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Description
written by HyperSonicXdA & Lupus14

PROLOGUE

Dr. Enrico Baldagere stood up and surveyed his work for the day. For the last three weeks, the site had been the 43-year-old archeologist’s idea of paradise. The Roman villa, although gone above ground, was turning out to be a very productive archeological find. Well, by productive, we mean archeologically productive, which entails primarily shards of pottery. Sure, there was the odd kitchen utensil or brass sestertius coin, but most archeological finds are mostly pottery. This case was no different. A stroke of luck, the doctor thought to himself, that it was found at all.

A month ago, a farmer near Padua had bought the field Dr. Baldagere was now working in, to plant crops. While ploughing his field the farmer found the blades always got stuck in the same place. When he examined it, he found the plough was constantly hooking a low brick wall. He informed the authorities and within a week the significance of the site had become national news. A Roman villa, after all, is a rare find in Italy these days. Dr. Baldagere had immediately stormed to the site to oversee developments. He discovered it was the residence of a wealthy family from the early days of the empire, the Lanati.

The pater familias, Aulus Sempronius Lanatus, had been born a slave sometime in the first century BC and released by his master’s will. He had joined the Army, married a Gaulish girl during one of his campaigns, worked his way through the ranks, and finished his 25 years of service as primus pilus (centurion of the first century of the first cohort of a legion, the effective executive officer in battle) with the 14th Legion Gemina. He earned his patch of farmland east of Patavium (modern-day Padua), and bore a son and a daughter during his army career and several other children afterwards.

His firstborn son, Marcus Sempronius Lanatus, would be the family’s claim to fame, as one of the chief advisors of Emperors Claudius and Nero, before falling out of grace, yet surviving Nero's wrath and spending the remainder of his life on the Lanatus residence in Northern Italy. The Lanati themselves left their mark on the villa by having their name inlaid in mosaics in the bottom of their impluvium (the collecting basin for rainwater in center of the front courtyard, or atrium).

And it was the villa Dr. Baldagere was now excavating, room by room, pottery shard by pottery shard. And he enjoyed it. Even though he wasn’t expecting a Tutankhamon-sized find, the villa ought to produce something of greater value to science, or that was what he thought. For the last three weeks, very little of any intrinsic or scientific value was found. The most remarkable find were fresco remains on the section of wall the farmer hooked with his plough, which depicted a man in legionary uniform, presumably the elder Lanatus, pointing his spear towards a threat off the visible frame. It was the right-hand corner towards the back of the house, and therefore likely happened rather late in the father’s military career.

“Doctor,” he heard his assistant Anna shout from across the digsite, “come take a look at this!” He hurried over to her, as she was crouching next to an amphora. “Is it intact?” he asked. “Seems so.” “What can you tell me?” “The front appears to have been sealed with a waxed cork, which disintegrated over the years. I don’t have a flashlight, so I didn’t look inside yet.” “Let me see,” the archeologist said as he walked over to the mouth of the jar, flipped on the penlight he carried on his keychain and peered inside.

“And, doctor, what is inside?” “They appear to be scrolls of some sort. They seem intact too, hardly damaged.” He didn’t sound like it, but his heart skipped several beats while he examined them. Villas were rare, authentic Roman scrolls were even rarer. Surely this would be the find of his life. “Get that amphora stored safely and carefully. We’ll examine the scrolls in the lab back in Padua.”

Several hours later, he and Anna stood in Padua with bated breath, as they slowly, patiently and above all, carefully removed the scrolls from the amphora. When they were finished, they took a coffee break (it was late in the evening) and discussed the scrolls. “I didn’t think they were accomplished writers.” “I suppose the son could write well enough. Given the amount of scrolls, I’m not expecting an Ab Urbe Condita-style magnum opus. Maybe he never even publicized it. I’m extremely curious about what it features. Maybe an account of his father’s career.” “Might be, doctor.”

Eventually, they carefully stored the scrolls in airtight bags, to preserve them until they could be examined in sterile conditions in Rome. Still, they couldn’t resist a sneak peak at what was marked as the first scroll. They slowly unrolled the 2000-year-old parchment, which was marked with an imposing title. “Traditio Lanthildae,” said Dr. Baldagere. “Lanthilda? That doesn’t sound Roman.” “Indeed. Sounds more Germanic. We’ll find out more when we can examine them safely.”

Over the next three years, Dr. Baldagere and Anna devoted the majority of their working hours meticulously copying and translating the scrolls, with intermittent visits to the villa, and found within them a remarkable story. A tale, that appears to have truly happened in recorded history, since its records match other classical writers, but was lost to time. The translation of what they recovered proved somewhat, well, uncomfortable for the general audience, so its exact contents were kept secret, and the populace was told only vague hints of the story it entails. It is my pleasure, therefore, to present you with the accurate translation of the libri Lanati, the Lanatian scrolls.

Description
written by HyperSonicXdA & Lupus14

PROLOGUE

Dr. Enrico Baldagere stood up and surveyed his work for the day. For the last three weeks, the site had been the 43-year-old archeologist’s idea of paradise. The Roman villa, although gone above ground, was turning out to be a very productive archeological find. Well, by productive, we mean archeologically productive, which entails primarily shards of pottery. Sure, there was the odd kitchen utensil or brass sestertius coin, but most archeological finds are mostly pottery. This case was no different. A stroke of luck, the doctor thought to himself, that it was found at all.

A month ago, a farmer near Padua had bought the field Dr. Baldagere was now working in, to plant crops. While ploughing his field the farmer found the blades always got stuck in the same place. When he examined it, he found the plough was constantly hooking a low brick wall. He informed the authorities and within a week the significance of the site had become national news. A Roman villa, after all, is a rare find in Italy these days. Dr. Baldagere had immediately stormed to the site to oversee developments. He discovered it was the residence of a wealthy family from the early days of the empire, the Lanati.

The pater familias, Aulus Sempronius Lanatus, had been born a slave sometime in the first century BC and released by his master’s will. He had joined the Army, married a Gaulish girl during one of his campaigns, worked his way through the ranks, and finished his 25 years of service as primus pilus (centurion of the first century of the first cohort of a legion, the effective executive officer in battle) with the 14th Legion Gemina. He earned his patch of farmland east of Patavium (modern-day Padua), and bore a son and a daughter during his army career and several other children afterwards.

His firstborn son, Marcus Sempronius Lanatus, would be the family’s claim to fame, as one of the chief advisors of Emperors Claudius and Nero, before falling out of grace, yet surviving Nero's wrath and spending the remainder of his life on the Lanatus residence in Northern Italy. The Lanati themselves left their mark on the villa by having their name inlaid in mosaics in the bottom of their impluvium (the collecting basin for rainwater in center of the front courtyard, or atrium).

And it was the villa Dr. Baldagere was now excavating, room by room, pottery shard by pottery shard. And he enjoyed it. Even though he wasn’t expecting a Tutankhamon-sized find, the villa ought to produce something of greater value to science, or that was what he thought. For the last three weeks, very little of any intrinsic or scientific value was found. The most remarkable find were fresco remains on the section of wall the farmer hooked with his plough, which depicted a man in legionary uniform, presumably the elder Lanatus, pointing his spear towards a threat off the visible frame. It was the right-hand corner towards the back of the house, and therefore likely happened rather late in the father’s military career.

“Doctor,” he heard his assistant Anna shout from across the digsite, “come take a look at this!” He hurried over to her, as she was crouching next to an amphora. “Is it intact?” he asked. “Seems so.” “What can you tell me?” “The front appears to have been sealed with a waxed cork, which disintegrated over the years. I don’t have a flashlight, so I didn’t look inside yet.” “Let me see,” the archeologist said as he walked over to the mouth of the jar, flipped on the penlight he carried on his keychain and peered inside.

“And, doctor, what is inside?” “They appear to be scrolls of some sort. They seem intact too, hardly damaged.” He didn’t sound like it, but his heart skipped several beats while he examined them. Villas were rare, authentic Roman scrolls were even rarer. Surely this would be the find of his life. “Get that amphora stored safely and carefully. We’ll examine the scrolls in the lab back in Padua.”

Several hours later, he and Anna stood in Padua with bated breath, as they slowly, patiently and above all, carefully removed the scrolls from the amphora. When they were finished, they took a coffee break (it was late in the evening) and discussed the scrolls. “I didn’t think they were accomplished writers.” “I suppose the son could write well enough. Given the amount of scrolls, I’m not expecting an Ab Urbe Condita-style magnum opus. Maybe he never even publicized it. I’m extremely curious about what it features. Maybe an account of his father’s career.” “Might be, doctor.”

Eventually, they carefully stored the scrolls in airtight bags, to preserve them until they could be examined in sterile conditions in Rome. Still, they couldn’t resist a sneak peak at what was marked as the first scroll. They slowly unrolled the 2000-year-old parchment, which was marked with an imposing title. “Traditio Lanthildae,” said Dr. Baldagere. “Lanthilda? That doesn’t sound Roman.” “Indeed. Sounds more Germanic. We’ll find out more when we can examine them safely.”

Over the next three years, Dr. Baldagere and Anna devoted the majority of their working hours meticulously copying and translating the scrolls, with intermittent visits to the villa, and found within them a remarkable story. A tale, that appears to have truly happened in recorded history, since its records match other classical writers, but was lost to time. The translation of what they recovered proved somewhat, well, uncomfortable for the general audience, so its exact contents were kept secret, and the populace was told only vague hints of the story it entails. It is my pleasure, therefore, to present you with the accurate translation of the libri Lanati, the Lanatian scrolls.