Theatre of War

This Seat of Mars

by Fabius Londiniensis*

Scholarly research has recently given us the manuscript of a play, ‘This Seat of Mars’, by little-known 16th century dramatist and wargamer, William Spearshaker. In this short scene we can see expressed his compassionate understanding of the mind of 25mm man.

Scene IV
The plain of Mensa

Cohorts deploying for battle. Enter the legate INCUBUS with tribunes SALATIUS and GLUTEUS MAXIMUS.

SALATIUS I like not this new tribune in our ranks, who claims patrician ancestry, and brags That, mixt within his body, he hath tin From one of our great ancestors, the Flats- Giants of width infinitestimal, Who fought in the heroic days of old Before we came to three dimensions. He thinks such metal makes him mettlesome.

INCUBUS His mind is much confus’d, but pray you, mark The flash that mars his casting, and his plume That’s but an ill-disguised piece of sprue. ‘Tis like that he hath bubbles in his breast And other imperfections. Perchance He issued from some bag of flaked corn, And justly is his name call’s Spurius.

GLUTEUS Now tell us, lord, whose eyes discern MAXIMUS so much, What of those figures on the other side Beneath the sponge-trees on yon wooden hill. Who seem like stiplings, yet are strangely not?

INCUBUS Unlawful conscripts, as our scouts do say. Some wenches, from the land of Dee-An-Dee Snatched by the enemy, that lawless cheat, Who hath, with cruel file, converted them To single breasted Amazons.

GLUTEUS But those--

MAXIMUS Who in the Army list do not appear Will by the Umpire be disqualified As fabulous and unhistorical. One unit less for us to overcome.

SALATIUS Pox on that spoil-sport prohibition! That unit, taken captive, would provide A trophy fit to grace our victory Imperfect, aye, yet ‘tis proverbial That half a loaf is better than no bread.

INCUBUS No time is this for speculation Our mighty Hand doth hove overhead, The killer dice are ready, and the tape To measure out our march victorious. Let’s show our mettle to those craven knaves, In freedom’s cause we’ll triumph over slaves.

Exeunt, cheering

*Psuedonym of George Smith of London, England.

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