Unspeakable
"Chiron!" My mother's harsh words penetrated the aura of calm that had surrounded me. Her sharp gray eyes bored into mine, and I knew she was displeased. "Yes, Gracious Tamora?" I replied, raising one of my eyebrows in question of her unspoken accusation. "Chiron, beloved son, we must flee. Even now, as we speak, Roman soldiers are storming our lovely city of Scythia!" My head swam. Upon the latest morn we had been told that all was well, that the Romans were being pushed back towards their own borders. "Fetch thy brother, Chiron, and let us be off! We shall await thee at the city's most disguised gate." It was then that she left me, still garbed in her golden battle armor, to flee the city that she ruled. Tamora, Queen of Goths, unable to push back the barbaric invaders that had sought so long for our lands. But I had been given an order, one I was not keen to take lightly. Demetrius, I knew, would be in his room, the music of our world filling his empty head and drowning out the sounds of the invasion that were beginning to penetrate our beloved palace. I stormed through his door, took the fool 'round the middle and dragged him upright. "Pray thee, Demetrius, put on some clothing and make ready to leave! The Romans are at our gates, even now they make their way up towards our palace to do us some horrible wrong!" Demetrius only stared, his face showing the shock I felt. So I retrieved his clothing for him, tugging a long tunic over his head and handing him his coat. He pulled it on with a sort of slow disbelief. "Fool! Hurry thee, or we may be yet murdered at the hands of barbarians!" I shoved him towards the door. The push seemed to jar some sense back into his brain, and he took off at a run. "We go to the gate!" I called after him. He would know the gate of which I spoke, for we oft used it ourselves when we were wont to sneak away from the bustle of the castle. I took my own way there, racing along the back streets. Alarbus, I knew, would already be with them, Tamora and surely Aaron, her beloved Moor. Indeed, there they stood at the gate, golden metal suits disguised by the ragged fur coats that they wore. Demetrius emerged behind me, and Tamora flipped the lock on the gate. Out we slunk, like to some wolves on the tail of an unsuspecting doe. But our brilliant escape had been anticipated, it seemed, for we had but reached a patch of woodland when we were intercepted. It was then that I first looked upon the face of the usurper of our woes, that most noble Titus of the house of Andronicus. His stern face gazed with a civilized sort of hatred down at me, the most intelligent and calculating stare I had ever had the misfortune of being exposed to. His soldiers forced us to our knees. And then Titus spoke, his voice rough and gravely, as though worn down by the countless miles he had undoubtedly traveled. "Pray, what have we here? Traitorous Goths, betraying the city that was thine own? Truly, this cannot be Tamora and her whelps, the proud Queen? Nay, nay. Surely not." Alarbus spoke, his tongue quickened with fury. "'Tis Tamora, proudest and greatest Queen of Goths!" Tamora kicked him. "Fool! Thou hast forsaken us!" Titus smiled. He motioned for his soldiers to shackle us. The metal rings were infinitely cool against my flesh and I gasped, only to be struck across the face by the metal glove of a cold-faced captain. I spat at his feet, my saliva pink with blood. The man brought his face closer, his breath reeking of drink and meat. "Listen, wench, and listen well. I will take none of thy cheek. Dost thou but attempt to dishonor me again." He did not need to elaborate. I understood well enough. I was silent and respectful to my captors from then on. They had us strung up in a prisoner's wagon, like beasts in a cage. Aaron, however, was made to walk behind, the lash of a soldier descending on him if he did tarry. Our arms grew tired, the shoulders swollen from bearing our weight for so long. I felt as though mine would break. Demetrius had his head down and was weeping, the ashamed angel, short-cropped blonde hair framing his face. My own long locks, greasy from the dirt and dust of travel, clung to my face as a cold rain fell. Scythia, our beloved city, eventually faded from sight across the flat plains, and our stomachs protested our meager rations, and we would oft pass out from thrist and weariness. Throughout Alarbus struggled, tugging ineffectually at his chains and growling in a primal way, his emissions sometimes punctuated by curses or screams of frustration. Tamora, our dearest mother, would try to comfort him, but she could do no more than speak to him soothingly, sing to him. But to no avail. It was in the third week that we reached Rome.
"Chiron!" My mother's harsh words penetrated the aura of calm that had surrounded me. Her sharp gray eyes bored into mine, and I knew she was displeased. "Yes, Gracious Tamora?" I replied, raising one of my eyebrows in question of her unspoken accusation. "Chiron, beloved son, we must flee. Even now, as we speak, Roman soldiers are storming our lovely city of Scythia!" My head swam. Upon the latest morn we had been told that all was well, that the Romans were being pushed back towards their own borders. "Fetch thy brother, Chiron, and let us be off! We shall await thee at the city's most disguised gate." It was then that she left me, still garbed in her golden battle armor, to flee the city that she ruled. Tamora, Queen of Goths, unable to push back the barbaric invaders that had sought so long for our lands. But I had been given an order, one I was not keen to take lightly. Demetrius, I knew, would be in his room, the music of our world filling his empty head and drowning out the sounds of the invasion that were beginning to penetrate our beloved palace. I stormed through his door, took the fool 'round the middle and dragged him upright. "Pray thee, Demetrius, put on some clothing and make ready to leave! The Romans are at our gates, even now they make their way up towards our palace to do us some horrible wrong!" Demetrius only stared, his face showing the shock I felt. So I retrieved his clothing for him, tugging a long tunic over his head and handing him his coat. He pulled it on with a sort of slow disbelief. "Fool! Hurry thee, or we may be yet murdered at the hands of barbarians!" I shoved him towards the door. The push seemed to jar some sense back into his brain, and he took off at a run. "We go to the gate!" I called after him. He would know the gate of which I spoke, for we oft used it ourselves when we were wont to sneak away from the bustle of the castle. I took my own way there, racing along the back streets. Alarbus, I knew, would already be with them, Tamora and surely Aaron, her beloved Moor. Indeed, there they stood at the gate, golden metal suits disguised by the ragged fur coats that they wore. Demetrius emerged behind me, and Tamora flipped the lock on the gate. Out we slunk, like to some wolves on the tail of an unsuspecting doe. But our brilliant escape had been anticipated, it seemed, for we had but reached a patch of woodland when we were intercepted. It was then that I first looked upon the face of the usurper of our woes, that most noble Titus of the house of Andronicus. His stern face gazed with a civilized sort of hatred down at me, the most intelligent and calculating stare I had ever had the misfortune of being exposed to. His soldiers forced us to our knees. And then Titus spoke, his voice rough and gravely, as though worn down by the countless miles he had undoubtedly traveled. "Pray, what have we here? Traitorous Goths, betraying the city that was thine own? Truly, this cannot be Tamora and her whelps, the proud Queen? Nay, nay. Surely not." Alarbus spoke, his tongue quickened with fury. "'Tis Tamora, proudest and greatest Queen of Goths!" Tamora kicked him. "Fool! Thou hast forsaken us!" Titus smiled. He motioned for his soldiers to shackle us. The metal rings were infinitely cool against my flesh and I gasped, only to be struck across the face by the metal glove of a cold-faced captain. I spat at his feet, my saliva pink with blood. The man brought his face closer, his breath reeking of drink and meat. "Listen, wench, and listen well. I will take none of thy cheek. Dost thou but attempt to dishonor me again." He did not need to elaborate. I understood well enough. I was silent and respectful to my captors from then on. They had us strung up in a prisoner's wagon, like beasts in a cage. Aaron, however, was made to walk behind, the lash of a soldier descending on him if he did tarry. Our arms grew tired, the shoulders swollen from bearing our weight for so long. I felt as though mine would break. Demetrius had his head down and was weeping, the ashamed angel, short-cropped blonde hair framing his face. My own long locks, greasy from the dirt and dust of travel, clung to my face as a cold rain fell. Scythia, our beloved city, eventually faded from sight across the flat plains, and our stomachs protested our meager rations, and we would oft pass out from thrist and weariness. Throughout Alarbus struggled, tugging ineffectually at his chains and growling in a primal way, his emissions sometimes punctuated by curses or screams of frustration. Tamora, our dearest mother, would try to comfort him, but she could do no more than speak to him soothingly, sing to him. But to no avail. It was in the third week that we reached Rome.