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Description
I was only 21 when I drank from the fresh springwater. I’d wandered off from my fellow brothers in arms; to rest and have some time on my own. We’d spent years together, marching to whatever direction Rome would order us to go. This time it was “Britain”, the land of the savage Celts. It was cold and the woods were big and unforgiving. On top of that there was the constant threat of enemies ambushing the legion. I was testing my luck by leaving the safety of the camp and wandering off into the woods this far.
At some point I reached a small glade. Soft beams of light shone through the green ceiling of leaves. At first I hadn’t noticed the spring, but soon enough it caught my eye. A sudden urge to drink from it flood my mind, even though I was a long way from dehydration. Being a soldier, however, forces one to be alert, even suspicious, at all times, and so I first looked around carefully, to check for enemies who might be hiding after poisening the water. There were none, however, so I began gulping down the clear and cool water. You can’t imagine how refreshing it was - I can still feel it, the water flowing down my throat and settling in my stomach.

I sat there on a small boulder next to the spring, and I rested for another ten minutes. Just when I was about to go back to the camp, I heard a noice behind me. A twig breaking off from a tree, leaves crunching underneath a boot, a soft whisper in a foreign language. I drew my sword - I had left my spear and shield back at the camp - and stood up to face my foe. It was a man in primitive clothing, covered with blue warpaint and holding a staff in his right hand. He had his left hand up clenched into a fist, but as soon as our eyes met, the fist became a gesture. I was grabbed from behind, quickly disarmed and brought to my knees by two men. One of them pulled my head back, while the other took my own blade and put it at my throat. In the chaos, I saw more blue devils approach from the woods, and soon I was completely surrounded. The man with the staff walked up to me and pulled out an axe. For a few seconds he stood there watching me. It was only then that I realised that his eyes had different colours; one was dark brown, the other clear blue, almost grey. Finally he said, in broken latin:
“This water does not belong to you. It belongs to the Gods, and the Gods only. And so does this forest, these lands, this country you are invading. You and your men will pay the price for taking what is not yours.”
He raised his axe to strike, and there I was, looking straight into Death’s eyes. I swear to God, I should have died back then. But I didn’t. The axe went right through me, like a fish through water. My armor was damaged, but my flesh was left unharmed and unmarked. The man looked at me, with eyes and mouth spread wide open, and I was at least just as shocked as he was. However, as I felt the grip on me loosen for a second, I took the opportunity to shake of my captors and take back my sword. My mind build up a rage so fierce, I can only remember a blur of blue faces covered with dark red blood. I stabbed and I slashed, and when I was finally done, only the man with the staff was left. Around us many bodies lay in the grass, the blood mixing with the springwater. The man fell to his knees, dropped his axe and staff and looked down at the ground. How superior I felt - I’m ashamed of myself. I put the tip of my blade under his chin and forced his head up, expecting to see a wheeping and frightened face that would beg for mercy. And I was ready to fulfill his wish. But his face did not cry, he did not beg. He was calm and peaceful. He had accepted his fate, and he knew that, from then on, I could never accept mine. It has been over two-thousand years, but I will never forget his last words:
“I pity you. Now give me what you have taken from yourself.”

The camp was a mess. All my brothers were dead, ambushed, caught off guard and savagely murdered. I was lost. There was only one thing that seemed reasonable: return to my superiors and report. I told my centurion how I single-handedly killed tens of Celts, how I excecuted one of their leaders, how I got back to camp and found the rest of my legion dead. However, there was one thing I did not tell him: the water that had granted me invinsibility. Whether I kept it for myself because of the horrors that haunted me, or because I wanted to keep the world from a curse like this - I even might’ve been arrogant and wanted to be the only one to live forever - I don’t know. Does it matter?

When you live forever, when you can’t die, you start thinking about the real purpose of life. When the one thing that frightens you the most is taken from you, it becomes the one thing you want most: pass on and see the ones you love again. You try to find something to replace it. In the years, decades, centuries, millennia after, I’ve been doing what I do best: fight. I have seen the fall of Greece, the death of Christ, the wars of Napoleon, the hanging of Sadam Hussein. I’ve been the bodyguard of King Henry, fought in the trenches of World War one, and murdered J. F. Kennedy. People have called me Son of Jupiter and arch-angel Gabriël - called me Lucifer and Count Dracula. Truth is, I’m just a cursed man. I may look 21, but I’m just a very old fool.

If you ever find this spring - even though I’m pretty sure it has been bulldozed by now - don’t make the mistake of thinking that when you drink it, your troubles will be over. Because when you drink it, your real problems are yet to come. You may not realise it yet, but death is a gift.
Accept it gratefully when the time comes. For me it’s too late...
*

Is it something you could see yourself assigning to your pupils?
Definitely! It’s a fun book, full of metaphores and deeper thoughts. I would, however, not make it a book essay, like my school did with the books we read. I’d like to add a list to the assignments, with small assignments from which ro choose from, exactley like the list we got for this essay. I believe that this way students will get more fun out of making an essay that is normally pretty boring (or just a chore).

Does it get them to think more about they’ve read?
I think it really will, because Death is a subject that everyone thinks about, not just in their teenage years, but throughout their whole life. I had a great deal to think about, because I was wondering how it would be if I had to live forever. And even though my short story implies that it’s hell to never die, I would love to live forever, because it will allow me to really make something out of my “life”, and witness the results. Charles Darwin was a great man, but can’t witness was it has done for the year 2000 and on, because he’s dead.
It would be great to have students who can think like this, who can see the philosophical meaning behind this story.

Would you as a teacher learn about the pupils’ understanding? Or would the pupils be able to pass without any effort or even without reading the book? Could they just get by with looking up a summary on the internet?
Of course students will be able to pass by, without reading the book, as long as they do enough research. That’s how I got by in havo; without reading a single book. In my opinion, as long as you make the essay fun, and not just a chore like my school did, students will pick up the book easier. Have them pick the book and pick the assignment, and they’ll give you results.
Apart from that, the story might be easy to look up on the internet, but has a few themes like the frog, that won’t be that easy to identify.

Description
I was only 21 when I drank from the fresh springwater. I’d wandered off from my fellow brothers in arms; to rest and have some time on my own. We’d spent years together, marching to whatever direction Rome would order us to go. This time it was “Britain”, the land of the savage Celts. It was cold and the woods were big and unforgiving. On top of that there was the constant threat of enemies ambushing the legion. I was testing my luck by leaving the safety of the camp and wandering off into the woods this far.
At some point I reached a small glade. Soft beams of light shone through the green ceiling of leaves. At first I hadn’t noticed the spring, but soon enough it caught my eye. A sudden urge to drink from it flood my mind, even though I was a long way from dehydration. Being a soldier, however, forces one to be alert, even suspicious, at all times, and so I first looked around carefully, to check for enemies who might be hiding after poisening the water. There were none, however, so I began gulping down the clear and cool water. You can’t imagine how refreshing it was - I can still feel it, the water flowing down my throat and settling in my stomach.

I sat there on a small boulder next to the spring, and I rested for another ten minutes. Just when I was about to go back to the camp, I heard a noice behind me. A twig breaking off from a tree, leaves crunching underneath a boot, a soft whisper in a foreign language. I drew my sword - I had left my spear and shield back at the camp - and stood up to face my foe. It was a man in primitive clothing, covered with blue warpaint and holding a staff in his right hand. He had his left hand up clenched into a fist, but as soon as our eyes met, the fist became a gesture. I was grabbed from behind, quickly disarmed and brought to my knees by two men. One of them pulled my head back, while the other took my own blade and put it at my throat. In the chaos, I saw more blue devils approach from the woods, and soon I was completely surrounded. The man with the staff walked up to me and pulled out an axe. For a few seconds he stood there watching me. It was only then that I realised that his eyes had different colours; one was dark brown, the other clear blue, almost grey. Finally he said, in broken latin:
“This water does not belong to you. It belongs to the Gods, and the Gods only. And so does this forest, these lands, this country you are invading. You and your men will pay the price for taking what is not yours.”
He raised his axe to strike, and there I was, looking straight into Death’s eyes. I swear to God, I should have died back then. But I didn’t. The axe went right through me, like a fish through water. My armor was damaged, but my flesh was left unharmed and unmarked. The man looked at me, with eyes and mouth spread wide open, and I was at least just as shocked as he was. However, as I felt the grip on me loosen for a second, I took the opportunity to shake of my captors and take back my sword. My mind build up a rage so fierce, I can only remember a blur of blue faces covered with dark red blood. I stabbed and I slashed, and when I was finally done, only the man with the staff was left. Around us many bodies lay in the grass, the blood mixing with the springwater. The man fell to his knees, dropped his axe and staff and looked down at the ground. How superior I felt - I’m ashamed of myself. I put the tip of my blade under his chin and forced his head up, expecting to see a wheeping and frightened face that would beg for mercy. And I was ready to fulfill his wish. But his face did not cry, he did not beg. He was calm and peaceful. He had accepted his fate, and he knew that, from then on, I could never accept mine. It has been over two-thousand years, but I will never forget his last words:
“I pity you. Now give me what you have taken from yourself.”

The camp was a mess. All my brothers were dead, ambushed, caught off guard and savagely murdered. I was lost. There was only one thing that seemed reasonable: return to my superiors and report. I told my centurion how I single-handedly killed tens of Celts, how I excecuted one of their leaders, how I got back to camp and found the rest of my legion dead. However, there was one thing I did not tell him: the water that had granted me invinsibility. Whether I kept it for myself because of the horrors that haunted me, or because I wanted to keep the world from a curse like this - I even might’ve been arrogant and wanted to be the only one to live forever - I don’t know. Does it matter?

When you live forever, when you can’t die, you start thinking about the real purpose of life. When the one thing that frightens you the most is taken from you, it becomes the one thing you want most: pass on and see the ones you love again. You try to find something to replace it. In the years, decades, centuries, millennia after, I’ve been doing what I do best: fight. I have seen the fall of Greece, the death of Christ, the wars of Napoleon, the hanging of Sadam Hussein. I’ve been the bodyguard of King Henry, fought in the trenches of World War one, and murdered J. F. Kennedy. People have called me Son of Jupiter and arch-angel Gabriël - called me Lucifer and Count Dracula. Truth is, I’m just a cursed man. I may look 21, but I’m just a very old fool.

If you ever find this spring - even though I’m pretty sure it has been bulldozed by now - don’t make the mistake of thinking that when you drink it, your troubles will be over. Because when you drink it, your real problems are yet to come. You may not realise it yet, but death is a gift.
Accept it gratefully when the time comes. For me it’s too late...
*

Is it something you could see yourself assigning to your pupils?
Definitely! It’s a fun book, full of metaphores and deeper thoughts. I would, however, not make it a book essay, like my school did with the books we read. I’d like to add a list to the assignments, with small assignments from which ro choose from, exactley like the list we got for this essay. I believe that this way students will get more fun out of making an essay that is normally pretty boring (or just a chore).

Does it get them to think more about they’ve read?
I think it really will, because Death is a subject that everyone thinks about, not just in their teenage years, but throughout their whole life. I had a great deal to think about, because I was wondering how it would be if I had to live forever. And even though my short story implies that it’s hell to never die, I would love to live forever, because it will allow me to really make something out of my “life”, and witness the results. Charles Darwin was a great man, but can’t witness was it has done for the year 2000 and on, because he’s dead.
It would be great to have students who can think like this, who can see the philosophical meaning behind this story.

Would you as a teacher learn about the pupils’ understanding? Or would the pupils be able to pass without any effort or even without reading the book? Could they just get by with looking up a summary on the internet?
Of course students will be able to pass by, without reading the book, as long as they do enough research. That’s how I got by in havo; without reading a single book. In my opinion, as long as you make the essay fun, and not just a chore like my school did, students will pick up the book easier. Have them pick the book and pick the assignment, and they’ll give you results.
Apart from that, the story might be easy to look up on the internet, but has a few themes like the frog, that won’t be that easy to identify.