Login
Copyright (c) 2014 by BRSA Conditions of Use    Privacy Policy Return to Blogmeister
BRSA -- Blogmeister

BRSA

Class of 2012-2013

The students' blogs have been transferred to 8th grade.

by BRSA

teacher: Rye 8th Team

Blog Entries

A Few Days in the Life of A Celtic Soldier

I, Amon Driscol, looked down at my feet, my new leather shoes were supposed to protect my feet from getting hurt, but instead caused the soles of my feet pain and aching. I felt the familiar voice of my Celtic Army leader whispering quietly in my ear.

“Use your weapons for slashing and cutting off the heads of those Romans,” he explained bitterly, “and use your long, iron-headed, spear to stab them. They must be destroyed.” I glanced toward the other men in our army, to see if they'd heard anything, but no one had seemed to notice. I trudged on, looking around at my surroundings. You see, my army of Celtic men is invading a Roman city a mere 50 miles north of our village. The remembrance of my beautiful village brought sweet memories to my mind. I missed my two-floored house, the smell of my wife's cooking wafting throughout the rooms. I even missed the workshops, where I as a blacksmith worked long shifts. But I was in a different place now, almost at the unfamiliar Roman Fort, lurking just several miles ahead.

"Glance to my right, spin my head to the left, turn around, look forward again. If any Romans in sight, throw spear. If any Romans near, slash with weapons." The fearful command repeated in my head as I headed toward the Fort. Fear came all over me, shaking me up inside. I kept on reaching up above my head, checking to make sure my metal and leather helmet was on tight. Even though we only wear them to make ourselves seem taller and fiercer, I still feel safer knowing it's ever so slightly protecting my head. Closer and closer we approached the Fort, my mind racing with excitement and fear. As I looked around at the roman fort, I saw how beautiful it truly was, did I really have to destroy it? I knew I had to. My army leader took us into one of the baths searching for some Romans to surprise attack, but no one was there. Oh, the baths were so beautiful! They had under-the-floor furnaces for heating the baths, and they were made of stone! I immediately became jealous of the Romans and their architect. Next we went to the Head quarters, but the officers of the legion who worked there must have seen us coming. All of a sudden I felt this tremendous pain in my left shoulder. I whipped my head around to see a Roman gladius, or sword, sticking out of my shoulder. A rush of pain spread throughout my body, causing me to fall to the ground. I caught one last glimpse of my army leader being stabbed right in the stomach, then collapsing to the ground in agony.

"Take him to the Commander's quarters. Our leader will know what to do with him. Maybe he'll make him a servant!" A Roman soldier told another soldier. I checked my shoulder to see if anything had been severely damaged. But the gladius had been removed. I lifted up my head to take a look around. I saw the barracks where the men slept to my right, and the workshops where the skilled craftsmen worked to my left. The head quarters were directly in front of me, so the Commander's quarters must have been coming up soon. I surely do not want to have to work for the Roman leader in his quarters, but if I want to survive and have any chance to see my family again, I just might have to. As we approached the Commander's quarters I saw the bloody remains of the Celtic soldiers battle. Many questions ran through my mind as we came nearer to my doom. Was I the only Celtic to survive? What if the leader had me killed? What was I going to have to do? I was so scared I thought I'd have a panic attack right here, in front of two Romans holding on to my hands and feet. We arrived at our destination, and the Romans brought me up to where the leader slept. I'd never realized it, but the Commander's quarters were so amazing! It had its own kitchens, baths, and underground heating! Up more steps we reached the bedroom.

"What is this?" Asked the annoyed Roman leader. "For the last time men, I don't need anymore servants! Let him go back to his Celtic Village." As I left the beautiful Roman Fort, I saw a dead Roman soldier lying on the ground of the battle sight. I could't help but notice that every single piece of his uniform was intact. And I was tired of wearing the scratchy woollen tunics and clothing. Plus, my torc made of copper and bronze was getting a bit too tight. I decided to take the Roman's shield which would protect my whole body, his cassis, or helmet, which really protected his head., and his dagger which would be very useful if I lost my sword in battle. I'm sure he wouldn't have minded.

As I trudge along the empty forest, alone and afraid, the painful memory of my leader being stabbed with a Roman dagger runs through my brain. A familiar chill makes its way down my spine. After three days of traveling along in the woods without food, I round the corner and approach my village. I feel so proud knowing I've tried to protect my Celtic Village, even though I didn't win, I am still proud.
Article posted March 4, 2010 at 09:23 AM • comment • Reads 63 • Return to Blog List
 
Add a Comment

The computer you are commenting from has an id number. It is 54.161.202.106!

Your Name:
E-mail:
URL of Your Blog
Your Comment:
Prove that you're a human!
Enter the letters & numbers in the box:


When your comment has been submitted, it will be delivered to the teacher, for approval. When it has been approved, the comment will be added to this author's blog.
Thank you!
Latest 10 Comments
Login
Copyright (c) 2014 by BRSA Conditions of Use    Privacy Policy Return to Blogmeister