THE ROMAN CENTURION

In long-ago Roman Britain,
At a place known as Segontium,
A garrison of a thousand legionaries
Lived in the fort at the mouth of the Seiont
In the western wildlands of future Wales.

At the fort, there was stationed
A quiet centurion of noble heart-
The men loved their commander,
Admiring his prowess in battle
But finding him slightly odd.

He was different from most other men,
Who loved the battle for the fight
And loved the women for the night.

The centurion watched the sunsets
With kindly and tender heart possessed
And he loved a native Briton girl.
Small and fair was she,
With storm-grey eyes and golden spun hair.

His friends called him a fool,
For they never understood his ever-true love.
Of his kind and tender heart, they joked of it as a weakness;
They, who made no attachments,
and had broken many fair hearts.

At their remarks, and jesting,
The centurion simply smiled and withdrew,
And paid them little mind.
To his love he would then go, to spend his free days.
And on his days of duty at the fort,
Her beauty fair was forever in his mind.

Over the bridge and to their glen they would go,
Or to follow the river to the sea, on the land she knew so well.
And spoke of many things, or just as often stayed silent,
Enjoying the other’s company in the land near Segontium.

She taught him her language and way of living
In their blissful, stolen hours together.
Soldiering was the only life he knew,
but grew to love the settled life she lived.

And while they fell ever-more in love,
Unrest was growing in the tribes of Britain,
Who prepared an uprising against the Roman invaders.
At the fort, of this he heard, but it seemed a distant thing.
For his love was more constant and real than any distant uprising,
And the pair paid it little mind.

They decided to marry, to make their love official,
Never minding the jests of his friends,
or the suspicion in her family of the Roman legionaries.
The date was set for one week hence,
And happily they prepared for it.

Two days before their day of union,
The Roman fort to the south was attacked,
And the legions of Segontium were called out to aid.
With only a hurried farewell to his love,
He rode off with his legionaries,
To assist their brethren to the south.

He fought like a lion,
Thinking only of his love in the north,
And of their now-missed wedding.
He vowed to whatever gods would listen
to marry his love on his return.

In a break in the fighting, a messenger came
To the southern town they were fighting for,
With news of the northern town they had departed.
The rider was one the centurion knew well,
A good man, honest and true.
He came with bad news for the troops and sad news for Marcus.

Segontium as well had been attacked,
And some outlying farms burned.
Knowing of his friend’s attachment,
The messenger had searched for the fair-eyed Briton girl,
And with sadness, he handed Marcus the simple necklace
That had laid around her neck.

The centurion took it in disbelief,
And wore it himself, for a reason to fight.
When the fight continued, he fought in a raging blindness.
The centurion’s friends saw the invincible man fight, like a man possessed.
He sustained several grievous wounds, but still he fought on,
Unaware of his physical pain, feeling only the pain of his lost love.

Many of the revolting tribes, seeing this seeming mad Roman,
Far more fierce than any lion,
Thought him a man possessed and fled.
The Romans soon carried the field,
And after the battle the centurion’s friends
Came upon his body.

His armor was bent and broken,
His body scored with many wounds,
His hand clasped around a pendant,
Hanging next to his heart.

Their leader proclaimed, that there lies
The hero of the battle;
Had it not been for he, the tribes should not have fled
His name will not be forgot.
They carried him back to Segontium,
And buried him next to his love,
With his sword as a marker,
Around which a rose grew up,
As they lay side by side, down the ages.

And sometimes, if the time is right,
Upon a misty, moon-lit night,
There can be seen, in the half-light of twilight,
Two figures on the Roman bridge of old,
One dark, the other with hair of gold.

MY LADY LOVE

One glance from her fair eyes,
her lovely eyes of sea-deep green,
and I would be indebted for always.

One glance of her handsome face,
her angelic face no mortal could possess but she,
and I would give all I own, no matter the price.

And for one treasured caress from her ruby lips,
Her full luscious lips of rouge,
I would lay down my life, for one sweet kiss.

But, it is not to be!

For I am but a knight,
To love for her, and for her I fight,
But never more.

As distant as the moon, to admire and inspire
we lowly grounded creatures, and fill us with desire,
As unattainable as the stars.

Those faraway twinkling lights
reflect her starry eyes at night,
Her sparkling, long-lash’d, ocean eyes.

If into a single body was put all the light and beauty
From the celestial luminescence above,
That wondrous creature would surely be my love.