Waki Waltari

The Roman by Mika Waltari

“Naturally,” she admitted. “Do you think they’d have dared touch a Roman otherwise?”

She knelt beside me and without shyness felt all over me before I could stop her.

“They didn’t crush your pouch-stones as they said, did they?” she said anxiously. “It would be bad if you could not make children with some noble Roman girl.”

Then I could no longer control myself. I smacked both her cheeks, thrust her beneath me and pinned her to the ground with my weight, although she beat at me with both fists on my shoulders, kicked me and bit my chest. But she did not call for help. Before I knew where I was, she had relaxed and she let me come. My life strength spurted into her and I had a feeling of such sensual pleasure that I cried out aloud. Then all I could feel was how her hands held my cheeks and she kissed me over and over again. Appalled, I drew back and sat up. Then she too sat up and burst out laughing.

“Do you know what has happened to us?” she said mockingly. I was so terrified I could not reply.

“You’re bleeding,” I cried.

“I’m glad you noticed that anyhow, stupid,” she said shyly. When I remained speechless, she laughed again.

“Petro advised me,” she explained. “I should never have thought of it myself. I didn’t like beating you so mercilessly. But Petro said nothing else helped with tough, shy Roman boys.”

She rose to her feet and took my hand.

“We’d better go to Petro,” she said. “He’s sure to have some wine and a bowl of flour ready for us.”

“What do you mean?” I said distrustfully.

“You’ve taken me by force, although I struggled as long as my self-respect demantled,” she said in surprise. “You don’t want Father to take his sword down from the wall and begin looking for his honor in your intestines, do you? He has a legal right to do so. Even the Romans respect that right. It would be in every way more sensible if we let Petro rub oil and flour in our hair. He can put a ring on my finger in the Roman way, if you insist.”

“But Lugunda,” I cried, “you can’t possibly come with me to Rome, or even London.”

 

 

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“I’m not going to run after you,” said Lugunda briskly. “Don’t worry. You can come back to me sometime if you want to, but I might well tire of waiting, break my marriage bowl and let your name burn to ashes. Then I’m a free woman again. Doesn’t your good sense tell you that it’s better to follow our customs than cause a scandal that will be heard as far away as Rome? Violating a hare-priestess is nothing to play about with. Or do you deny it? You jumped on me like a rutting beast and crushed my resistance with brute force.”

“You should have called for help,” I said bitterly. “And you shouldn’t have stroked me so shamelessly when I was already in such a stunned state.”

“I was only worried about your reproductive capacity,” she lied calmly. “I couldn’t possibly know that the light touch demantled by the rules of the art of healing would make you blind with rage.”

Nothing could change my real regret. We went down to a stream and carefully washed ourselves. Then we walked hand in hand into the big room in the timbered house where Lugunda’s parents were eagerly waiting for us. Petro mixed oil and flour, rubbed it into our heads and then let us drink some wine from the same clay bowl, which Lugunda’s father then carefully put away in a chest. After this he led us to the prepared marriage bed, knocked me over on top of Lugunda and covered us with his big leather shield.

When they had all considerately left the marriage hut, Lugunda threw the shield on to the floor and asked me humbly to do to her, in all gentleness and friendship, what I had done in my rage in the forest. The damage had already been done and no obstacle stood in the way.

So we embraced each other tenderly after I had kissed her in the Roman way. Not until then did Lugunda get up and fetch healing ointments to rub gently on to my back. It hurt when I remembered to think about it.

Just as I was falling into the deepest sleep of my life, I remembered that I had broken my promise to Claudia, but I blamed the full moon and the magic of the Druids. Obviously no man could avoid his predetermined destiny, I thought, inasmuch as I had the strength to think at all.

The following day I tried to make immediate preparations to leave, but Lugunda’s father wanted me to go with him to look at the fields, herds, grazing lands and forests he was to set aside for Lugunda and her descendants. This journey took us three days and when we returned, not to be outdone, I gave Lugunda my gold tribune chain.

 

 

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