Blood & Sand by Stewart Stafford
Enduring to be burned, bound, beaten,
And to die by the sword if necessary;
Verus and Priscus entered the arena,
To stain Colosseum sand with blood.
Emperor Titus drained Nero’s lake,
Built the vast Flavian Amphitheatre,
Panacea to the idle citizens of Rome,
Symbol of his beneficence and might.
Priscus, far from his Germanian home,
Fighting within a symbol of Rome’s power,
Which ravaged his life and fatherland,
For them to decide if he is free or dies.
Verus, the hulking, bullish Murmillo;
Trained to deliver heavy punishment,
Priscus – lightly-armed, agile Thracian;
Primed to avoid his rival’s huge blows.
Titus showed he was Nero’s antithesis;
No hoarding of tracts of primo Roma,
In a profligate orgy of narcissistic pride,
Nor taking his own life to escape execution.
Domitian, the brother of Titus, watched in envy,
The emperor-in-waiting who favoured Verus,
And the direct Murmillo style of fighting,
Titus favoured Thracian counter-punching.
Aware of the patriarchal fraternity’s preferences,
The gathering looked on in fascinated awe,
As their champions of champions clashed,
Deciding who was the greatest gladiator of all.
Titus had stated there would be no draw;
One would win, and one would perish,
A rudis freedom staff the survivor’s trophy,
Out the Porta Sanavivaria – the Gate of Life.
One well aware of the other, combat began,
Scared eyes locked behind helmeted grilles,
Grunts and sweat behind shield and steel,
Roars and gasps of the clustered chorus.
For hour after hour, they attacked and feinted,
Using all their power, skill and technique,
Nothing could keep them from a stalemate;
The warriors watered and slightly rested.
The search for the coup de grâce went on,
Until both men fell, in dusty exhaustion,
Each raised a finger, in joint submission,
Equals on death’s stage yielded in unison.
Titus faced a dilemma; mercy or consistency?
Please the crowd, but make them aware,
Of his Damoclean life-and-death sword,
Over every Roman and slave in the empire.
Titus cleaved the Rudis into a dual solution;
Unable to beat the other, both won and lived,
Limping, scarred heroes of baying masses,
None had ever seen a myth form before them.
It was Romulus fighting Remus in extremis,
Herculean labours of a sticky, lethal afternoon,
In the end, nothing could separate these brothers;
Victors united as Castor and Pollux in Gemini.
For life and limb on Rome’s vast stage,
Symbiotic compensation of adulation’s rage.
Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved
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