Egressum magna me accepit Aricia Roma hospitio modico; rhetor comes Heliodorus, Graecorum longe doctissimus; inde forum Appi, differtum nautis, cauponibus atque malignis. hoc iter ignavi divisimus, altius ac nos praecinctis unum; minus est gravis Appia tardis. hic ego propter aquam, quod erat deterrima, ventri indico bellum, cenantis haud animo aequo exspectans comites. jam nox inducere terris umbras et caelo diffundere signa parabat. tum pueri nautis, pueris convicia nautae ingerere. ‘huc appelle! trecentos inseris: ohe jam satis est!’ dum aes exigitur, dum mula ligatur tota abit hora. mali culices ranaeque palustres avertunt somnos, absentem ut cantat amicam multa prolutus vappa nauta atque viator certatim: tandem fessus dormire viator incipit, ac missae pastum retinacula mulae nauta piger saxo religat stertitque supinus. jamque dies aderat, nil cum procedere lintrem sentimus; donec cerebrosus prosilit unus ac mulae nautaeque caput lumbosque saligno fuste dolat: quarta vix demum exponimur hora. ora manusque tua lavimus, Feronia, lympha. milia tum pransi tria repimus atque subimus inpositum saxis late candentibus Anxur. tendimus hinc recta Beneventum, ubi sedulus hospes paene macros arsit dum turdos versat in igni; nam vaga per veterem dilapso flamma culinam Volcano summum properabat lambere tectum. convivas avidos cenam servosque timentis tum rapere atque omnis restinguere velle videres. incipit ex illo montis Apulia notos ostentare mihi, quos torret Atabulus, et quos numquam erepsemus, nisi nos vicina Trivici villa recepisset, lacrimoso non sine fumo, udos cum foliis ramos urente camino. quattuor hinc rapimur viginti et milia redis, mansuri oppidulo, quod versu dicere non est, signis perfacile est: venit vilissima rerum hic aqua; sed panis longe pulcherrimus, ultra callidus ut soleat umeris portare viator; nam Canusi lapidosus, aquae non ditior urna qui locus a forti Diomede est conditus olim.

When I left great Rome, Aricia gave me modest lodging. My companion was Heliodorus, a rhetor, by far the most learned of the Greeks. From there we went on to Forum Appi, which was crammed with boatmen and crooked innkeepers. Being lazy, we took two days over this stretch, which faster travelers do in one. The Appian Way is easier if you take it slowly. Here the water was so bad that I declared war on my stomach and went without dinner. I waited, not very patiently, while my companions ate. Now night was getting ready to draw its shadows over the earth and scatter the stars across the sky. Then the slaves began to hurl insults at the boatmen, and the boatmen at the slaves. “Pull in here!” “You’re packing in three hundred!” “Whoa, that’s enough!” A whole hour went by while the fares were collected and the mule was harnessed. Nasty gnats and marsh frogs kept us from sleeping. A boatman, full of cheap wine, and one of the passengers took turns singing about the girls they had left behind. At last the passenger got tired and fell asleep. The lazy boatman turned his mule out to graze, tied its reins to a stone, and lay on his back and snored. Day was already breaking when we noticed that the boat was not moving at all. Then one hothead jumped out and beat the mule and the boatman about the head and back with a willow club. It was the fourth hour before we finally got ashore. We washed our faces and hands in your spring, Feronia. Then we ate lunch, crawled three miles, and climbed up to Anxur, perched on its rocks that shine white for miles around. From there we headed straight for Beneventum. There our eager host nearly went up in flames while he turned some skinny thrushes over the fire. The fire slipped out across the old kitchen, and its wandering flames raced up to lick the top of the roof. You should have seen the hungry guests and the frightened slaves grabbing the dinner, and everyone trying to put out the fire. From there Apulia began to show me its mountains, which I knew well. The Atabulus scorches them. We would never have crawled over them if a country house near Trivicum had not taken us in. But the smoke there made our eyes water, for the stove was burning damp branches with the leaves still on. From there we were whirled twenty-four miles in carriages, to stay the night in a little town whose name won’t fit into verse. But it is easy to describe. Here they sell water, the cheapest thing in the world. But the bread is far the best anywhere, so a clever traveler usually carries a load of it on his shoulders for the road ahead. For at Canusium the bread is gritty. And that town, founded long ago by brave Diomedes, has not a jug more water.