Post-Combat Drunken Orgies Okay

6^th Victrix Tribune (Ret.) Fabius Flatulus Maximus was kind enough to give me some of his time in retirement for another interview. He’s been fascinated by the game of golf, but can’t imagine anyone chasing a little white ball around a mowed lawn with holes in it.

I did explain to him that it was a game invented by the Scots, who used to be known as the Pictish tribes.

“Oh! Those birdbrains! Why didn’t you say so!” He laughed. “Yeah, we just called all of them Gauls or Galicians and ignored their tribal cacaisms. Pissed them off no end. We built the Antonine Wall under Antoninus Pius, after ol’ Hadrian built his wall to keep them on their side of the fence. Ours was bigger. And longer. Kept the troops busy, too. How can I help you?”

I explained the whole business of sexual harassment and sexual misconduct in the units, and he stopped me right there.

“Whoa! Misconduct?” He shook his head and snorted. “Sexual misconduct?”

I nodded.

“I did not know there was such a thing,” he remarked.

I gave him a copy of the latest bit of tight-as-a-drumhead lecture on ‘look but don’t touch, and don’t look, either’. He let out a bellow of laughter, which went on until his eyes were watering and he finally caught his breath.

“Who wrote this nonsense?” he asked. “What is he? Castratus? Oportet mihi te cacare!¹”

I answered ‘No, it seems that it has to do with a lack of understanding of things like the fight or flight response and human nature’s need to breed, once territory is confirmed in friendly hands. The modern military is very, very uptight about such things. They don’t like the troops patronizing prostitutes, either.”

His response to that was quite straightforward.

“There is nothing wrong with having a little post-combat orgy, as long as too much wine isn’t spilled and no one gets into knife fights. It’s okay if they have chest bumping contests for amusement, too,” he said, “or a javelin throw using leftover skulls as targets. Relieves stress, you know.  And no patronizing prostitutes? How are those girls supposed to make a living? About all they have is their good looks, you know.  But you’re putting women in combat?”

I nodded.

“Must be wretchedly mulierii ieiunio². Carnarius sum, sed pinguiarius non sum³. If they’re really worried about this misconduct issue, they could try recruiting women from the Isle of Lesbos over near Greece. But are these Amazons any good at killing the barbarians?” he asked.

I assured him they were trained properly for the job. But the general concern was that post-combat stress would lead to improper and inappropriate sexual conduct.

He stared at me for a moment, then burst into more raucous laughter.

“Inappropriate what??? Whoever comes up with this stuff,” he said, “has to be psychotic! Iignosce mihi⁴, but we always approved drunken orgies after a battle. Spoils of war and all that. It relieves the troops’ stress as long as no one really overdoes it. Takes the cork out of the amphora, so to speak. We let ‘em party until they pass out. Then they get to work hard the next day, doing things like armor repair and carpentry and building stone walls. In the sun. Under really bad-tempered centurions.”

“Well, what about the rape of the Sabine women?” I asked.

“Hey, I had nothing to do with that! It happened six hundred sixty years before I was born. My granny told me it was half and half. Some of those Sabine women were desperate for real men, so when the Romans showed up, off they went. Those flabby Etruscans like to lie their asses off about everything, you know, and they didn’t want to lose their monopoly on trade with local farmers. When we showed up, we brought competition. That, and muscles.”

“Well, I’m glad we got that straightened out,” I said. “So Livy was wrong?”

“Mostly. And anyway, who cooked up this nonsense? Some pig-eyed male virgin with a squint?”

I said no, it was purported to have been the fault of some jug-eared guy with a big nose who talks to himself a lot.

“Figures,” he said. “Sounds like something Little Boots would do. Or Commodus.”

Rough Latin translations below:

¹ A eunuch? You gotta be shittin’ me!

² Bony broads

³ I’m a meat lover, not a fat lover.

⁴ Excuse me, but…