A Legionnaire Reflects
After the Battle of Mons Graupius, 84 CE
. . . an awful silence reigned on every hand; the hills were deserted, houses smoking in the distance, and our scouts did not meet a soul.
—Tacitus, Agricola
Stabbing and thrusting in our legions,
outnumbered two to one,
we were pushing the savagery out of ourselves,
as well as the land and its people,
so that later we could fill
the empty waste with civilization.
When, in fear of us, the Caledonians set fire
to their own thatch and killed their own families,
glory was written in the flames.
Now it is only a trace against the sky.
The clean grass, the clear blue
after the last wisps dissipate—
these are not fresh pages awaiting good Latin
but our own uncertain emptiness
writ large, not exorcised. We stand
awed by our powers. We tell ourselves
we honor the dead,
but secretly we despair.