Pompeia Pulchra to Legio VI fraters et sorers…greetings from her domus far west of Germania Inferior!

Due to the bravery of Centurio Flavius Crispus and the brilliance of our Roman strategy and tactics, [represented] legions including your own Legio VI Teams Aquila and Terra in Germania were able to return safely to their respective parts of the Empire…note:  as of this report, Team Terra is en route, more likely than not at this hour, getting much deserved rest and thanking the Gods for saving our cultured Roman skins from flapping in German breezes on the frames of their longhouses.

Though trapped in a remote tower stormed by hordes of hoary and hairy hellhounds of Arminius, I survived for the greater part of my ordeal because of the brave defense of the tower entrance by young legionary Q. Antonius during the first part of the siege.  Several bolts fired by the XXIV Media Atlantica Gallio’s scorpio ballista missed me by only inches as I crouched in the tower. Under more pleasing circumstances  the arc of the trajectory would have been a beautiful site, but as it was- the tower filled with guttural Germani-was a frightening place!  I found myself speaking in tongues, uttering the names of our deities and those of the German ones as well (as it seemed that the Germanic war goddess Thrud gave her boys an accurate kick in the backside which propelled them up the tower stairs)   With trembling hands I dug into my pouch bag for a sestercii or two to mouth in one metallic gulp should I soon cross the River Styx via Germani Hel…but came up empty-handed having spent it on all and sundry at the camp conditorium belonging to the Canadian Legio II Augusta-a lot of good brass hairpins and a strygil will do against men determined to sweep the Romans from the Rhine floodplain.

To their credit they turned out to be noble savages frequently yelling “duck and cover” when the bolts flew over the tower wall, one even offering me his eye protection. 

In a mixed moment of contentness and chaos, let truth be told I did find myself shouting at my captors to be wary of the swords thrust up the stairs and of bolts continuing to fly overhead.  So, to make an epic an epigram, the Romans saved the day, saved my skull-from the tip of an ash pole-and all’s well that ends well.  I suffered no more than a minor case of Stockholm Syndrome and mild post-traumatic stress disorder when seeing anyone wearing plaid, checks or houndstooth-now being all the rage from Castra Vetera to Colonia Agrippinensis. 

 On a final note, an atmospheric evening spent in the Black Capricorn suffused with the glow of a multi-wick oil lamp and the ambient sounds of our gaming and chattering Roman brethren and Germanic hosts could only be outdone by the impromptu performance of an acoustic Hotel California by our own Centurio Flavius.  He later joined an equally musical Germanicus in a duo of Rocky Racoon-and that nearly brought the house down, something that the determined and combined forces of Cherusci, Chatti and Marsi had hitherto failed to do.  Pleased to report that the Romanized Germani are now serving up a variety of vintages in the Trevari-owned tavern and actually acting quite Roman-the opening musician was a young German named Noventico whose talent on the guitar brought out the musical, not martial prowess of the aforementioned T.

Flavius Crispus and Germanicus, and a young German named Lugo brought won the admiration and respect of both Latin scholars and lusty soldiers in the tavern translating the [Vulgar] graffito of Martial to patrons. 

 Roving Roman Reporter Pompeia