Tuesday, October 24, 2006
New Beginning 147
I shall end the slave revolt with four nails. To the south, more than six thousand crosses line the Appian Way to Capua, where the uprising began. The dying moan and gasp for breath, begging for rescue that will never come. Dishonored even in death, they will never be buried. Even after vultures rip flesh from bone, their carcasses will hang, a reminder of punishment that awaits those who oppose Rome. Two legionaries throw a thin, ragged youth onto wood planks cut from a nearby forest. They tie the boy to the cross. Barely old enough to shave, he had been Spartacus’s servile pupil.
“Rip that medallion from his neck,” I order. I am not superstitious. I lend no credence to the slaves’ prophecy that their god will explode from the earth and exact revenge. Nor do I believe their claim that, forged by a deity living below Mount Vesuvius, the medallions empowered them to outfight us in battle. I merely want to add them to my coffers; it will put me in high regard to present the silver pieces to the next general to which I am assigned.
And when I have grown in power, I will no longer feel like that little puer I once was.
(Orchestral strings enter. Lights dim to a single spot on the centurion.)
CENTURION (singing): When I was just a puer . . .
CRUCIFIED BOYS (raising their heads and singing): We are all just pueri.
CENTURION: I never saw my mater.
BOYS: He never saw his mater.
CENTURION: I never saw my pater.
BOYS: His pater worked for Caeeeeee-sar.
CENTURION: And I was beaten by my magisterrrrrrrr!!!
Crucifixion! The Rock Musical!
Opening: Steve.....Continuation: Pacatrue