HETAERA: Daughter of the Gods (4 page)

My hands shook as I pried at the Bacchae’s
fingers. I lifted my gaze, only to meet my mother’s across the room. She smiled
at me, a terrible pride shining in her gaze. It was then the haze of perfumed
smoke lifted, and I realized what I had witnessed. My blood ran colder than a
sea storm.

Not a battlefield at all, but a levy to the wild
rites of Dionysus. I had heard of men who spilt themselves on the earth, as a
recompense for Orpheus who was murdered and brought back to us as a god. For
just as the seed of man brings life, so it does rebirth. It was one of the most
sacred of rituals. One where Dionysus himself moved in our veins.

I knew these truths from the lessons of my mother.
And now I’d seen how it was done.

I felt shaky and sickened as I wrenched my hand
free of the Bacchae’s grasp and stumbled from the hall. Was this was what my
mother had meant for me, even before our village was taken? Before necessity
forced us to take refuge in the temple. My intended destiny was to sweat and
seethe beneath a temple priest, no better than a receptacle for lust?

With my heart lodged in my throat, I went to find
her and demand the truth. I made it two steps before the world dimmed and I
slid to the floor.

“It was the wine.” My mother set aside her mending.

Her chamber was not as small as my own but still
not as large as some I had seen. She had a straw pallet, as did we all, but
also a low wooden stool and a candle.

“The wine?” I was puzzled. “Was it poisoned like
the smoke?”

My mother’s lips twisted in a wry smile.

“You have so much to learn.” She shook her head. “Not
poisoned. Mixed with special herbs to give it the power of Dionysus’ blood
during the Bacchanal. It helps us to commune with our lord. I felt so close to
him...closer than I have in years.” Tears glittered in her eyes. “I am proud
you were chosen to join in. It is a great boon!”

“A boon! I thought he was killing her! I was
frightened!” I plucked at a loose thread in my chiton.

I knew what the rutting of animals was, having
tended more than my share in our village. And I knew of the passion between men
and women, being a child of two lovers. But the herbs in the wine and smoke had
twisted it all in my mind. I was conflicted--sickened, and yet strangely
thrilled by what I witnessed at the Bacchanal.

“Mamita, must I lay with any
ktístai
who desires me?” I asked, worriedly. “How could you wish such a thing for me? I’m
still a child.” I was afraid of what I must do in the temple to earn our keep. Was
this the life of a Bacchae?

“You are old enough to be wed.” My mother shook
her head and clucked like an offended thrush. “Have you remembered nothing of
my lessons? Whist, Dori, these teachings are far beneath your years. We give
honor to the gods through our grace and beauty. It is good we have come.”

I could not believe my ears.

Had she forgotten the very reason for our flight
to the temple? Had she forgotten my father’s heart so soon? I wanted to find
love in a marriage bed, the same passion that bound my father to my mother. I
was afraid of what my part in the temple rites might be, but much more
terrifying was the heat running through my veins. I’d never thought to see such
lust, nor did I think to take part in it. Such things were the tales of women.

“Good? Good that my father should have died at the
hands of the Greeks?” My voice was shrill and hot tears welled up to blur my
vision. “You think it a fine thing that I should offer up my body to the
service of the gods? If my father were alive he would never have allowed you to
sell me to the temple priests for your own survival.”

I do not know where the words came from, perhaps
the black stain on my guilty soul. My mother rounded on me, and slapped me hard
across the cheek.

Thracian children are not beaten, as are the
Spartans and Greeks. Her loss of control was a marked sign of the pain my words
caused her. But the anguish of my father’s death was too new, too raw for me to
care about her pain.

“Never speak such words to me again.” She pointed
a long tapered finger at me and her eyes flashed. “It is a blessing the temple
accepted us. For you to witness the most holy of rites. To be respected and
beloved by the gods. Think you, on where we would be now, if not for here? Brutalized
by some Grecian dog? Fodder for the worms?” She turned away from me, and I
heard her stifle a sob. “Not a sun will set that I will not ache for my
husband’s arms to comfort me. I will
never
feel them again. But
you hold hope in your future, should you have the courage to grasp it. You know
the entrance to the temple, Doricha. There are no gates to hinder you should
you choose to go.”

What can I say, but that I was a child then, and I
fled from her anger and her pain. I padded through the hallways, confused and
alone. I had not meant to argue with her, and yet I could not stop myself from
hasty words to test the bond between us.

I staggered against the walls, unseen by any. My
head pounded from both her blow and the thoughts turning round in my brain. I’d
wanted to wound her. I wanted to scream at her,
why did you not keep him
home with you that night
?

And what’s worse, I found my anger had tainted
even my father’s memory. The temple was my duty, my birth right as the daughter
of a Bacchae. Dionysus was our lord and master, so handsome and so virile. Who
was my father to keep me from such a god’s embrace? I felt angry, ignorant and
ill-used. And then, a moment later, came the shame.

“Forgive me,” I whispered into the darkness. I
don’t know which of them I meant.

I covered my face with my hands and wept for my
dead father, my poor, beautiful mother, and myself, still lost between the both
of them.

A priestess found me there, with my face buried
against the stone wall. She mistook my tears and led me back to my quarters. I
laid myself out on my pallet, wretched and expecting the gods to curse me for
my blasphemous thoughts.

I must have dozed, because I awoke to the sounds
of someone entering my chamber. Soft hesitant footfalls padded across the
silent expanse of my small room. I bolted upright and peered into the darkness.

“Who’s there?” I whispered. The familiar scent of
sorrow enfolded me.

“Shh, Daughter.” My mother’s words floated out of
the darkness like welcome birdsong. Her voice was hoarse; I could tell she had
been weeping. “I should not have exposed you to our sacred rites without
preparing you first. It was a mistake. Allow me to stay with you this last
time. Tomorrow your training will begin.”

She slipped onto the straw pallet, and I felt the
soft warmth of her body mold against my back and legs. Tears pricked my eyes
anew. We lay side by side for long moments, while she stroked my hair. She let
it run through her fingers like water, and the movement soothed my troubled
heart.

“I am sorry,” I said.

She sighed and rested her arm over my waist. “So
am I, Doricha. So am I.”

“I
do
want to make you proud to call
me Daughter.” And I did, deep in my heart. I fancied I could hear her smiling
in the darkness.

“And so you shall. You are special, Doricha. One
day, all the world will know your name,” she promised.

We fell asleep smiling at our own absurdity.

*** ***

In the wee morning hours, I arose to an empty bed.
My mother entered the room with a neophyte’s robes. She held them out for me to
try.

I slipped into the fresh robes and allowed her to
brush my hair out. She left it long and shining. If her eyes were a touch
wistful at the sight of my red-gold tresses, I pretended not to notice. There
had been enough harsh words between us regarding my father, and I would offer
up no more to wound her with.

“Aidne will see you first. She will determine your
strengths and skills, if she establishes you have any.” Mother placed her hand
under my chin and tipped my head back. “You have very fine eyes, I think, and
your skin is fair. Well,” she said with a sigh. “We shall see.”

I was too nervous to eat much the first meal, but
with crease worrying my mother’s forehead, I managed to gulp down some wine and
a bit of coarse bread. Then, a pretty blushing girl with a devotee’s robes came
to lead me away.

“My name is Mara,” said the girl. She took my hand
and smiled. I could not help but smile back at her dimpled cheeks. She did not
appear the least bit nervous to see this Aidne, and it eased my trepidation.

“I am Doricha, but my mother calls me Dori.”

“Then so shall I call you, if you’ll have it. I
can tell we shall be near-sisters in no time.” Mara tucked my hand in the crook
of her elbow and whispered, “Don’t be nervous.”

“Why? Is not Aidne very stern?”

“Oh no! She is
very
stern. And she is
likely to be rough with you as well, considering…but nervousness will not
please her.”

“Considering what?” I asked, beginning to feel
faint in my sandals.

“Your mother,” she replied.

I had not time to ask her more, for we arrived at
Aidne’s chamber. Mara knocked on the wood, and waited until she was bid entry. She
closed the door soundly in my face, and alas, there was no hand-sized crevice
through which to listen. I stood in the hall and shifted in my sandals unsure
if I should knock on the door myself. And all the while, a sinking fear I might
disgrace my mother churned my stomach.

At last the door was opened, but not by Mara. It
was another devotee, a girl of no more than sixteen winters, with dull red hair
and a surly frown. She gestured for me to enter.

“Come close where I can see you.” I turned my head
and found a woman of advanced age. Her pale hair had faded to grey near her
temples, but her face bore the beauty of our race like a shield to battle. Faint
lines etched the skin around her mouth and eyes. Those eyes were sharp and not
kind when she turned to me.

“Step quick, girl! The gods wait for no one, least
of all you.” I recognized that voice as the faceless woman who had almost
denied us entrance to the temple.

Oh, how I fought the urge to scurry to her side,
like a kit cleaves to its mother when nipped. Instead, I forced myself to walk
at a sedate pace and tried my best to emulate my mother’s graceful sway. In the
corner of the room, Mara shifted her weight to the balls of her feet as if she
could force me to hurry.

“Same eyes,” grunted the old woman. “More green
than grey. Pah!” She made a shooing motion with her hand. “That’s his hair,
too, I’ll wager.” She scrutinized every inch of my face. I felt my flesh crawl
under the touch of her gaze and I resisted the urge to scratch my nose.

Aidne circled me, slowly like a serpent. “Well,
strip off your robes.”

I must have displayed my shock, because as I felt
my brows draw up, hers narrowed until I could see the glimmer of her black
pupils.
She hates me
, I thought. My arms felt wooden as I moved
to unpin my woven pleats and my cheeks burned fiercer than the hottest flame.

“Here, I will help her,” Mara volunteered. She
scooted to my side and I felt better to have her step between Aidne and me, as
if she could shield me from the old woman’s displeasure. Aidne moved away from
us to scold the red-haired girl.

“She despises me,” I hissed. My eyes darted beyond
Mara’s pale pink shoulder to where Aidne muttered.

“Perhaps,” whispered Mara, unclasping my robes. “She
was devastated when your mother left the temple, or so they say.”

“She knew my mother?” I risked another furtive
glance. Aidne frowned at me and strode over to the pair of us. The sullen
red-haired girl glared at us. Mara bit her lip and glided back to the wall like
a shadow.

“Drop your hands,” Aidne commanded. I realized I
was clutching my robes over my body. Well, if she was determined to hate me, I
would not give her the satisfaction of seeing me cringe.

I lowered my hands, and my robes followed. The
soft woven material puddled at my feet. The room was cold, but I would not show
her my discomfort. Chill bumps grew on my legs. I thrust out my budding breasts
and lifted my chin, feeling my nipples pucker. My vision, I affixed to a far
off spot on the chamber wall, as my audacity did not extend to meeting her
eyes.

“Your limbs are long and spindly. You will be
tall, I think.” She sniffed. “That is something, at least. Your buttocks are
round and high. Good. You will be especially suited to dance, if you have any
grace about you at all. Time will tell, girl, what blood runs through those
veins of yours. Now, open your mouth.”

I blushed with pride at her assessment.

Aidne counted my teeth and peered down my throat. She
pinched the flesh of my arms and legs. Oh, would this inspection never cease? I
felt like a brood nanny goat. When she was satisfied, at least as much as she
could be, she instructed me to sing.

My heart sank, for song is not one of my finest
gifts. My legs quivered and my throat closed with nervousness, but I sang. I
sang loudly, though perhaps not well. When I finished, Aidne folded her arms
across her chest.

“Well, you will never be exceptional, but you will
not be the lowliest among us, unless you are idle,” she said. Her eyes flitted
to the red-haired girl. I caught Mara stifling a smile.

“You may report to Lukra for dance this morning. After
the midday meal, I wish you to study our sacred histories with Merikos, the
priest who met you at the tunnels.”

Merikos
. The priest with the kind
eyes. I repeated his name until I was certain not to forget.

“In the days that follow, you will be assigned a
different tutor for song, or harp and flute, for tumbling and
gymnastikas
.
If you show promise, you will be set new tasks and find a position in the
temple. But if you are idle, you will be sent to the kitchens and serve the
priests with menial chores for the rest of your days. What do they call you,
girl?”

“Doricha.”

Aidne grunted. “Very well, Doricha. You may go.”

I’d never minded the sound of my own name, until I
heard it spoken from her lips. Mara moved to escort me out.

“Stay, Mara. Let Suvra take her. I have need of
you elsewhere.”

My heart plummeted again.

Suvra the Surly, as I came to call her in my own
mind, shuffled forward with no pretense at grace and led me from the chamber. I
had one last glance at a meek-eyed Mara before the door was closed.

“I saw you smile.” Suvra lifted her squared chin
several notches. “You think I am the lowliest of the devotees? Humph! I serve
my grandmother well enough.”

Disbelief hit me like a thunderclap. “Aidne is
your…?”

“My grandmother.” She sneered. “You’re lucky she
asked to see you. They would not have let you or your mother stay if my
grandmother had declined to see you. Think on that, little devotee.” Suvra
smiled, a sight which, I’m sorry to say, did not improve her looks.