Story #11 - Roman Short Story - UNRV Forum Fafnir - 600 words
All the governor told us was, “Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.”† But he was not there when our Cohort was ambushed. He was not there when we heard the fierce battle cries from the fanatics stained with woad. And he was not there when our compatriots died for a city hundreds of miles away. All he did was speak lies to us.
But it is not my place to rebel against his rule. No, for I am just a conscript, taken from my home to defend Rome’s borders. Rome – the name itself strikes hatred in the hearts of many of my compatriots. We are the ones defending Rome, we are the ones dying. We are the ones who kill our fellow Britons, just for a meager pay. But, the only thing the Romans do is speak these blatant lies.
The ambush last week was swift. Our cohort was assigned to protect a convoy of merchants and army supplies for several miles down a small Roman road, covered with trees on both sides. We never had a chance of detecting the fanatics, as they rushed down the hill on our unsuspecting right flank. My friend was one of the first fallen, and our Centurion gave us commands to form ranks to meet this new threat. The screams of my falling compatriots shall never leave my mind, as another fanatical force ambushed us from behind. The Centurion died shortly after, and the remnants of our Cohort routed, and fled back to the city. The woad warriors had no intention of killing the rest of us that routed though, and in some respects I owe them my gratitude for that.
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A messenger rode into camp as we were taking our midday break from drills. He rode directly to the new Centurion’s tent, whom we elected earlier following our defeat. As quickly as the messenger rode through our camp, he left, and our Centurion gave us new orders to ready ourselves for battle.
Shortly thereafter, the two hundred or so men left in our Cohort had formed ranks. We double-marched to the Roman Road nearby – more woad warriors! They were raiding another convoy of Rome’s. It is rather ironic that had I not joined the Roman legion, that perhaps I would have become one of them. They were my fellow Britons after all, fighting for a real cause. Not the defense of some far-off city’s empire.
We waited for them off of the main road, as to not be surrounded by trees on our flanks. The Britons formed their crude line facing our Cohort. We formed our close ranks as the Britons let out a terrible battle cry. In the front of my Cohort, I could make out many of them. The woad designs on their bodies were terrifying to me. In one moment they charged our positions, swords in hand.
They met our lines with much strength and total ferocity, I noticed compatriots falling left and right of me. I slashed with my Gladius, killing one Briton. Another slashed at me, just far enough to block with my shield. Yet as soon as I did so, another warrior covered in woad stabbed me clean through the heart. I fell to the ground, seemingly in slow motion. It truly was a lie – Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori – It was definitely not sweet and seemly to die for that city so far off in the world, against my own kin.
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† “Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.” – Latin for “It is a sweet and seemly thing to die for one’s country.”
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