Palene:
I watched as surrounded by Romans I saw my Spartacus fall and I knew he would not rise again. The sun set in a blaze of fire, the ground stained black with blood.
Bodies lay piled one upon another. Romans and slaves finding equality in death, but nowhere among them was found my Spartacus.
As I wandered my eyes blinded by tears, I struggled to recall without pain, the man I had loved. But every memory that had brought us to this day burned with equal bitterness within me.
I did not know how long I sought my Spartacus, but when the sun set, I abandoned my search. Then, in my deepest despair I heard a piercing cry, and looking up into the sky, I saw a hawk. And when the Roman Standards that Crassus had recaptured were lifted up and carried off in triumph, I watched as the hawk dropped from the sky and perched upon the head of one of the great Golden Eagles and again and again cried out in mockery and defiance before flying away for ever.
The soldiers of Rome were gone and so was my Hawk. And although I had somehow escaped death and capture, I had now no reason left for living.
Thousands had died. Some That survived escaped to the mountains only to be overtaken and destroyed by the army of Pompey. Those captured by Crassus were chained together and marched to Capua. And it was there that Crassus now wreaked his revenge. Before the final battle, Spartacus had rejected Crassus' terms with a burning crucifix. Now the cross was to become the symbol of our defeat. Not just one cross, but six thousand raised along the length of the Appian Way from Capua to the gates of Rome.
Six thousand men hung up to die in celebration of Marcus Crassus' victory, broken bodies - nailed hand and foot - a warning to the world of how Rome punished those who dared to stand up to its ruthless tyranny and oppression.
I walked every mile of that Appian Way, looking for one body among so many, my Spartacus, that I might tend his wounds, speak to him one last time and give his body burial.
But nowhere on that fearful road did I find him. A final blow from the merciless gods. Except that maybe this is as it should be. Proof - if proof is needed - that the deeds of Spartucus will never be forgotten. Proof - that in every age to come - his story will be told. For then it will be as it my Spartacus - still lives.
I watched as surrounded by Romans I saw my Spartacus fall and I knew he would not rise again. The sun set in a blaze of fire, the ground stained black with blood.
Bodies lay piled one upon another. Romans and slaves finding equality in death, but nowhere among them was found my Spartacus.
As I wandered my eyes blinded by tears, I struggled to recall without pain, the man I had loved. But every memory that had brought us to this day burned with equal bitterness within me.
I did not know how long I sought my Spartacus, but when the sun set, I abandoned my search. Then, in my deepest despair I heard a piercing cry, and looking up into the sky, I saw a hawk. And when the Roman Standards that Crassus had recaptured were lifted up and carried off in triumph, I watched as the hawk dropped from the sky and perched upon the head of one of the great Golden Eagles and again and again cried out in mockery and defiance before flying away for ever.
The soldiers of Rome were gone and so was my Hawk. And although I had somehow escaped death and capture, I had now no reason left for living.
Thousands had died. Some That survived escaped to the mountains only to be overtaken and destroyed by the army of Pompey. Those captured by Crassus were chained together and marched to Capua. And it was there that Crassus now wreaked his revenge. Before the final battle, Spartacus had rejected Crassus' terms with a burning crucifix. Now the cross was to become the symbol of our defeat. Not just one cross, but six thousand raised along the length of the Appian Way from Capua to the gates of Rome.
Six thousand men hung up to die in celebration of Marcus Crassus' victory, broken bodies - nailed hand and foot - a warning to the world of how Rome punished those who dared to stand up to its ruthless tyranny and oppression.
I walked every mile of that Appian Way, looking for one body among so many, my Spartacus, that I might tend his wounds, speak to him one last time and give his body burial.
But nowhere on that fearful road did I find him. A final blow from the merciless gods. Except that maybe this is as it should be. Proof - if proof is needed - that the deeds of Spartucus will never be forgotten. Proof - that in every age to come - his story will be told. For then it will be as it my Spartacus - still lives.