Showing posts with label Romano-British. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Romano-British. Show all posts

Tuesday, 28 June 2011

Massimo, Deirdre & Pombal. The buddies encounter Wulf


La Venus del espejo (Toilet of Venus) by the Spanish Golden-Age painter Diego Velázquez (1599–1660). Was she a real redhead? Click the link (Wikipedia) for attribution

Massimo [read the original in Italian] checked the GPS tracking software. “4 minutes and Deirdre would reach home” he thought.

Attribution
Pure or impure goddess?

How would the mystery of the beautiful Irish girl be solved?

Massimo was extremely tense. He needed the Hermetics (whose profound words usually brought him peace) but reading them would require time. And God knows where his Alhambra was. He loved to caress its strings, its rich textured sound so well suiting the temperament of a dreamer.

That damn Russian Ukrainian, Pombal, - in honour of whose genius he had given away a room of his apartment for a ridiculously low rent - must have taken it to the Piazzetta with him or put it back in the late 18th century wardrobe that uncle Carlo had left him before he died.

Fortunately long-time meditation on ancient texts allowed him to improvise and vibrate with words now dead.

Classical Guitar. Click for attribution


Deirdre, Deirdre,
num nec tecum
possum vivere
nec sine te?



[Deirdre, Deirdre,
perhaps can I live
neither with you
nor without you?]


Eyes of a thoughtful green blue, long and perfect legs, sensual hips ... and what about her pale skin? Oh that face, her thriving breasts, and whitest arms and hands that, he sensed, knew how to give happiness in silence clinging …

Deirdre, splendid and crimson-haired creature, who seemed as if carved first and then polished for years by an ancient sculptor gone mad ...
He felt a pang. Weren't the rosci cursed by the gods?? ['roscio is red-headed in Roman'; note by 'he who is writing']. 
Goddess & mother of all dreams - or filthy whore with a deceitful heart? 
Since - Massimo thought not without anguish - some of her statements during their last date could not be uttered but by those who ... 
He drove his mind ghosts away with anger. The matter could be very serious and demanded lucid force. 

He doubled his speed of reading, which is normally between 250 and 350 words per minute in Italian. 

Italian ex soccer player Stefano Bettarini. Attribution
Giorgio many years earlier, in order to help his pupil with school work, had taught Massimo various speed-reading techniques. And Massimo, once a successful soccer player then badly injured and turned into a flop, was now accustomed to make use of ALL of them alternatively, ie according to texts, to the environment (or to his own whim). Only two of them increased reading speed enormously but greatly reduced text comprehension.

ψ

The sentences were now taking shape out of the screen fonts (just Pythagorean combinations he reflected). Concepts and images began to flow more rapidly into his mind.

Helmet found in Sutton Hoo, Suffolk, England (6th cent. CE)

Giorgio so continued:

“At some point a giant with noble eagle eyes appeared in the doorway of the taberna.

Long blondish hair coarsely ringed, beard and moustache, muscular body clad in wolf and deer skin, metal plates that protected his broad chest, the Germanus wore a long sword hanging from a wide belt made of badger's (or boar's) fur.
A true colossus, Massimo, and showing that pride which in those days was (and still is) a mark of command.

His appearance raised murmurs of approval, respect (and fear).

Some Angles began to clamour by hitting their weapons unto their shields and shouting "Wulf! Wulf! Wulf."

Others gathering to the left of the giant, a powerful figure at their centre, looked at him with rancour. The members of a rival clan?

Wulf checked the room and quickly identified the foreigners, they standing out against the mass of the locals as the most beautiful golden ears stand out against a field of wheat shaken by the evening wind.

The Roman men were playing dice and discussing Qwil’s bizarre disappearance a few hours earlier (“Absolutely typical of him” Philippus and Chaerie had commented but Jenny had rebuked their Germanic friend from Vindobona in absentia by saying: “What an IDIOTIC thing to get lost in such a dangerous environment!”).

They all also debated a painful encounter that had occurred in the nearby village prior to their decision to reach the taberna and forget their woes for a bit.

The women, laughing while betting on dice combinations, their voices so silvery, dear Massimo, as if Beauty, Soul's Nobility & Eros had incarnated in their joyful personae; the Syrian ladies hiding naughtily behind their embroidered veils and at the same time trying to evaluate the wealth of potential customers; and Pavlos, our resourceful Greek merchant, enwrapped in dreams before a mysterious a wax tablet: the figures of his commerce or winged words that made him fly elsewhere?

Two Roman women reading their favourite poet as they were imagined in 1888 by Lawrence Alma-Tadema (1836–1912). Detail. Click for attribution and to enlarge

You gotta know Massimo that – but don't feel like telling ya why ok? I know I'm getting neurotic ok? - a Romano-British slave, a certain Coalan, square-faced and rodent grey eyed, had noticed the presence of the weird group in the taberna (or longhus, as the Angles call it) and had rushed to inform Ogden and Kaelan, Wulf's sworn friends from the day when the three of them, as children, had drunk their respective blood.
Coalan was the property of the warriors’ clan and part of Wulf's personal network of informers. His father had implored the Germans for mercy in the course of a raid and had obtained life for him and his family (but not freedom).

A mid-20th century reconstruction of a Danish long house in Hobro, Denmark. Click for attribution

"They are mostly Romano-British in the old way - he had told them - who, in addition to the British language still speak Latin together with an absolutely incomprehensible tongue, and who dance and sing in so unusual a manner that our longhus risked turning into a place of, ehm, absolute revelry.

To these words a brief description of the group had followed, as a result of which the two friends had looked at each other with a gleam in their eyes (did it correspond to Manius' stories on his far-away friends?) and had quickly sent a fast horseman in the forest where Wulf was hunting.

This is why Massimo, dear friend and former pupil, such a colossus had rushed into the taberna.

[“Dear Master - Massimo, this dark-haired and dark-eyed real Roman from Rome, had thought ('what a black-haired clone of A.S. Roma's player Francesco Tutti you are' Pombal often kidded him), - I know I must be strong also for you now that you've become unsure, and, well, an old fart - let me call a spade a spade.”]

The Roma soccer team logo. Attribution

The friends immersed in their dice game & conversation realized only at the last moment that an immense blonde tower had appeared less than a yard from their noses and that, terrifying in its mass, was shouting with a thundering voice incomprehensible words:

"Ic freond, IC FREOOOOND, ond ...”

The reaction of the men in the group was fast - in those times even a second of distraction could mean death.

Six Romano-Britons, their gladii already in their hands, turned the massive table upside down against the giant (gladii are lethal when used by trained Romans). Pavlos pulled out an inlaid-with-gold throwing dagger he always carried with him (even in bed?). He had already shown his ability to use it with deadly precision. The women were looking at the giant with contempt and challenge. The courtesans were instead screeching like scared gulls, although one of them concealed a stone in her delicate, ringed hand.

Anglo-Saxon House, Bury St. Edmunds, United Kingdom
This travel blog photo's source is TravelPod page: Such Fun!

The sudden action of the Romans was followed by a reaction from the Angles who were in the immediate vicinity. Easy to anger, some began to hurl themselves against the group of strangers.  The men would pay with their lives (and the women with a humiliating slavery) for the unspeakable offence to their leader.

The buddies saw themselves surrounded by some dozens of furious men. Arrows, lances and swords were pointed towards them. Ready to sell their lives dearly they knew that their death was near since the fighters' ratio was of one to four.

ψ

At that moment a roar rent the air.

The heavy table flew away as if it were made of paper.

The gigantic man emerged from the floor.

Looming over the bunch of buddies he unsheathed his huge sword with flashing blue eyes ...






Monday, 9 May 2011

Witch 1. Introducing Hælend and Wulf. A magic wood and lo, a picta damesel

A Celtic witch? One never knows. Ophelia by the Victorian pre-Raphaelite
painter John William Waterhouse (1849-1917). Credits

Manius Quinto sal.

[…] I can finally tell you my tower is close to the sea, **** miles from Londinium, **** miles from Venta Icenorum, reachable from the Antonini Itinerarium. Now you know where I am. Please send me the area maps. […]

It's not the only reason I am writing. Horrible (and marvellous) things have happened and I do not know where to start.

I went into the woods with Hælend, my medium sized but powerful steed that Wulf my German friend gave me as a gift to celebrate our friendship - an amazing Angle, Wulf, he's teaching me the Ænglisc ways and his absolute truthfulness of heart has given me animus to rebel against cruel Fortune: being trapped in an alien land, bereft of properties, of slaves (only two I have bought at the Ænglisc market), of real defence and, most of all, of Clelia's deep love and warm presence.

'O Fortuna, velut Luna, statu variabilis ..'
O Fortune, like the moon, you always change ..
Depiction of Fortune at a much later age

But as Lucius Annaeus Seneca teaches us:

Fortuna opes auferre, non animum, potest
[Fortune can rob our wealth but not our courage]

Boldness, yes. But how can I describe Hælend? Well, at first was I disappointed: our horses look so much better and she appeared even worse than most German steeds (such horrible yellowish colour!) but I was so surprised when I saw how she could endure any strain with ease and could compete with, and often win over, even the nobler Roman breeds (this big German clan I've been kinda absorbed into possesses a dozen beautiful Roman horses btw) and yet she's also so amazingly mild (and weird; should I hide that?)

I'll tell you. Having received a bad blow by a towering German during a few sword fight exercises - a deep bleeding cut was showing on my left arm -, Hælend came close to me and (Aesculapius!) much to the surprise of the onlookers (Wulf was absent) she started to lick my wound with her long (and rough) tongue: sweet Queen of heaven I cried when I saw the wound healed in just two days!!

I digressed.

Roman soldier in colder climates
So while getting deep into the forest in search of game but armoured in the Roman way like I always do when I explore territory or hunt (one never knows), with Hælend scrutinizing the terrain with her non human senses – were she a woman she'd certainly be a Sibyl but I prefer her as my horse frankly, I had too many domineering sisters.

I was wearing a Roman helmet with a wolf's skin on top, German bow and arrows, my favourite gladius Hector, a pilum (or javelin) in my left hand plus two strange dogs Marius and Caesar (though adorable and surely Diana's favourites) which I bought from a very old & rich German woman being carried on her lectica, or litter, by 4 young and good-looking slaves of dubious race.

By the way - another digression - I was hit by her face, that was so wrinkled I couldn't see her eyes, and by a pair of showy gilded brooches she wore that fastened her embroidered wool tunic, with strings of beads hanging between them - an ornament oh you'll agree Quintus an Italian, Gallic or Romano British woman would never wear but that gave her this, hard to say, 'new look' I found attractive after all, kind of 'new British' you know.

It's as if this emerald island were perhaps timidly finding her own ...

Enough. I do hate this place.

Alglo-Saxon gilded saucer brooches "worn in pairs
at the shoulder to fasten a dress, often with
strings of beads hanging between them."
British museum (credits & explanation)


As I was saying, it's hard to tell how we got into a very incomprehensible place.

I mean while advancing forward in such beautiful wetlands rich with birds, eagles and wolves I began to realize the landscape was slowly changing and getting perceptibly moisture-less. It had basically turned into a weird wood which much to my surprise couldn't be too far from where my tower is located.

Moreover I vaguely felt the place familiar but also odd: shrieks were all around from crazy night birds - but it was day time Quintus!
 
And then I felt it.

["What the hell did you feel" - I'm sure you'll ask.]

Deep forest. Click for attribution

OK. I felt the magic of a new world that was familiar and strange as I said since unordered and yet almost invisibly arranged by some crazy intelligence - a bit like what is more evidently displayed in our Italian gardens, that reflect the arrangement of mathematical reason.

Trees plants flowers of many sorts with their colours and exhilarant perfumes (voluptuous spring was radiating her magic ...) and butterflies, insects, animals flying and jumping about, both night and day creatures all awake as if nature had confused her laws Virgo mea!

But this is not the point, friend.

["What on earth is the point now", you'll again ask you having always been the stereotyped practical Roman]

Well, the point being that this area showed, more distinctly than any landscape, to possess a soul. I clearly felt such place's divinity, id est plants, huge trees and living things all formed like a savage, and yet not unordered, world exuding a primeval anima or vital force that awesome Greek minds identified with the eternal and intoxicating goat-horned, goat-legged numen Πάν (now dead as they said) and old days' rustic Romans with Faunus (dead too).

Pan and Daphnis. Goat-horned, goat-legged deities were
many (male, female and unfortunately children).
Very unconventional they were, not far from Satyrs
I then couldn't but kneel down and whisper our Celtic bard Virgil's sacred verses:

Tu, Tityre, lentus in umbra
formosam resonare doces
Amaryllida silvas

[You sit careless in the shade, o Tityrus,
and 'Amaryllis!'
(woods-wandering enchantress
& flute player),
you bid the woods resound]

Ah but I had to wake up from my dream since Hælend started to get very nervous. What was the matter?

We turned around and … the dogs were gone! Such gifted animals, can you believe that?

Vanished.

Why these premonitions? Which envious god desired to whack me?

My life was, is miserable. I live like a savage while I had properties & thousands of slaves. Now I dwell in a lousy tower and possess just two young women I bought from the Germani - not at all bad, right - but the one with exotic almond eyes is so small and half dead I have in truth only one and a half.

Along the left, longer side of such space - an almost perfect rectangle - there she appeared in my sight:

A beautiful woman standing on the green grass with glowing red hair, her skin white and so amazingly pale as a moon creature - something so exotic for a Roman.

Her flesh colour even paler than the German women's, she was wearing an equally pale wool tunica with a majestic white horse behind her (of Roman breed no doubt), calmly grazing the beautifully green grass, the princely animal's coat having the same incomprehensible pale snow colour.

I recognized her immediately.

This woman Manius had first met.
Why now she looks like a damsel?

It was that picta who had scared the hell out of me near my tower and was now disguised (very poorly I thought) as a lady.

Disguised as a lady? The idea railed me and I thought such savage needed a good lesson from a civilized son of Rome.

Yes, it was time for some revenge and fun why not?


You know Quintus this ancient grudge that Celtic - how can you know damn, you're 100% Roman - or half Celtic (especially from the West Alps) Romans such as I am - have, vis-à-vis Picts and Caledonii so darn allergic to Romanization.


A Roman slave auction as imagined by Jean Léon Gérome (c.1884). Enlarge

I recall this Caledonian slave locked in a cage at a slave auction in Augusta Taurinorum: a nice open air square surrounded by our white and monumental peaks all around. Her cage had been placed on a wooden platform, her attractive body all bluish from paint and tattoos.

Out of curiosity I got closer in order to touch her strange hair but she bit my hand fiercely.

Her master wanted to flog her publicly to set an example but although I gave him a few coins (to stop that, she was just a savage after all) I seldom forget when people hurt me.

Did she hurt me deeply? Well, OK, whatever my reasons in any case I definitely felt the beautifully pale lady needed punishment, Quintus, I don't know why.

Light punishment perhaps, I am not a bad man, all I needed, I now imagine, was just some relief from all the sorrows that plagued my heart.

ψ

I therefore advanced in her direction.

Tuesday, 1 March 2011

Manius found. A ship sailing towards Albien. Massimo in the Subura



Salita Dei Borgia. Subura. Rome.
Click here for credits
It's time to confess that he who is writing conceals (and shares) within his soul the Genius of Manius Papirius Lentulus. What is a Genius? It is the numinous every ancient Roman harbours in his soul (a woman has the Juno), a bit like a guardian spirit or what the Christians since Manius' time will soon call a guardian angel.

Names may change, but basically ...

ψ

Hey, how the heck can a Genius be shared by both a 62-years-old man of today and an ancient Roman soldier of 35 trapped in ancient Britain?
(and, what’s more, living in a parallel universe even if almost identical to ours?)

Hey, why the heck do you people think I know.

ψ

Giorgio, he who is writing, has had that horrible dream again last night.

In the subsequent evening he is phoning Massimo, a black-haired 33-year-old athletic Roman, once an excellent soccer player and Giorgio's former pupil (and now friend).

Massimo, dumped by his wife (and not holding together much since then) has moved to a small flat in Monti, Rome, a rione corresponding more or less to ancient Subura, the slum district of ancient Rome, (in)famous for its dubious tabernae, brothels and gangs [more on Subura here].

The place, today clean and fashionable, still hides incidentally a few dubious locals and the police mostly turn a blind eye: ancient traditions are hard to die in this country, you know. Out of respect. And out of do-nothingness ...

ψ

Giorgio has tried quite a lot during the last 6 months to help Massimo move on. But recently it is him that is calling his ex-student for help.

Giorgio: “Always these horrible dreams! A few nights ago the death of Theodoric the Great, this old man, his white hair all over his big chest protected by a plate crammed with jewels, lying on a sumptuous bed placed at the centre of an immensely vivid mosaic.

With the calm, unwavering voice of the true leader Theodoric was recommending to the weeping Goths that they should love the Roman senate and the Roman people, and that they should appease the Eastern emperor through their deeds and with the help of God.

Again, two nights ago, I dreamt about the perverse though beautiful face of a woman dancer, then about the whole of her luscious body since she was dancing almost naked all around me and finally ended up morphing into a princess or  queen. Aah, she looked shrewd, perfidious wearing her radiant Byzantine attire.

So you see, my dreams change. Only two elements in them never do."


Massimo: “La roscia and the fricken soldier?”

[roscia = read-headed woman in Roman dialect, pronounced 'rosha'; fricken, you may know already]

Giorgio: “Yes, la roscia and that young ancient Roman living in a tower with marshes infested by wolves and blondish savages all around. I know it's been one month that I've been exhausting you with my nightmares.

Last night la roscia, as blue-skinned as ever, was wearing a strange gray wool dress with a green veil that covered her neck and partly her face, a hunting horn hanging from her belt. She suddenly looked at me with eyes that pierced my soul so violently I felt dizzy and hit my head on a tree. Hercle! I cried I dunno why. Surrounded by hordes of cats she then began to twirl around a trunk with chains fastened to its ends and bronze balls hanging from the chains.

Massimo: “Ah Prof, sure you're not depressed like me? Since Giulia left my life is shit.”

Giorgio: "Daje a Ma' … I'm ok, really. In any case I thought the read-head was about to hit me with the bronze balls but my limbs got frozen and I woke up wet from sweat and couldn't get back to sleep until I took some melatonin and was soon snoring like a boar and dreaming again - Flavia told me. 

And then I saw them.”

Massimo: “You saw who.”

Giorgio: “A small group of people on the deck of a light Roman merchant vessel, "about 100 feet long and 20 feet in the beam" (see image below and credits) leaving the port of Vada Sabatia, not far from today's Genoa, on the North West Italian coast. Men and women on their 30s dressed in the ancient manner and appearing as long time buddies. The weird part, it's as if I knew them already in some way.”

A Roman merchant vessel


Massimo: "What?"

Giorgio: "Yes, then all changed and we were in a place similar to the north French coast, light rain, wind, silvery water all around. I was on deck too trying to get closer to the buddies' group but again my limbs were frozen.

I then called them, called them and kept yelling the same words over and over."

Massimo: "Which words."

Giorgio: "Anglia in orientem spectans! Anglia in orientem spectans!
And also:
Septentrionalis Icenorum regio! Septentrionalis Icenorum regio!

What does all this mean for Chrissake!!"



Massimo: "Easy Prof, it's simple:  Anglia gazing towards the East. In the northern area of the land of the Iceni."

Giorgio: "That I understood, the question though being: what the hell is this all about. I have checked. It's somewhere in Britain on the eastern coast (near Hunstanton?) where the Wash is located, a square-mouthed bay where Norfolk meets Lincolnshire - I read on the Wiki [see images on the left and below]. I feel like something is brewing.

I mean, if you have spare time and wanna forget Giulia for a while (it'd do you good) why don't you help me understand?"

Massimo kept silent for a while.

The Wash bay today

Giorgio: "What I forgot to say, five new passengers joined us when we were leaving France, I think, ie Gaul. Two elegant women (two Syrian courtesans I heard), two men clad in black and red, a bit vicious looking and speaking to nobody (one with a hawk-like face), and a blue-eyed good natured Greek merchant in his 30s as well who was bound to South East Britannia to sell his goods (olives, olive oil & resinated wine) to the Romano-Celtic population.

Because of the wind I heard only fragments of their names:  Ch’ae…Rich..., Phi, ...Jen....L..And...Ze...Dou...Daf....An...Cyb...etc. Very confusing. But Pavlos, that name I heard clearly (the Greek perhaps?)

And when I was shouting those words one of the buddies suddenly brightened up (Rich?), looked at me in astonishment and began to shout back even louder, at the top of his lungs:

ANGLIA IN ORIENTEM SPECTANS! ANGLIA IN ORIENTEM SPECTAANS! SEPTENTRIONALIS ICENORUM REGIOOOOOO!

(For God's sake I thought).

Then a few of them started to yell those same words with a weird measured pulse so that they could both sing and dance:

ANG GLI
NORIE NTEM
SPEC TANS
SPEC SPEC TANS TANS
TANS TANS TAANS GLI
TANS TANS ICEE TAAAAAAAAANS!!

(Oh my God I thought).

But after a while we were all dancing like mad and drinking idromele - the girls being not at all bad and a big amphora of that honey wine having soon appeared as if by magic (the Greek merchant? As soon as he had joined the journey, his pensive eyes always looking in the distance, he had appeared like the eternally resourceful Ulysses ...)

One last funny (but horrible) detail: when I woke up I was drunk and my legs tired as if I had danced all night!"

Silence for a few moments.

Then Massimo,loweringly, uttered his words:

"Prof, you are nuts like me or even worse ... Yesterday I saw Giulia in via del Corso with that motherfucker. They were shopping - Armani, Gucci, you name it, the jackass is filthy rich. I was about to reach them and squash that bastard's face like a pumpkin but instead headed home and got drunk. I can't go on like that for long I suppose ...”

Massimo switched off his phone and went out.

He felt angry and depressed. Even his good ex teacher was now giving clear signs of insanity. The final straw, beyond any doubt.

He spent a long time in an Irish pub close by (Finnegan's, at the Salita dei Borgia, see picture at the top of the page) after which he found himself out in the cool of the night.

ψ

Less windows were lit now.

The rione was quieter.

A drunk whore was walking unhurriedly down the dimly lit Salita.

A cat was croaking like a frog behind a trash container.

Strange metamorphoses, in the deep of a night full of chaos (and sorrow).

Click for credits and to enlarge


Lo osservava da tempo
nume dagli occhi impassibili,
le parche, mani rugose,
filando la lana ...


[A numen had since long
Been watching him, eyes impassive.
The Parcae, wrinkled hands,
Spinning their thread ...]





Tuesday, 15 February 2011

A readheaded witch disappears in the woods. The Angles. An angel smiling



MANIUS QUINTO SAL.

Dear Quintus, never friendship is so dear as in times of distress.

I have found a big box of codices and scrolls together with a few amphorae of decent Gallic wine in a Romano-British farm set on fire by the barbarians. All had been well concealed under the cellar floor.

Vita hominis sine literis mors est, or, man's life without learning is death.

And yet, when I look at these unclean, uneducated German Angles, I cannot but admire some virtues they have (and we haven't any more). And they were after all often able to rout the Romano-British. Although when they see the huge buildings the Romans built they think we are a people of giants!

Britain in 550 CE. Manius is somewhere with the Angles. Credits

The question Quintus now arises: can man live fully in total ignorance? Or even, nihil scire vita jucundissima? 'Tis the merriest life to know nothing?

Speaking of Celts I met a strange red-head in the woods around my tower full of marshes, bears, wolves and eagles. She was collecting herbs and berries and had a curiously coloured & scanty dress, her pale skin adorned with paint and tattoo motifs all over.

On seeing me she shrieked and disappeared like a night bird but I kept feeling her eyes on me while even my hounds couldn't perceive her presence any more. Hercle! So eerie it was I deemed wiser to get back to my crenellated refuge.

I later wondered if she could speak Latin. It’d be such a joy to hear sentences spoken in our beautiful language, whatever inflection they may have. But she may be dangerous.

I'm trapped with the Angles, Quintus meus, though they are kind enough to me.

They probably see me like a dwarf, or a clown. The giant Romans of their imagination, you know ... They ignore they are the real giants, they being in truth much bigger than the average Roman.

They are blond, blue-eyed, fair-skinned, extremely rude-mannered and, well, stinking. Not that I smell that better. I miss the comfort of our thermal baths!

Pensive and silent they may nonetheless suddenly burst into a sort of Polypheme’s laughter:

AH AH AH AH AH AH AH AH AH AH AH.

Jupiter!

Besides, bibunt ut Gothi, they drink like the Goths, or even more. I swear I’ve never seen people getting THAT drunk.

But I'm beginning to like their silence. Romans are such chatter-boxes (I am, as you know). Think of our Cicero: what a windbag although I’ll admit five of his precious works retrieved in that cellar express in sound old-times Latin so many gems of the sweet Greeks' wisdom.

I am again exercising my body thanks to my new friends. We fight, run, ride and throw arrows, all for the simple joy of being alive. They are kind enough not to break my neck and I feel much better after so many years of sedentary work.

I return to my tower in the evening where I frugally have my dinner and, lost in reading and thought, I sip what is left of my Gallic amphorae.

Unfortunately, vina parant animos Veneri, id est wine prepares our souls for Venus.

I noticed that some Anglia women are looking at me with a bit of curiosity. Some of them are very attractive and sturdy. I guess I appear different to them. And I think I perceived in at least a couple of them that naughty look that is universally unmistakable.

In truth, dear Quintus, alius est amor, alius cupido, love is one thing, lust quite another.

A Roman girl painted by the Victorian Alma Tadema
The latter would void my soul in a moment of loneliness where I feel badly in need of Clelia’s black eyes and tender smile.

Where is she now on earth? Did she forget me?

The last time we met we spent some time in an Augustan garden (in North West Italy) overlooking the Padus river. All was so glorious, beautiful, with scented flowers all over the place and the Alpine peaks towering in the background.

Clelia wore a shining garland on her black hair and a dress that made her look like a Vestal, or a Christian angel ...




Manius tuus.

Wednesday, 9 February 2011

Manius Papirius Lentulus

Sheep in the English countryside. Credits

Britannia, 526 CE, in a parallel (and almost identical) universe.

Angles, Saxons and Jutes are invading the Roman province of Britannia from the South-East. All continental Roman soldiers have left – but the Romano-Celtic in the West are resisting bravely. Only Manius Papirius Lentulus from Roma has stayed. He’s with the barbarians but he risks nothing because he's considered innocuous by the Angles (or Angli as he says in his language.)

In such a green but rainy land he doesn't only meet the locals but also strange people from other nations.

Manius being reserved (and living in a tower) prefers to communicate via wax tablets that he sends to every corner of Britannia and of the big world.

This blog will present the content of Manius' letters (along with other fun stuff).