A lictor of the Tenth Legion speaks...
I've travelled up and down this turning world,
And sometimes I've been rich, but mostly not.
A soldier doesn't get so much of gold,
Or other things that other fellows want.
And though he sometimes sees a bit of life,
Such things won't buy the smallest bite of bread.
I served Longinus when my hair was gold -
Bat-blind Praetorian, he owned the world;
Dead now forty years - his own sword took his life.
I've lived long with my past, but he could not.
My hair's gone white, but still I want my bread;
He's worm-food now, with nothing left to want.
The Victrix was our Legion, and our life,
Our banners stitched in blue, our eagles gold,
The "Dandy Tenth" was feared across the world.
Four thousand devils, drunk as like as not,
Widow-makers, fierce as you could want,
Yet always quick to share their wine and bread.
Longinus could be lordly, could he not?
A preening noble! Often, family gold
Can give a man a proud view of the world.
But still he had that soft streak, like new bread.
He wanted, but he couldn't voice his want,
Until, a suicide, he left this life.
Longinus went to see to Pilates' want,
When word came to the camp to "tarry not!"
He told me off; I rose up from my bread,
And put my tunic on, the blue and gold,
And took a corporal's guard to take a life:
We made some poor Jew's last day in the world.
Up on the "Place of Skulls" his friends came not,
We played bones for his clothes - he had no gold,
He thirsted, we gave vinegar-and-bread,
At sunset, with my spear, I took his life.
Longinus wept at that (what did he want?),
As if he'd lost his last friend in the world.
Well, whether bones or bread, or stones or gold,
The soldier's life has been all that I want,
And in my world I'm master. Am I not?
copyright © Jon Brooker 1995,1996. All rights reserved.