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| Venus Verticordia by Dante Gabriele Rossetti (1828-1882). Wikipedia. Attribution Venus was also called Verticordia by the Romans since she was capable of 'changing human hearts'. Worshipped during the Veneralia festival (April 1) Verticordia had a temple on the Via Salaria |
[Read the Italian original. An Englishman living in Milan, Andy, is helping me with some editing.]
Taken aback by the inexorable trajectory - I was always good with the javelin do you recall Quintus? - the lass however succeeded in propelling herself forward with such impetus that the deadly lance missed her abdomen and tore her tunic at the level of her hindquarters without scratching her flesh I believe.
The force that had driven her forward was so lethal I was thunderstruck.
I therefore took my bow.
Arrows whistled in quick succession though wavered on purpose (unpredictability is deadly, remember?). She nevertheless avoided my darts by performing this odd dance on the rump of her horse (of undoubted Cretan origin, Quintus).
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| Bull leaping. Minoan fresco from palace of Knossos, Crete, currently in the Herakleion museum |
She circled with elegance, an inhuman melody emitting from her throat - a terrible buzz, deep and acute - her fair legs now concealed now flashing through the cracks of her tunic.
And I, closer and closer, our steeds' flanks dangerously scraping against each other, my arrows all gone, what happened Quintus was that I became so enchanted and progressively unwarlike due to that mysterious creature.
Although the worst was yet to come, Di Manes!
After the Cretan dance the girl had assumed a crouched-on-all-fours, feline position on the rump of her stallion, launched at breakneck speed on the forest damp obscure recesses. The siren of the woods had lowered her shoulders, arched her back and pointed her rear upwards whose perfect roundness was thus offered to my view.
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| A sculpture from the Norman Lindsay House (see last image below for infos). Attribution |
The sun bursting through the clouds heralding a spectacular sunset, the noise of animals becoming deafening, I was there, those half & symmetrical moons in front of me, so close that I could almost touch them, a pale-skinned double globe with designs of a delicate blue.
Her garment lacerated by my pilum on her hindquarters did not keep much from sight Quintus! Geometries made sensuality, ideas of beauty made flesh were exposed and stirring deliria of sumptuous pleasures and everlasting feelings of lust & love.
Well, such unchaste commotion, dear friend of better days, ended up with being fatal to me.
The flaming haired maiden took advantage of my confusion and making use of the arm hidden from my sight grasped, from her bag, strings to whose ends small brass spheres were attached.
She then hurled the strange weapon with such vehemence in the direction of Hælend's legs that both horse and rider - that is, us – couldn't but fall to the ground with a loud crash due to the speed of the race.
The tattooed female's craftiness, however, cost her dearly as well since her stallion (was he confounded also?) stumbled in turn over superficial roots and hurtled down over the mossy weeds & soil with an even louder crash due the beast's bulk.
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| Another Lindsay's sculpture. Attribution |
I hit my head on the turf and got scratched all over.
My initial stunned condition prevented me from realizing at first that the picta had vanished but her horse was lying down on the ground nearby and was letting out neighs of pain.
Hælend, up already instead, was calmly approaching the Italian thoroughbred which she coldly executed with three violent (and accurate) kicks in the head.
Hælend looked at me, a look of revenge in her eyes. The victory of valour over nobility? Well, how could I blame her. Moreover the white stallion was wounded and had to be dispatched. The wolves that haunt the forest would have caused him a horrible death.
Hælend then walked towards me. The expression of her eyes revealed kindness, concern. She licked my wounds and as if by miracle I immediately felt better. I got up and stretched. Hector, my gladius, was still on me and my helmet I found behind a bush.
Hælend, satisfied, was already in a nearby meadow grazing Albion's emerald grass.
Well, Quintus, we know too well she isn't as classy as an Italian horse (I can well believe it!) but what a fantastic gift from the Angles and the Genii protecting our Rome!
Therefore I couldn't but chant:
Non ergo essem
dei Romae mei
Orientisque Aegyptorumque,
non omnino essem,
nisi essetis in me...
[I wouldn't exist then
Ye gods of Rome,
Of Egypt & the Orient,
I wouldn't exist
If ye weren't in me ...]
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| Isis mothering. Credits |
This song, performed with Egyptian tones (I'm a decent singer, I'll admit) was followed by a profound growling that left me disconcerted, since the forest animals had fallen silent, frozen.
I became afraid. Had my psalm been inappropriate? Had the British gods gotten angry at how I had dealt with that red-headed Albion's daughter?
The thing is, lost as I was in my doubts I hadn't noticed the Creature. Who with quiet footsteps was heading toward me.
She,
Feral Being, goat goddess
By shepherds & peasants loved
And horribly feared,
Emerged before me.
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| This is how we imagine Fauna. Sculpture from the Norman Lindsay gardens. Lindsay was an Australian artist, sculptor, writer, editorial cartoonist, scale modeler & boxer (1879-1969). Attribution |
The Creature, daughter of Hermes and Dryope, let out a cry and the wood resounded.
Then she seized me, her body steaming with humours. One cannot escape from a goddess ...
My surrender to such a beastly pleasure let go from my memory the rumour that those dei inferi were supposed to have died with the advent of Christ ...
Not that it mattered. A sudden tune played on marsh reeds made the air vibrate together with my senses.
Too late I realized my foolhardiness. The last beam of sunlight, violent and unexpected, pierced the scene and Pan's cry was heard again, terrifying.
Uncontrollable panic shook my whole person.
And Fauna, Bacchus' lascivious companion, - arms hands legs and bodies giving and receiving pleasure - gripped with extreme violence what makes me a man.
My scream, though not panic as hers, ripped through the night that was about to lazily fall upon the wood.
All then was nothing. Darkness closed in.
