APRIL 7 th :
Munera Gladiatoria Megalesia Cultural Award Certamen Historicum 4 Certamen Latinum 4
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MUNERA GLADIATORIA ( semifinals ) :
Presented by : Quintus Iulius Probus
Good day people and welcome to the
semifinals of Munera Gladiatoria. It is a sunny day and let us see who is
fighting first today.
The first fight is being fought between Spartacus owned by hon. Cornelius
Lentullus and Retiarus the Viking property of the charming Diana
Octavia Aventina.
In the quarters Spartacus defeated Rus and Retiarus the Viking won against
Brutus .
The fight begins, every gladiator walks slowly in circles observing the
adversary.
Once in a while they simulate an attack just to test the opponent.
Their weapons are blazing in the sun. The Viking simulates an attack with his
long trident and tries to touch the Spartacus' scutum.
Spartacus waits for the strike and turns to strike the arm of Retiarus the
Viking, but this one sees the move and strafes left guarding his hand with the
net.
Spartacus attacks again but Retiarus the Viking defends himself and with his
trident throws Spartacus 3 meters away, then he turns looks to the crowd and
encourage thei shouts.
Now the audience is going mad and supportive: some of them like the strenght of
Retiarus the Viking and some of them like the courage and tenacity of Spartacus.
Spartacus attacks again but he is weaken by the total control that Retiarus the
Viking shows.
Now is a total chaos in Circus Maximus: the ladies call the name of Retiarus the
Viking, and their husbands hope for the victory of Spartacus.
Spartacus is tired, and his attacks begin to be weak and ineffective. Retiarus
the Viking throws the net precisely over Spartacus head, and with his trident
mannage to keep Spartacus to the ground. Spartacus doesn't give up fighting yet
and tries to unleash him, but his powers are leaving him, and remain calm
waiting the damnation.
This doesn't happened because the crowd astonished by his efforts and courage
decide to let him live and enchant them with his style in another day.
With the first semifinal over it is the time to call the other gladiators who
will fight today
And they are Onomaeus owned by the same hon. Cornelis Lentullus and Baro owned
by the sweet lady Aurelia Falco Silvana.
Please let me remind you that Onomaeus defeated Kuntakinteh giving the audience
a deathmatch, and Baro defeated Orphaeus in a blitz battle playing clumsy and
fooling Orphaeus.
The fight begins.
Baro jumps around Onomaeus and this one begin roaring, shouting and do all that
scary stuff. Baro continues jumping around but his helmet falls on his face. He
turns around, runs and arrange his helmet back to his ideea of head…he is such a
clown.
Seing this fight is like a Venationes battle between a lion and a monkey and we
all know who the monkey is.
Onomaeus attacks in force with his Sicca rolling over his head and roaring
madly, but Baro strafes again by takeing a wrong step and falling on his belly
in the arena. Quickly he stands up and continues jumping arround Onomaeus. This
one launches another attack aiming for the chest of Baro but this is like having
shock springs attaached to his legs.
Another attack of Onomaeus manage to touch the pectoral plate of
Baro but nothing serious.
Another attack of an Onomaeus driven by rage coughts Baro unprepaired and this
one drops the lance, but when Onomaeus comes closer Baro sthrows the lange with
his foot from the dirt right into his hands and attacks the chest of Onomaeus.
This one starfes but not enough and gets himself a deep cut.
While Baro is jumping again around Onomaeus waiting for the decision, Onomaeus'
blood flows in the arena in a big red spot.
The audience let him live.
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MEGALESIA CULTURAL AWARD :
Presented by: Iulia Iulia Caesaris Cytheris Aege.
" We can all see the horizon, somehow a simple line situated near a light, yet a mysterious and unknown light. We can touch it or not, conquer and embrace it… from there came on heavy wings the call of war, the murmuring of storms and all the omens which held within themselves the force which favored victory.
The earth is breathing alongside those mornings which seem to arise so perfect under the zenith, yet sometimes the clouds shed their tears upon the legions’ armors. Marching towards the horizon, towards walls, many walls and many new paths. Some other times marching towards the underworld. So close to the horizon, so far from Rome.
With these legions Rome grew and so did we, still bearing the blood of the ancients. Full moon nights when their memories become our memories and it is we who fight there, the air and the horizon becoming shapes which open in front of us the fields of other times.
This year the Cultural Award has as a subject not just a simple description of historical facts or military strategies of the Punic Wars, but its goal is, besides encouraging everyone to participate, to allow the participants to express their innermost believes and expectations. Both poetry and short stories (no longer than 500 words) are welcomed no matter the style and fictional approach. The subject in itself is rather vast and there are so many possible perspectives as different individuals have different passions. Works which talk about the setting of the roman camp or about the personal thoughts of a simple soldier before the battle will be regarded by the honorable jury with the same attention as for example the poems which describe the road either back home or the road to the realm of the heroes.
The challenge consists not only in proving one’s literary talent but it aims at one’s both general and personal view of roman life.
Poetry, literature in general, is one of the most important gifts that the Gods gave us; by means of poetry the temporal lines can be put aside, so that lost shores and once familiar faces would rise and reflect themselves in us. " - Iulia Iulia Caesaris Cytheris Aege.
And now a selection of the works :
AMNIS PERENNIS
( SPQR - Britannia )
("quam precor ut carae more sororis ames" Ovid)
What twist of fate
Brought you then
Toiling up the Sacred Hill,
A princess of Carthage,
Bent by the ages,
Bearing loaves to still
Those groaning
Roman bellies?
How strange that you,
So wronged,
Should come to love us,
Sour Lavinia’s offspring.
Together, Goddess,
We have broken bread
Down by the river’s edge
Shared countless cups
Along the endless stream,
And you have helped me,
All too often,
Stagger home in safety,
Soaked with wine,
With all these heavy years.
Now my sons and neighbours
Are gone to fight your city.
A war born in madness
In tears and tight lipped duty,
A conflagration fanned to fury
By desperate love
And the turbulent winds.
We are filled, true enough,
With our righteous cause,
We howl and barrel
Through the city’s alleys.
We tear our hair
And weep at each defeat.
A ray of hope
Drives us to frenzy
And wild eyed celebration.
Nothing is constant
But hate and fear
And yet…
Who has not felt
In his secret heart
That tinge of doubt,
That temptress, veiled
And shadowed,
Who whispers in the night,
Who gently strokes your brow
And croons,
"Come, my lover, forget the sea
And all the wide earth.
Come to my bed and lose yourself
In my golden embrace!"
Who has not dreamt of kisses rich
With the spices of Africa
Only to wake with the tang
Of putrid smoke in the air,
Fumes like the crows of Cannae rising;
A dark and tumultuous offering
To Dido’s shade?
No, there are deeper passions
And He has borne them,
Our Ancestor,
Our Original Sun,
Face turned towards his destiny,
Jupiter’s wind in his sails,
The flames of Ilium
And Carthage behind him.
He was not cold
For there were other loves,
A handful of ash
In the ruins of Priam’s palace,
An old man’s bones
In the hard Sicilian earth.
A vision of a future
Rich as Tyrian purple.
For there is the rub,
The message drawn
In blood and fire
On the sands of Zama.
Only one may wear
The victor’s crown.
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ZAMA
( SPQR - Costa Rica )
Gelia, quien es rosa pulcra veinteañera de la Apulia, hija de rudos colonos, sale por la tarde a recostarse sobre la hierba, junto a la familiar pira crematoria de cantos gigantescos, de musgos y gloria cubierta... Y sueña... Y sueña... Gelia recuerda y sueña...
***
Catorce años ha que subiera al carromato de un caballo de su padre, una tarde peregrina, que subía hasta la pira incineratoria... Catorce años ha que subiera en la barandilla al pequeño Gayo, junto a los pesados bultos envueltos en mantas y flores... que subiera al carromato a ese Gayo, joya de cinco primaveras, último tesoro, legado, de su difunta madre. Catorce años ha que oyera a aquel viejo desdentado, viejo guerrero aliado, que se abría paso entre los presentes, y que se quejaba en lengua itálica del Samnio:
¡Ay de los tiempos presentes, ay de las fuerzas idas!¡Ay si el brazo fuera de nuevo fuerte y pudiese empuñar otra vez el Filoso Gladius, si tuviese de nuevo el furor de Marte y guiaran los Manes mis dardos, y otra vez mis piernas robustas
sostuviesen firme el Scutum contra las espadas de Cartago!
¡Oh Majestad Romana perdida!
¡Oh Majestad Itálica pisoteada!
***
Y Gelia, sacudida en espasmo helado, torna en sueños los ojos a su padre,
quien a su vez llorando la consuela:
Hoy ha anochecido sobre nuestras cabezas. Hoy ha anochecido sobre Roma.
Pero la misma luz que habita en ti y en tu hermano Gayo, nos devolverá mañanala Fortuna y la Esperanza... ¿No ves como siempre tras la noche viene el día?Y será ese día, pequeña Gelia, trocado en gozo el quebranto. Y ese viejo en vez de quejas rústicas, entonará himnos de gloria.
Y ya no habrá más llanto ni lloro.
Y ya no habrá más llanto ni lloro.
***
Y la niña fresca sonríe. Y el viejo camino empedrado, cuajado de flores, la secunda. Las avecillas suspendidas de las ramas cantan. Y las risas de Gayo, que las señala con el dedo, son un canto que se pierde con el viento... Y el golpetear de las ruedas de madera se torna ameno. Todo invita a un sopor deseado,
y Gelia sueña... Gelia sueña con el día de Gloria en que el cartaginés enemigo
sea derrotado... Y la paz la embarga... ¡ Qué bien se está! ¡Sólo Flaminio falta!
***
Sensación opresora, aroma de inciensos y muerte, hielan la voz... La Rosa de la Apulia ansia gritar: Flaminio, hermano, ven y tira de nuestra carreta que ya se atasca! ¡Ven, Flaminio, y rebuzna como Aníbal Barca! ¡Ven y monta con Padre en su montura!¡Ven, Flaminio, que Padre te lo permite pues eres el mayor, porque te pareces a Madre, y porque ya eres hombre y porque ya puedes portar la viril toga!
***
Pero Flaminio, muerto a sus diecisiete, no puede hoy responder ni chancear. Apenas se asoma su mano amoratada bajo las mantas... Donde yace desangrado junto a sus amigos amados: Sempronio, Publio, Fabiano... Y Gelia, la fresca rosa de la Apulia, recuerda el fátidico nombre de Cannas, el fátidico nombre de Cannas, el fátidico nombre de Cannas... Y Gelia, sacudida en espasmo helado,
torna otra vez los ojos a su padre, quien bañado en lágrimas la consuela:
Oh, mi dulce niña, Gelia, hija de Livia y Gelio, hermana de Flaminio y del pequeño Gayo. Hoy ha anochecido sobre nuestras cabezas. Hoy ha anochecido sobre nuestra madre Roma. Tesino, Trebia, Trasimeno y Cannas, ay, son amargas pruebas de dolor... Pero la misma luz que habita en ti y en tu hermano Gayo, nos devolverá mañana la Fortuna y la Esperanza... ¿No ves como siempre tras la noche viene el día?!Y será ese día, pequeña Gelia, trocado en gozo el quebranto! ¡Por la misma fuerza que habita en ti y en tu hermano Gayo! Y serán ese día, entonces, vuestras risas inocentes marciales cantos de Gloria.
Y ya no habrá más llanto ni lloro.
Y ya no habrá más llanto ni lloro.
Y ya no habrá más llanto ni lloro.
***
¡Despierta Gelia! ¡Despierta, rosa de la Apulia! ¡ Hija de los bravos colonos romanos! ¡Despierta y corre! ¡Mirad ya a vuestro padre viejo danzar entre sus siervos! ¿ No oyes ya las músicas de los cistros y de las flautas? ¿ No oyes ya sonar las múltiples arpas? ¿ No oyes los marciales cantos? ¡Despierta y corre, Gelia! ¡Qué en Zama Escipión ha vencido! ¡ Escipión al que ya llama la Fama el Africano! ¡Y le precede festivo cortejo de trompetas, sacerdotes y vestales! ¡Sal, Gelia, y mira los trofeos fastuosos, los prisioneros númidas y los encadenados elefantes! ¡Apresúrate Gelia que tu hermano Gayo vuelve victorioso, su frente coronada de laurel, al aire las crines de su penacho, su lóriga radiante, ebrio de gozo, saltando por los caminos, gritando:
¡Ya no hay más llanto ni lloro!
¡Ya no hay más llanto ni lloro!
¡Ya no hay más llanto ni lloro!
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THE GODESS
( SPQR - Nova Britannia )
Since the spreading rumor of the timber crews cutting trees in the sacred grove
of the Goddess, an unreasoning fear of the Goddess had spread like wildfire
through the troops quartered here and the meager winter drill in this freezing
weather was not nearly enough to keep the men's minds off this illusion of an
avenging Goddess. She was known to strike, usually when the target was asleep,
and it was said that the punishment was both painful, very personal and
long-lasting, with many dying from thier actions against her laws .
Lucius didn't even like to think about it, but it kept creeping back into his
mind. He had purged himself in the Cave of Mithra, just outside the Fortress
gate, and he was almost sure that Mithra would shield him from this threat. But
-- and there was always a but, what if Mithra was busy with slaying the bull?
Didn't he always have to do this? Isn't that what the blood spilling of the
oxen was necessary for more than once!!?? He really wasn't sure, and although
he needed to talk with someone he didn't want to risk his beliefs against this
new job.
He was doing what he had wanted to work at for many years and now he had his
chance. He shivered in the cold draft from the curtained door and drew his
cloak closer about him.
Several men had frostbitten feet in the surgeon's hall, feet that turned black
and had to be amputated. Strange fevers had taken some legionaries despite what
the surgeons could do, and they died choking to death. on their own saliva.
Neither thought gave him any peace.
He had written the notes as dictated to him by the Chief Engineer. The notes
that had sent men to cut timber for the planned Rhenus Bridge. Did that make
him a target of the Goddess? Surely if anyone was stricken it would be the
individual who gave the orders rather than the people who simply passed them
on. However, what little he knew about the Goddess suggested that her logic may
well be far different than his, He shivered again.
He was tired , so tired, from a heavy days work in the Tabularium writing notes,
carrying messages and putting files in their proper place. Notes and messages
and files which held those orders that had resulted in cutting the sacered
trees. He longed to lie down and surrender to a long and deep sleep, but his
fear of the Goddess kept him from his pallet. He longed for sleep and yet he
feared it as he feared agony and death.
He went to the tiny window and drew aside the curtain, Blackness looked back at
him . No Moon Goddess to light the night, no stars to be seen through the thick
clouded sky. A perfect night for the Goddess to wander at large taking her
revenge. Lucius sat on a bench before the table littered with scrolls and
message pads. He slumped over the table. He was very, very afraid.
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HOMAGE TO THE ROMAN AMPHITHEATRE OF NIMES
(
SPQR - Canada Occidentalis )
I have walked you round,
rounded the stones pregnant with memories
of two millenia gone
and the pangs of new millenia birthing.
I have walked you round in morning light
when day and time were young,
when sunlight struck your golden sands
and crimson flushed the swords of men,
when gold and opulence
power and decadence
flooded your vomitoria.
I have walked you round on a fine afternoon,
climbed to the top rank of stacked stones
one, two metres broad --
your buckler and shield
balanced against time . . .
Time spent that afternoon
when white-clad teams of men
snatched ribbons from the horns of bulls,
then leapt like wing-footed Gods over the barriers
we have placed for our own safety
between life and death, both unbridled,
and the souls we curb within us now.
Yet you accept them, these runners in the courses camarguaises,
these bulls with ribboned horns sharp as murder.
This great game they play is worthy of your past,
a challenge to our present,
a hope for this infant memory you bring forth in our souls today.
You have parented our lives through two millenia:
you wrapped your walls around gladiators,
around Visigoth, Saracen, Frank;
around Chevaliers and churches,
around village hovels and filthy alleys
nested inside your ring.
We never stuffed you away in
some lonely space for the aged
to witness the terror of your memories turning to ruin,
to be gawked at by snot-nosed brats
and bored descendents.
No – we took you with us in the pell-mell rush
through our times, our lives, our stories,
headlong through the centuries.
Like women of every age,
your bones and being stayed strong
with the constant work of living with us.
The child of your memories takes my hand,
asks me, "Can I stay with you?"
"Yes," I say, "Stay with me."
Child, you shall take the future for garment
and when you have grown tall
I shall remember shadows and dust-motes
lingering in stone corridors.
I shall remember the small hand of memory that
clasped mine that day,
and clasps it still,
now become the broad firm grip of a friend,
a companion in the constant work of living.
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NOTES :
The Roman amphitheatre at Nimes (France) is one of the best-preserved
in the world. I believe there is one key reason for this (aside from
the magnificent engineering it represents).
The amphitheatre has been a useful member of its community ever since
its construction between 90 – 120 CE. When the Games were gone, it
became Visigoth fortress in the 6th century, then a Saracen
stronghold, taken by Charles Martel in 737. By the 12th century,
the Chevaliers des arènes claimed it as home. By the 18th century an
entire village,with alleyways and two churches, stood within. In
1786, the work of freeing the Roman structure began.
Now each winter, a 6 – 7,000 seat theatre is erected inside the
arena, then taken down in spring. In summer, the bulls and toreadors
of the corrida take the place of gladiators and other animals. Also
in summer, the bloodless "courses camarguaises," have teams of
white-clad men attempting to strip the "cocardes" (similar to ribbons)
off the horns of bulls. The "courses" are a celebration of both
human and animal spirit. (The best bull gets a prize, based on
fighting spirit, agility, intelligence, etc.) If you ever have the
chance to see them, be there!
And yes, I have been there, done that. Which is why I have written
this poem. I am also preparing a "version française" which will be
available after the Ludi.
reference: www.nimes-romaine.com
(On the home page, click on "presentation", and then "histoire."
This resource is in French.)
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CERTAMEN HISTORICUM 4 :
Presented by : Tita Artoria Marcella.
1. Questions :
Question #7:
With the passing of the Republic, the cult of the Magna Mater underwent growth
and change. Under Claudius' rule, Roman citizens were allowed to become
priests
of Cybele and the taurobolium was introduced. "Taurobolium" is the blood
sacrifice of a bull. With the growing popularity of Attis, Cybele's
consort,
another rite was introduced to emphasize their joint worship--the sacrifice of a
ram.
What was the term for the ram sacrifice? (1 pt.)
Question #8:
An extract of a poem about the Magna Mater's worship:
"Her the wide nations, after antique rite,
Do name Idaean Mother, giving her
Escort of Phrygian bands, since first, they say,
From out those regions 'twas that grain began
Through all the world." (3 pts.)
a) Who was the poet? (praenomen, nomen, and
cognomen)
b) What is the Latin name of the poem? )
c) Who was the poet's patron ?
2. Answers :
Question #7:
Answer : Criobolium
Question #8:
a) Who was the poet? (praenomen, nomen, and cognomen)
Answer: Titus Lucretius Carus
b) What is the Latin name of the poem? )
Answer: De rerum natura.
c) Who was the poet's patron?
Answer: Gaius Memmius.
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CERTAMEN LATINUM 3 :
Presented by : Cnaeus Cornelius Lentulus
1. Questions :
Level I :
QUAESTIO N°2 - In the Latin greetings on the beginnings of your letters you
usually have to use a Latin grammatical case, the vocativus. The vocativus is
used when you call
somebody directly, for example, when salute somebody. What are the vocative
forms of the following names of illustrious Nova Roman citizens?
Gaius Equitius Cato -
Gaia Aurelia Falco
Silvana -
Kaeso Fabius Buteo
Quintilianus -
Gnaeus Salvius Astur -
Level II :
QUAESTIO N°2 - There is famous and ambiguous Latin sentence, composed in
hexameter, said by the Pythia, in Delphoi, as an oracle, and can mean two
totally contrary things. :
"Aio te Aeacida Romanos
vincere posse."
a) What are the two
contrary meanings of this Latin sentence?
b) What phenomenon of the
Latin language does cause this ambiguity?
c) Whom did the Pythia
say this sentence?
2. Answers :
Level I :
Gaius Equitius Cato - Gai Equiti Cato
Gaia Aurelia Falco Silvana -
Gaia Aurelia Falco Silvana
Kaeso Fabius Buteo Quintilianus
- Kaeso Fabi Buteo Quintiliane
Gnaeus Salvius Astur - Gnaee
Salvi Astur
Level II :
"Aio te Aeacida Romanos vincere
posse."
a) What are the two
contrary meanings of this Latin sentence?
1) I say you, Aeacid, can
defeat the Romans.
2) I say the Romans can
defeat you, Aeacid.
b) What phenomenon of the
Latin language does cause this ambiguity?
The use of the two accusatives
as both subject and direct object in an accusative + infinitive (accusativus cum
infinitivo)construction. In this
construction both accusative
can have two senses: as the logical object of vincere and as the logical subject
of posse.
c) Whom did the Pythia say this
sentence?
To Pyrrhus, King of Epirus (and
descendant of Aeacus, hence "Aeacid").
