Echoes From the Dead World

  Image: A Roman era reenactor with an Aquilifer. The Battle of the Teutoburg Forest was more than a military defeat for Rome; it was a profound psychological and spiritual wound. The loss of nearly 20,000 men under Varus was devastating, but the capture of the three sacred legionary aquilae (eagles) of the XVII (17th), XVIII (18th), and XIX (19th) legions was an unthinkable humiliation. These eagles were not just flags. They were the divine soul of the legions, objects of worship that represented the honor of Rome itself. Their loss was a sign of divine disfavor. The trauma of this event was so deep that it permanently scarred the Roman army. The legions were never reformed. In the entire 400-year history of the Roman Empire that followed, the numbers XVII, XVIII, and XIX were never used again. They were considered numeri infausti —unlucky numbers. This act, or lack thereof, is a form of unofficial damnatio memoriae ("damnation of memory") applied to the legions themselves...

  Image: The tabby ruins of Fort Frederick overlooking Port Royal and its waterways. Image taken by myself.  “Good to see you sir, how ya’ doin’?” “Just fine Mr. Freeman,” Gabriel said with a smile and shaking his hand. “I’ll say you appear to have worked a miracle here.” “Well, I sure won’t say it was easy,” Darius said with a laugh as he gestured towards the property. “But she sure do come together well don’t she?” “That she does, that she does.” Gabriel said with a sigh and a nod, admiring the grounds. “Did you have to replace too much of the foundation?” “No, sir. Ain’t much to fix in that respect.” Darius said in a matter of fact tone. “She’s got old bones, very old, but very strong too. Take a gander here…” Darius rummaged in his pocket for a moment and pulled out a square headed nail. “See that? That’s an old nail. And I mean old nail. It’s iron and see those marks? This is forged, like by a black smith. Pre-industrialization, don’t get more local small business than th...

Image: An artists rendition of the legion's final moments, where the Germans sallied out from the wicker wall and finished the last remnants of the Romans. All they ever were, all they ever knew, their wants and dreams, ended here, in a muddy patch of grass between a marsh and the dark forest.  Knowing in my heart I perhaps would forever live with the regret of not seeing what the spirits wanted to show, after all the employees left, and against my better judgment, I switched off all my lights, parked my car inconspicuously in an obscured spot, and left the car. I stepped into the freezing snowy night, cursing myself for my insanity, for my stupidity, for whatever it was I was doing. But I felt it, like a magnetic pull back to that spot. I couldn’t ignore it. Apparently, security for historical sites in Germany, at least this one, is not very tight at all. I cut through some bushes, over a barely held together thigh-high barbed wire fence. I was very confident I entered there unsee...