Deva Victrix Poem by Sheena Blackhall

I am Gaius, of the XX Legion of Rome
Stationed at Deva Victrix.
My Legion’s emblem is the running boar

I am a Mithras worshipper. Within our temple,
His statue’s left hand grips a white bull’s nostrils
Meanwhile, is right hands stabs it.
A snake and dog stretch up to lap its blood
A scorpion claws its genitals. A raven flies over its head
Three ears of wheat emerge from the bull’s tail
Torchbearers flank the slaughter scene.

Then, Mithras and the sun god, Sol,
Feast on the dead beast’s meat

I am Gaius, of the 20th legion of Rome
My trade is a bloody one

Mithras was born from a rock
If you wish to become an initiate,
You must swear an oath of secrecy and dedication
And answer ritual questions, correctly

Our sacred Mithraeum has several altars
For sacrifical use. It is set in a hidden cave
That holds a secret spring.
I have passed the soldiers’ grade in the cult of Mithras
Beloved of the god Mars.
I have passed through the ordeal of the pit

Last year, I stayed in a fort in Pinnata Castra
(Fortress on the wing) in Caledonia,
Built by the men of Gnaeus Julius Agricola
Its defence was a turf rampart faced with stone,
An outside ditch, gatehouses on each side
But there was a Dacian invasion overseas
Legions were tossed like dice
So here I am at the other end of the country!

For my leisure, I visit the baths complex
Our centurion insists we keep good hygiene
No wonders have been spared in its construction!

There’s a room for exercise
There’s a room for sweating
There’s a room with a cold pool
There’s a room that is pleasantly warm
There’s a room with a hot plunge bath
There’s a room for communal shitting

I like to visit the amphitheater south east of our camp,
I go there to train, to watch the acrobats, wrestlers,
The professional gladiators
I bet a month’s pay on a retiarus. He was killed.
Slight griefs talk, great ones are speechless

I am Gaius, of the 20th legion of Rome
My trade is a bloody one

I lie with Vedica, a woman of the Cornovii
Her folk are cattle breeders, very vain and proud
She wears a fine gold torc around her throat
Her coppery hair falls down in two thick braids

Vedica worships the horned god, Cernunnos
Her Latin’s poor, but she’s hot stuff in bed
Although she’s hirsute and she smells of horse

I close my eyes, pretend I’m back in Rome,
With Caelina, my girlfriend from Ravenna
Carpe Diem, as my mother says.