Rome Saturnalia 159 AD (Though how the hell were the Romans supposed to know it was AD?)
It was pretty quiet at the campus of Universitatis Romana over the Saturnalia break. Most of the students had families in Rome or nearby with whom they spent the holidays. But me and my besties were from far away and stayed on in the deserted dorms. Me, being Barbaria Minnesotensis, from the distant province by the shores of Gitchee-Goomie, and my besties being Priya Indiacus, from somewhere along the Ganges, Eulalia Scotia, from the far northern reaches of Britain and Messa Gallia, from Lyon in the province of Gaul.
It had been a rough semester, two classes in particular. One, Mathematics, was taught by Professor Gaius Wraggius, a man for whom Euclid was the last word in everything. When Priya told him that her people had a number system that blew Roman numerals out of the water, he didn’t like that at all. The other, Botany, was taught by Oldus Slavius. He was OK until I told him that Romans really needed to grow tomatoes, a red fruit that came from Peru, which was somewhere south of my home country. All those late night pizzas we ordered in the dorms would have been much better with a nice tomato sauce.
Anyway, these profs hated being challenged, and when Messa and Eul joined in, they decided to fail the whole bunch of us for the semester. So we were not exactly feeling well disposed to our dear faculty over the vacation. And you know what they say here in Rome, “In vino veritas”. We figured the more vino, the more veritas and we had had a whole lot of vino one evening and were full of a whole mess of veritas, which we proclaimed loudly in graffiti that we plastered all over campus.
“Gaius Wraggius is gay” we wrote in several prime locations. Was he? Who knows, though he hadn’t come on to any of us and we are all pretty damn hot if you ask me. “Oldus Slavius smells like rotten tomatoes” we wrote in some other prominent spots. That probably wasn’t true either, since there were no tomatoes in Rome.
We figured the campus was deserted and no one would see us. But it seemed that two of our more obnoxious classmates, Jolly Rex and Repertorius, were passing through and observed us doing the deed. All semester long they had hit on us constantly and we had rebuffed their advances. This was their chance to get revenge and that they did, turning us in to the centurions, a group of ten or so of whom showed up at our dorm the next morning and marched us down to appear before the magistrate.
And there we stood, before His Honor, Antonius Windarius, a very handsome, distinguished looking gentleman with a paternal air. “These two gentlemen, your fellow students, have testified that they observed you last night defacing the buildings of your campus with insults directed against members of your faculty,” he said, indicating Jolly Rex and Repertorius. “Is that so?”
“Absolutely not, Your Honor,” Eul protested.
“We would never do such a thing,” I added.
“By all of Kali’s arms, I am innocent,” Priya protested. Messa nodded her agreement.
“I see,” Windarius said, “We have a conflict in testimony. I will have each of you write on these papyrus sheets the words you are accused of graffitiing on the buildings and I will have the noted graphologist Arbor Suspendo compare them to the graffiti. “While we await this analysis, you will be held in custody.”
No sooner had the judge finished speaking then a group of centurions stepped forward and took hold of each of our arms and escorted us down a flight of stairs to a cell in the basement of the court, which was Spartan (yes I know that’s Greek, not Latin) but not uncomfortable. There was enough straw for each of us to make a comfortable bed and a bucket for our personal needs.
Dinner was a plate of meat and bread that frankly was OK but would have been much better with a nice tomato sauce. We were left alone to amuse ourselves at night and we did. Messa of course was a notorious lesbian and Priya showed her some positions from the Kama Sutra. They looked kind of like fun, so Eul and I looked at each other, shrugged and said why not.
The next morning we were escorted back to Windarius’ courtroom. After banging his gavel for silence a few times, His Honor asked Arbor Suspendo for his verdict. “Your Honor,” he said, pointing in our direction, “I find a clear match between various of the graffiti and each of the accused’s handwriting.” Cries of “Guilty!” and “Crucify them!” rang through the courtroom.
Windarius banged his gavel five or six times and yelled, “Silence! This is a court not the Coliseum! I will have silence!” Finally the crowd quieted down. Windarius turned to glare at us. “You young ladies are guests in our city and have behaved most reprehensibly, disgracing both yourselves and your school by your defacing of the beautiful buildings where you are supposed to be learning. And then you had the gall to deny your actions to my face.” I wasn’t sure what Messa’s homeland had to do with this, but I wasn’t going to antagonize the judge by asking. “I could easily have you crucified and not be thought too harsh,” he continued. “However, let me consider my verdict overnight and have you back here in the morning to announce my decision.”
With that we were escorted back to our cells where we sat in silence. We had all seen crucifixions as we passed through the city on one errand or another, ghastly spectacles with poor victims flogged mercilessly, then nailed naked to a cross they had to carry to the execution site, and left to die in agony over days, tormented by insects, birds, rats and taunted by unsympathetic spectators. Could they do this to us? Obviously, we knew they could. Whether they would hinged on the decision of Magistrate Windarius.
That night was sheer agony, thinking of the horrors that could await us on the morrow. Except for the fact that, knowing it could be the last night on which we could experience pleasure, we tried out a bunch more of those Hindu sex secrets that Priya drew for us on the dirt floor of the cell. That Kama Sutra really must be quite a read.
Soon we drifted off to sleep to be awoken by the centurions taking us back to the courtroom. Magistrate Windarius looked stern, like my Dad did that time I came home as the sun was rising from my date with Marcus. “I have thought long and hard about your fate. Your crimes are most a serious breach of the public peace and order that cannot be ignored.” This didn’t sound good at all.
“However,” he continued. However, is usually good. “Given your youth and the promise that lies in your future, I am not going to order crucifixion.” Well, that was quite a relief! I turned and looked at my comrades, all of whom were smiling. The crowd, deprived of their spectacle, was hooting and looking very displeased. Windarius banged his gavel several times. “Silence! Silence! Or I will have all of you jeering apes flogged.” The crowd quieted.
“However,” he continued. Another however might not be quite as good as the first one. “I cannot let such acts go unpunished.” That didn’t sound good. “I am therefore ordering you to spend the remainder of the school break picking up trash on the streets of Rome.” Now, while that wasn’t my first choice for how to pass the time, that didn’t seem so bad.
“However,” he continued. This fellow had more howevers than a gaggle of economists. “To make clear to all who pass that you are shameless young hussies, you shall perform this community service in the nude. This is my sentence. Court dismissed.” Cheers and shouts rang out through the courtroom.
And so, I and my three friends spent the next two weeks naked in front of all of Rome, picking up trash along the highway. Now you may think that we got off lightly, but Saturnalia time in Rome is pretty cold. Not as cold as Minnesota, thank goodness, but cold enough to freeze our tight littles off. And bending down to pick up a discarded wine flask or crust of bread meant exposing all of our most private parts to the leering gazes of every passerby.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, Phlebas, one of Rome’s leading artists, decided to capture the entire scene in a painting he titled “Community Service”.
So, to all CFers expecting a crucifixion, sorry, but it is the season of peace and kindness and love and all that nice stuff. So, if four beautiful, naked young women bending over to pick up trash isn’t good enough for you, that’s just too damn bad.
Happy Holidays to all!
