BootsnAll Travel Network



when in Rome….

….let your imagination run wild.

I scurry from shadow to shadow, snatching what cool I can, evading the fierce rays beaming down from the eternally blue canopy. I wait in line at one of the many fountains, eagerly anticipating splashing the incredibly cool, even cold, constantly flowing stream across my brown weathered face. Being a farming man, I don’t often have cause to come in to the big city, and whenever I do, I am filled with awe. In this, the centre of the republic and eventually empire, the economic hub, the place where fellow countrymen gather for faith and justice, temple columns stretch up high, glistening white.

 

Horse-drawn chariots race across friezes in the sky and pass me on the cobbled streets. The cobblestones are getting old now; they’ve been here since 600BC. About the time the wetland was drained by building a covered sewer system that drained into the Tiber River, actually. That’s nearly 750 years ago, you know. Amazing to think the city has been so sophisticated for so long.

I wonder who has walked the streets before me. I wonder who has trudged up Palatine Hill….and who will in years to come. I cannot imagine standing at the top as noontime bells ring out across the city, answering each other like dogs across the valley. But churches for the Christ-followers will be built, along with their bells and one day people will stand atop the hill looking down at the ruins below, a graveyard of monuments, as the bells toll. I haven’t heard of St Peter’s Basilica or the Vatican City, but the Pantheon, that great structure dedicated to all the gods is here already.

 

It is truly amazing – so big, the biggest dome in the world, in fact. The buildings of the fora around town are impressive, but this bulb on Corinthian stilts is simply awe-inspiring. One day other domes will fill the city skyline, and those people I don’t know will stand on our Palatine Hill and admire.

 

They will recoil in terror as they accidentally lean on the iron railings that brand their bare arms whilst preventing them falling down into the ruins of the Roman Forum – I can’t imagine the hill cordoned off like that, or Rome lying in ruins, for that matter. I can’t imagine people being able to freely walk into Augusto’s house and look at his frescoes in almost 2000 years time. I can’t imagine a man called Raphael, who will end up buried in the Pantheon in 1500 years. Quite mind-blowing really.

 

~ by Farmer Rach, who stopped at this point, because she heard Jgirl14 was also working on a Rome-inspired piece. Here ‘tis:

The Poisonous Net

His words came back to me as I watched breathless with nervousness.
”One day I’ll earn my freedom, Cornelius.”
Now he had his chance.

Alexander, one of the outdoor slaves is one of the strongest men I know. Not only does he possess great physical strength, he also has a very strong heart and soul. And, although it goes against Roman customs for the firstborn son of a middle-class family with a good reputation to do so, I admired him and we became friends. No-one knew of our friendship; no outsider, no family member nor man servant ever found out. For if this were to become public knowledge our family’s reputation would be defiled instantly and our numbers could be changed, changed for the worse.

In Roman society your number depends on your status. This number ensures free entry to the games held in Flavio, it acts as a Pass.
Domitian makes sure every citizen is supplied with a Pass, a thin terracotta rectangle with an arcade entry number and a seat number. On the backside of every pass is the bust of Vespasian, supposedly to remind us all of the wonderful emperor, who, 121 years ago started the construction of the Flavio. As if we need reminding! Us Romans will never forget how one of his main ambitions was to give back to Rome property, which the previous emperor (that would be Nero) had confiscated (and where he had subsequently built a large lake and garden for his private use).
Vespasian decreed the permanent amphitheatre be built, the first of its kind. He must have forseen that Rome would become a great empire and that, to advance, we would need to be recognised as a *mighty* empire.
Domitian completed his works and, along with running a growing empire, he oversees every game, hunt and fight that take place in the arena.

Yesterday as I was walking up through our olive orchard, I discovered Alexander sitting at the foot of a half-picked tree, staring forlornly out into space.
Usually he is a hard worker and so, seeing nobody around, I dropped down beside him, thankful for the shade the tree provided.
”What troubles you?” I enquired curiously.
There was a lengthy silence and then, “I’ve been chosen!”
I waited for further explanation, but he offered none.
”Chosen for what?” I whispered, an unpleasant thought dawning on me.
”No, not you…Father couldn’t have.” Now I was beginning to get frantic.
”Yes, it is all set. I am to die at noon tomorrow,” he said calmly. His words sank like a stone.
”How? Have you been told who or what you are to fight?” Still whispering.
”I am to fight a gladiator with a poisonous net, bare handed.”
I slumped against the tree trunk, speechless. Never before had I been so distraught over my Father’s decisions. I was ready to go to him, pleading for mercy, but Alexander held me down.
”No, don’t go! If your Father comes to know of our friendship you could well be joining me. Be happy for me that I don’t have to face a bear or the dreaded lions. If the gods are pleased with me I will be walking around Rome tomorrow, a freed man.”
”May the gods have mercy on you,” I mumbled huskily.
”Thank you.” That was all he said. Then he got up and finished picking the olives.
As I was leaving, he called out to me, “You’ll give the thumbs up, won’t you?” I nodded and slowly turned back towards home. Even though his death was imminent, he still held the internal strength I admired. I hoped he would be able to survive tomorrow’s ordeal, but I knew his chances were slim.

I didn’t return home that evening. Instead, I walked the long, dusty route to the Roman Forum. All night I went from temple to Basilica to temple, offering prayers for Alexander’s safety. Never had I prayed so much, nor so fervently.
When I could pray no more I collapsed onto a bench and puzzled over why my Father (whose name I shared) had chosen Alexander.
A long time ago I had asked why we needed to buy more slaves.
”You can’t have noticed,” Father had answered. “Every year I select three of my slaves to appear in Flavio’s sandy oval.”
”Why? Don’t you like them?”
Looking mildly surprised Father had told me, “No-one likes a slave. It is not proper. I give three of my oldest slaves to Emperor Domitian and afterwards I buy three new ones. Importing new slaves in this way prevents the older ones getting too familiar with the household – a precaution against assassinations, which are becoming all too common. Besides, new slaves work harder and are more eager to please the Master. Some old ones can get slack, working only just hard enough for their pay.”
Rather guiltily, I reached the conclusion that Alexander had been chosen, because he was getting “too familiar”.

Leaning back, I gazed at the enormous carvings that covered the vaulted ceiling of the basilica. The size was breathtaking and I had often wondered what drove us Romans to build everything so large. Not only enormous, but also everything was also richly decorated.

Somewhere above me a bell chimed four. Even at this early morning hour incense filled the air making it hazy. Wearily, I decided to go home. Retracing my steps, I marvelled at how the cobbled road still held a little of yesterday’s heat. When I returned the house was still except for the few, who had started their day’s work. Alexander was nowhere to be seen. This did not surprise me. Father probably had him in chains along with the two other misfortunates.

Just before the sun had reached its highest my father summonsed me.
”We are going to the Flavio. Afterwards *I* will go to the slave market. You are not to accompany me.”
I heaved a silent sigh of relief. Once, when I was twelve, I had joined Father on a trip to the slave market. He had told me this was just like any other market, only it sold people. Never had I been so ill-prepared for what I was about to face.
Out in the open courtyard were lines of young men and women, some only just older than me. The place stank of a hundred unwashed bodies. Father had pointed towards the centre of the square. On a raised revolving platform stood three boys. Their wrists were chained together behind their backs and around their necks hung wooden placards with their age and where they were from.
A fat man was standing on a stool so he could be seen above the throng of men that had gathered around the dias.
”Any takers for this boy here?” he was bellowing. “He is a hard worker and he is good in the orchards. Be warned though, he is too clumsy for a manservant. He’s going cheap. Only 25 denarii. Any takers?”
The boy had started swaying, dizzy with the circular motion. Quickly the fat man flicked his chariot whip. These peop



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4 responses to “when in Rome….”

  1. Sharonnz says:

    Fascinating!! Can’t believe how timely your Rome visit is actually.

  2. The Eds says:

    Amazing!!

  3. Gene Royal says:

    Where’s the rest of it? I want to finish the story!

    You have your mother’s gift.

  4. Angela says:

    Jgirl14 – Keep writing, this is great (as was your other piece on Rupert and Joe)! I look forward to when you publish a book – let me know and I will buy a copy (or more)…

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