Act I Scene 7

[Apron.  Enter Eris.  She has a glass of wine in her hand.]

Eris:       Are we having fun yet?

[Eris drinks some wine]

Eris:       Mmm.  753 B.C.  Now, that was a year.  You know what happened in 753 BC?  That little whelp Romulus murdered his brother and founded a city, which he proceeded to name after himself, Rome.  Then he gathered all the ne'er-do-well males and outcasts of Italy together and gave them all names, like Senator and Centurion and the like.  He even gave them plots of land to live on.  Called it a republic.

[Eris starts to exit but stops just before leaving.]

Of course, there was one thing missing.  Women.

There was no one around to admire them strutting about like cocks in their robes and their armor, no one to sweep up and cook, no one they could lord over.

But Romulus had a plan.  He invited a neighboring tribe of peoples to come to Rome for a religious festival.  We'll import some French wine, he said, some Swiss chocolate, some fruit.  Maybe we can even make pizza.  First, he gets everyone all drunk.  Then, when he drops his handkerchief, his guys get out their spears, abduct all the good looking women, and kick the rest out without so much as a doggie bag to take dessert home in.

They really knew how to found a civilization in those days, don't you think?.  That was the last republic until the American one.  The last one to rule the world, anyway.

[Eris exits.  Enter Pedis.  He walks into a spotlight.]

Pedis:      My name is Plebeius Pedis.  This is not the name I was given at birth.  My mother named me Cedwick, because she was a Briton.  When I joined the legion my father gave me my Roman name.  He said, "Since my bastard wants to be a man, he should have a man's name." My father and his fellows laughed.  The name means "common soldier."

            Being a soldier in the service of Rome is a good life.  You want for nothing.  Decent food.  Clear water.  Comrades to watch your flank.  Doctors to mend your wounds.  Women to mend your soul.

            What we do is important.  I have stood at Hadrian's Wall and seen the darkness that lies beyond.  I have marched across all of Briton and to the isles of Ireland to enforce Rome's rule.  This is my home and I keep it safe.  My mother and the rest of her children know that my father and I and the rest of the legion are all that stands between good, decent Britons and them...

[Lights behind Pedis come up.  Scene is a Celtic magic ritual.  The Furies are on stage, but are robed with hoods so their faces can not be seen.  The colors red, white, gray and black should dominate.  The Furies should carry daggers and/or lit candles.  Throughout the rest of the scene they chant over and over the following incantation.  And do some ritually type stuff.  Feel free to substitute a different incantation.  Or not.]

This is a time that is not a time.

This is a place that is not a place.

This is a spell that is not a spell.

This is a face that is not a face.

Speak to me rains, that wash the earth.

Speak to me earth, that breaks the sky.

Speak to me sky, that fans the flames

Speak to me flames, that burns the eye.

Hark to my cry, the storm's approaching.

Hear my pleading, hinder its flight. 

Come to my aid, destroy it completely.

Remember my name, write it on the night.

Pedis:      ...the Celts.

Savages.  Heathens.  Sacrifice their brood to their gods.  Blood runs in rivers upon their altars.  They tear the entrails from living bodies and use those to cast their divinations.  Animals, an abomination in the eyes of the gods.

[Pedis pauses to watch the Furies for a moment.]

Pedis:      I stood and watched them gather in concentric circles.  The outermost circle was an undulating stream of warriors, bodies painted blue and red, eyes white with madness.  They beat their breasts with shields and cut their arms with swords and smeared the blood over their faces.

Their women, dressed in black, hair unadorned and unfurled as untamed beasts, danced and chanted in the next circle.  Bare feet pounded the earth with rhythmic lust.  Shrill voices pierced the air, rising and falling like the demented cry of a dragon in heat.

Last stood the gray robed priests, the Druids of Twilight, Shamans of Death, hands busily throwing foul, unspeakable objects onto a bonfire at the center of the beast.  Chanting to their gods.  Destroy the legions!  Spilling their foul, malevolent pestilence out onto Roman lands.

We stood and watched.  They had murdered thousands, Romans and Britons alike.  Their hand had stretched over the land, befouling it.  They murdered in the night, killing to the last man.  Ravaged undefended cities.  Tortured Roman women and children.

Beyond this display of savage magic, stood the bulk of their army.  A quarter of a million blood lusted warriors, waiting only the sign to advance, to attack, to destroy the legion and with it the power of Rome.

We stood and watched because the legate had said hold.  We stood and waited for our commands.  We were outnumbered twenty five to one.  There were ten thousand of us.  A quarter of a million of them.  We stood, and watched.

When they finally came, it was an undisciplined rush.  We stood firm.  They threw their spears harmlessly against our shields.  We stood firm.  Their throaty yell shook each man in line with its ferocity and horror.  Yet we stood firm while we waited on the word.

When the word was given, we rushed forward in a wedge, shields locked, like a battering ram to tear into their flanks.  They fought as individuals; we fought as a unit.  They were savages; we were Rome.

Their swords could not pass our shields.  Their shields were too small.  It was a slaughter; a gutting of wild beasts.  We methodically slew them.  They broke and ran.  We followed and killed as many as we could find.  Men, women, priests, even their beasts of burden.  Anything on the field that day that wasn't Rome, we slew.

On that day, the legion prevailed.  We lost four hundred men.  When we counted their dead, they had lost eighty thousand.  In one day.  In one battle.

It was savagery we destroyed that day; it was civilization we saved.

Gloria.  Magnitudo animi.  Dignitas.  Auctoritas.  Gravitas.  Honos.  Nobilitas.

Where there is Rome, there is honor.  Where there is honor, there is glory.  Where there is glory, there is Rome.

[Exit Pedis.  The Furies stop chanting and move down stage to the apron, peer after Pedis.  They remove their robes.]

Alecto:     I thought he would never leave.

Tisiphone:  Long winded son of a bitch, wasn't he?

Alecto:     Verily.

Megaera:    The Romans were gluttons for the spoken word.  Loved to hear themselves talk.  Blah blah blah blah.

Alecto:     Did you catch that bullshit he was spewing about the Celts?

Tisiphone:  You mean the savage wild beasts that threatened all civilization?

Alecto:     I mean the crap about the Druids slaughtering thousands of Britons, and Rome saving the day.

Megaera:    I thought the part about the women with their hair unadorned and unfurled as untamed beasts was rather sweet. 

[Tisiphone hisses at Megaera.]

Megaera:    What did the Romans have against the Celts anyway?

Tisiphone:  They were savages, silly.

Alecto:     They prayed to the wrong gods, I guess.

Megaera:    The wrong gods?

Alecto:     They had their own gods.  They didn't adopt the Roman pantheon.

Tisiphone:  They didn't worship the Roman gods?

Alecto:     That's right.

Tisiphone:  You mean...

Megaera:    They didn't...

Tisiphone:  Believe in us?

Alecto:     That's right.

Tisiphone:  Oh, that is simply wrong.

Megaera:    They got what they deserved.

Tisiphone:  They should have been killed.

Megaera:    Obliterated.

Tisiphone:  Destroyed.

Megaera:    Nasty monkeys.

Alecto:     It wasn't even Celts he was talking about; they were Britons.

Megaera:    No Druids?  Then why was I wearing that scratchy robe?

Tisiphone:  Yeah, well, maybe the Britons had a better lobby, you know, blame everything on the Druids.

Megaera:    Or they got the bomb.

Tisiphone:  They do have the bomb.

Megaera:    The Druids have got the bomb?

Tisiphone:  No.  The Brits have got the bomb.

Megaera:    The Brits have weapons of mass destruction?

Tisiphone:  Yes.

Megaera:    Is the U.S. going to invade them, too?

Tisiphone:  No.

Megaera:    Why not?

Tisiphone:  You really should try to stay up on current events.

Megaera:    I watch the WB, doesn't that count?

Alecto:     He was talking about Queen Boudicca's Rebellion, not the Druids.  I don't know where he got that concentric circle nonsense.

Megaera:    You mean the women didn't really have hair streaming out like wild beasts or Britney Spears or something?

Alecto:     No.  There were no women.  Well, yes there were.  But not doing spells inside a circle. 

Megaera:    No long streaming hair?

Alecto:     Queen Boudicca had long hair.  Reached all the way down to her waist.

Megaera:    That's a relief.

Tisiphone:  If the warriors were not Celts, who were they?

Alecto:     They were Iceni.  A tribe on the western side of Briton, near where Norfolk is today. 

Tisiphone:  They just swooped down and started killing Romans?

Alecto:     Actually they got along quite well with the Romans.  Until their king died.  He tried to leave his kingdom to his two daughters.

Megaera:    Didn't work out, huh?

Alecto:     No.

Megaera:    Never does.  They never let the women do anything.

Alecto:     The Roman commander was away dealing with a real Druid problem.  The soldiers left behind plundered the kingdom, raped the daughters, took what they wanted.

Megaera:    Nasty monkeys.

Alecto:     Yes.  The Iceni revolted.  They incited another tribe to join them.  Captured three cities including London.  Put all the Romans they could catch to the sword.  After a little payback, of course.

Tisiphone:  Sounds like the Brits were just as nasty as the Romans.  Always come down to that, doesn't it?  Tit for tat.

Alecto:     You should be thankful, dear.  Without that, we would be out of business.

Megaera:    You mean we'd have to get real jobs?

Alecto:     Hmm, yes.  Just like real people.

Tisiphone:  You could be a street sweeper.

Alecto:     You could scrub the floors of museums full of Greek art.

Tisiphone:  Or their toilets.

Alecto:     Ew.  Yuck.

Megaera:    I know what I would do.

Alecto:     What's that, dear?

Megaera:    I'd be a telemarketer, so I could call people up at all hours of day and night, just to hear them swear.

Tisiphone:  You truly are evil, you know that, don't you?

 [Eris enters]

Eris:       Hey! What are you Furies doing out here?

[The Furies hiss.]

Eris:       Don't you hiss at me, you snakes.

Alecto:     We are not afraid of you.

[Eris laughs]

Alecto:     We're older.

Tisiphone:  Wiser.

Megaera:    More experienced.

Eris:       More experienced at what?  Toilet breaks?

[The Furies hiss.]

Eris:       Get out of here!  Shoo!

Alecto:     You young gods think you rule the world.

Tisiphone:  You think because you are younger.

Megaera:    Prettier.

Tisiphone:  That you can push the elder gods around.

Megaera:    Like turnips.

[Tisiphone hisses at Megaera.]

Alecto:     Don't think you are better than us.

Tisiphone:  Your time is coming, Missy.

Megaera:    You can be replaced.

Alecto:     By something younger.

Tisiphone:  Stronger.

Megaera:    Prettier.

Alecto:     Like media.

Tisiphone:  Pharmaceuticals.

Megaera:    Genetic engineering.

Alecto:     Nanotech.

Tisiphone:  Quantum mechanics.

Megaera:    Britney Spears.

[Alecto and Tisiphone hiss at Megaera.]

Eris:       Get out of here.  You're nothing but old crones.  Scat!  Flee you Furies!  (Furies hiss.)  Buzz off!

[Furies exit in disarray.]

Eris:       Elder gods can be suc

h a trial. 

[Eris starts to exit but stops just before leaving]

Eris:       Oh.  I almost forgot what I came out here to say.  I want to inform you that the opinions expressed in this play are those of the characters only, and not necessarily those of the actors, or the playwright, or the management of this theatre, or even the person whom the characters are supposed to represent.  And they are most definitely not the opinions of the person sitting next to you.  He's infuriating enough without our help. 

We also want to point out that any resemblance between the characters in this play and actual real persons, living or dead, is merely a coincidence.  You don't really think someone as stupid as George W. Bush actually exists.  He's just an animatronic robot that George Bush senior had Disney make as a playmate for his son Jeb.  Seems the life size action figure was more believable than the real thing, so they ran it for President.  They figured they'd run Jeb after you all got use to a President without a brain.

[Exit Eris]