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Who's On Fire?
Caracus Brutus lived in the year 100 AD in the ancient city of Rome. Caracus was the founding father of the worlds first fire brigade: a noble and respected achievement indeed . . .
Mostly built of timber, Rome was an easy victim to fire. She had burned to the ground on more then one occasion, leaving millions homeless. Clearly, if the eternal city was to have any future at all, the heroic deeds of men like Caracus would have to play an integral roll. To bad that our hero would not only be remembered for his humanitarian efforts, but likewise for his terrible, and more infamous efforts at cheating the public from their property. For although Caracus would waste no time in hustling his brigade to the scene of the disaster, he would likewise waste no time in hustling the sorry landlord from his disaster unconditionally.
Yes, Caracus would refuse to spend a single drop of water. To be sure, he would let the damn thing burn to the ground, the house and everything in it -- let it be items of gold, silver, or that of flesh and blood -- let it all turn into ashes he would, unless? Unless the owner unconditionally sold him, Caracus Brutus, his entire property right there on the spot; and that at a price no more ridiculous and devaluated then property found at the centre of Vesuvius.
Of course the owner had no other choice. Not because his grandmother, wife, or poodle were trapped amongst the burning timbers -- in those days people were quite replaceable -- but more importantly because of that which his grandmother, wife, or poodle used for breakfast lunch and dinner. Because in 100 AD the bank was not kept down town, but kept within the home: that is to say ones riches where kept in the form of gold cups and sliver plates, forks, spoons; in marbles, ivories, and furniture too . . . Thus, Caracus had an ace in the hand. The owner would agree almost to any price demanded. His swindle would go down in history. And Caracus quickly became one of the richest land lords in the entire city. Soon he had plates and cups of his own, big enough to feed an Emperor.
It was not until years later did our hero finally get his just reward. It happened one moon-less night behind the lavish house of Marcus Polus, another real estate tycoon like himself.
What happened was this: apparently -- since Caracus was the first fire officer ever in the history of mankind and could make up the rules as he saw fit -- it was his job and duty, as fire chief, not only to extinguish the blaze, but likewise, to start the damn thing in the first place. Yes, Caracus was caught setting fire to Marcus Polus's estate . . .
And so, the last legendary threads of heroic intention had been stripped from Caracus's toga forever. Now naked in deeds, this despicable criminal would have to face judgment. And worse still, judgment had already been passed. For the Emperor had been waiting for just such an opportunity. He had been wanting to convict Caracus and confiscate his property for a long time; and now, finally, he had sufficient evidence against him -- to be sure, Caracus had been suspected of arson for some several years -- and wasted no time in delivering the punishment.
Without a trial, a jury, or a single word in his defence, the poor fool was dragged to his villa in chains. There he was gagged and wrapped in oily rags, spat on, kicked, and cursed at by many of the people he had cheated, tossed upon a stack of his finest furniture and cutlery, and, without any further adieu, the sorry fool was set ablaze . . . Not surprising that no one called the fire department either . . .
Thus, the founding father of the worlds first fire brigade was burnt alive in his own home. The irony was so great that for years to come people would blame disasters by flames as being the curse of Caracus . . .
Anyway, the villa burned for days. Of course the brigade was ordered to stand by in case the fire spread and got out of control, but it did not. Apparently the inferno was so hot that all that was left of the chief was a small medallion he had worn around his neck. He had once said that it had brought him luck, and that it had indeed! . . . at least until now . . .
The next day a new fire chief was appointed by the senate. He was a simple man of modest needs, quick with a bucket and a ladder, but, quite fortunately really, knew nothing about real estate.
Copyright ©1999 by Michael Hills ... all rights reserved.