We are coming Roman. You, who think you are the light of the world, have failed to prepare for this moment. How long had it been since you had even heard the war cry, the song of the boar. Your gods, they love pristine halls and formal settings. Our gods love the sound of iron striking iron, and the thrill of the hunt on the open plain.
You tried to stay out of this war, and had you swallowed your pride, you would have. I have no quarrel with the people of Italy. I simply want a place to raise my family. But you wanted war.
You call us barbarians. It’s ok to admit, I hear everything. Well listen to this, civilized Roman, we have weapons beyond your ability. Our materials are stronger than anything your Greeks can create for you. So do you feel safe, Roman? You shouldn’t. Because there is one thing that is true about me. I am a savage. I fight like no man among you has ever seen. So do your consuls see the hills that define your people? Now they shall be mine. I will hang a boar’s head over your Capitoline hill, and let my daughters use your togas to make skirts.
So here I am Roman. I am the Celt. And I am here to take your city.
***
I see your savages at my gate. I see the flies buzzing around your heads. Why should I open my gates? For Jupiter, my god hunts boars for pleasure. And when the eagle hunts, the pig hides in the underbrush. The reason it is so long since we heard your howling is because you haven’t dared to challenge us. Do you think your long swords scare me? Or that metal shirt that you wear? The only thing I fear from your, is that your blood will soil my spear.
As for these Greeks that you mock, the dirt of their homeland is red with Celtic blood. We do not take, we become inspired, something I know you, Celt, are not familiar with. You say that you want peace? Don’t lie to me. For your people survive only by plundering the goods of better men. But we are no poor shepherd, who cannot defend himself. You have picked the wrong victim. Because I am the Roman, and this, is my city.
Take it if you can.