24 AUGUST AD 79 POMPEII
I hurried to the square in Pompeii and saw eight priests, standing in a circle, offering loud prayers to the god Vulcan. Next to them was a pile of wooden crates, each with squawking chickens inside. Standing by the crates was a soldier with a knife in his hand. A crowd had gathered round the priests.
Then I saw my father. He was climbing up on a plinth. A statue had fallen off the plinth and lay broken beside it.
To my horror, he began to shout at the priests and the people.
“People of Pompeii, listen to me! This earthquake is nothing to do with Vulcan. Vulcan does not exist!” As the people turned away from the priests and looked towards my father, horrified by his words, he pointed towards the mountain Vesuvius.
“This earthquake is caused by the fires raging under Vesuvius. There is nothing you, or the priests, can do about it. Vesuvius will explode. And when it does it will shower this city with hot ash. Rivers of fire will pour down from the mountain. You will all die unless you leave now and get to higher ground away from the mountain. Flee!”
There were loud shouts of anger from the crowd, as they began throwing rocks at my father and shouting: “Silence him! It is his fault! He insulted Vulcan!”
The rocks hit my father and he fell backwards onto the cobbles. I ran to help him up, as others also rushed towards him, some arming themselves with wooden sticks.
My father scrambled to his feet, grabbed me by the hand and dragged me into a side street. He was bleeding from a gash in his head where a stone had hit him.
“We have to make people see the truth, Marcus!” he panted. “We have to save them!”
“No!” I shouted at him. And now I felt tears stinging my eyes. “They’re right! This earthquake is all your fault. You have insulted Vulcan! I hate you! I hate you!”
And with that, I ran away from him as fast as I could.
Hot flakes rained down. The earth shook. Buildings cracked and fell. People cried out in fear and ran.