“Ummmm…..” Chelsea pauses, looking alarmed. “Seriously guys. I didn’t think we were talking about that stuff again this week?”
Jackson is still staring at me with a whiff of challenge about him. His chin is jutted out and the corner of his mouth is quirked up. “Do correct me if I’m wrong. Am I getting my facts right, Professor Fairfax?”
“Isla,” Emily tentatively breaks the tension, “do people in Rome still celebrate this festival?”
“As far as I know, there are no ritual sacrifices, and I have yet to see any public nudity since I’ve lived here,” I explain. “But of course there are still some people who honor pagan traditions.”
“Interesting. Are you one of those people, Isla? You seem to be really into all the woo-woo crap…” Jackson tilts his head at me.
“Guys! What the heck does any of this have to do withmatchmaking?” Chelsea gripes.
Jackson leans back, arms folded, smiling vaguely, still waiting to see if I’ll respond to his provocation.
“We should back up and explain to your listeners that public nudity was not the norm in Rome at the time,” I explain. “It was a pretty wild thing for them, too. And the men who participated as the Luperci priests were not like priests in any sense you might picture nowadays. These were young, virile, marriageable men. This was an opportunity for them to show off, to show the world what they had,” I explained.
“To flaunt their package!” Alexis nods appreciatively. “I like it.”
“Sounds like a really awful frat party,” Chelsea rolls her eyes.
“I don’t think I care for the whipping the women part,” Emily frowns doubtfully.
“The whipping part wasn’t meant to inflict pain,” I say. “At least, we don’t think that was the point. It was more of a playful act. The mosaics depict the young women deliberately baring their breasts, hoping to be ‘whipped’ by one of the priests. This was supposed to ensure their future fertility. They thought it was a good thing.”
“Kind of like having beads chucked at you during Mardi Gras!” Alexis’s eyes are sparkling now. “So everyone was running around naked, drinking and feasting, for two whole days, and then what?”
“Then the Church got involved,” Jackson says. “And the flower and chocolate industry took over. That’s the blood and guts of it all now. But of course, some depraved people are still into whips.” He casts a judgmental look at Alexis.
“Match. Making. Can we circle back to the trope of the week?” Chelsea is getting frustrated now.
“Absolutely. The ritual was also believed to include a ceremony where the priests drew the names of young women out of jars,” I say.
“At random! Can you imagine?!” Jackson snorts.
“To what end?” Chelsea asks.
“That’s what she said,” Alexis snorts. Chelsea tosses a pillow at her.
“To the end of having wild sex for the next two days,” I say, gazing back at Jackson who is still staring intently at me, one eyebrow raised. “Wild, wanton, drunken, festival sex.”
He leans forward. “And there you have it, Folks. The original Tinder date mechanism. Name in a jar! So romantic, no?” His voice is dripping with sarcasm.
“Actually…” I lean towards my screen. “It might have been. It turns out the majority of those matches stuck. The couples generally remained together for the following year, and by all accounts, many of them ended up falling in love and getting married. The ritual itself was considered a great and powerful blessing. Enough that everyone involved considered themselves touched by the divine.”
I lean back and take a small sip of my tea. The rare winter sun is just starting to spill through my window, and I luxuriate in it, stretching and bathing. Now I’ve got the urge to stroll past Palatine Hill and go looking for the Lupercal cave, where they actually performed the sacrifices long ago. The thought gives me goosebumps.
“Damn you look like you’re on fire, Woman,” Alexis says. “I’m sold on that magic. I wish I was in Rome right now. Maybe I’d finally find someone for myself there.”
“Ugh, I guess there is something weirdly romantic about it,” Chelsea concedes.
“Are you women all freaking kidding me?” Jackson’s eyes bug out. “We’re talking bloody animal sacrifices and drunken orgies.”
“And a belief in something divine,” I narrow my eyes at him. “Don’t you believe in magic, Jackson?”
“No, Isla. I don’t. I believe inlogic.” His brow is furrowed and he is clenching and unclenching a fist. “I think what we’ve just been talking about is a perfect illustration of why. I mean, I enjoy wild festival sex as much as the next guy. But what you’ve just described as ‘divine’ and ‘magical,’ sounds a lot more like a big shitty mess to me.”
jackson
“There’s a reason so many love stories start with an awesome meet-cute. It’s like a chemical reaction. All the right ingredients have to be there at the right moment, and poof! Alchemy!”
