FROM BAD TO VERSE

Greetings! I`m not getting the hang of this slipshiting business at all. First I was sent to a school in Victorian England where they did floggings and roasting over an open fire for selected boys. Luckily, I learned enough English to tell Diarmid`s story quite quickly. Surprising what you can do when you`re terrified.

It`s the story of Caesar coming to invade the Britons. I think I`ll call it Celts v Romans, which suggests some sort of conflict. This slipshifting is a sort of punishment for messing up our Celtic defences when Agricola came. I don`t want to talk about it. I was only young. It`s not a sort of punishment, it`s a real one and seems to be getting worse.

Now I`min Ancient Rome, which roughly five thousand times more scary than the Druids, the Britons and Caesar all rolled into one. Make a wrong move and you`ll be fed to the lions. And the thing of it is this. My trouble with the Druids was no accident, if you see what I mean. I have accidents like other people have porridge. For breakfast. Or even before. I`ve been in Rome for a year. Master just woke up one morning and found he had a extra slavew to whip. He complained at first about the extra work, but now he quite likes it, as his wife Adeppa want the whole place painting red. It`s very fashionable. But I`ve only just got a grip on the language, which is rather ugly, frankly.

Being whipped gets very annoying after a few days, so what I`m trying to do is write some poetry, or verse at least. This is not approved of, when your a slave. I have to try and get out of the house, without breaking anything, and write in the dust at the Forum with a stick. If I make a name for myself and get a patron, I`ll meet a better class of whipper. My master is rich, but not very clever or cultured. HIs idea of living a good life to be carried to bed, drunk, every night.

When he has been put down, I sometimes sit up all night, working out my poems. I have to stick to light, amusing subjects. Philosophy and no satire can be surprisingly dangerous here. Yesterday someone started rubbing it all out with his foot before I`d finished. Now I may be stupid, but I`m not an idiot. Before I bit through his hamstring, I checked to see who it was. Gladiators back eqach other up you know, in spite of what you`ve heard, so I was lucky to be able to run away.

There are all sorts of things I have to learn about the Romans. So I`m going have to stick it out here. I wish I had a master who lived inbthe country. OIr by the seaside. They all want to be in the Senate you see. Or find a General who will promote them.

At least I`m still alive. Slaves have very short lives, quite often. I dream of Ynis Mon and the long summer evenings, listening to the Druid recite. But I fear it will be a long time before I`m back there........

Please offer anything you can to the Gods for my continued survival. Some people like life on the edge. I prefer a comfy chair.