Tacitus' Lost Letters

Chapter Twelve: Fiction 1.8

Chapter Twelve

1863

Gottfried O. Ruehig was a dedicated man. He was dedicated to truth and honesty, to his parish and to God.

But, even more than all those, he was dedicated to archeology. That newfangled science of actually going out and digging around in the ground. It was all the rage. Finding the most interesting things, exactly where they'd been left umpteen years ago. Seeing them in their natural surroundings - sifting physically through the rocks of ages, having them in your hand, feeling their weight. Marvelous.

And today was a perfect day to continue where he'd left off a few days ago. Cool and overcast - no sun pounding like a fist on his head and shoulders. And no wind to blow loose dirt and dust in his eyes, and sand in his shoes.

Gottfried stepped out of the cool shade, out from under the protective green canopy of oak trees in their dark summer foliage, and into an open meadow. Shimmering green opened before him. As he strode across the field, it sent a ripple through the tall grass.

He caught sight again of the mound, and the steep incline that led up to it. A discerning eye could imagine a circular recess around its crown. He quickened his pace, anxious to see again what he'd half uncovered days before - before the scorching midday heat had forced him, half mad with thirst, to abandon his efforts and go in search of water.

He'd then been called away on parish business, which had stretched into several days. Now, at last, he was getting back to his digging site. He looked forward to a long, satisfying afternoon of digging. The mound was clearly visible now. He broke into an anxious, trot, looping up the incline as best he could with all he had to carry, using the broom's long handle as a kind of walking stick and pole vault.

He felt certain no one would have disturbed the site. He couldn't honestly imagine that anyone from the area would find it even remotely interesting. Still, even if he alone understood the significance of what he'd found, still, it would be a shame if anything had happened to it.

Gottfried O. Ruehig was born in Euskirchen, Germany. That part of Germany was called Rhenish Prussia at the time - in 1838. It had been Germania inferior in Roman times.

"Not because it was inferior," Gottfried liked to tell his mindful charges in the parochial school, not always suppressing a smile at his own joke, "but because it was further from Rome than its neighboring province, Germania superior."

"In Roman times, Euskirchen produced slaked lime," he liked to tell anyone who would listen, "It is the most important ingredient for making the wall coverings known as fresco."

Gottfried loved his hometown. "Stone blocks, the most important ingredient in making slaked lime came from the many quarries in the area." he said.

"Stones blocks and slaked lime from Euskirchen built the water aqueduct that takes fresh spring water all the way to Cologne. Other quarried blocks were used to build the garrisons at Xanten and Gelduba, too."

Gelduba was not far from where he was now standing in Krefeld-Ossum.

The O. of his middle initial was short for Octocann - a family name he did not like or understand. In his family, it was a tradition to name a male offspring Octocann and Gottfried was eternally grateful that it had not been bestowed upon his as a first name. The name went back he knew not how long - probably full of honor and history, probably, but even so, it was prone to provoke giggles from school children and cause even respectful adults to stumble when they had to say it out loud. With time, he took to using only the letter O and never even mentioning the full name, if he could avoid it.