posted October 04, 2016 05:26 AM            

Rome; The Coliseum: August, 58 AD

Leonito rose swiftly to the que of the crowd's triumphant chorus, mad over the spilt blood of the rhino. He had made sure to be in the closest row he could, and this unfortunately happened to be in the fortieth. The weather was fair and the Coliseum was abundant with grandiose fights today.
The handsome sturdy built young man sat back down and stretched himself out, ready for the next display. Then was heard a deafening roar, that one could only articulate had he not been from the creature’s native land. A golden beast had emerged from a gate in the left hemisphere of the arena. From down his head, back his neck, and down his throat was a mass of curled tawny hair. He paced the Gladiator clad in red intently, the lion, Leonito’s favorite of the circle, his given name.
He rose in trepidation his hands raised in the air, this time, it seemed that the audience followed him.
The great King of the Ethiopian jungles paced himself ‘round the unfortunate victim before pouncing upon him whose screams measured that of a woman pleading for the life of her child, and ever the louder the crowds screamed with delight as the entrails were seen.
Often, it would take at least seven men or more to defeat the lion when he was presented. Oh, the Gorilla had human movements and the elephant was the most massive, and then there was the formerly slaughtered beast with the horn. But, none could measure to the felines. There was a swiftness and an unbroken gaze at their prey which made them simultaneously the mightiest and most mysterious, and the lion their lord. And Leonito was his Lord, his very blood bore it within him.
The nineteen-year-old stood as tall as he could and began climbing over the masses to the front row, pushing heads, and stepping on legs. The verbal abuse at him was great, and there were a couple of kicks and punches from those he treaded on. But, finally he had made it. Fascinated, he peered upon his animal. The Lion's head was to the other direction, though close to Leonito’s side. But, Leonitio then noticed something different. He did not swagger his head in glory, he did not strut in royalty or in pomp, rather walked in a manner which would have suggested not a care for any of his adoring spectators, and truthfully, the youth had never seen this in his life.
Leonito leaned his head on the stone and suddenly the creature turned his eyes to his alone. There were no words to describe the feeling; shock? Surprise? Delight? The next gladiator was marching in now, but while continuing to walk this way and that in a small area, his eyes did not divert from Leonito’s. He had never been this intimate with one, and became quite uncomfortable and surprised with what he saw. There was no prideful nor warm aura about them, rather an tired and gloomed one, as if to say “do you see me here boy? Would you really rather take my place?”
He rushed off to pursue his enemy whom with one stroke stuck the sword into the beast's heart. The Lion fell to the ground with one final roar, a weak one though…
The crowd gave an angered sigh, and would most definitely vote thumbs down for this man if another warrior were sent in before a beast.
Leonito left, unaware of his surroundings, he could only bring his mind to the...message? Of that Lion’s eyes.
He put his hands in the pockets of his Soldier’s tunic. Before he knew it, he was in the market’s square. Two children in play ran past him, almost knocking him off course. He was about to scold the two until he heard a giggle, and looked cross the path to see a pretty brown-haired washer girl wearing a blue tunic grinning at him. He grinned back. On a normal day, he would have been taken to invite her to his bedchamber, but the thoughts of what had just transpired still lurked in his mind.
When he reached his home near the Palace, whom he shared with a dozen or more young soldiers, he was greeted by his room-mate and close friend; Tacitus.
“Oh, Leonito you’re in trouble now,” said Tacitus deviously.
“What are you talking about you damn fool?” He demanded.
“Thy Uncle Catus, he has been here long, awaiting your arrival. He’s in the dining room now, being attended to by…” Tacitus gave a cough, though he was Leonito’s best friend, he loved to play mind games with him. “Alfreda.”
Leonito grabbed the hysterical laughing boy by his shirt and threw him aside. When he had arrived in the Dining Room, he saw what Tacitus spoke was true. Alfreda, a kitchen maid, and one Leonito had begun a love with, was washing his Uncle’s feet, whom was dipping bread into olive oil. It incited jealousy in the youth, he knew only that Uncle Catus did this to antagonize him. But still, it made his blood boil, especially because he could not retaliate either in word nor act to the head of the Roman Army.
Alfreda’s hair was black as night, she was of a dark complexion, for, some Baltic blood dwelt within in her. To Leonito, she was a bold woman filled with a lust for life unmatched by anyone, this is why he had loved her. And he hated seeing her wash his Uncle's disgusting wart covered feet.
“Back from your foolish little fights, Leonito?” He inquired using his forefinger and thumb to sprinkle away crumbs from his hand. “Be gone now,” he ordered of Alfreda, whom bowed her head and took away the bowl which held his feet back to the cooking room. She strode past Leonitio and give him a grin, he returned.
It was then that a council meeting was called into the Dining Room, the food was prepared, and all took their place upon sofa’s; some reclining, some sitting straight up.

Outside of Iceni: May, 59 AD

Seegrid reached her hand down to him. Leonito was amazed at her intent to actually climb all the way up the wet stones which led to the top of the waterfall, especially because it would make his face prone to the light, yet cold rain. He politely declined with the wave of his hand, and Seegrid understood.
She shrugged and went ahead anyway. It was then that he noticed her large firm buttocks, no doubt fit because of the various activities she seemed to regularely engage in. He then looked up at her silk hair, it was mangled this way and that because it was wet, not that beautiful wet when a maiden first arrives from the water, but that wet which makes its strands blow this way and that.
“Wait!” He called. She looked down, with that charming little smile, totally unaware that he had been looking at her immodestly. “Y-your hair,” he spoke, and made a winding motion near his ears. She smiled and jumped down. Leonito gave a funny look as she ripped a piece from her green robe and saw her fingers work swiftly and gracefully down her tresses to make a tight braid with it.
"Fah'taire," he said. And barred his teeth like a bear. She giggled, it was so easy to make Seegrid laugh.
She shook her head, and began an aggressive movement of her arms up, down, back. And before he could fathom what in the world this mean, she made a sewing motion with her hand. Now, he understood. But what on earth did the Celts do to their clothing before that? She turned to begin her task again; and again she offered her hand. He repeated the gesture of decline, but she was persistant, her eyes told him. “If you have truly climbed great cliffs and fought great battles, climbing a waterfall must be easy.”
So he went along. It wasn’t high enough where if they fell they would be killed or seriously injured, but, why couldn’t they have just walked up the hill and through the mass of trees? He was beginning to notice that Seegrid was an impatient girl who wanted to do things quick, even if the quickest way was more difficult.
“Oh yeah?” He said, in an effort to impress her, “watch this,” and with all his might he sped up, though it hurt his hands and knees like the sting of Juno. Seegrid began laughing, she couldn’t control herself, and before Leonito realized it, she had fallen to the ground.
“Oh!” He yelled, worried and jumped down after her.
He had to laugh at the sight. There, she was, dark mud in her moon white hair, and giggling as hard as she could.
If Alfreda had fallen she probably would overdramaize her pain for his attention. But this strange savage girl laughed. He held his hand out for her. She took it and was pulled up to face Leonito. He looked into her eyes and she to his. Her tiny lips pierced themselves into a smile. And before Leonitio could be lost in them she uttered; “Breach” and pointed behind him. He turned his head in her direction. Gaelic was such a…rough, yet, flowing language. He saw the stream.
"Bree.." he began and attempted to say the second part, but it came out like a man when he is about to spit. It made Seegrid chuckle again, and she buried her face in her hand embarrassed by the redness of it. He liked it when she laughed, it was a flighty laugh, light, like a feather.
“Breach” she repeated as if it were obvious. as he looked at the brook. “Uiche?” And he pointed at himself. You think I am the water?” He spoke almost beginning to burst out in laughter. She shook her head, and beckoned him follow her to the water's edge.
She proceeded to bend down, and Leonito caught glance of her hips, though, she was thin, her lower torso curved into them making them big.
He decided on a trick, he would get to touch them under the guise of pushing her in. And so he did, she landed with a splash. Leonitio laughed, but Seegrid didn’t react as he thought she would. She angrily looked at her soaked clothes, her mouth hung open in angered shock. When she looked back at him, Seegrid appeared hurt, not laughing or doing him a joke back.
She immerged from the water and walked past him, head hung. She covered herself with her arms shivering as she strode back towards the forest.
“SeeGrid…!” He called. And blocked her path. He held her back and made sure her eyes were to him. Leonito making absurd tongue swirls on his lips and gyrating his eyes around like a mad man to demonstrate the joke. It made her cry even harder..
"Wh...What? No...Come here.." and he brought her close in embrace, what else could he have done?

posted November 29, 2016 04:44 PM            

For the reader's info; the Goths were a tribe that encompassed most of modern day France, and the Sami were a tribe that lived in modern day Finland and North Western Russia.

Attica from the Athens is a character introduced earlier. Athens is regarded as a Tribe by certain characters of the story.

posted November 30, 2016 10:10 AM            

quote:

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Originally posted by whitewitch111:
This chapter is loosely based on a true encounter in my life.

For the reader's info; the Goths were a tribe that encompassed most of modern day France, and the Sami were a tribe that lived in modern day Finland and North Western Russia.

Attica from the Athens is a character introduced earlier. Athens is regarded as a Tribe by certain characters of the story.

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posted February 22, 2017 02:51 PM            

"Fahthaire!" She shouted after they had entered the Royal Hut. So, it was true..No matter, there were other beautiful Iceanian Celtic Girls.
The Chieftan held his hands out for his ecstatic young daughter, and she eagerly hopped into them.
The Princess who he had seen earlier was sitting beside the Fiery Haired Queen, who again made his prick stand, but the scowl on her oval horse-face reinstated that she was not one to disrespect or look at in that manner by those she did not permit.
Seegrid cuddled to her Father. His barley yellow hair reached to his shoulders, and she immediately began to braid it. The young Roman soldier then noticed how different the demeanors of the Royal Family were, as different as their colors of locks.
Prasutagus's gentle nature, seeing no danger or alarm in anything. Seegrid, joyful like a bird. The other Princess who carried herself carefully and shyly, her tresses were hazelnut and she wore them in braids. And then the Queen, Boudicca. She who sat like an Emperor and a Roman one at that. Her long fiery curls radiating around her pale skin, illuminating her golden torc, and her pensive scowl...She did not lean against her wooden throne ladled with lavender. She sat erect using her arms to uphold her.
'She is not one to be crossed at all,' thought Leonito. Hopefully the others saw that.
"This Gentleman," spoke the Chieftain to Uncle Catus and his attendants. "Is Seegrid, my youngest daughter." He spoke something to her in Gaelic. In turn she addressed them gleefully; "Salve" almost perfectly. So, why hadn't she just said this to him?
They smiled at her, but not in the way of admiring a cute little girl as the Chieftan obviously thought. Again, Leonitio could tell how dull-witted he was.
'This is the Great Prasutagus?' He thought.
"She is as beautiful as your lovely Wife, Catus.' Spoke Antonius and smiled at Boudicca. Whose brow knitted more.
"And intelligent," added Catus.
"My Lord knows too the dialects of the North and the West, a bit of Nordic, and the tongue of the Goths." Spoke his Liege, a scrawny thick red haired young man, little older than Leonitio.
He could see the look that Cyprian gave at the utterance of 'Goth' one of fear. In fact it seemed to intimidate all three of them how much Latin this Celtic Lord and his Squire actually could speak and understand.
"Tristan!" Chided Seegrid cutely no one knew what she meant, but her sister gave her a look of suspicion.
"Oh Shaemus, I am not as gifted as you think," he replied.
Cyprian had taken again to stare at Seegrid. Did the Chieftan seriously not understand why? Maybe he thought that every man looked at his precious daughter the way he did, and it was apparent that she was his light.
But the Queen looked angrily at him once she caught on, almost as if in a rage.
She uttered something to the older girl quickly.
"Mathaire!" Squealed Seegrid, it sounded like a protest.
"Ne!" She yelled and pointed to an osculated ladder leading to a room covered by a green tapestry. Which he assumed was their Bedchamber. This one was very obliging, and she took her sister by the hand motioning her up with her head.
Prasutuagus kissed her before she begrudgingly slipped off of his lap. "A ruin," he spoke to her. "A ruin, Fathaire."
After her daughters had disappeared from the main room, Boudicca shot Leonito a look of abhorring suspicion.
"Go back to the Camp Leonitio," instructed Catus. And he obeyed.

"What do you think they are saying!?" Said Seegrid rolling around in the bed barely able to contain herself.
"Alliances, something of that nature," replied Ros, gathering her sewing.
"Do you think we will visit Rome with them?"
"Probably not." The eighteen year old Princess squinted at her ivory needle trying penetrate the whole with the red thread.
"Oh, Ros, I want so badly to see the world. Like Tristan."
Ros rolled her eyes. "Tristan's not seen as much as you think nor he boasts." She swallowed her intuition of dread into her stomach. It wasn't so much that she knew Seegrid's liking for her Goth Pirate Love, it was that...perhaps he even returned it?
"S...Seegrid...that Roman Man...he does not know where Murial's abode is, does he?"
Ros had been returning the High Druidess and Medicine Woman of the Iceni when they had caught glances earlier that day.
"Ne, Ne.." Seegrid said hastily shaking her head.
"Seegrid you have to be careful, you need to wear your circlet if you venture outside of the Tribe, if a man took you for a common girl, no less a Roman Man, he may..."
"Leonitio is only a year older than you," she interrupted annoyed. Why was everyone in her family so protective of her?
"You know his name!?" Spoke Ros aghast.
Seegrid nodded.
Ros took her place beside her sister on the bed and stared down at her macramed rose, ready to be draped with the thread. Her favorite flower, her namesake. 'I am as beautiful as a rose,' she thought delightfully. But, the feeling quickly fleeted. She always worried for Seegrid. Trouble just seemed to follow Seegrid like a starving bear...She was too much like their Mother in the sense of boldness, but unlike their Mother, she was so prey to flattery. On one occasion upon Tristan's ship, Ros had to inform her lover that one of his sailors had convinced Seegrid to swim with him, alone. It had resulted in a bad fight between he and Fahriore, Tristan's best friend. Both men had to be taken to Murial for the amount of blood lost.
"He didn't mean to do anything to me!" Seegrid had yelled angrily at her.

posted February 22, 2017 07:42 PM            

Leonito stared at the boy. It had been three years since last he had seen Nero, and he still clung to his Mother with that mad child-like look.
His dark eyes looked back wearily and aggressively. Nothing had changed, save for his height and his slow merging boy to man features.
The violet robe draped down from his arm, he held the stance of Roman royalty so well.
Agrippina was seated with the mindless and dribbled speaking Claudius and she ruffled her son's dark brown curls. He stood right next to her marble throne.
"So wonderful to have Leonito and Tacitus here again, is it not Nero?" She asked him.
He shrugged. "I would rather not keep company with common soldier spawns." He said indifferently, like the child he was, always had been and would most likely always be. Just looking at the boy it was not hard to tell.
Nero, was, in its most blunt term, a spoiled brat and Agrippina lavished on her son anything his heart desired. But, strangely enough it seemed to Leonito that there was a dominating lust in Agrippina's eyes now when she looked upon her son, she had always been a wolf with her cub. But maybe, she was in love with him now? Leonito had always been good at telling such things on people from their looks at each other. Or maybe this was how she kept him close, by controlling his sexual urges?
"Nero," she said. "Maybe you would like to go and stroll around the market square with your friends."
"They are not my friends Mother!" He shouted. His voice echoed off of the limestone walls.
"Come now Nero," she spoke in sweet mischief. She began to chew her thumb nail in a covet manner. "Go with them. Catus, Claudius and I have business to discuss."
Nero rolled his eyes and stomped in their direction.
"What does your heart desire Your Majesty?" Asked Leonito trying to convey the false joy of being granted the privilege to walk the Emperor's "son" around the market square.
"You are not to speak unless spoken to Leonito," he retorted. He was well ahead of them now, striding, and they followed as if they were his guard rather than companions?
'Well, what? Does it pain you to be away from Mama?' he thought bitterly.
Leonito himself had been born from Catus's sister, a Vestal Virgin whom had broken her vows and had subsequently been buried alive. He had never known his father and his life had been given to the liberty of his Uncle. He was given the best wet nurses and governesses Rome had to offer. But at the age of ten he had been wrenched away from them to be a soldier. His Uncle loved him, he knew it. As a small boy, he had been very affectionate with him. But, when his destiny was decided for him, suddenly, as if over night, Catus had become strict and cruel with his chastises of what he deemed as bad behavior of his nephew.
Leonito wished he had been raised a Prince, but he did not so much know if he would want Agrippina as a Mother. Though, he envied Nero for the motherly devotion and love she showed so much to her son. Something Leonito had never known. The love and bonding of a governess could not replace the love of a mother and he had learned this early in life. If he could spit at Nero, he would do it now. The anger that boy coiled within him.

They exited the Palace Gates. "By the ever living libido of Jupiter it is hot! Tacitus purchase me a scarf from that man." Nero demanded. He was pointing to a booth on the left of them. As soldiers they were granted very little pension and Nero had gold and brass galore to spare. That was another thing of Nero, he would, simply because he could, and Leonito had heard rumor that he was taking a liking to torture like Caligula, Agrippina's brother. An unusual one at that. It had caught his ear some time ago from two elderly men conversing at the Colosseum that Nero had laughed hysterically when a Christian was put in the Brass Bull.
"They say he mimicked its sound, and fell over, hugging himself like a little child in great amusement."
Leonito wouldn't put it past him. What with his ferocious mother and the madness that seemed to ever plague the royals.

Tacitus pulled his coin purse out. "Which one would you like Your Majesty?" He asked. There were scarves of all colors and fabrics and Leonito admired the red ones the most, they shown in the sunlight.
"I want the most costly." Replied Nero. And so it was granted him, a thick sky blue that left Tacitus only one measly copper coin.

They continued their stroll. Both Tacitus and Leonitio stayed behind him, as if they were his own personal servants, which in a way for the time being they were.
People stopped and bowed, after all the Crown Prince was with two soldiers.
"No!" He shouted at them every time. "I am one of you today!"
the two youths behind him exchanged glances. Leonito's read; 'can you believe this?'
Soon, it was apparent that Nero was growing skittish and hesitant of the eyes on him and maybe wished for some real friendship, so he demanded that they walk beside him now as mock equals.
Every which way they went Nero stared at women. They smiled back in dutiful passion. For, it was always an honor to be invited to the bedchamber of a rich lord, no less the adopted son of the Emperor. But, the fifteen year old boy looked not at them with sexual desire, rather a curiosity.
"Leonitio," he asked upon seeing a black haired girl in a white tunic. "You know of women, would she make me a good Wife?"
Thinking it was safe to talk to Nero as one of his own friends he replied with a brotherly gentleness; "Your Majesty should concern yourself with carnal pleasure rather then commitment of that type."
"And waste my precious royal seed to a ******* !?" He demanded back. "I asked you to find me a good wife, not a **** ."
"Forgive me Your Majesty."
Leonito didn't understand it, couldn't understand it. When he was fifteen he was raging with every female he saw, still did, but Nero wanted love, not lust, which he partly understood. But he wanted one of obsession and complete devotion. Something that just wasn't normal for boys of their age range.
The blue scarf had been carefully situated on his head to shield him from the heat, but it was apparent the thickness of it was causing more sweat then relieving it.
"Blast it!" He yelled, and discarded it on the cobblestones. Close by, an elderly man was petting his ass grazing in its trough.
"You!" He demanded. The man's joints were stiff to move, but as quick as he could he was on his feet and with difficulty bowed.
"Take your ass and have it trample this piece of trash!" He yelled and pointed at the scarf that Tacitus had just spent a week's wages on.
The elderly man nodded fearfully and led the donkey to it. Lazily the animal walked on it.
"No! No!" Yelled the Prince, slap its behind and make it tear it to shreds with his hooves."
Leonito felt sorry for the man. He had perhaps little more then five teeth left him and his wispy white hair was wet with the exhaustion of trying to obey Nero's orders.
"Oh never mind...You are just a great old fool you are," and stomped off. The young soldiers followed swiftly and Leonito peered at Tacitus whose face was breaking out into hard concealed rage.

posted February 22, 2017 08:56 PM            

Boudicca's hand clung tightly to her daughter's shoulder as she was led by her guard. Seegrid's downcast eyes showed shame.
"He didn't Mathaire," she had said three nights ago.
"I know," the Queen replied. "But we must pretend as if he did."
All of the Iceni had gathered in the marshes to witness it. Boudicca had decided where it would be held. This silly thing that the Romans called a trial? Blood would be spilled by day's end either way.
Seegrid didn't dare meet her Roman lover's gaze. The guilt coiled within her. How could she have? But, both her and Leonito knew this wasn't a matter of rape in fact it was the smallest issue transformed into the largest. It was the trial of the Iceni to regain their land, the insult of their flogged queen, Boudicca and Catus's pride. The Roman soldier who had turned up with the axe in his head by Tristan's ship. If Prasutagus's will to leave half of his Kingdom to Rome was true and above all, the murder of the newborn Prince.
Antonius looked at the Queen, the purple bruises on her face seemed not to bother her at all. She walked with a strength that he had to admire. Nothing could keep this woman down, nothing, and the Romans knew and feared it heavily.
Catus snapped his fingers at his attendants and they lifted a golden chair for Seegrid to be seated upon below the wooden stand.
As they set it down affront the Princess Boudicca demanded one as well and it was quickly translated. Fury traced Catus's face as soon as it was. Who did this savage ***** think she was? To demand the things she did? All the same, Borneo rose from his chair and offered it to her with his hand, smiling.
"And she says that Seegrid and herself shall sit with you there and not below. Catus was gritting his teeth now. But all the same it was a delicate thing that had to be handled with care. So it was granted. Seegrid's chair was carried back upon the platform.
Borneo offered his hand to assist Boudicca and Seegrid as they ascended the stairs, but the queen hissed at him and pulled her daughter to her. Donovan and Henwas followed clutching using their spears as walking sticks.
"I don't trust this," Donovan whispered to Boudicca.
"We shall indulge," replied Boudicca. "But be ready for attack. and keep thee close to my daughter."
Leonito tried to take his mind away from everything on the far left of Catus. He looked up to the sky. The day was bright, but the sun offered no warmth. It was as cold as Roman winters.
Ros and Tristan were seated on the grass maybe a little more then thirty feet from the platform. Behind them Tristan's brigands sounded with obnoxious insult.
"**** me a woman, **** me a ***** , but **** me not a Roman in the ass!" Yelled Fahriore.
"Silence them," Ros uttered. And Tristan obeyed his beloved.
"Shut up!" He yelled in back of him. But a howl or two would continue to escape.
She looked up to her mother and her sister.
She knew her people wouldn't last long, and if they could sit through it, Tristan's men most certainly would not.
'Herne wrap your arms 'round us, watch over us,' she prayed. For the first time in her life, Ros heavily sought the aid of the Gods.
She gave a comforting smile Seegrid. She meant what she had said the last night. "No matter what happens, you are always my sister and my heart shall never bare you malcontent."
But why Seegrid? Why? Why had she ever even mingled with Leonito? Then turned herself from this. Had not she herself been guilty of a taboo love? Even if not as forbidden as Seegrid's.
She rested her hand upon her belly. She couldn't, not another one. Tristan didn't yet know. She would tonight and then they would leave. Set sail for other lands to escape. Should she bring Seegrid along? No, because her mother would not follow and Boudicca needed one of them. Ros had to leave...She had to, she couldn't stand it any longer but tears welled up within her throat again.

posted February 24, 2017 10:01 AM            

quote:

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Originally posted by whitewitch111:
I know, it's kind of just a bunch of jumbled excerpts, but from now on, I will try to be more orderly. This is the way I write my novels....Until I put it all together. lol

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Interesting & emotive story so far whitewitch