The Roman's Lament: Teutoburg Forest (Part 3)






Images: Roman armor in marching configuartion, as would have been seen at the battle; the famous Roman calvary mask; artifacts of Roman equipment held up against their illustrated counterparts;fragments of skulls of the roman dead found on the battlefield; around the area of the battlefield where I spoke to the Roman. All images taken by me. 

I continued on my walk, proceeding west down the Roman path. Now all felt different. It was like a third eye had been opened. I could feel them everywhere. Spirits of those who had died or were somehow present there. They were thick, incredibly so. I would describe it as being surrounded by dozens. I could feel all of them in relation to my physical body, and I felt some were walking around, but many were following me, watching me. I felt I had drawn their special attention because of my invitation, though for whatever their reasons, they would not, or could not speak. I cannot express sufficiently how real it felt. Their presences. It was as if the veil was paper thin, like if I moved my hand fast enough, it would tear through the barrier and they would be there, beneath my touch. It was eerie, almost disconcerting. I nearly felt fear myself, not because I felt a threat from them, but because it felt so real and overwhelming to my spirit, I think.

I made my way down to the end of the German earthen wall, and the trail turned to go back into the woods on what was called the “German Trail,” or Germanic Weg, I think it was called. I felt impressed at that turn, again by prompting of the spirit, that someone else wanted to talk to me there. But this mother and her daughter came along very close behind me, and I felt it would make them uncomfortable if I suddenly stopped, so I didn’t. I continued on some secondary trails that went into the wood line behind the defensive wall. I almost felt I lost whoever it was, or maybe I did and this was someone else, but again I felt prompted to stop and make the same invitation again as I did earlier, which I did verbatim. I had actually done this a few times and did a few times more in a little louder than a whisper periodically as I walked and stopped.

Anyway, I stopped, made the invitation, and now I felt another voice, the voice of a man, louder than the German’s. I am not sure why. But he was Roman, somehow I knew this. The feeling, the emotion coming from him was different too. I felt it more strongly, like a deep sadness, fear, but especially regret, and homesickness. He spoke to me, and I spoke to him. Leaving my part mostly out, this is what I can recall of what he said: “My name is Titus…” I did get his name, but the rest was garbled. I also find it important to note at this time that I inserted my own bias; I sort of made the assumption he was a foot soldier. The spirit corrected me. He had been a cavalryman.

“I was a cavalryman. I was among some of the first to die. We were high on our horses, and there was so much chaos we could not move well. All advantage of being on a horse was lost. We were so much higher than our comrades around us; we made easy targets for the Germans. Many of my comrades died at this wall. Dozens, scores of them, all of us trying to escape the trap.” I asked if he knew who the cavalry mask belonged to, which is a very famous artifact in the museum and was found just in front of the German earthen wall. “I knew the man who owned that mask; we were in the same unit. His name was… (I could not understand the name here) I cannot say I knew him well. I knew of him but did not really know him.” For some reason, I got the impression the friend may have died not far from the mask, but I am unsure if that is the truth or my own assumption.

Around this point, I tried roughly to relay that I was a soldier and that I understood how it felt to be far from home and to live a rough life on the land, as I felt that homesickness from him. “I know you say you are a soldier, but there is little we have in common.” I did not feel anger from him, but almost like minor irritation or exasperation. “We are both soldiers, yes, but we are separated by so much time that what it means for you to be a soldier is vastly different for you than it is for me. You could not fathom what happened here. Thousands of us, dying in moments, crammed together, screaming, trapped to die. And I will never see home! I never got to see it again!” Sadness and regret became the dominant emotion here; he exuded it. I could feel what he was feeling in my bones. “I died here, so far from home. And my bones, they are lost! They will never be found! They will never return home! Why did I come here? I never got to see my family again. They never got to bury me.” I can’t remember exactly where in this conversation this happened, but I asked him how he died. “I died in the field over there, not far from here. I was atop my horse when some of the German warriors sallied forward from the wall to attack us in the field as we were reforming. One of them threw a javelin, which pierced me in the left side of my chest. I fell off my horse and died.”

Eventually, Titus left, as if he walked away from me, lamenting his fate in a way.

The pain of a soldier lost two thousand years ago is a heavy burden to witness. But Titus was not the only other spirit to make contact that day. Follow the blog for the next installment to learn about the strange events that followed.


Location: 49565 Bramsche-Kalkriese, Germany

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