Except, the area would have been uncomfortably warm at best and breathable air would have been meager, regardless~~gone within a short while of hours is what I first imagined. Perchance a day? No way to be sure and a vast vault this was; still, air would have eventually run out from breathing and candlelight. Anyway, this I opined in quick ongoing thought.

Contrary to some of my opinion regarding air, this was a sizable area and as prior noted, there was only one breathing creature inside following the villa’s burial.

Of the moment entering the cellar, I noticed the slightly musty air was dry, though admittedly, fresh air came in immediately from above when the doors opened. Usually in my experience, cavernous underground locations maintained a particular level of humidity and cooler temperatures, even if in dry arid locations. This would have been only slightly of benefit to the urn’s contents, though they were well sealed.

While staring at the bones, I thought in that tick of time how I would have liked to have known his face, familiar with as it was when dying, or known his looks of youth, especially now that I am aware of so much more of this fellow’s story. Yes, more precisely, to see him in the flesh as a younger man. Of what I could tell, what remained of his body, his bones, gave indication he had probably been tall (for the time), large and robust~~of a size not typical for the times he lived, even as an ancient man, and he was as came to find. Robust in a lean angular sinewy way, as would be that of a hardened soldier.

More whirlwind baseless guessing going here than anything else when first observing but had seen enough intact skeletons to sense such things of one’s past. Mago’s right arm, brachium (humerus) to forearm and wrist, looked slightly larger, more robust, than the left and imagine, he was an active sword-swinging soldier at some stage of life. Sword, javelin, bow, and shield, and yes, maybe an experienced archer~~was right on this as later found. A military campaigner of an age past.

I left him undisturbed, alone where he lay, then said goodbye with a small bit of remorse at not seeing and studying more of this skeleton and surroundings; a once powerful landowner I knew was the case here, even then aware before reading his memoirs.

I believed I had just robbed this wealthy contadino of his most valuable asset and I do not mean jewels or precious metals, and that belonged to the crew.

This person was no rustic and would be bereft of all valuables within the hour after my departure; of that, I was now a bit sorrier still. This regret, without knowledge yet of who he was, was a feeling of now having completed true desecration. Not my first sense in this life of such, I assure. At the time of that sentiment, I followed with a final thought at departure of ‘so what,’ on my way north from this cackhanded act of sacrilege.

Moreover, do have to say, I came to want to know even more of this fellow beyond just the scrolls, a country gentleman of several colorful life adventures I thought~~however, coming to understand, far from the case in his younger years were these simply idle adventures.

Archaeologists would be apoplectic, angered no end, at what just happened with this estate’s opening return to the world, but at least elated, possibly consoled, at finding this unscathed skeleton surrounded by still recognizable cellar frescoes, all vibrantly colored. People represented, perhaps scholars, drinking wine and talking philosophy as I imagined I was seeing. An opinion only, one borne of no direct knowledge.

I many years later sent a thumbnail biographical account of this fellow to the proper authorities, this to attach such information to the study of the skeleton; authorities I learned in later times had finished excavating whatever remained of this site and area, this estate. Posted anonymously of course, which am sure pissed everyone further in this committed profane violation and theft of Roman history.

I was a considered nighthawk, less a metal detector in this instance, and all despised these sorts unless it was they, whomever, possessed of the absconded valuables and then, they would be my new best friends. The flyblown hypocrites. This contact with antiquity authorities gave an indication to them that an in-depth thorough written record of immense historical value existed; instead, stolen~~to them, more valuable than anything else that may have been at the now thoroughly ravished locus.

Somewhat out of character for me, I made a deep-felt special entreaty to the workers before departing, a humbling supplication desired; a pleading request to leave the body as found, to not disturb its environs any further, whatsoever. In addition, when leaving, upon final departure, to close and cover the cellar doors with a decent layer of ash. This they gravely promised and one pledge I believe kept.

Knowing these people had a high level of ingrained superstition, I figured this request would not be a problem to see done; furthermore, am sure they respected my personal being and the never too exacting wishes made of them. I would call the authorities in short time, in a few days when in another port and some authority would arrive and put this poor fellow’s bones in a box, regardless. To perhaps stay within its container unseen for another eon of time (hopefully with my short précis of biography attached), but at least the bones would come to no further harm or severe disturbance. So I hoped.

Considering there was out of the normal partial mummification of the body, I thought such was the case on legs, arms, and chest, then the remains would garner further detailed scrutiny for DNA or other analysis. Doubt I would ever know the results, regardless, or even what the treatment of the remains would be that came next. Sorry Mago, your final peace awaits.

We were not kind to the preservation of this archaeological site as explicitly noted in this telling, a stupendous find this would have been to another competing, but principled, profession…, one loathing bulldozers. Except, speed in my case had been of vital essence and this operation was as is sometimes crudely known, a ‘snatch and grab’ by unsavory pothunters, without regard to anything else of consequence~~yes, damn to all else. Speed in, speed out, less any soft-footed traipsing. A secretive business of finding underground treasures this was and we of this crew were well versed in these kinds of furtive actions.

Being caught would only lead to severe consequences, apropos a rogue misanthropic British-American possessing an Irish background. I was wanted by authorities in many places, but no one to date knew my identity as a regarded desecrator of antiquity sites, one presently faceless. However, numerous people in NYC and London with whom I rubbed shoulders, genuinely suspected I was a blackguard rascal of some sort, at some level. They were sure of it, a clapperclawed scoundrel of no ethics and they were right, a bounder of no doubt. This I admit. Nevertheless, they not ever once had ideas of nature and scope, or concept, of how I precisely conducted business. Nor the full truth of opinions people held regarding the self. I had mysterious money and resources in abundance was what was known, much-possessed wealth unseen and kept offshore they presumed; plus…, knowing I traveled extensively~~a personal modus operandi, a recognized praxis without precise detail. Another question to many doubters, I was always traveling and none, but rarely, knew where.

I left behind to all conversed and associated, such opinion that also gave clear indication I displayed an extreme knowledge of the world of antiquities and all other things ancient; none knew but the tip of what I really knew or did. None. Besides, if I knew not what I was about, a moment of rare ignorance showing, then I remembered those who did. Beware hubris with these last thoughts, reminding myself once again, an oft necessity to keep in mind.

Be it known again, I occasionally regretted the wanton destruction of such deeds habitually committed, done for the sake only of remuneration; though, not something deserving of a paycheck. Admittedly, there was often a challenge to be had and a curiosity to be sated. To note, I avoided senseless devastation whenever I could; albeit, such was necessarily rare. In most cases, there was no time to be of anything but destroy, prehend with necessary speed, no matter the consequences to surrounding areas. No choice regarding my profession, but sometimes, I was possessed of a conscience; except, just not terribly familiar.

Money too often was the dominant mitigating determinant in thought and acting process in the manner of completion and nothing else, not that I was overly greedy, but I by necessity desired