Itinerediaboli. Egypt, the first visitation. Translated from 'Conversations with the Angels' 1307
12th Quintilis 45BC.
The scent of vines hung heavily in the air and the haphazard path of small flying insects created a pleasant close up visual distraction from the sheer expanse this perfect creation. Nothing interrupted the eye from any direction and the trees that stood tall and proud could not disguise the countryside behind them, which was perfection. But even here humans were scaring the land with earthworks for its improvement. Not that the countryside wasn't amazing in its own right but the invaders brought all the comforts of home, including the grapes to grow for their favourite wines, tools and labour to raise buildings, tents and fortified encampments to house armies.
Golden hills rolled and flowed from mountains many miles South to the roaring coast a weeks walk to the North. Vast, it was the only word to use for this countryside. Unfamiliar trees lined the shining road that led from the trading port to the big cities of this ancient civilisation. The majority of the boats travelled across the delta and up the huge river to reach their destination, risking piracy, banditry and the official theft from the local authorities and tax collectors. All of which have dwindled recently following the occupation, but the armies landed here to bridgehead and build a power base, now many vessels dock here making money out of the new business.
Large numbers of soldiers marched the still new road, cut straight across the countryside across all obstacles and obstructions; even buildings and farms were swept aside by the conquering strength of the unstoppable and expanding Roman empire.
Xanthic had come to watch the war, he thought it would be a good distraction from his routine and offer a chance to discolour the souls of men who were marched far from their homes and families not for a fight or cause they believed in but to increase the power and purses of faceless and unknown Senators and an Emperor who sat deciding their fate a whole life and world away in a country where only the few had come from or even visited.
He was wrong, not that he would admit it to anyone - he even hesitated to admit it to himself. Scared men under strict discipline are hard to influence, add in a security network on constant vigilance against spies, infiltrators or deserters and ready with swift and permanent deterrents; made it almost impossible. There were a few opportunities to create panic and sew discontent in the small villages and settlements present on the land before the Legionnaires marched their troops through, but as the fleeing locals from other areas closer to the coast had already done a pretty good job of this on their own on their way to the Royal city and protection of the Gods and the Pharaoh. Saying that, watching the bloodshed, chaos and despair was a lot of fun.
A column of dust rose in the distance at the point where sky met ground. This was the point Xanthic loved the most when visiting the Earth. Back home there was no horizon and ground under foot (whether toed or cloven) sat under a smoked sky above which never touched. Xanthic never did workout what kept them apart nor was he interested in spending time finding out. Here on Earth there was a point where the curve of distance stole sight from him, this unknown filled him with excitement and hope for what could be or may never happen. When things are close, Xanthic already knew how events would transpire, he would have worked through multiple scenarios and identified the reality that would be his ideal and played with them for the best results
Time passed slowly under the Summer sun, insects busy in their endeavours cared not that a human shape (that was wholly inhuman inside) moved not a muscle.
The column of dust resolved into another column, this time of soldiers marching in woollen tunics over laid in strip metal armour topped with a plumed officer or domed soldier helmets. Wagons, carts and walkers of all colour and design followed behind carrying support and succour and was en mass and equalled the marching men. Horses dressed in rich coloured cloth danced the sides passing from the length of the line from the highly polished mounted Legati at the front to a finely dressed General riding between heavily armoured guards towards the rear. Orders and information passing on horseback like neurons between nerve and brain.
A fore party made up of a small band of soldiers, slaves and a aenetor carrying his lute and buccina, marched half a day ahead of the main body of troops. There was still several hours before they would meet him and Xanthic looked forward to this meeting immensely.
A small collection of huts grew up out of an oasis set against dust and rock. People had found it, sustained by a small cool water spring, and set up their home. Families were raised and a farm grew, live stock and crops developed and sustained the family enough for life but not for comfort or to attract the attention of anyone stronger who would wish to forcibly evict them from their home. It was through isolation and hardship that forged a inquisitive and friendly nature to strangers within the family. They welcomed all travellers and shared with them whatever fruit was in season, or if an animal had been recently butchered, meat, a rare treat, that they would spare. Xanthic took full advantage of this hospitality, pushing it to its limits before leaving two days ago to walk the long straight road to the coast. He left with a comment that the Romans would be coming again, a new legion walking the long road and a few scout parties would pass close with a possibility of trading food and water from the oasis for cloth and metal. This got the family talking excitedly and preparations for greeting them began.
A single horse and rider broke from the forward group, it gave a short burst of speed and savagely brought up before Xanthic in an attempt to intimidate and impress him. A feat often successful and with the benefits that a cowering man cannot present a threat to the small Roman force.
It did not work this time and a heavy leather sandal stamped down hard on Xanthic's shoulder. He had expected this and after the blow crouched before the rider, head low, without a word or sound.
A brief discussion about respect and honour befell Xanthic who listened while watching a team of ants rip parts of a larger insect on the baking road and transport them home.
The rest of the Romans had arrived and a heavy pack containing a solders kit, clothes and rations fell at Xanthic's feet. A blast from the soldier informed him he was expected to carry it for him along the road and for him to fall in with the other local slaves who have been press ganged into similar labour.
Xanthic either wasn't quick enough to collect the pack and begin his task or the mounted Legionary didn't like the look of him, but he was ordered to carry more including the reluctant to part with his possessions, aeneator's pack and curved buccina (a 3 to 4 meter curved horn often used to issue orders in battle or raise alarm).
Xanthic did standout in this world. He wore reds and purples which many took for a sign of wealth, but he insisted the local cloth be cut into trousers when he had clothes made for him, something that sat at odds to the current masculine world who saw them as immensely effeminate. No man of culture would be seen in such items, especially loose fitting ones like these.
When this upstart of an empire first arrived in this most ancient of civilisations they brought with them a shock of culture from new Gods, transport routes and city planning and a forced work ethic where any man can be forced to carry a soldier's pack for a distance, oft a mile or other identifiable location. Xanthic knew this and sometimes used his influence on mortals to appear as a ranking officer and thus lighten his personal load on journies where he could not employ a horse.
With the pack on his back Xanthic followed the Roman party forward. He did not tire like mortal men and upped his pace, he continued this increase until even the horse had to up its pace to keep up. The soldiers were calling for the pace to be slowed but the Legionary was pleased to keep his men marching at this exhausting pace to watch this new slave break and be forced to carry on carrying his burden further for his impertinence. Pleased with his plan for humiliation and the prospect of delivering punishment, the Legionary allowed Xanthic to break ranks and set his own pace. Soon the party were drawing behind Xanthic who smiled at his own plan for a punishment of his own.
A dust path intersected the new roman road, Xanthic was far enough ahead now to shrug off the larger of the packs he had transported and dropped it to the parched soiled ground a couple of paces East along the well worn track. The Romans had not noticed his leaving the planned route, when they did, Xanthic was almost a mile along the track, leaving a clearly signposted way by dropping the other items at regular intervals and directly on piles of animal excrement which along with dried hoof prints on the track signified a herders used this way to move his animals.
They knew now Xanthic had, through accident or design, moved off their road and had increased their pace to intercept, the Legionary kicked his horse into a gallop and charged down the track with a dust cloud in his wake. Moments later it had covered the distance and of Xanthic there was no sign. The Legionary reined his horse to a stop where a lyre sat on a large pile of animal droppings. He scanned the locality looking for the irritating slave and called out oaths and curses detailing what he would personally do when Xanthic was found. It was in this frame of mind that he met the family who were walking up the track waving their arms in welcome, a child, with fruits of date and fig for the new comer ran ahead towards the horse. The Legionary kicked down in frustration over his lost quarry onto the dark haired child's head and watched as the boy fell broken to the dirt, neck bulging, head craned too far back and as lifeless as the red baked stones that lined the path.
A howl gave out from the family, their precious and hard won welcome gifts of food dropped without a care to land and roll around their feet. The Legionary, realising the consequence of his anger induced action, gasped and raised his arms to apologise and signify his humility. His military training stepped in and he began to reach for his sword as he saw the expressions of grief and instant hatred on the faces of the family. He was too late and he was ripped out of his saddle by reaching hands that turned to claw and scratch. Vengeance, a word previously unknown to the family, was savage and swift; when the horrified roman fore party arrived at a run all they saw was a mother cradling her dead child's body. All the family saw, from their hiding places behind rocks and other similar locations along the track, was an aggressive red mist. Afterwards they felt sick and repentant and they spent months in abhorrence over their actions and prayed to their Gods for forgiveness. Of how the Romans and their slaves felt, no one knew as they were all utterly dead.
Translated from an illuminated manuscript found in a Winchester monastery as dictated by Brother Michael - Conversations with the Angels, 1307
The scent of vines hung heavily in the air and the haphazard path of small flying insects created a pleasant close up visual distraction from the sheer expanse this perfect creation. Nothing interrupted the eye from any direction and the trees that stood tall and proud could not disguise the countryside behind them, which was perfection. But even here humans were scaring the land with earthworks for its improvement. Not that the countryside wasn't amazing in its own right but the invaders brought all the comforts of home, including the grapes to grow for their favourite wines, tools and labour to raise buildings, tents and fortified encampments to house armies.
Golden hills rolled and flowed from mountains many miles South to the roaring coast a weeks walk to the North. Vast, it was the only word to use for this countryside. Unfamiliar trees lined the shining road that led from the trading port to the big cities of this ancient civilisation. The majority of the boats travelled across the delta and up the huge river to reach their destination, risking piracy, banditry and the official theft from the local authorities and tax collectors. All of which have dwindled recently following the occupation, but the armies landed here to bridgehead and build a power base, now many vessels dock here making money out of the new business.
Large numbers of soldiers marched the still new road, cut straight across the countryside across all obstacles and obstructions; even buildings and farms were swept aside by the conquering strength of the unstoppable and expanding Roman empire.
Xanthic had come to watch the war, he thought it would be a good distraction from his routine and offer a chance to discolour the souls of men who were marched far from their homes and families not for a fight or cause they believed in but to increase the power and purses of faceless and unknown Senators and an Emperor who sat deciding their fate a whole life and world away in a country where only the few had come from or even visited.
He was wrong, not that he would admit it to anyone - he even hesitated to admit it to himself. Scared men under strict discipline are hard to influence, add in a security network on constant vigilance against spies, infiltrators or deserters and ready with swift and permanent deterrents; made it almost impossible. There were a few opportunities to create panic and sew discontent in the small villages and settlements present on the land before the Legionnaires marched their troops through, but as the fleeing locals from other areas closer to the coast had already done a pretty good job of this on their own on their way to the Royal city and protection of the Gods and the Pharaoh. Saying that, watching the bloodshed, chaos and despair was a lot of fun.
A column of dust rose in the distance at the point where sky met ground. This was the point Xanthic loved the most when visiting the Earth. Back home there was no horizon and ground under foot (whether toed or cloven) sat under a smoked sky above which never touched. Xanthic never did workout what kept them apart nor was he interested in spending time finding out. Here on Earth there was a point where the curve of distance stole sight from him, this unknown filled him with excitement and hope for what could be or may never happen. When things are close, Xanthic already knew how events would transpire, he would have worked through multiple scenarios and identified the reality that would be his ideal and played with them for the best results
Time passed slowly under the Summer sun, insects busy in their endeavours cared not that a human shape (that was wholly inhuman inside) moved not a muscle.
The column of dust resolved into another column, this time of soldiers marching in woollen tunics over laid in strip metal armour topped with a plumed officer or domed soldier helmets. Wagons, carts and walkers of all colour and design followed behind carrying support and succour and was en mass and equalled the marching men. Horses dressed in rich coloured cloth danced the sides passing from the length of the line from the highly polished mounted Legati at the front to a finely dressed General riding between heavily armoured guards towards the rear. Orders and information passing on horseback like neurons between nerve and brain.
A fore party made up of a small band of soldiers, slaves and a aenetor carrying his lute and buccina, marched half a day ahead of the main body of troops. There was still several hours before they would meet him and Xanthic looked forward to this meeting immensely.
*
A small collection of huts grew up out of an oasis set against dust and rock. People had found it, sustained by a small cool water spring, and set up their home. Families were raised and a farm grew, live stock and crops developed and sustained the family enough for life but not for comfort or to attract the attention of anyone stronger who would wish to forcibly evict them from their home. It was through isolation and hardship that forged a inquisitive and friendly nature to strangers within the family. They welcomed all travellers and shared with them whatever fruit was in season, or if an animal had been recently butchered, meat, a rare treat, that they would spare. Xanthic took full advantage of this hospitality, pushing it to its limits before leaving two days ago to walk the long straight road to the coast. He left with a comment that the Romans would be coming again, a new legion walking the long road and a few scout parties would pass close with a possibility of trading food and water from the oasis for cloth and metal. This got the family talking excitedly and preparations for greeting them began.
*
A single horse and rider broke from the forward group, it gave a short burst of speed and savagely brought up before Xanthic in an attempt to intimidate and impress him. A feat often successful and with the benefits that a cowering man cannot present a threat to the small Roman force.
It did not work this time and a heavy leather sandal stamped down hard on Xanthic's shoulder. He had expected this and after the blow crouched before the rider, head low, without a word or sound.
A brief discussion about respect and honour befell Xanthic who listened while watching a team of ants rip parts of a larger insect on the baking road and transport them home.
The rest of the Romans had arrived and a heavy pack containing a solders kit, clothes and rations fell at Xanthic's feet. A blast from the soldier informed him he was expected to carry it for him along the road and for him to fall in with the other local slaves who have been press ganged into similar labour.
Xanthic either wasn't quick enough to collect the pack and begin his task or the mounted Legionary didn't like the look of him, but he was ordered to carry more including the reluctant to part with his possessions, aeneator's pack and curved buccina (a 3 to 4 meter curved horn often used to issue orders in battle or raise alarm).
Xanthic did standout in this world. He wore reds and purples which many took for a sign of wealth, but he insisted the local cloth be cut into trousers when he had clothes made for him, something that sat at odds to the current masculine world who saw them as immensely effeminate. No man of culture would be seen in such items, especially loose fitting ones like these.
When this upstart of an empire first arrived in this most ancient of civilisations they brought with them a shock of culture from new Gods, transport routes and city planning and a forced work ethic where any man can be forced to carry a soldier's pack for a distance, oft a mile or other identifiable location. Xanthic knew this and sometimes used his influence on mortals to appear as a ranking officer and thus lighten his personal load on journies where he could not employ a horse.
With the pack on his back Xanthic followed the Roman party forward. He did not tire like mortal men and upped his pace, he continued this increase until even the horse had to up its pace to keep up. The soldiers were calling for the pace to be slowed but the Legionary was pleased to keep his men marching at this exhausting pace to watch this new slave break and be forced to carry on carrying his burden further for his impertinence. Pleased with his plan for humiliation and the prospect of delivering punishment, the Legionary allowed Xanthic to break ranks and set his own pace. Soon the party were drawing behind Xanthic who smiled at his own plan for a punishment of his own.
A dust path intersected the new roman road, Xanthic was far enough ahead now to shrug off the larger of the packs he had transported and dropped it to the parched soiled ground a couple of paces East along the well worn track. The Romans had not noticed his leaving the planned route, when they did, Xanthic was almost a mile along the track, leaving a clearly signposted way by dropping the other items at regular intervals and directly on piles of animal excrement which along with dried hoof prints on the track signified a herders used this way to move his animals.
They knew now Xanthic had, through accident or design, moved off their road and had increased their pace to intercept, the Legionary kicked his horse into a gallop and charged down the track with a dust cloud in his wake. Moments later it had covered the distance and of Xanthic there was no sign. The Legionary reined his horse to a stop where a lyre sat on a large pile of animal droppings. He scanned the locality looking for the irritating slave and called out oaths and curses detailing what he would personally do when Xanthic was found. It was in this frame of mind that he met the family who were walking up the track waving their arms in welcome, a child, with fruits of date and fig for the new comer ran ahead towards the horse. The Legionary kicked down in frustration over his lost quarry onto the dark haired child's head and watched as the boy fell broken to the dirt, neck bulging, head craned too far back and as lifeless as the red baked stones that lined the path.
A howl gave out from the family, their precious and hard won welcome gifts of food dropped without a care to land and roll around their feet. The Legionary, realising the consequence of his anger induced action, gasped and raised his arms to apologise and signify his humility. His military training stepped in and he began to reach for his sword as he saw the expressions of grief and instant hatred on the faces of the family. He was too late and he was ripped out of his saddle by reaching hands that turned to claw and scratch. Vengeance, a word previously unknown to the family, was savage and swift; when the horrified roman fore party arrived at a run all they saw was a mother cradling her dead child's body. All the family saw, from their hiding places behind rocks and other similar locations along the track, was an aggressive red mist. Afterwards they felt sick and repentant and they spent months in abhorrence over their actions and prayed to their Gods for forgiveness. Of how the Romans and their slaves felt, no one knew as they were all utterly dead.
Translated from an illuminated manuscript found in a Winchester monastery as dictated by Brother Michael - Conversations with the Angels, 1307
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