Unearthing the legend
Roman fort, Hadrian’s Wall
Leaving the frigidarium
the bather had a choice of hot rooms…
Small comfort for those whose lot was an outpost
at the end of the world.
We wander over grassy mounds,
guidebook in hand. Far-off figures scowl
into the wind: a chill north-easterly scourges pillars
that once sweated steam.
Vestiges of Vs and Xs
count out locker spaces where each naked soul
could find his niche, legionary and tribune levelled
under centuries of clay.
A Herdwick’s solitary bleat
drowns the cacophony of silent splashes,
echoes of wordless shouts and gossip reverberating
across crumbling columns.
We trace the outline,
blocks of flattened stone stripped stark
on bare compacted earth. Above us, unseen walls
blush bright with pigment.
Fragmented shafts of light
bounce off a dazzling mosaic of colours
to reflect on the dappled surface of the pool,
dissolving substance into air.
In the shop, we buy sugar cones
and a plastic shrine to Mithras. Ice cream
drips on its unfathomable inscription. Wipe my sleeve
across the promised revelation.