I slowly closed my eyes, and the sounds of the modern world began to fade. The soft rustle of wind through the grass blades replaced the low hum of distant traffic.
A new scent filled the air, a mix of dry earth, clean water, and something like hot stone. The warm blue sky seemed to expand. Then I felt the grip of a firm hand on my left shoulder.
‘Are you admiring the work, then, Dominus?’ a voice asked, speaking Latin with an accent that was at once rough yet refined by education.
I turned just enough to face a man with a sea-beaten face and eyes the colour of aged stone. I recognised Marcellus Roadicus, the Praefectus currently responsible for the maintenance of the City of Rome’s paved routes and fresh water supply.
The structure beside which we stood was new, or at least newly restored. Below, a team of slaves, guided by architects, was sealing a small fissure in the foundation. Above them, the great arches loomed, a magnificent and freshly completed achievement.
‘It is a work of great genius, Praefectus,’ I replied, emphasising the unfamiliar yet strangely natural musicality of the Latin words.
Roadicus came closer with a wry smile.
‘I recall the first surveyor we sent. He spent months just mapping the springs in the high hills. Then came the labour, the endless quarrying and hauling of limestone. The amount of material in those arches is staggering.’
He gestured down the line. ‘The original planners here were bold, but their initial work was insufficient for the scale. We have built upon their errors, reinforcing the structure and adding the second tier to ensure the pressure remains constant all the way to the main city’s castellum.’
We walked along the upper channel. The air here was humid, a constant cool moisture lingering despite the heat outside. The sound of water was not merely a whisper but a powerful, low vibration.
He then added, ‘It is said the Emperor himself reviewed the final plans. This water will fuel the new public baths and supply the main fountains. It is more than just water, Dominus. It is a symbol of Roman order, bringing life to where before there was only thirst. A structure built to last.’
I let out a sneeze; it must have been the pollen. The hand was gone. The sounds of Latin chatter and rushing water were replaced by the sighing wind and the soft murmur of car engines.
The great arches still stood, silent and monumental. They had indeed lasted, a silent echo of an empire built for eternity.
