“One day the Romans will be thrown back into the sea,” he said. “Britain is the land of the gods of the underworld, and the heavenly gods can never conquer those of the underworld as long as the earth remains. Even if I he Romans cut down our sacred groves, tip over our sacred stone slabs, build their roads and teach the tribes they’ve subjected their own farming methods to make them into slaves, the Romans will still one day be thrown back in the sea when the time is ripe. Only one man is needed, a man who will persuade the independent tribes to unite and light together and who knows the Roman art of war.”
“That is why we have four whole legions here,” I said. “In a generation or two, Britain will be a civilized country with Roman peace.”
When we had in this way both expressed our points of view, there was nothing more to say on the matter.
“What do you want from Lugunda, Ituna Minutus?” asked Petro. He looked sternly at me and I looked down and was ashamed.
“Have you ever thought of entering into a British marriage with her and giving her a child?” Petro asked. “Don’t be afraid. Such a marriage would hardly be legal in Roman law and would not stop you leaving Britain whenever you like. Lugunda would keep the child, and she would have a permanent memory of you. But if you go on playing with her as you are now, she’ll break her heart when you finally leave.”
I was frightened at the mere thought of a child, even if at heart I had already admitted what it was I wanted of Lugunda.
“In Rome they say: Wherever you are, I am too,” I said. “I’m no adventurous seaman or roaming merchant, marrying here and there to get my own way. I don’t want to do that to Lugunda.”
“Lugunda would not bring shame upon herself in the eyes of her parents or her tribe,” said Petro. “Your only fault is that you are a Roman. That is the difference. With us, women have great freedom and power to choose their husbands themselves, even to send them away if they are not pleased. A hare-priestess is no Vestal Virgin who must promise to remain unmarried, as it is said to be in Rome.”
“I shall soon be leaving and going back to my people,” I said stiffly. “Otherwise, Britain might prove too cramped for me.”
But Petro talked to Lugunda too. That night she came to me, wound her arms around my neck, looked into my eyes with her amber-colored ones and trembled in my arms.
“Minutus Ituna,” she said softly, “you know I am yours only. Petro says that you are going away and will never come back. The very thought cuts deep into my heart. Would it really be a shameful thing if you married me in our way before you went?”
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I felt very cold.
“It would not be shameful,” I said in a trembling voice. “It would simply be unfair to you.”
“Fair or unfair,” said Lugunda, “what does that matter when I can feel your heart thumping in your chest as loudly as my own?”
I put my hands on her shoulders and pushed her away from me.
“I was brought up to understand that it is more virtuous to control oneself than to give in and become a slave to one’s desires,” I said.
“I am your legal spoils of war and your slave,” said Lugunda obstinately. “You have the power to do what you like with me. You would not even agree to receive the redemption money from my parents last summer.”
I shook my head, unable to speak.
“Take me with you when you go,” Lugunda then begged. “I’ll go with you wherever you like. I’ll leave my tribe and even my hares. I am your servant, your slave, however you wish it.”
She fell to her knees in front of me.
“If you only knew what these words have cost my pride, you would be appalled, Minutus the Roman,” she said.
But I was seized with the manly feeling that I who was the stronger should protect her against my own weakness. I tried to explain this to her as well as I could, but my words were powerless against her stubbornly lowered head. Finally she rose and stared at me as if I were a complete stranger.
“You have offended me deeply,” she said coldly, “and you’ll never know how deeply. From now on I hate you and every moment will wish you dead.”
I was so deeply hurt that I felt a pain in my stomach and could not eat. I should have preferred to leave at once, but the harvest was just over and the customary harvest festival was taking place in the house. In addition, I wanted to note down the customs at the harvest feast and find out how the Icenis hid their corn.
The following evening it was full moon. I was already dizzy with Iceni beer, when the noble youths of the district drove on to the stubble field and lit a huge bonfire. Without asking anyone’s permission, they picked out a calf from the farm’s herd and sacrificed it in noisy amusement. I joined them, as I knew some of them, but they were not so friendly as before. They even began to abuse me.
“Go and wash the blue lines from your face, cursed Roman,” they said.
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