Before The Wall Of The Dobunni Poem by Nick John Whittle

Under my leather I soak with heat
Wearing no helmet or straps on my feet
As bare as a slave, I run Aquila to the fort
Then panting, huddled, fall quiet to the chalk.
To none but the Roman keeness of eye
we are ditch-deep before the wall of the Dobunni.

As Solaris drowns in blood-soaked sky
Faithful darkness devouring Dolittus and I
We lie with our mouths on the soil of the vallum
In a breathless wait for bright Mars to summon.
To none but the Roman keeness of eye
we are ditch-deep before the wall of the Dobunni.

There is the crack and the snap of fire
The Celtic tongue, the rude, ugly liar
The hiss-fizz of pig fat spitting harsh in the air
And their noisy feeding fanning flames to my ear.
To none but the Roman keeness of eye
we are ditch-deep before the wall of the Dobunni.

Around the mile of wall, their sentries turn
A catcall, our signal to climb to the berm
There's a racing in my ears as I rush to the wall
The promise of slaughter and rape appal.

The Primipilus' order splits the air like a lion:
'Over! ' I hear and 'Over! ' again
Then sword-chink, shouting and Albion screams
Drag me up to the precipice and bloody scenes.

The shields of the Celts, too far from their reach
Come up late against our murderous breach
And I can see from the wall on which stone I am stood
Only our irons flash in and out, covered with blood.

That night I watched sixty be cut to the ground
Every girl, every boy and every woman found.
They would breathe the cruel air of another day
Only after this force had had their play.
So that night to all but the Roman keeness of eye
I stayed ditch-deep before the wall of the Dobunni.