“What shall we do with the Roman?” they asked each other. “Perhaps we should slit open his stomach and see what his intestines foretell?”
“Let’s geld him to stop him running after our girls like an old hare,” suggested one.
“Best to throw him on the fire,” said another, “then we’ll see how much heat a Roman can bear.”
I was uncertain whether they were serious or just wished to frighten me in a drunken way. Anyhow, they beat me in no joking manner, but my pride prevented me from crying for help. They spurred each other on into a rage until I seriously began to fear for my life.
Suddenly they fell silent and stood back. I saw Lugunda coming toward me. She stopped and put her head on one side.
“I like seeing a Roman lying humiliated and helpless on the ground,” she said mockingly. “I’d like to tickle your skin with the point of a knife if I weren’t forbidden to besmirch myself with human blood.”
She struck her tongue out at me and then turned to the youths, whom she knew by name,
“Don’t kill him though,” she said. “That only leads to revenge. Cut me a birch switch instead and turn him over on his stomach and hold on to him properly. I’ll show you how to handle Romans.”
The youths were glad not to have to decide what to do with me. They quickly fetched switches and tore off my clothes. Lugunda stepped up close and gave me a rap on the back with the switch, at first carefully as if testing it out, and then mercilessly with all her strength. I clenched my teeth and uttered not a sound. This egged her on to beat me in a fury, so that my body jerked and trembled on the ground and tears forced their way into my eyes.
Finally her arm tired and she threw away the switch.
“There, Minutus the Roman,” she cried. “Now we’re quits.”
The youths holding me let go and backed away cautiously with their fists up, for fear I should attack them. My head was throbbing, my nose bleeding and my back on fire, but I stood silently licking the blood from my lips. There must have been something about me that frightened them, for they stopped mocking me and let me pass. I picked up my torn clothes and walked away, but not toward the house. I walked aimlessly in the moonlit forest and thought dimly that it was fortunate for all of us that no one had witnessed my ignominy. I could not walk far. I soon began to stumble and I sank to the ground on a narrow mossy hillock. Shortly afterwards the youths kicked out their fire and I heard them whistling for their chariots and driving away so that the ground thundered beneath their wheels.
The moonlight was frighteningly clear and the shadows in the forest horribly black. I wiped the blood off my face with a handful of moss and called on my lion.
“Lion, are you there?” I cried. “If so, roar and go after them. Otherwise I’ll never believe in you again.”
But I did not even see the shadow of my lion. Instead I was totally alone, until Lugunda came creeping cautiously, pushing aside the branches as she looked for me. Her face was white in the moonlight. When she saw me, she came up to me with her hands behind her back.
“How do you feel?” she asked. “Did it hurt? You deserved it.”
I was seized with a wild desire to take hold of her slim neck, throw her to the ground and lacerate her as I had been lacerated. But I controlled myself, knowing that nothing would be gained that way. But I could not help asking if she had arranged it all.
“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.”
“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. T his journey took us three days and when we returned, not to be outdone, I gave Lugunda my gold tribune chain.