Looking to her left, she observed several people dressed in togas, eating and drinking from low tables, some reclining on low divans. The surrounding buildings sparkled in the sun.

A small fountain, with a statue of a young boy blowing water from his flute, was in the centre of the garden, the water tinkling into the clear water in the trough beneath the statue. The tables were piled with food, fruit, and goblets of wine. In the distance a huge mountain smoked lazily in the blue haze surrounding it.

As Mary stirred, she was startled to feel the soft swirls of a white toga around her ankles, she looked down to see delicate thonged sandals on her feet. She rubbed her bare neck, and felt soft ringlets caught up in a metal comb.

One of the men called to her, "Olivia, sleepy head, come and eat." Somehow she knew it was her husband, Flavio. She rose, and slowly walked over to meet them, accepting a goblet of sparkling wine from the smiling man. She felt curiously graceful in the flowing costume, feminine and attractive. She felt puzzled, but strangely at home here. She knew she should not be here, but at the same time, it felt right!

Taking a handful of grapes, she sank down onto the soft divan, looking flirtatiously at the young man. The contentment made her feel so happy, and the loving glances from her handsome husband and her loving parents surrounded her with a sense of warmth and safety.

Gazing at the opulence about her, she realised she was one of the rich Roman families, her father was an important official in Pompeii. They lived a life of ease, cared for by slaves. The open doors of the surrounding buildings revealed a busy kitchen, and comfortable rooms draped in silks and other rich fabrics; beautiful murals covered the walls.

A small strange looking dog nuzzled her feet; she leaned down, and absent-mindedly scratched its ear.

Beyond the garden, through the entrance hall she could see the street. Large cobblestones, with deep ruts, formed the road. Incongruously, a Roman chariot went past the window, with a soldier pulling at the reins of the straining horse. Everything felt hazily unreal, but Mary did not feel any fear.

The family strolled out into the street. Laughing and chatting, they wandered along the open fronted shops. Shopkeepers bustled about attending to their customers. Food shops with delicious smelling wares, steam rising from the stone troughs, containing hot water, to keep the food warm. Further on, a smithy, making tools and weapons, and a silversmith, with lovely jewellery on display.

Men, women, children and animals thronged the busy main street. Flavio handed Olivia a delicate silver bangle; she smilingly accepted the gift.

Soon the heat and the crowds, plus the smell, drove the family back to their cool fragrant garden.

Olivia went into her bedroom, Flavio followed her, and they both looked at their wedding mural on the wall, remembering the happy day. She turned to speak to him, and the world tilted! They stared at each other in fear. The screams from outside drew them to the window, people were running and shouting in terror.

Suddenly the sky darkened, thick smoke began to drift across the once clear sky. A rumble heralded another sickening tremor. The family rushed outside, joining the mass of people hurrying to the harbour, trying to get to a boat, to take them to safety.

In the mad rush of frenzy, there were no masters and slaves, only blind panic. Neighbours trampled on neighbours, not even recognising them.

Black searing ash began to fall on the town, small fires erupting wherever it landed.

The great mountain was erupting, showering the crowds with hot particles of burning matter. A great tide of lava was visible, rolling down the mountainside, threatening to engulf them. The softly smoking familiar mountain was suddenly attacking them!

Olivia and her family were roughly shoved aside by their slaves; Olivia stumbled and fell, striking her head on a column. Her last sight, through her pain, strangely, was of the great statues as they seemed to be leaping down from their pedestals. Actually they were being dashed on to the hardness of the cobbles.

Mary stirred on the old stone bench, "Goodness, what a strange dream," she thought. She stood up and went to search for her group. Passing the villa where she had admired the mural of the young couple, she paused for another look. "I didn't notice before," she mused, slightly surprised, "She looks very like me."

Shaking her head, she followed the chattering guide, rubbing her arms as a sudden shiver brought goose pimples out; she felt something on her arm, looking down she found a delicate bangle.

Feeling a little frightened, she hurried back to the coach park, to the security of the familiar coach. Her mind was swirling with the weird events, the bodies of the ancient Romans made with plaster casts, so human, seeing chariots and slaves, and where had the bangle come from?

In her haste she almost fell over a clump of grass, a hand shot out to steady her. "Nearly went then, are you ok?" said a deep northern voice.

Mary looked up and his eyes widened, "I'm off the next coach, sorry for staring, but I feel as if I know you; but from a long time ago!"

Mary stared back into his dark eyes, and noticed his thick, dark, hair.

"Yes," she murmured, "I feel it too .."

This short story, copyright Rose Edwards 2000, is a work of fiction and no reference is intended to any person alive or otherwise. All rights reserved

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