by Zachariah Langley

Created on: March 03, 2011

Traveling in the South of Italy was something he'd always dreamed of, but he never knew he'd be there as a soldier. Coming out of Barletta him and his soldier buddy drove along the Masseria San Vincenzo.

"Man that was just what I needed," his friend says driving. With the top down they both could enjoy the beautiful weather, but something just didn't sit well with him. Staring off in the distance, he hears the war horses. Full gallop. "Hey.. Nicco," his friend asks him as he looks toward the sound. "You alright?"

"I hear something," he says looking out at the plain. "Like an old voice I haven't heard in a very long time. Turn right up here," he says pointing to an old road on the side.

"There's nothing out there but.."

"Please," he says to his friend looking out the window. "I have to see it again, after so many, many years." His friend reluctantly pulls off the road and drives a short distance to some old ruins overlooking a small valley. Broad squares of green fields and tractors bringing in harvests of black grapes move slowly along the landscape. The smell of acres of olive trees fills his nose as he takes a knee with tears in his eyes.

"Hey.. Are you alright," his friend asks coming up behind him.

"Over fifty thousand men died here," he says looking over the ancient battlefield feeling the surge of the two forces meeting in battle. I remember standing with my men in the weak center and ordered them to a controlled retreat. The crescent of Hispanic and Gallic troops buckled inwards as they gradually withdrew, but I knew knowing the superiority of the Roman infantry. I instructed my infantry to withdraw deliberately, because I wanted to use the Roman army's greatest strength as it's true weakness when tightened together," he says looking out and gripping the ground.

"When did all this happen," his friend asks as he stands looking at the dirt in his hand.

"The battle I'm talking about, the one I was in, took place in 216 BC," he says letting the dirt drop from his hand and smiles. "I've been through Italy before, though. I knew I had, it just didn't set in till I came here. Do you like poetry?" His question throws him off.

"Well I haven't read any or really heard any in a while," his friend says crossing his arms amazed at what he's hearing.

"Through the travail of ages, midst the pomp and toils of war, have I fought and strove and perished, countless times among the stars. As if through a glass and darkly, the age old strife I see, when I fought in many guises and many names, but always me," he says sadly with a smile on his face. "Do you know who wrote this," he asks him looking him in the eyes. Suddenly his friend realizes he's looking many different men in the eyes at the same time, from all different times, and has to do a double take.

"No," he says lost, almost unable to answer. "Who?"

"Me," he says smiling. "Close to ninety years ago," he says patting him on the shoulder.

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