HETAERA: Daughter of the Gods (5 page)

“Why would she do such a thing?” I mused aloud.

“Why would she not!” Suvra cried indignantly. “Your
mother was her sister’s child, and most beloved when she forsook our ways to
lay with a mere village warrior. She, who was trained to service gods and
kings!”

A pair of priests entered the cold, damp hall and
stared at us. They veered away, frowning.

“My mother,” I murmured. “I must speak with her….”

“In there.” Suvra grabbed my shoulder. She pointed
to a chamber where I could hear the steady staccato of wood striking stone. “Or
will you shame both our names by refusing your first instruction?”

My mind was as scattered as the leaves of a
cypress before winter’s frozen mantle lays all aside. I was to report to Lukra
for dance. I wanted to speak with my mother, but even more desperate was the
desire to do well, to be worthy. To become a woman of honor, a beloved Bacchae.
If Aidne saw merit in me, I would not fail her or my mother.

Dionysus, if it be your will let me bring
glory to your service
. And so I prayed and stepped over the threshold.

“Stand up straight!” Lukra clapped her hands in a
steady rhythm. “Make your spine a
sarisa
, to battle against age
and ugliness. Your limbs should float like foam on the waves. No, no. Not like
that. Like this.” She jabbed between my shoulder blades. “Now, again.”

Sweat trickled down my back and soaked into my
robes as I performed the agonizingly slow steps. Next to me, Mara’s face shone
with perspiration and her customary merry expression. I had been at the temple
for ninety days, with little time to rest or see my mother. I learned quickly
and, indeed, Aidne had spoken true. I did have some gift for dance.

Mara had become my near-sister, indeed. We took
most of our meals together and could oft be found whispering in the halls, when
we were not training or serving. She was my first true friend, as the village
children were somewhat fearful of my mother’s training. Mara, like me, was
finding joy in newly gained secrets taught to the temple devotees.

 In addition to being required to serve in the
temple professions, the Bacchae taught us the rudiments of the five arts of
love making: the movements and positions, with special emphasis on the
kelēs
--the
female superior “race horse” position. Mara and I had giggled through them at
first, but upon recalling the Bacchanal, I quickly sobered. I was becoming a
woman now.

Second, we were instructed in the arts of song and
dance, though Sophriae despaired of my learning to sing well. Then, instruction
in cosmetics and hygiene, the art of persuasive speech, poetry, and recitation,
and how to use empathy, sensitivity and all the ruses and charms of amorous
relations. Now that I was perceived a woman, I could not wait to employ my new
found knowledge.

I devoted myself to learning my letters and
learned to write my own name. I even helped Aidne to sort herbs, fragrant
artemesia, fennel for protection, golden flowered rue for healing, and pennyroyal
used in Bacchanal initiation and to prevent babes. One of them made my nose
tickle and drip until Aidne cursed and sent me away. Weeks passed as I
exhausted my body and mind, too filled with temple training to mourn my lost
father and the freedom of my youth.

Every afternoon, I slipped away from the mid-day
meal to arrive early for my lessons with Merikos. He began with the history
every Thracian child is taught, how roving tribes of men settled in this most
sacred place and paid tribute to Dionysus. Satisfied I had memorized those
simple tales, he ventured into the lesser-known aspects of our religion; those
studied only by the holy temple devotees who must spread the word of the gods
to those less fortunate. He had changed since our acceptance into the temple,
or perhaps it was only my knowing him better that made it so. I was reminded of
the lithe form of Dionysus, older than me in years but still youthful with his
handsome form and unlined skin.

That was Merikos.

And even more secret, he spoke of Orpheus, son of
the muse Kalliope and Oiagros, a river god. Orpheus, who charmed the wild
animals, beguiled the trees and flowers with his lyre, and drew followers with
the beauty of his song. Orpheus, who sailed with the Grecian Argonauts to search
for the Golden Fleece and protected them from the Sirens with his magic song. When
he descended into Hades to rescue his beloved Eurydice, Dionysus was angered. Our
lord turned his face from his favored son of Thrace, and the Maenads murdered
Orpheus. Some priests still paid homage to Orpheus in secret and I guessed
Merikos was one of them.

For if it is not here, where our dense forests,
fertile valleys and gentle shores ring the power of the gods, then where? If
not in our towering mountains with their wide green gorges and slopes tilting
under the weight of poplars, willows, and humble shrubs that perfume the
breeze, then it is not anywhere on this earth. Such were the teachings of
Merikos and my ears never tired of hearing them, or my lips of repeating them
to Mara.

“I do not believe a man could hold sway over the
gods merely with his voice.” Mara fluffed her hair with her hands.

It was very late. We had lingered over the evening
meal until none were left, save the old crone who cleared away the platters. She
gave us a dark look and we jumped to our feet and moved towards the devotees’
hall.

“Why not?” I asked.

“I just don’t. Besides, it is Dionysus who rules
our heart and bodies, not a mere mortal with a lyre.” She sighed. “When do you
suppose they will hold another Bacchanal?”

I shook my head. “What do I care? We will not be
asked to participate.”

“I shall,” Mara said with confidence. We passed
out of the hall and into the alcove that housed her pallet.

“You won’t!” I was horrified by the thought of my beloved
friend sweating beneath a temple priest. I wrinkled my nose.

“I will,” she said again. She dropped to her
pallet and patted the area beside her. I flopped down next to her, glad to be
off my feet. “See how my breasts have grown this year? Phrygia says I shall be
a full woman, soon.”

She took my hand and cupped it to her breast. I
could feel her heart beating beneath the layer of rough wool. The heat of her
surprised me. I put my other hand to my own breast. I could not tell if they
were of a size. They felt the same to me, but I’d never considered myself
womanly. Not yet. No, no…mine must be smaller.

“I do not think I have grown,” I said miserably. Mara
would be a woman without me.

She placed her palm over my hand, still cupping my
breast.

“You have.” She nodded sagely and gave me a gentle
squeeze. “I’ll bet even Merikos has noticed.”

“He hasn’t!”

“Hm.” Mara made a noncommittal noise and lay back
on the pallet. I followed her and we stared for some time at the darkened
ceiling of rock above us. In truth, I stared at nothing, just enjoyed the
company of her soft breath next to me.

“Did you know I have grown woman’s hair,” Mara
said. “Down there.”

“Have you?” I could not believe it. Surely she did
not have that yet? “I never noticed.”

“Well, you wouldn’t,” Mara said. “See?” She hiked
her chiton over her hips and took my hand in hers. Our intertwined fingers slid
slowly over her smooth skin, over the soft arc of her belly to the mound of her
sex.

My fingers halted in the crisp thatch covering her
nether lips. She was soft, so soft down there, hidden by the rough burr of
hair. I felt a warmth blossom below my stomach. It spread like too much wine in
my veins, and made me feel weak and languorous. I did not move my hand. Mara
did not ask me to.

“You are a woman, now.” I agreed. My throat felt
tight.

We sat there for some many long moments, and I let
the heat of her infuse me.

“Do you ever think of lying with a man?” Mara
asked.

I swallowed hard. I hadn’t. Not really. Not unless
you counted the time I’d gazed at Merikos and wondered at what was hidden
beneath his robes--if he was as perfect as the effigy of Dionysus.

“Yes,” I lied.

“Me too,” Mara said. I was glad then, that I’d
lied.

She pressed my fingertips more firmly, as if she
were smoothing her chiton over her pubic mound. But there was no chiton between
our fingers. There was only the crinkly hair and soft, slick nub she rubbed
against my fingers. I heard her breathing quicken. My knees turned to water,
and saliva flooded my mouth. I swallowed and had the sudden urge to kiss her. I
wanted to kiss her, my near-sister.

Mara’s other hand stole between my own legs now,
and I was surprised to find it as moist as the feeling of liquid heat that
threaded them. I feared I’d wet myself and was about to protest when Mara
rolled on top of me. Her lips touched mine, and I forgot everything I was to
say to her.

I’d never been kissed before. Mara kissed my neck
and ground her hips against me. My buttocks rose off the floor to meet her and
we undulated, our bodies slicked with the essence of our sex. My hands rose up
to grasp her hips and urge her to the spot where I felt the world come undone
each time she moved or moaned. She was round and hard with muscles from
dancing. The scent of her skin, so familiar to me, was now laced with sweat and
desire.

Faster and faster, our hips bucked until stars
exploded behind my eyes. I stopped, my body rigid with release, but Mara
continued for a few more thrusts until she gave a weak cry and rolled off me,
still breathing as though she’d run to Sparta and back.

“I’ve never done that.” She laughed and wiped
sweat from her brow. “It was like riding the great horses of Athenos!” She
clasped my sweating hand.

I laughed weakly and squeezed her hand. “I wonder
how it will be with a man.”

“Who knows?” Mara giggled. “But let us swear,
whichever of us is the first to lay with a man will tell the other how it is.”

“And if it is not as nice as this?” I unlaced my
hand from hers and climbed to my feet, feeling a little wobbly and as weak as a
newborn kitten.

Mara stood and embraced me. “We shall always be
near-sisters,” was her only reply.

*** ***

I thought often about that night. Later when I was
alone in my room, I would place my hands between my thighs and try to achieve
the same liquid heat. Without Mara, the flame would not spread. Would this be
the glory between a woman and a man, or a special bond between near-sisters?

I dared not ask my mother.

Indeed, I saw her scarce enough to ask, though of
late she could sometimes be found in Merikos’ chamber, where she stole away
precious moments from her labor to sit cross-legged on the floor and escape
with me through the magic of his words. If the priest minded her presence, he
covered it well, though his words faltered a little when her eyes were upon
him.

So another week passed. After my body had expended
the last of its energy in dance, I promised to meet Mara for the meal and quit
Lukra’s chamber. I bathed quickly and ate with such surprising speed that Mara
raised a brow at my haste. For despite my body’s weariness, I was alive with
the desire to crouch at Merikos’ knee and escape to the past, when gods walked
upon the earth like mortal men. Mara gave me a curious glance as I left the
dining hall.

My mother’s voice emanated from Merikos’ chambers,
as I drew nearer. My heart was glad for she had not attended for many days. I
burst into the chamber.

My mother’s hands were laced with his and her eyes
shone with an emotion I could not define. He dropped her hands at my approach
and scooted the stool for me to sit.

“If you please, Doricha, we will delay our
teachings for a little. Your mother must speak to you.” He bowed and departed
the room, leaving me more than a little confused.

“Dori, I’ve just come from the temple healer….” My
mother began.

“Are you ill?” I cried and jumped up to embrace
her.

“Whist, Dori! Will you think the worst when I have
such news to tell?” She smiled and patted my cheeks with her soft hands. “Do
you remember when I despaired of ever feeling your father’s embrace again?”

I nodded. “I do, but what has this to do with the
healer?”

“I will tell you, if you will hold your tongue. I
may not have your father, but fate has brought him to us, just the same. I am
with child, Dori.
His
child and the healers prophesy it shall be a boy.”
Her face was alight with life and beauty. “What do you think?”

What did I think?

A boy! My brother, with the strength of my father
and my mother’s heart. I thought of the great love Orpheus held for Eurydice
and how my father had planted his seed within my mother’s womb that final day,
to remind her of his love for us.

“We are blessed by the gods!” I threw myself into
her embrace. She laughed, then. I knelt, pressed my face to her center, and
whispered to the babe growing there. And that is how Merikos found us, when he
returned, with my mother laughing and crying at the same time and me trying to
speak to her soul.

My brother, her soul. As her body swelled, so did
our anticipation for him. Merikos spoke to the
ktístai
, and
offered to sponsor the boy until he was old enough to follow the path of the
sacred priests. It was good he did, for later events would prove that had
Merikos not charmed them with the music of his words, they would have banished
us all from the gods’ door long before my mother’s time came.

I spent the rest of the year in a sort of ecstatic
oblivion, content with my lot in life, and weak with anticipation for my
brother’s birth. Not even Suvra the Surly, who made a point to single out my
faults whenever we met, could dampen my spirits. Only once, when Aidne herself
visited my mother, did my joy wane.

Seven months had flown by in a haze of
anticipation. Mother and I were seated in her chambers. It was very late in the
day, the time when most had long since retired, but I gave up those minutes of
slumber for the chance to watch my brother form himself under the sheath of her
soft pink skin.

Aidne appeared at the doorway like a wraith. She
did not enter, but stood under the lintel, her eyes glittering in the shadows.

“So. It is true, what they say,” Aidne remarked. My
mother squared her shoulders, as I had seen my father do, so many times before
battle. “Breeding a soldier’s get into the temple. And with Merikos to speak
for you, so that none think to say ‘nay’ to the travesty.”

“As you can see.” Mother’s hand strayed over her
belly, as if to protect the child in her womb. “Delus’ son.”

“How
proud
you must be.” Aidne spoke
the words with venom.

I wanted to shrink from her, but I forced myself
to be still.

Aidne’s eyes glittered. “I must say I wonder…are
you certain it is Delus’ child you carry in your womb? We have heard of your
visits to Merikos. How he spoke before the Branch Order to sway them to your
side. He ran to meet you at the gates when you were seen on the mountain pass
before the temple. Picked up his robes and ran like a girl.” Her eyes flickered
to me, and I wondered what had been between the two of them, that she should
hate my mother so.