My name is Aulus, a Batavian soldier serving in the Roman army. I come from a proud people who once fought against the Romans but now serve in their legions. My home is the settlement of Trajectum, located on the northern frontier of the empire, where the cold wind blows over the Rhine and the forests shelter us. But my journey now takes me far from the cold plains of the Lowlands, to the south, to the sunlit city of Pompeii.
The reason for my journey is simple yet urgent: one of my brothers, also a Batavian soldier, was wounded in battle while serving in the legions in the south. He is recovering near Pompeii, and I am traveling to visit him. I have also heard from veterans about the prosperity of the cities at the foot of Mount Vesuvius, with their bathhouses, amphitheaters, and bustling markets. It is said that the gods are generous there, making the land fertile, in stark contrast to the harsh winters of my homeland.
My journey begins early in spring, when the rivers swell with melting snow from the mountains. From Trajectum, I follow the Rhine southward, a familiar route for the soldiers of my cohort. The Roman roads are a blessing for travelers, and though the journey will be long, I know the road to the south is well-maintained. Along the way, I pass through settlements and forts, stopping briefly to rest and gather supplies.
The days are long, and the marches monotonous. Along the way, I meet people of various backgrounds: Gauls, Romans, and Germanic traders settling in the empire. Much talk is of politics, especially the power struggles following the death of Emperor Vespasian, but it interests me little. My thoughts are with my brother and his fate.
After several weeks of travel, I reach the province of Italia, where the landscape begins to change. The air is warmer, the sun brighter, and the roads busier. One day, as I walk past a field where slaves are working, my attention is caught by one of them. A man, thin and dressed in rags, with a look that is both weary and unbroken. He speaks to me in Greek, a language I understand somewhat, though not fluently.
“Help me, lord,” he says in a hoarse voice. “I am not a slave by birth, but a prisoner, taken from Athens during the war. My master sold me to a farmer here.”
His words strike me. Though I am free and always carry the pride of my noble Batavian ancestors, the sight of such an enslaved people as the Greeks is strange and painful. The man tells me his name—Nikias—and how he was once a teacher in Athens, but now touches only mud and stone instead of books and papyrus.
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There was little I could do for him at that moment, but I gave him some food and encouraged him to hold on. The ways of fate are mysterious, I thought, and perhaps one day he would regain his freedom.
After a long and tiring journey, I finally see Pompeii in the distance. The city lies peacefully in the shadow of the great mountain, Vesuvius. The streets are bustling, the markets full of life. I had heard stories of Pompeii, and the city does not disappoint. Everywhere there are people of different origins—Greeks, Syrians, Romans—all living in luxury and comfort. The contrast with the simplicity of my Batavian life is immense. Roman culture has deeply rooted itself here, with theaters, temples, and bathhouses where I can finally cleanse my tired body after weeks of travel.
My brother is indeed recovering in one of the villas in the city, and though his wounds are severe, he is on the mend. We celebrate his recovery, and I feel great relief that he has survived. Life in Pompeii seems carefree, but I sense a strange tension in the air, as if the city is waiting for something to happen.
During my stay in Pompeii, I encounter a group of people who are different from the rest. They speak softly, avoid the great temples and the sacrifices to the old gods, and gather in secret. At first, I do not understand what drives them, but my curiosity draws me closer. One of them, a man named Johannes, speaks of a new god, a single god who brings love and salvation to all, regardless of birth or status.
This message of equality and forgiveness deeply moves me. As a soldier, I have seen much bloodshed, and I often wonder if there is a better way than that of the sword. The teachings of Christ, as they call it, speak of peace, hope, and a kingdom that is not of this world. Though I had my doubts at first, I feel a kind of inner peace with these people, something I had never experienced in the turbulent world of Rome.
After a few weeks, I decide to be baptized. It is a secret ceremony, held in a small room in Pompeii, far from the eyes of the authorities who distrust this new religion. My life as a soldier has shaped me, but now I see a new path before me, a life where violence gives way to peace, and the old gods no longer determine my fate.
My journey to Pompeii has not only reunited my family but also changed my soul. The old world seems to lie behind me, and as I look toward the future, I feel a new strength growing within me—the strength of faith.
Pompeii, the city of wealth and pleasure, has given me a gift I never expected: new hope, new belief, and a new path.