Far to the North at Empire's bound, Stands the wall by Hadrian found. Lonely here they watch for implacable foe, Beyond this bound naught but brave men go. A Centurion stands with his men, Numbered in all ten by ten. Behold in distance a hoard of picts, Quickly summon all but the sick. Sharp eyes focus, quickly spot, Fiendish picts come bearing scotch. The legions finest stand to arms, Not beguiled by scotch's charms. Behold a messenger comes to the fore, What was the token in hand he bore? Tis a garment of silken hue, And now we hear message too. Announce to poet we hold his slave, Who in due time we'll treat with stave. As when the moon begins to wane, Then each will strike with whipping cane. Men of the Ghost legion heard and paled, As they pictured poet's slave assailed. Full square their leader stood then, By stern example to rally his men. Tacitus Scipio! go, ride for life, Bear greeting to poet , take my knife. Give it to poet with no delay, Bid him gird his loins this day. So flew Tacitus on mount so swift That air behind turned to a mist. Seeking slave's master to advise, Of fiendish pictish plot devised. Swift as an arrow sped he, Away to poet's abode by the sea. Bearing as his silent witness The true sword of Centurion Appius. Ere long his speeding stead's in sight Of poet's home, to tell of slave's dire plight. Noble bard ,quoth Tacitus, grave news I bring, And by Appius's sword ye'll knew import of thing. Message given, poet riven, then thrusting sword Mounting horse ,with Tacitus full tilt he rode. As waning sun into the sea did fall, The pair came to fort on the wall. Here Ghost legion watch night and day, To keep the heathen picts at bay. The Centurion, his old friend meets, And with full news the poet greets. Silken shift from slave's body taken, Silent testimony to old fears awaken. Slave had strayed across the wall, by others lead, And now by woaded pictish warriors held in dread. The price required cannot be paid, Retreat concluded, to waste land is laid Slave's plight not lightly taken, For if not rescued surely beaten. Stroke on stroke on slave falling, thrashing, Into slaves tender flesh in detail lashing . Red weals slowly turning blue Of night in end her skin the hue. And worse the fate that follows no doubt, Presented to woaded hairy pictish brute. Beaten til the moon full wanes from sight, Then much worse poor slaves plight. As these images flow 'cross minds eye, The poet's heart to his beloved slave does fly. Despite the fearful, desperate odds, I must commit to rescue slave from pictish sods. Appius held his noble friend, To you my sword I'll gladly lend. And with arm, wrist and shoulder too, To save your sweet slave ,I am with you. One volunteer to watch and hold the horses, No hope of return if venture founds in its course. No plan there was that could be struck, Resort to low cunning and trust to luck. Quickly mounted the three set out, Clothed as travellers they did with armour go without. Pictish camp not far away, They came there before light of day. The moon that night had been near full. Two nights at most before slave in thrall. To move by day meant sure defeat, But full survey of camp complete. That night the ghosts revealed their skill, Pictish sentries quiet disabled, none did kill. Camp now unguarded, pictish scotch they found, While poet found slave trussed up on ground. If pictish scotch gentle reader acquire, We do not recommend to set on fire. The spirit burns appalling bright, As sleeping Picts found out that night. As poet with his slave stole away, Appius and Tacitus brought fire into play. Picts aroused by resounding call, Awoke to flames spread in a wall. So as the slave was that night bravely freed, As well came cases of pictish scotch on noble steed. Thus was founded Ghost Legion taste, For that finest brew of the Scottish race. -bj-