Witch 2b. The Cretan dance. Fauna appears

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).

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.

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.

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 ...]

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.

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.

Chanting in an Ænglisc taberna

It is night in Monti (Subura). Massimo is at home before his computer screen

"20 minutes only and Deirdre would reach home" … So Massimo clicked the 'get mail' button on his Backtrack Linux box.

Giorgio's e-mail appeared on the screen.

ψ

"Ciao M,

The buds and the rest of the group are now in a marshy area the Anglo-Saxons call fani or fenne. I identified it as The Fens in East England, around the coast of the Wash where Norfolk meets Lincolnshire.

The Fens today. Click for attribution and to enlarge

The group is eating, drinking (and getting rid of dampness) in a village taberna crammed with local peasants. Their Latin is quite easy once you get used to their strange accent.

They look happy and finally relieved after a tormented journey.

As you will learn the ol' schoolmates are scions from Romano-Celtic clans from the West (Cadbury Hill and Castle, Somerset) and from the North (Banna, Birdoswald, at the west end of Hadrian's Wall), places where the language of Rome and Romanitas have survived though corrupted (or transfigured).

Greek is also fluent in many of them, uncommon in those days, together with their native Brittonic language of course which although terribly fascinating is as yet unintelligible to me.

Another landscape from The Fens area. Click for attribution

Their entrance into the taberna, if I may call it this way, had been unintentionally theatrical.

Despite their being dirty and exhausted they had appeared such an astonishing, colourful group to the country folks: the noble-breed friends (festive, attractive young men and women), Pavlos the Greek merchant, his mysterious ascendancy following him like a mantle, the refined (and provokingly dressed) Syrian ladies with their train of devoted female slaves and so forth.

Don't worry M, later I’ll describe all group members one by one (allow me to modernize their names in weird ways at first until my ears get used to their Celtic parlance).

Therefore, as soon as the taberna heavy main door had been opened for them to get in and while they were crossing its threshold, more than 200 pairs of eyes, ALL at the same time, couldn’t but stare at them totally wide-eyed.

Not that the group cared much. They were so ecstatic at the view of the large bronze braziers scattered here and there holding their wonderfully burning coals! Ahhh, it was as if blood were flowing again in their young bodies, grown numb by the cold.

A mid-20th century reconstruction of a Danish great hall and long house in Hobro, Denmark. Click for attribution and other examples of Anglo-Saxon-like buildings (450 CE to 1066)

Most unusually for a taberna, the place consisted [see image above] of a large timber long house that, to the local folk - a mixture of Angles and Celts coexisting peacefully? - served as a store house for farm produce, as tribunal, assembly, meeting and fun place (several cooks and servants were more than 'sociable' with generous customers), beer and eating house.

The powerful structure belonged to an earlier Celtic landlord - I overheard - who had been slaughtered together with all his family 50 years earlier during social unrest.

I checked in my books. It is time of migrations, M, of social change. Here in the East (but also in the West and the North) slaves revolting against (or refusing to work for) their landlords had caused the progressive decadence of big Roman-style villas and properties.

But while some scholars believe change had been far from dramatic and all had occurred almost drowsily, generation after generation, others instead, supported by a recent DNA research, think that some ethnic cleansing could have occurred.

What does that mean?

Well, it means that the Welsh could be the only true descendants of the Roman British since their genes seem entirely different. And secondly -
I am puzzled (and horrified) - chances are that between 50% and 100% of the Romanised population was totally wiped out Massimo.


Yes, it may have been so.

In any case.

In the year c. 420 CE - I learn -, a little more than one century before Manius' time (only yesterday I realized that my nightmares suggest Manius is living in 526 CE), there still "were people in Britain who had been born in a world shaped by the Romans", with Romano-Celtic material culture, mentality, Latin language. In 420 there were still "middle aged men and women who had been raised in heated villas" and whose "childhood dinners were served in pewter and glass", which can give an idea, I guess.

Model of a palatial Romano-British Villa at Fishbourne, West Sussex. Click for attribution and infos. Dug in the early 1960's the villa had ornate gardens, a large bath suite, mosaic floors, tessellated pavements, several guest suites, a spacious entrance-hall and even an audience chamber.

["15 minutes only and Deirdre would be home" Massimo thought with some nervousness]

Ah! His mentor had at last deduced the darn year of the strange Britannia events, something Massimo had grasped since the beginning. Giorgio's mind, it seemed clear, was not as sharp as it used to be - Massimo sadly reflected.

He resumed reading.]

ψ

"From c. 420 to c. 470 - Giorgio's narration continued - Germanic immigration in South East Britain had been like water dripping. Between 470 and a bit before 520 it had become a deluge, which was changing things very fast at least in the East of Britannia.

Soon after having kissed the sacred fatherland's soil the buddies had been progressively shocked by the extent of the cultural change occurring before their eyes. They had lived in Italy too long and their childhood memories of Britain were mainly from places that had retained a bit of the old world.

What was happening over there now, in the West and the North? And their families? And all their infancy friends? These were the fears that troubled the buddies' sleep since their first arrival in Albion land.
But now - youth smiling celestially, a warmed-up refuge, the food and the drink and the awareness of having escaped Neptune's wrath – both old and new friends drove away their preoccupations and gave vent to all their need to live.

Always resourceful Pavlos (his newly acquired servants had quick minds like his) making appear all sorts of music instruments - flutes, a Celtic harp, cymbals, a lyre and drums; the girls putting on their best make up (such ladies behaving so freely? You'll later learn why); not to mention the Syrian ἑταῖραι (hetaerae) or high class prostitutes if you will, being helped by their female slaves as well in order to appear more seductive then ever - ALL was soon ready for a sublime carousal the local folk would probably never forget. 

At the simple tinkling of a couple of gold solidi plenty of the 'real good stuff' - the one usually spared for important people - was in the meanwhile being served on their long table: savoury roasted game, an excellent dense ale, vegetables, idromele and fruits.

After an enchanting musical introduction from the Syrian hetaerae's languid flutes; from the strings of the melodious Celtic harp plucked with purest touch by sweet Chaerie’s delicate fingers; from pensive Pavlos' seven-stringed Greek lyre (a man who had wandered from clime to clime, "λύρα!" he had asked his servants; btw he and Chaerie proved to be excellent virtuosi); and finally with drums and cymbals providing the rhythm for the whole prelude ….

Now, dear M, read well my words: a ritual choral song among the most sublime ever conceived by man was about to vibrate in the air - something those simple peasants & warriors had probably never heard before.

Alicia Cundall playing a Celtic harp and singing. Click to enlarge and for attribution

It was first sung in Brittonic (to make sure a lot of them understood) and then in the Latin original.

(From the latter I could reconstruct the former, less concise but charming nonetheless)

At a signal (from Richardus and Qwil) the group's women blessed with the bloom of beauty slowly advanced towards the centre of the hall that had been cleared for the purpose.

(The Syrian ladies had preferred to remain at their table, busy with their flutes.)

ψ

Thus the female group began to chant:

Of Dian's praises, tender maidens, tell;
Well tell, tell well,
Oh tell, OOOOHH TTELLL!

(The last two words M were like a big female mystic cry!)

Now the men's turn, who had reached the girls (ALL the men except the slaves).

Exuding integrity the males thus continued the song:

Of Apollo’s charm, young striplings, sing;
Sing spring, spring sing,
Oh spring, OOOOHH SSIIIING!

(The last two words were this time like a powerful male mystic cry M!)


Finally both choirs - the women's and the men's, like fresh crop from the North, South & East combined - chanted in unison:

Of Latona their mother, oh sing
So beloved by our Heaven's King.
King, Lightning OOOOHH, FFLIIIING!

Oh God my friend (my words are so poor), this last two-word cry sung by both the men and the women was so majestic and piercing, was so hypnotizing and enchanting that all the audience lost control and stood up in a frenzy.

They reached such a state of confusion as if too much had been asked of them. They had never seen anything like that. Some began to sing, some to dance, some finally to hug and kiss (and insinuate intimate caresses with one another, the majority of both sexes being totally drunk).

Everyone, I mean, was so carried away by a madness which reached its climax when the choral song was rehearsed in Latin, a language still sacred to them although I'm sure not quite understood by most of the people who were crowding the huge hall.

(Btw M, no need to remind you that in the sacred Latin text below Apollo is named Cynthius after Mount Cynthus on the island of Delos where he was supposed to be born)

A Roman mosaic at Capua, Italy, with young kids as part of a sacred choir from the temple of Diana Tifatina. Click for attribution

Women (as pure as ever): 

Dianam tenerae dicite virgines

Men (as ethical as ever):

intonsum, pueri, dicite Cynthium

Men and women together (in all their chaste glory):

LATONAMQUE SUPREMO

DILECTAM PENITUS I-O-V-I-I-I!!

 ψ

[Massimo had tried to resist but was now vibrating. The whole scene had totally bewitched him.

Those Romano-Celtic youths, they were like angels!

With a pang he suddenly remembered his angel, how could he forget her? But, most of all, was she a real angel? 

"8 minutes more and Deirdre should be home" he thought. His anxiety was growing together with the sacred madness in Giorgio's tale] 

ψ

"The state of wildness reached by the peasants shocked the group of old and new friends - Giorgio's mail continued -. They had been so concentrating on their chant they hadn't realised what was actually happening within the walls of the huge building.

It all had been such a purification rite of joy, melodious and sober, but the public had interpreted it as excess, as mere intoxication. 

Well, nothing wrong with it, the friends' group liked intoxication as well (I overheard their comments). But they were confused since the reaction both in Italy and in the Britannic areas where they were born would have been quite different for such a rite: soul order, not disorder ...

This pure undebased song expressed by the words of Horace, Rome's sacred bard, words so cherished by any Roman pagan and respected at times even by the Christians (Richardus' and Philippus' words) ...

Germanic Jutes, Saxons and Angles are advancing from South East

They didn't mind much the peasants' reaction though. They kind of liked these Ænglisc, who probably needed to evolve, like the Romans, barbarians at first but then creators of the civilization they admired most and to which they felt they belonged.

The entire old and new friends' group was made of tolerant, open-minded youths who knew that what happened to mortals wasn't entirely controlled by the power of the gods.

That these Ænglisc were preparing a future for their fatherland, they deemed very unlikely and even the remotest idea of it troubled their heart.

But, they were disciplined Roman Celts, ready to face what the gods and Fate had preordained - and what the Christian deities eventually had preordained too (the Trinity and the Saints) - with brave hearts, pure souls and all their desire to live this life's joys - not the other life's joys - as much and as long as they could.

ψ

Now it is unfortunately time to relate, dear M, how a dark corner of the huge hall was also revealed to my deranged mind's eyes.

ψ

Sitting at a table, and drinking plain water, two black-clad monks (one with a hawk-like face) had been watching the whole performance attentively.

Their dark, circled eyes expressed deep, unquenchable hate.