Why Have You Come to Our Land

By Steve Stroble

Before she becomes a slave to the Romans who have invaded her land, Celtic maiden Ladica has a vision of a fiery bird that inspires her to write a song about the invaders, "Why Have You Come to Our Land?" Somehow, the song survives through the centuries, passed down from generation to generation.
Millennia later, the song helps America and Israel to defend against new invaders intent on destroying them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steve Stroble
• Release date: Nov 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005958978

Steve Stroble

Steve Stroble grew up as a military brat, which took him from South Dakota to South Carolina to Germany to Ohio to Southern California to Alabama to the Philippines to Northern California. Drafted into the Army, he returned to Germany.His stories classified as historical fiction often weave historical events, people, and data into them.His science fiction stories try to present feasible even if not yet known technology.His dystopian and futuristic stories feature ordinary heroes and heroines placed into extraordinary situations and ordinary villains who drain the life out of others' souls (their minds, wills, and emotions) by any means available.

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Why Have You Come to Our Land?

Americana Series Book 5

Steve Stroble

Why Have You Come to Our Land? (Americana Series Book 5), copyright © 2020 Stroble Family Trust. All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. All people, places, events, and situations are the product of the writer’s imagination. Any resemblance of them to actual persons, living or dead, places, events, and situations is purely coincidental.

Lyrics to Pastime with Good Company, public domain.

Scripture taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved. The NIV and New International Version trademarks are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by International Bible Society. Use of either trademark requires the permission of International Bible Society.

All other Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible, public domain.

If some of the branches have been broken off, and you, though a wild olive shoot, have been grafted in among the others and now share in the nourishing sap from the olive root, do not boast over those branches. If you do, consider this: You do not support the root, but the root supports you.

— Romans 11: 17, 18 (NIV)

To my parents, who were part of The Greatest Generation. They taught me to fear God as a child. Later on, they taught me not to be arrogant against Israel, which is the first olive branches next to where the Church has been grafted, with the root and trunk of the Tree of Life being the Messiah, Jesus Christ of Nazareth.

Table of Contents

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16

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

1

177 A.D., Britannia

Every story must have a beginning I suppose. But legends often seem to have no need of a beginning…or ending. The legend of Why Have You Come to Our Land is mine to tell because it began with me. At least the words for my song did.

Those words came to me after I had a vision of sorts. In it, I saw a great golden bird made of fire hovering high in the sky above me. It seemed as though the bird symbolized the invaders who now inhabit my land and other invaders who will come to it long after I am dead and gone. At times I wonder if my song is meant as much for those future generations as it is for me and my people who suffer under the Romans. But why would other people even care enough to pass it along to their descendants?

Of late, I wonder if my song might even be sung some day in far off distant lands.

My good friend Artern helped by finding the right notes on his lyre for my song’s melody. But I wish I were an artist instead of one who writes words for the tunes Artern and other music makers from my village play. Then I could paint the wondrous vision I saw instead of trying to describe it in words. Such descriptions are hard because my words are so often misinterpreted.

My name is Ladica.

I am sixteen years old and Artern is seventeen. He says that someday we will marry and have children. I am not as hopeful as he is. I say that our wedlock will only come to pass if the invaders of our land do not kill one or both of us first.

The invaders came from a distant land across the sea in their ships and conquered much of my land before ever I was born. But we Celts are an independent people of many tribes. And the Romans have never totally conquered the Cornovii, which is my tribe.

The Romans rule us from their city of Viroconium and like to boast how it is the fourth largest city of all Britannia. It has a forum with a market and building for the Romans to issue their decrees. In the center of the city, they gather for their worship cults of their emperor and gods Jupiter, Janus, and Minerva.

We Celts have our own way of worshipping spirits and our shrines are set up by rivers and lakes, in the woods, and at the crossroads where our ancient roads meet the newer ones built by the Romans. There must be some power with our religion. Even the Romans have combined our gods with their own gods. The one thing I think is wrong with our religion is when the leaders offer up a human sacrifice to our gods.

It does not seem fair for the one who dies.

We Celts don’t just do battle against the invaders. Our tribes war with each other also. Maybe that is why we were so easy to conquer? Our warriors wear bright blue paint smeared on their bodies and carry swords and clubs into battle. They make terrifying war cries and loud blasts on their trumpets.

But nine times out of every ten, the Romans win. I know they are planning to stay here in Britannia forever because already they have established a retirement colony called Gloucester for Roman soldiers too old or weary or wounded to go to battle any longer.

It is time for me to bring Artern his midday meal. Today, he is at the barn using his flail to prepare the barley. The flail is a wooden staff about three feet long. Onto its end is attached a shorter rod. Then he raises the staff behind his head and spins around so that the rod hits the stalks of barley stacked high on the dirt floor of the barn. The seeds then fly every which way. It is quite a dance my Artern does.

I can tell he has been working hard all morning because he is sweating and there are piles of loose seeds scattered about.

It is about time you came, Artern says. I am famished and about to faint from hunger.

Don’t be so troubled. Have I ever once failed you?

He gobbles down the fresh bread I helped my mother bake this morning. Artern loves the fish sauce that he smears on to the loaf. I nibble on my bread and wonder, is Artern in a happy mood, glad enough to play his lyre for me? A few moments later, he motions me to follow him outside. We sit in the shade by the barn and he begins to pluck his lyre’s strings. After a few songs he likes, he plays the melody for my song. I sing its words:

Why have come to our land

With fire in your eyes

To spill our blood

With your hands…

Why has Artern stopped playing? I have to turn around to see what he is staring at. A column of Roman soldiers is marching northward on the road. They are probably off to fight the tribes who refuse to submit and move to the towns the Romans have established to try and tame us.

I don’t know. I could never imagine Artern dressed in the tunics and cloaks or worse yet, one of the togas of the Romans. He looks much better in his trousers and boots made from animal skins. The Romans look silly in their sandals.

Oh no! The one who captures my people and sells them as slaves is following behind the soldiers. He always uses the soldiers for protection. What a coward.

Artern has already started to run away. But I can’t run as fast as he can. I want to yell out coward at Artern. But he has no blame. As Artern used to say, becoming a slave to the Romans is a fate worse than any other.

Now I’ve stumbled. The closer the slave trader draws to me, the uglier he looks. He smells worse than a goat. His face is a combination of lust and greed. Little wonder how much my people hate him. He is a traitor.

I only hope his greed gets the better of his lust. I would hate to be despoiled by such an ogre of a man. I don’t know which of the two is uglier, his face or his soul.

2

By 177 A.D., the year Ladica was taken as a slave, the Roman Empire had begun a long, gradual decline from greatness into obscurity. Its fifty million inhabitants lived from Italia to Britannia, Gallia, Hispania, Arabia, Judea, and Turkey. Subjection of foreign lands seldom varied.

After conquering the native people, the Romans built roads, then forts and supply lines. Pioneers worked in advance of the army. Traders, slaves, prostitutes, and the soldiers’ families soon arrived to populate the vicus, a civilian settlement. Over time, the fort and vicus grew into towns, settlements intended to help civilize those who had been conquered.

Soldiers for the conquering legions could only be Roman citizens. They enlisted for twenty years and, if they survived their many battles, received 12,000 sesteries or a comparable amount of land as a pension. Volunteers and draftees from conquered lands made up auxiliaries to the legions. Scouts – Celts, Germans, and North African horsemen – camped in goatskin tents while they hunted for food and wild game to feed the advancing army.

In Britannia, one Celt who had volunteered for a Roman legion was Antonius Strabo. In 156 A.D., he had sworn during his enlistment: I will perform with enthusiasm whatever the Emperor commands, never to desert, and not to shrink from death on behalf of the Roman State.

So complete was the Roman soldiers’ commitment, they could not legally marry. But concubines were allowed. Antonius Strabo’s concubine had insisted on a legal marriage as soon as his enlistment ended. After all, did not their two children, daughter Gaia and son Marcus deserve legitimacy? Yes, Vespasia Lepidina did not care much how Rome’s glory had peaked and begun to dwindle. She craved what other wives of retired soldiers had – status.

Of course, that meant owning slaves to do tasks she considered too mundane.

I simply must have a young girl to do the work for me, Vespasia told her husband. Look at how many years I have faithfully labored for you.

You already have one slave. Isn’t she enough?

* * *

By then the Celt Ladica had been put up for sale in the slave market. That afternoon she became a slave for the Strabo household when Vespasia picked her over the other nine younger girls and boys aged five to seventeen who had been for sale. Ladica could not help wondering if slavery would condemn her to an early death.

Out of her fears, resolve was born.

Giving up her freedom built into the young girl a resolve that long after her name had been forgotten, her song would remain as a reminder, a warning of those who conquer lands far from their homes. A fellow Celt who traded in captured slaves sold her to Antonius Strabo in the market of the city where he lived, Viroconium.

If she had to endure the life of a slave, doing so in a city instead of a rural area would be much easier for Ladica.

Slavery of her day had become widespread as human beings were sold within and outside of the Roman Empire. Slaves for Roman citizens came in all ages, from young children to aging adults, and from many nations and races. Slaves who lived in rural areas were chained together or had their feet shackled to prevent any escape. Those who lived in urban areas received less harsh treatment. Slaves with skills even served as stonemasons, doctors, midwives, carpenters, clerks, musicians, or bookkeepers keeping track of their masters’ estates.

At first, Ladica’s skill of songwriting went undiscovered by the four Strabos. From her first day in the Strabo household, Ladica heard a promise and threat.

"You can pay into a peculium, which is the Latin word for a fund into which slaves can save to one day buy their freedom, her master said. You are fortunate that I was once a Celt like you before I became a Roman citizen. My wife and children also can speak the Celt language you know. You will learn Latin from all of us, of course. Knowing it will be an advantage, especially when you have earned your freedom."

Her mistress proved less encouraging.

If you are not obedient, we will sell you to someone who lives in the countryside, said Vespasia. There you will be miserable until you die an early death because those slaves must labor so much harder outside in bad weather.

The Strabo house was typical for Romans of their status. Its entryway opened into a roofless atrium with a small pool of water in its center. Behind the pool, plants and flowers flourished in a well-tended garden. A flat roof sheltered the rest of the house.

Alongside the outer