Things have not quieted on the home front, but the urge to write has returned. Happy Sunday! 😀
Every year in mid-December, the city welcomed the winter solstice with days of public feasts, outlandish outfits, overflowing cups of wine, and wanton games galore. For all the years he’d warmed Lucius Petronius’s bed, this amusing but bizarre holiday never failed to fascinate Bryaxis.
During the Saturnalia, norms were disregarded and roles were reversed. Masters served their slaves; slaves ordered their masters to perform menial tasks. Daft commands like ‘bring me a cup of water’ or ‘wash my filthy feet.’ Nonsense, really. The Saturnalia was controlled, state-sanctioned mischief. A licentious festival celebrating the arrogant confidence of Rome’s supremacy. Bry had realized all this long ago when he’d been a gangly slave boy newly purchased from the auction block. And yet he still loved it. This disregard for regulations and the blatant mockery of fate.