Tempus et Fatem

Tempus et Fatem
Fiona

My team and I climb into a van as a gorgeous sunrise spreads over the horizon. When we arrive at the site for the first time, I can’t help but stop and stare, breathless. I’ve only ever dreamt about this place, and no photographs or textbooks could have prepared me for actually standing here.

Trying to keep up with the others and take everything in is impossible. It’s like time was frozen for centuries in the streets, the worn grooves from cart wheels, the faded frescoes clinging stubbornly to plaster. All around me, I see the delicate imprint of lives ended far too quickly. 

The project leader, James Delacroix, gathers us near a partially exposed structure and runs through the plan for the day, explaining each step clearly. I appreciate that he doesn’t waste time. We’re assigned sections, and I gather my tool bag and follow the path James has marked, scanning the grid until I find the square assigned to me. 

When I get to my spot, I excitedly pull my trowel from my bag and kneel at my assigned square, tunnel vision forming as everything else slips away, and I focus on the ash and dust beneath me. The noise from the crew fades. It’s just me, the earth, and whatever history is waiting underneath.

Each brushstroke, every careful scrape, reminds me of how lucky I am to be here. I remember the first time I saw the bodies posed in a snapshot of time. It was in a Weekly Reader in fourth grade social studies class, and I was fascinated, imagining what it would be like to explore a place like this. And now, out of everyone in the world who felt the same way, I’m actually here. I get to touch the halted existence of this place and uncover lives entombed, suspended in time, with my own hands.

Time goes by too quickly, and by midmorning, I’m uncovering a small fragment—pottery, by the look of it, but not like the examples we have studied. The edge is unusually fine, and the pigment is much darker, almost metallic beneath the dust. When I notice the subtle differences in texture and material, I pause, my pulse kicking up, and signal for James.

He kneels beside me, studying it without touching. “Good eye,” he says finally, and that’s enough to send a quiet spark of pride through me. Hours later, the partial vase is lifted properly, logged, and documented, but I can’t stop thinking about the remarkable artifact. Who held it? What was it used for? And how did it end up here, in this exact location? 

By the time the sun begins to set, and we pack up, my muscles ache, and my hands are dirty in a way that feels earned. I’m tired, but it’s the kind of satisfying exhaustion that comes with doing work I truly love. Heading toward the van, the day’s duties done, I keep looking back, drawn to every stone and shadow, to the traces of life buried here. I want to keep digging, keep uncovering, but the sun is getting lower, and I can’t work after dark.

The crew climbs into the van, our gear packed in the back, and we return to the hotel as the city drifts past in the golden evening light.

When the van pulls up to the hotel, we all hop out and grab our tool bags from the back. Another archaeologist, Jackie, catches up to me in the lobby, beaming. “Can you believe how much we uncovered today?” 

“I know,” I reply, swinging my bag over my shoulder. “I didn’t expect the work to feel so intimate on the first day.” 

“I was watching you at your square when you found that vase,” she says. “You were in the zone. I thought I was impressed with the coin I found, but you—wow.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “You found a coin? That’s amazing! I can’t wait to see it tomorrow.” 

We turn down the hall toward our rooms, which are side-by-side. “And I can’t wait to see the pottery you uncovered. Do you think we’ll hit something even bigger tomorrow?” she asks. 

“I hope so.” I smile at the thought. “I can’t stop thinking about how we are only at surface level. There’s so much we didn’t even get to today.”

Her smile widens. “Yeah, we barely scratched the top level. It’s going to be an amazing journey. It feels like we stepped into a time machine.”

We reach our rooms, and Jackie unlocks hers. Before stepping inside, she says, “I’m starving. See you at dinner?”

“Absolutely,” I answer. She nods, slips inside her room, and I unlock mine and step in. I close the door behind me, still buzzing from the site and already thinking ahead to tomorrow.

I set my bag down and peel off my dusty clothes, running a hot shower and letting the water wash away the grime clinging to my skin. The hotel’s fancy orange blossom shampoo and conditioner fill the air with a sweet, citrus scent as I lather up. When I step out, I twist my damp hair into a clip and step into a sea-green dress with lacy straps, something easy to move in but still nice enough for dinner. Once I’m dressed, I unclip my hair and style it in loose curls, then finish with a touch of subtle makeup before heading to the lobby to meet up with my co-workers.

One by one, they emerge from the stairs, and we walk down the street to the small trattoria nearby. Inside, the incredible smells of garlic, tomato, and fresh bread hit me, mingling with the chatter of locals around us. The second we’re seated, conversations immediately explode among the team. 

“I didn’t expect to find a foreign coin at that layer,” Jackie says, shaking her head. “I can’t wait to figure out where it came from. It’s definitely not from this region.”

Kyle, the assistant field director who helps oversee the dig and guide the team’s work, sets his wineglass down. “If we get enough artifacts from other regions, maybe we can secure a grant to visit sites in other areas, as well.”

Eliza beams. “That would be epic!” I’ve known Eliza since before my work on the Pueblo site, and she’s always been ready for the next challenge. 

Our director, James, raises his glass. “We made a lot of progress today, everyone. Good work. To tomorrow.” 

“To tomorrow,” we all repeat, clinking our glasses and taking a sip. 

With everyone so enthusiastic after only our first day, I feel my excitement growing. Then Eliza turns to me. “What about you, Fiona? Find anything interesting on your first day?”

“I did. Why don’t I sketch out what I found?” I pull a small notepad and pen from my bag and sketch the vase’s unusual markings. “It has inscriptions in Latin,” I explain. “But it’s not the kind of Latin the people of Pompeii would have spoken or written. The phrasing is different—more formal and almost poetic. It says ‘Tempus et Fatum’—Time and Destiny.”

Jackie leans over, her eyes filled with wonder. “Really? That’s perfect!”

Kyle tilts his head to look at my sketch. “Yes, eerily so. I’ve never seen markings like that before. Where exactly did you find it?” 

I describe the layer in the ash, the texture under my trowel, and the way the material of the vase felt different. I draw quickly, explaining each detail as questions fly from the others. 

As the meal continues, the table vibrates with energy, everyone feeding off the discoveries, the possibilities, and I’m already planning how I’ll examine my area more carefully tomorrow. I keep glancing at my sketch, imagining what else might be waiting beneath the dust, and I feel an intensity I haven’t felt in years. In Pompeii, I feel so alive, focused, and utterly in my element.

By the time we leave the restaurant, I am both exhausted and exhilarated. This first day has exceeded every expectation, and I can’t wait to get back to the site in the morning.



I wake before dawn, the hotel quiet except for the low hum of the city waking outside my window. My bag is ready from the night before, so I slip into my clothes and pull my hair back, securing it with a clip before heading to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. By the time I step into the lobby, the others are gathering near the door.

James spots me and waves. “Ready to get back out there?”

“Absolutely.” I catch up to the group. 

Jackie is checking her gear. She grins at me. “You look like you’ve been counting down the minutes.”

“Maybe I have,” I reply, laughing. My stomach flips with anticipation. 

The ride to the site is short, the van bouncing along the old stone roads. Kyle checks the site map spread on his lap. “If we start on the eastern squares first, we might uncover more fragments similar to yesterday’s. It looks promising.”

“That makes sense. Focusing there could help us understand how the foreign coins and fragments relate to the rest of the site,” Eliza says.

Jackie nods. “I can’t wait to get out there. Every new find feels like a small door opening.”

When we arrive at the dig site for our second day, I drop my bag near my assigned excavation square, pull my padded mat out, and kneel on it. I begin carefully brushing aside tiny shards of debris in the fine, gritty ash when something catches my attention. As I gently use my brush and trowel, a line of bricks comes into view, partially buried and pushed at an odd angle. “What is this?” I murmur under my breath, tracing the edge with my hands. 

Slowly, it becomes clear. A section of wall has collapsed here, its shape and position hinting at how the fragments around it were once arranged. Each detail adds to the story I’m piecing together.

Jackie is working next to me, carefully brushing ash from her square. I glance up at her and say, “Jackie, come and look at this. I think I found part of a collapsed wall.”

She walks over and crouches beside me. “You’re right.” She studies the bricks. “This section could tell us if a building used to stand here. If we map it carefully, it might explain the layout of this area.”

By midmorning, James joins us at my square. “Fiona, have you made any progress on the origin of that vase you found yesterday?”

“I’m working near the area where I found it and have mapped the immediate surroundings. But no, I haven’t made any new discoveries regarding the vase. Jackie and I are working on something even better this morning.” I show him our work. “There’s a collapsed wall segment here. Debris and ash variations suggest it was positioned between buildings.”

He nods in approval. “Interesting. Keep track of everything. This might be the most informative piece of architecture we’ve seen yet.”

I thank him, and Jackie and I return to our work, carefully uncovering the wall little by little.

When it’s time for lunch, we sit at a table in a shady spot just outside the site. James’s assistant has set out plates of bread, cheese, and cured meats, along with jugs of water and lemonade. Conversation flows easily as we eat, swapping observations from the morning’s work.

Jackie gestures with a piece of bread. “They were likely planning a Feriae Augusti festival, or the Vinalia Rustica, at this time, which celebrated Jupiter and Venus and was tied to the grape harvest. Public feasts, temple offerings, and games would have been part of the celebration.”

Eliza chimes in. “That would explain why so many decorated vessels are coming from the same area. Festivals would need larger, specialized vessels, maybe even imports.”

“And if we tie the fragment markings to festival use, it will most likely align with what we see in Pompeii murals and mosaics,” I say. 

“The more we find, the clearer the picture becomes. Every fragment adds context,” Kyle adds. 

After lunch, the day grows even hotter, but I stay focused. Jackie has gone back to her square, and I’m left carefully brushing ash from the collapsed wall, working slowly to expose its full outline. The bricks are uneven, many still partially buried, and I make note of how they’ve shifted over time. I keep at it, determined to uncover the entire section and understand how it once stood.

I’m so absorbed in my work, completely caught up in the wall’s details, that for a moment, nothing else exists. When I step back to get a better view, I misjudge the edge of a trench where another archaeologist has made a huge amount of progress.

The ground falls away beneath me, and I lunge into a deep hollow, hitting my head on a jagged rock. Intense pain rips through my skull. The sounds of the dig fade, distant and muffled, and my vision wavers. I try to call for help, but no sound comes out of my mouth. Weak and dizzy, I try to stand, but darkness pulls me under.