Saturnalia by Adam Alexander Haviaras

Author:Adam Alexander Haviaras
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: historical fantasy, historical fiction, Christmas stories, ancient Rome, stories of redemption, ancient history
Publisher: Eagles and Dragons Publishing
Published: 2018-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

The Caelian Hill was much louder than the Esquiline, the houses fine and tasteful, but more pressed together. The atmosphere, however, was absolutely jovial. Crowds of revellers walked about with torches or lit candles, and many a Roman man and woman bellowed a hearty ‘Io Saturnalia!’ from afoot or from the comfort of bedecked and perfumed litters.

Songs were being sung from the heart, and drink flowed freely past everyone’s lips as they passed from one well-meaning domus to the next.

Catus walked beside Bacchus, his mind still upon the scene they had just departed, when a great peal of laughter, the most joyful Catus had ever heard, escaped the confines of one particular domus, spreading into the street to urge others on in merriment, just for their being in proximity to such a celebration.

“What goes on at such parties?” Catus asked the god of wine and revelry.

“Why they eat and drink, sing and joke, laugh and make love. There is no ill will present during Saturnalia in most of these homes,” Bacchus said, stopping before the street-front door of the great laughing house. “Come, Catus Pompilius! Let’s go in!” Bacchus said, making for the doorway.

“Oh no, I couldn’t, oh Bacchus. It would not be proper to go uninvited into a stranger’s domus.”

Bacchus smiled. “Oh, you are not uninvited.” Then he went in, pulling Catus’ old grey toga sleeve as he went through the wall.

They found themselves in a small atrium, freshly painted in red and white with a thick green stripe midway up the wall. In the small impluvium, burning candles floated, casting a reflective light upon the ceiling.

Several guests stood about with red Samian cups in hand, drinking and talking, laughing and generally enjoying each other’s company.

Then the great laughter that could be heard outside burst from the triclinium beyond the garden and the entire assembly roared with joy.

Catus laughed along too, unable to help himself, and Bacchus joined him, rubbing the old man’s bald head as they weaved a ghostly path through the thickening crowd of drinkers.

“I do believe I know that laugh,” Catus said, peering over and around people to catch a glimpse of the laugh’s originator.

Bacchus stopped just inside the doorway to the triclinium and leaned against the wall. In the middle of that room of decent dimension, its walls painted like a forest in Elysium, there sat Julian Corbin, Catus’ own nephew, beside a woman that could only have been his wife, Viola, a smiling, dark beauty.

“Julian!” Catus cried, waving, forgetful of his own invisibility.

“Listen!” Bacchus said, casting his arm over the group and giving birth to a great round of joy and mirth.

Julian was wearing the brightest, most elaborate and fickle synthesis anyone had ever seen, and the pointed pileus upon his head could have speared a gamecock were he to lean too closely to peer at it. His cheeks were absolutely rosy with wine and aglow with the good faith and wishes of every one of his guests.

Lamps burned everywhere, and smiling slaves wearing

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