#brundisium

Hannibal’s War

The Second Punic War was one of the great struggles of the ancient world. Carthage and Rome fought from 218 to 201 BCE across Spain, Italy, Sicily, Sardinia, and North Africa. Hannibal led Carthage with brilliance, but Rome answered with Scipio Africanus, who brought the fight back to Carthage itself.

Key Facts

Fought: 218–201 BCE

Sides: Carthage vs. Rome

Leader of Carthage: Hannibal

Leader of Rome: Scipio Africanus

Battlefields: Spain, Italy, Sicily, Sardinia, and North Africa

Result: Rome won, and Carthage lost its place as a major Mediterranean power

Historical Context

The war came after Carthage had already lost the First Punic War. Hannibal became famous as one of history’s most skilled commanders, and his campaign made the conflict one of the most dramatic in ancient history. Even so, Rome’s strength grew, and Scipio Africanus eventually took the war to Carthage’s own territory.

Historical Significance

The Second Punic War changed the balance of power in the Mediterranean. Carthage suffered another crushing defeat, and its chance to remain a great rival to Rome slipped away. It would return for the Third Punic War about 50 years later, but this war marked the moment when Carthage’s long-term power was seriously broken.

Second Punic War

The Second Punic War (The Hannibalic War) was fought between Carthage and Rome between 218 and 201 BCE. The war involved confrontations in Spain, Italy, Sicily, Sardinia, and North Africa. Hannibal led the Carthaginians, one of the most gifted commanders in history, but the Romans had their own great general Scipio Africanus, and he successfully attacked Carthage on home soil.

Brundisium

Brundisium (aujourd'hui Brindisi), située sur la côte adriatique de l'Italie du Sud, était une ville messapienne puis romaine d'une grande importance stratégique durant l'Antiquité. Bien que les vestiges architecturaux soient rares, la ville a plusieurs titres de gloire. Brundisium se trouve à l'extrémité de la Voie Appienne, était un point de départ traditionnel pour les armées et les voyageurs vers l'Est, et joua un rôle central dans les guerres puniques et les guerres civiles romaines. Parmi les artefacts les plus impressionnants, on trouve de nombreux exemples de statues de bronze hellénistiques et romaines qui ont été retrouvées dans le port de la ville.

((Editor’s Note:

It’s been brought to my attention that certain SL players have issue with certain content on this blog, so I wanted to make these statements:

Foremost, if any reader has an issue, please reach out directly. I’m a writer, not a monster, and will be happy to discuss concerns. I make it a point to be considerate and polite in my communication.

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Lastly but most importantly, this blog is meant to be fun, primarily for the fellow players involved in my roleplay. It’s a lens to see your actions through. I don’t judge anyone for their IC actions. The beauty of roleplay is to express oneself without judgement; it is the diversity of voices. I should hope that even those who affect my character negatively understand that ultimately, it is all for entertainment. As one of my readers recently put it, the best reaction to reading my work should be “lol.”))

I’m lost.

Literally and figuratively, I’m lost. A traveler, “the Courier” he calls himself, took me from the Tavern of Brundisium to the recent dance festival in Genesian Port. I was excited to go, as I’ve heard that our cities share a close enough bond that kajirae like me can visit for special events in the company of the Free.

It was a rare exception to serving my Tavern and, like most recent tragedies, it started so well and with such promise. The festival itself was called The Spring Fling, and as anyone who knows me would know, I do love assonance. It featured, among other compelling activities, an exhibition of dance from across Gor.

And the Man who brought me there, gave me stories from across Gor and beyond. He’s a veteran of one of the mysterious acquisition ships that sail to Counter Earth to get “barbarian girls right from the source” as he put it. He told me tales of Enclaves and RNA, and of weapon-wielding women still worthy of romance.

The dance exhibition was similarly fascinating. Many of the performers won awards and deservedly so. The performances by a girl named Shadow and a boy named Maynad were particularly interesting in how exotic they were. I found myself hoping to one day join the ranks on that stage.

Yet hopes were soon dashed. The Courier took me to a place, I believe it to be an Inn, and then told me to serve a Free Woman. Though the woman seemed pleased by my service initially, she ran off.

I was left without direction in a foreign port. A familiar safe harbor arrived in the form of the Scribe from Ar who had used me several times before. He asked me why I was so happy to see Him.

How best to explain that? I suppose it’s that, after the experience being punished and pilloried, I feel like I am a pariah in my home port of Brundisium. Yes, the Ubar had been exceptionally favorable and positive about my future, and yes, the former Ubara had stepped in on many occasions to assist me, but I can’t stifle the suspicions I have that the slave girls who castigated me were correct in how I’m viewed.

Above all, any true slave will want to be good. More than wisdom, wit, determination, honesty and attractiveness, we want to be good. And when we’re told that we are bad, it is more than a mere criticism. It’s a challenge to our very sense of self and place.

The Scribe has always seen me as good or as worthy of correction. I put that good behavior on full display last night in Genesian Port, acting as a pedestal for Him to put His boot on while he discussed mead production with a northerner Free Woman. After, He took me to a rather rickety Tavern and used me. It was then that I did something that kajira whisper about together and sing themselves to sleep with.

I begged Him to own me. I like to think I did a capable job of it. Every word came naturally. He is all I would want in a Master. He treats me as a slave of worth, and that is all I wish to be. And He comports Himself with dignity and intelligence and invincible drive, as though He were both Master of Himself and of the world He walks. How could a good girl not want to be dragged by her hair behind such a Man?

Understandably, He said He wouldn’t answer me right away. He is a person of incalculable value and I am only a slave that He’s been with a handful of times. Yet I explained to Him that I felt that everything had been taken from me - my dignity, my station, my reputation, even my place - so that I could be His.

As the Blessed One who threatened the lives of all the girls at The Ubar’s Pride Inn of Brundisium reminds us, none are without some sin to confess.

I am no exception. I have much to confess, even as a kajira, among those transgressions being that I still think of myself as “I,” and not merely “this girl.”

Yet I wish to be redeemed. Don’t we all? And so I’m using the generous gift of the Kennel of Brundisium, these papers, to play the role of my confessor.

After all, the likely future Kennel Slaver, Master Hu-La, is fond of stories. His seem subversive. He said he was writing a novel about two rival kajirae. Such a subject seems the product of a man without a Homestone, as it is an idea that jeopardizes the order of things.

Having seen the consequences of disorder during my time serving Taverns on the Vosk at the end of the war between Cos and Ar, I consider order to be a luxury earned at a great price and nurtured by constant care.

My internal disorder, my sin, is that of impatience. My first and only former Master, Ho-Hak Bar-Hom, used to call impatience a common and fatal disease of the heart. He was wrong, I’ve come to learn, about a lot of things, but likely not about this one.

My impatience comes from working a Tavern rather removed from the center of city activity in Brundisium. Along most shabby towns on the Vosk, Taverns were right near the docks, and so were often the first place visitors came. Such is not the case in Brundisium, likely because it’s a fine city, run in large part by mannered Free Women and the men who defend them.

The Tavern of Brundisium is tucked into the distant corner from the docks and awaits its new Keeper, who the Ubar says will arrive soon. I must say that the Ubar, Thaddeus, and his Ubara, Saffiyah, are among the most virtuous leaders I’ve ever met. They’re exceptionally generous with their time and care toward me, which is most remarkable given that I’m an ownerless slave. Both have personally invited my service.

Yet both are afflicted by the same common and fatal disease of the heart, it seems to me. Thaddeus drinks quite a bit and has quarreled with his family in public. Saffiyah seems both sad and distant from her Ubar. I get the sense that theirs was not only an arranged marriage but an impressed one. Both seem eager for some unnamed change in their lives.

I’m pleased to do whatever I can to cheer them and serve them well. Many of the slaves of the Free act out, talk back or openly disobey, and I refuse to be like that, especially to royals who have devoted such exceptional attention to me. I simply don’t understand disobedient girls.

We don’t choose who we are in life, we can only choose what we make of it. I am a girl, and so will be the best girl I can be.

Which brings me back to my sin, impatience. Though I’m pleased that the Tavern is beginning to draw more of a crowd, I still feel like I should be pleasing more. Is this some void within me that will never be satisfied, no matter how many paga bowls I fill and cocks I empty? I know well that a collar to a private master doesn’t fill it necessarily.

My former master filled my bed with his snoring and my days with his ambivalence. He was a man with a great mind atop a weak spine. I’ve seen men with both, though they are few. Recently, I was visited three times by a Scribe from Ar who seems to have both.

Yet I often wonder whether the value I feel that I have is merely a castle built on sand. Many have called me a good girl, yet in the silence between those voices, I still hear many ghosts. The things they say are unkind. Can any one voice drown them out?

Certainly, the scratch of this quill quiets them somewhat. Only the drum of the dancing music and the slap of a man’s hips against mine completely deafen them. If only they would echo forever. A collar contains those echoes, but even its steel cannot hold them for long.

Episode 43 - The Appian Way - Part Two. Part Two of the Appian Way. Tools, laws, and lists of other Roman roads, used at the time.

Part Two of the Appian Way. Tools, laws, and lists of other Roman roads, used at the time.

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Partial Transcript

Hello, this is Abel, speaking from Beijing, China.…

Episodio 64 - Los Mamertinos - Un análisis de los Mamertinos, la rendición de Tarento y los años entre las Guerras Pírricas y las Guerras Púnicas.

Un análisis de los Mamertinos, la rendición de Tarento y los años entre las Guerras Pírricas y las Guerras Púnicas.

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Transcripción Parcial del Episodio

Hola, les habla Abel, desde Pekín, China. Bienvenidos a mi podcast.

El Cuento de Roma,…