The Healing Blows of the Februa (45/366)

Hundreds of women clamored to better their positions, shoving this way and that. They stood naked, seeking the blessings.

“The Luperci! The Luperci!” the women shouted in anticipation.

“Disrobe!” a large naked woman on her right urged her. “Make bare! Receive the blows of februa. It will op’n your womb today! It’s Mystery! Disrobe!”

“The Luperci come!” the shouts continued.

She stood naked with them against the city wall. It was high, dark, and made of rough, damp stones stacked together, cold. The wall chilled her bones when her naked body was pressed against it. She looked along the wall and was able to see joyous anticipation, hysterical passion, in the other unclothed women. Menacing shadows loomed large on the wall, daguerreotypes of heads painted by hand-held torches.

This was madness! she thought.

“The Luperci,” her large, naked companion whispered. Rhea heard the shrieks of the women, moving like a wave toward her. Suddenly she felt the sting of flagellation on her buttocks. She whipped around to confront her punisher, gasping when face to face with this “Lupercus,” a holy man with a flowing maroon robe. Blood smeared his forehead like war paint. She flipped back around.

The flagellation continued! She cried out, which signaled to her “sponsor” that it was time to stop. He wiped his hand across her buttocks, smearing blood. Then he moved on.

The large, naked woman wailed out.

“Why do you suffer? You’re not bleeding.” Rhea asked. “He didn’t strike you like he punished me.”

“Because t'is you were selected—you! Th’gods know I’ve tried to have this hap’n to me. For sixteen winters have I come to fail. Sixteen winters I hoped to have my womb so op’ned. Good fortune visits you alone, for now again have I been passed over. Your womb be op’ned.

Rhea realized where all of the men were. The writhing mass of men, was a mindless erection thinking for them collectively.

There began a different type of ranting and squeals. These women were being taken! The ritual was not over. After all, wombs were open! Rhea braced to be seized herself.

She did not have to wait long.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Valentine's Day — the Rest of the Story:

February is named after "februa," strips of leather used to whip the bare buttocks of infertile women, during the Roman Lupercalia (wolf). This annual Roman festival was a fertility "Mystery," or secret rite, similar — or akin to — the the Dionysian Mysteries and the worship of Bacchus, the god of debauchery, and Pan, a fertility god.

During this rite, holy men called Lupercalia would whip their buttocks with the symbolic februa, although the blood drawn was not symbolic but real. This blood-letting of infertile women cleansed them of their infertility, after which... well, you can imagine. (When in Rome...)

It was celebrated between February 13 and 15, so in n0 small way influenced assigning February 14 as the feast day of St. Valentine, a saint associated with love. Valentine's Day is supposed to be romantic and all lovvy-dovvy, but humanity has had a love affair with fertility throughout its history, and continuing one's blood line was so important that it often wasn't very pretty.

Now you know.

(See my companion piece in History portal at https://shopping-feedback.today/history/valentine-day-f964w0y6s.%29%3C/p%3E%3C/blockquote%3E%3Cstyle data-emotion-css="14azzlx-P">.css-14azzlx-P{font-family:Droid Serif,Georgia,Times New Roman,Times,serif;font-size:1.1875rem;-webkit-letter-spacing:0.01em;-moz-letter-spacing:0.01em;-ms-letter-spacing:0.01em;letter-spacing:0.01em;line-height:1.6;color:#1A1A1A;margin-top:32px;}