My Dearest,
News has reached us that a Roman legion is approaching from the north. It must be that our attempts to negotiate with the Roman senator
Gracchus to save our city and our lives have failed. If only the goddess Minerva would have appeared to him in dream by night or day to bend
his will and motivation, as she did long ago to protect fair Odysseys. But alas, the time for discourse is now past. To our great discontent,
instead of the commerce we sought, the machines of death and our destruction advance upon us with grave resolve along the river valleys
between the two seas. Like the locust in packs of ten across and a hundred deep to the cadence of war drums with battle flags raised high.
Captains on horseback surely spur on the foot soldiers with words that poison them against us, as if to justify our demise, preparing them for
the kill. Oh, the evil of it all.
…That they should come now when the blossoms of spring abound makes it all the worse. Now, when the birds have again taken wing and all
manner of beasts derive such pleasure in whiling away the afternoons among these glorious fields of poppies warmed so by the sun! Why, it is
only in these last few days that the weather both warms our hearts and renews our spirits, giving cause to lift our eyes and souls in thanks to
the gods in heaven.
Could this aggression not have been prevented? Must this savagery persist? This madness! This rage upon one another, born not of
necessity, but of greed, and serviced by war! Not war to protect what is theirs, but war to take what is ours! Is this the only means available to
Rome to inflate her coffers with gold? Only to pay it out again to foreign mercenaries who will kill even more, and in this insane manner expand
their empire? To kill simply for the purpose of conquer …No; they intend genocide…..to remove even the memory of these people from the
earth while stealing anything of value from temple, house or treasury. This, the cruelest kind of carnage is without merit in my eyes for any
purpose. Oh, how I have prayed to Minerva and all the gods for the peace, which these noble citizens have worked so hard to achieve. Here
at Scylletium we have maintained our noble Greek traditions to our gods with many a burnt offerings, yet for our effort, barely succeeding in
keeping life and limb from even our own countrymen, who like the Romans lust for bounty and blood. How odd, that here we have enough for
all, but for some mystery to me it is not sufficient to engage others in commerce or inspire co-existence. Rather it is might and the sword that
prevails, with no regard to common dignity, it is only to overwhelm by force and destruction. Again, as it was in times past, it will be my duty as
a citizen soldier to defend our city from invasion, knowing that the cost of our freedom, if by some slim margin it is to endure will be dear, with
great casualty of new and old friends lost.
Even now as I foresee the terrible clash of sword on shield, hammer on flesh and scourge of the lance upon the breastplate, in my mind’s eye, I
see too the anguish on the faces of those that I have myself slain. Those young boys frozen in terror, unable to retreat from the field of battle I
cut down like kindling from the flowering olive trees. And those valiant young men so swift of manner, but perhaps without the training or
judgment to maintain themselves in battle, through their mistake or my good fortune, I brought them down as well. Upon their deaths, their
souls taken by spirits sent by Hades himself, to seek their rest deep in the evening shadows of the underworld, far too young that they should
have joined for eternity with their fathers and grandfathers who fell in other battles before them. For those few bitter seconds as their blood
drained on to the ground it was as if time itself stood still. The sounds of the battle silent …the fury of the struggle frozen as I watched them
fall. The fright that filled their eyes as they realized that their own death was upon them, no father or mother at hand to comfort or save them,
haunts my dreams both by night and day. That I would look deeply into their eyes to bid them farewell …one man to another, for whatever
consolation it might bring to them, fails to console me.
Less am I troubled from my killing the older men who fought with all of their power and rage, for they knew well the penalty for weakness or
mistake, for ours was a fair fight. Their faces set in determined rage beneath their helmet, eyes busy searching out the opportunity to kill, either
from behind, alongside or from a direct blow to head or neck. They were fearless and calculating, even spreading fear and confusion ahead of
them by their very stature. I killed them too with just that same determination, but without remorse, for they had none for me, or for my men. At
battles end, by night or day, we would sack the dead foe for axe or club then pile their bodies high. In raging fires we burnt them, raising a
stench for all to know that many had died this day. The fate of our own was all too much the same, save for the offerings we made in their
honor and stories, we the living shared for our scribes to record of their valor both on and off the field of battle. It is all for the worst, that I have
seen this terrible play acted out all so often in these fields and along the shores.
I no longer have the taste for it. I have had my fill of killing and lack the resolve to fight again. What quality of fight will come of a soldier without
the will to win? Surely, this malady will cost me my own life on the next field of battle. Oh, I could refuse the fight, but at what price? Certain
death would be mine for cowardliness. My torture on display for all others to see and the land promised to me upon my retirement given to
another, lest they have the same notion... My disgrace might even prolong the lives of a few who upon witnessing my death would resolve to
fight all the fiercer! No, it is better that I die in the throes of battle… while engaging the enemy or aiding wounded comrades, thereby
demonstrating my commitment to our citizens. As a hero, fallen in the line of duty I would be eulogized as one of great valor to be remembered
fondly in song and story. It must be this way, or else survive the battle and live on... haunted all the more by the faces of those who would fall
by my hand.
I cannot find it in me to engage in tonight’s meal or share my stories of victories long past ‘round campfires with the others in preparation for the
battle. Nor will I even sleep tonight, but rather keep unto myself, with my thoughts of you. Know that my last night was spent here on the hilltop
under the vast expanse of stars above, with the moon sparkling over the sea and the fragrance of new flowers upon the land. My fate sealed
from lack of strength or clearness of thought brought on by my fast and seclusion.
In the clamor and roar of battle, I will search out the one who will deliver my spirit. I will fight with resolve until I find him. His age and
temperament will draw me to him, his armament will prescribe the means of my death, whether it be from axe or club, saber or shaft, my
intentioned misstep or mistake will make his work easy and my own death quick. Perhaps at that instant he will suspect my plan, but in the fury
of the fight will be unable to hold back as he takes my life. In that silent moment as my lifeblood flows to the ground, I will look into his eyes with
forgiveness and compassion, even gratitude for his action. If Jove wishes, perhaps one of my own men will upon seeing me fall, hold me in his
arms, while others fend off more attack so that I will not die alone or unaided.
Tomorrow will bring reunions of the most beloved and most brutal kind! In dreaded Hades with soldiers and kin I will reunite, to spend future
days in pale grey light, awaiting the judgment day. Damn this world for its wars and death! For me is it now on to the next.
Ciao!
©copyright 2008 Property of MJSturino,LLC
Any reproduction with-out the owners express written consent is strictly prohibited
News has reached us that a Roman legion is approaching from the north. It must be that our attempts to negotiate with the Roman senator
Gracchus to save our city and our lives have failed. If only the goddess Minerva would have appeared to him in dream by night or day to bend
his will and motivation, as she did long ago to protect fair Odysseys. But alas, the time for discourse is now past. To our great discontent,
instead of the commerce we sought, the machines of death and our destruction advance upon us with grave resolve along the river valleys
between the two seas. Like the locust in packs of ten across and a hundred deep to the cadence of war drums with battle flags raised high.
Captains on horseback surely spur on the foot soldiers with words that poison them against us, as if to justify our demise, preparing them for
the kill. Oh, the evil of it all.
…That they should come now when the blossoms of spring abound makes it all the worse. Now, when the birds have again taken wing and all
manner of beasts derive such pleasure in whiling away the afternoons among these glorious fields of poppies warmed so by the sun! Why, it is
only in these last few days that the weather both warms our hearts and renews our spirits, giving cause to lift our eyes and souls in thanks to
the gods in heaven.
Could this aggression not have been prevented? Must this savagery persist? This madness! This rage upon one another, born not of
necessity, but of greed, and serviced by war! Not war to protect what is theirs, but war to take what is ours! Is this the only means available to
Rome to inflate her coffers with gold? Only to pay it out again to foreign mercenaries who will kill even more, and in this insane manner expand
their empire? To kill simply for the purpose of conquer …No; they intend genocide…..to remove even the memory of these people from the
earth while stealing anything of value from temple, house or treasury. This, the cruelest kind of carnage is without merit in my eyes for any
purpose. Oh, how I have prayed to Minerva and all the gods for the peace, which these noble citizens have worked so hard to achieve. Here
at Scylletium we have maintained our noble Greek traditions to our gods with many a burnt offerings, yet for our effort, barely succeeding in
keeping life and limb from even our own countrymen, who like the Romans lust for bounty and blood. How odd, that here we have enough for
all, but for some mystery to me it is not sufficient to engage others in commerce or inspire co-existence. Rather it is might and the sword that
prevails, with no regard to common dignity, it is only to overwhelm by force and destruction. Again, as it was in times past, it will be my duty as
a citizen soldier to defend our city from invasion, knowing that the cost of our freedom, if by some slim margin it is to endure will be dear, with
great casualty of new and old friends lost.
Even now as I foresee the terrible clash of sword on shield, hammer on flesh and scourge of the lance upon the breastplate, in my mind’s eye, I
see too the anguish on the faces of those that I have myself slain. Those young boys frozen in terror, unable to retreat from the field of battle I
cut down like kindling from the flowering olive trees. And those valiant young men so swift of manner, but perhaps without the training or
judgment to maintain themselves in battle, through their mistake or my good fortune, I brought them down as well. Upon their deaths, their
souls taken by spirits sent by Hades himself, to seek their rest deep in the evening shadows of the underworld, far too young that they should
have joined for eternity with their fathers and grandfathers who fell in other battles before them. For those few bitter seconds as their blood
drained on to the ground it was as if time itself stood still. The sounds of the battle silent …the fury of the struggle frozen as I watched them
fall. The fright that filled their eyes as they realized that their own death was upon them, no father or mother at hand to comfort or save them,
haunts my dreams both by night and day. That I would look deeply into their eyes to bid them farewell …one man to another, for whatever
consolation it might bring to them, fails to console me.
Less am I troubled from my killing the older men who fought with all of their power and rage, for they knew well the penalty for weakness or
mistake, for ours was a fair fight. Their faces set in determined rage beneath their helmet, eyes busy searching out the opportunity to kill, either
from behind, alongside or from a direct blow to head or neck. They were fearless and calculating, even spreading fear and confusion ahead of
them by their very stature. I killed them too with just that same determination, but without remorse, for they had none for me, or for my men. At
battles end, by night or day, we would sack the dead foe for axe or club then pile their bodies high. In raging fires we burnt them, raising a
stench for all to know that many had died this day. The fate of our own was all too much the same, save for the offerings we made in their
honor and stories, we the living shared for our scribes to record of their valor both on and off the field of battle. It is all for the worst, that I have
seen this terrible play acted out all so often in these fields and along the shores.
I no longer have the taste for it. I have had my fill of killing and lack the resolve to fight again. What quality of fight will come of a soldier without
the will to win? Surely, this malady will cost me my own life on the next field of battle. Oh, I could refuse the fight, but at what price? Certain
death would be mine for cowardliness. My torture on display for all others to see and the land promised to me upon my retirement given to
another, lest they have the same notion... My disgrace might even prolong the lives of a few who upon witnessing my death would resolve to
fight all the fiercer! No, it is better that I die in the throes of battle… while engaging the enemy or aiding wounded comrades, thereby
demonstrating my commitment to our citizens. As a hero, fallen in the line of duty I would be eulogized as one of great valor to be remembered
fondly in song and story. It must be this way, or else survive the battle and live on... haunted all the more by the faces of those who would fall
by my hand.
I cannot find it in me to engage in tonight’s meal or share my stories of victories long past ‘round campfires with the others in preparation for the
battle. Nor will I even sleep tonight, but rather keep unto myself, with my thoughts of you. Know that my last night was spent here on the hilltop
under the vast expanse of stars above, with the moon sparkling over the sea and the fragrance of new flowers upon the land. My fate sealed
from lack of strength or clearness of thought brought on by my fast and seclusion.
In the clamor and roar of battle, I will search out the one who will deliver my spirit. I will fight with resolve until I find him. His age and
temperament will draw me to him, his armament will prescribe the means of my death, whether it be from axe or club, saber or shaft, my
intentioned misstep or mistake will make his work easy and my own death quick. Perhaps at that instant he will suspect my plan, but in the fury
of the fight will be unable to hold back as he takes my life. In that silent moment as my lifeblood flows to the ground, I will look into his eyes with
forgiveness and compassion, even gratitude for his action. If Jove wishes, perhaps one of my own men will upon seeing me fall, hold me in his
arms, while others fend off more attack so that I will not die alone or unaided.
Tomorrow will bring reunions of the most beloved and most brutal kind! In dreaded Hades with soldiers and kin I will reunite, to spend future
days in pale grey light, awaiting the judgment day. Damn this world for its wars and death! For me is it now on to the next.
Ciao!
©copyright 2008 Property of MJSturino,LLC
Any reproduction with-out the owners express written consent is strictly prohibited
In Fields of Poppies
by Marty Sturino
by Marty Sturino
