HETAERA: Daughter of the Gods (6 page)

“It
is
Delus’ child,” my mother
repeated and her chin lifted another notch.

Aidne continued as if she had not heard.

“Did you part your legs for Merikos, little niece?
Did you sell your god-given talents once again, trading a soldier’s coarseness
for a long-limbed
ktístai
? Did you wheedle your way back into
Merikos’ heart just as before?”

I recoiled as if I had been struck. My mother’s
cheeks blazed and she voiced her denial, but still I wondered. Merikos had
loved my mother? Surely not. There was nothing between the two of them that I,
myself, had not witnessed. They were pleasant and respectful to one another,
nothing more. Or was there? I remembered the way his voice faltered when she
looked at him and the time Merikos held my mother’s hands. Just before she’d
told me about the babe.

“How dare you spread such lies?” My mother stood
and clenched her fist. “Step further into this chamber and I shall strike you a
blow that will silence your treacherous tongue forever.”

“You threaten
me
? We shall see,
Sita, whom the gods choose to favor. And we shall see whom the child favors as
well.” With that, Aidne stepped from our chamber and disappeared into the
tunnel.

My mother’s fists trembled as she paced the floor.
I was unsure of what to do. As much as I admired Merikos, the thought of my
mother betraying my father made me ill.

“Will she
never
forgive me?” my
mother muttered to herself.

“Forgive what, Mamita?” My heart began a slow
descent into my stomach.

My mother waved away my concerns. “It is nothing,”
she lied.

Forcing a smile, she splayed her hands over the
slight mound rounding her womb. “I’m tired, Dori, and you must be spry tomorrow
for your instruction. Merikos tells me they plan to start your
gymnastikas
training. You’re doing well, to begin another tutor so soon.” She sighed.

My face must have fallen at the way she brushed my
questions aside, for she tilted her head and gazed at me. She was not sleeping
well; her skin was paler than usual. Weariness stained the skin around her
eyes.

I placed my hands atop hers and swallowed my
misgivings. I would not harm her, or the life she carried, with my childish
questions. I trotted back to my chamber with anxiety trailing in my wake like
an unseen standard.

*** ***

I went to visit Merikos early the following
morning. I could not help the dark thoughts turning round and round in my mind.
In my mind’s eye, I saw my mother and Merikos clasping hands, and pondered
their shy smiles. It made my insides ache. I needed to hear Merikos speak, to
let his voice soothe my turmoil with gentle words that brought me peace. So I
surprised him in his chamber when he had just finished his morning prayers.

“Dori,” he smiled at me, disguising his shock. “It’s
nice to see you. Are you enjoying the
gymn
-?
”

“Do you love my mother?” I interrupted.

Fear is a pithy weapon. The words blurted out
before I could stop them. I had not thought to question him. I simply wanted to
see him again, to hear his magical voice reassure me that all was well.

“Dori, please. Come in and sit. Let us speak as
friends. It does no good to have you, or your words, lingering in the hall.”

I followed the music of his voice, though I
struggled against it.

He scooted the stool nearer to the hearth and my
legs gave out beneath me. The comfort of his familiar actions soothed me. Nevertheless,
it was not kindness or patience or scholarly zeal playing beneath the calm
exterior of Merikos’ face.

It was guilt.

Merikos poured himself a goblet of wine, but I had
not an adult’s patience or restraint. His expression made me wildly fearful of
what he might say to me. I had to know. I
had
to.

“Tell me, Merikos. You cannot put me aside. Are
you the father of my unborn brother?”

Merikos turned. His hands shook and he opened his
mouth to speak.

“Dori,” he said. His eyes were solemn.

I felt my legs grow weak as water. My knees
relaxed and I slipped from the stool.

Merikos rushed to aid me.

“Don’t touch me,” I protested, too angry to accept
even his hand.

He drew it back with a sharp, graceless motion. His
entire body went rigid and stiff, as if he had been carrying a burden for some
time and had only now sought release enough to straighten.

“Doricha, try to understand. All of this had
little or nothing to do with you.”

“Nothing to do with me?” I cried. “How could you
say such a thing? It has
everything
to do with me!”

“You were not yet conceived, Dori. I loved your
mother years ago, when she and I were still devotees of the temple. I’m sorry
if my words cause you pain, but I cannot change the man I was. Not even for the
sake of your tender feelings or your mother’s indifference.”

“She was not so indifferent as to lie with you!” I
was on fire with the anguish of my mother’s betrayal, and with his.

“Lie with me? We have never! I meant only that I
loved your mother. I did not assent to enjoying her body or her womb!” He
rounded on me and became as menacing and dark a figure as I had once thought
him, long ago in the Throat of Orpheus. “That is Aidne’s poison you spew forth.
Has she turned your heart as well, then?”

My face must have shown the fear I felt, because
Merikos composed his features into their customary placid expression.

“I have never touched your mother, save in
friendship. She would not have it so, and I love her too much to force my
attentions on her. I did not, though I am a sacred priest and could do as I
wished with no one to say nay.”

Warm relief flooded through my veins like blood.

“Then my brother
is
my father’s
son,” I whispered.

“For all that I might have wished otherwise.” Merikos’
lips twisted into a wry smile. “Come, Dori. Do you dislike me so much?”

How could he think such thoughts? Then, I
remembered the hateful words I’d spoken. Indeed, how could he not? I loved
Merikos a little, I think. As a wanderer, who has lost her bright guiding star
and finds comfort in the dim warmth of firelight. Merikos would not replace my
father or my gods, but my loss was lessened by his presence. Shame burned at my
cheeks and scorched the ashes of my rage away.

“No, Merikos,” I said and embraced him. “It is
because I love you too well.”

He stiffened as my arms circled him. “And you are
dear to me, as well.” Merikos patted my shoulder awkwardly and motioned to the
stool. “Now sit and we will continue some lessons. It is still early. You will
not be missed at the morning meal. I have some bread and broth here, if you
care to eat.”

I sat again and sipped at the cooled broth while
he spun his magic voice into the air. He spoke at length. It was a story of no
importance to me, for I had more pressing questions circling my brain. Now that
my anger had cooled, I yearned to know what only Merikos could tell me. Merikos
or my mother, though I dared not to ask her.

“Why does Aidne loathe my mother so?” I
interrupted. I fixed my eyes on him, keen for any betraying emotion that might
flit across his features.

Merikos stopped in mid-gesture and folded his arms
slowly to his body, like a bird going to nest. He paused and I wondered if he
was going to answer me.

“That is for your mother to answer, Doricha,” he
stammered.

Merikos, who never spoke without magic!

“Oh, please,” I begged. Years of living torn
between my parents had taught me how to best serve my own purposes. “I would
not disturb her or my unborn brother with these ill thoughts.”

Merikos considered me for another long moment, and
I tried not to squirm under his gaze. Then he spoke, low and resigned, though
his voice was taut with unspoken emotion.

“When your mother first came to the temple, the
daughter of one of the finest spearmen in the Thracian army, she was
immediately singled out as the prize of our devotees. Such grace she had and
also such wondrous beauty, like a blossom yet unplucked.”

His eyes grew vague, as if he could indeed see
back those many years to the day my mother had entered the temple service.

“And did you love her then?” I asked.

“Many loved her then, but I was not to follow
until later. It was your mother’s heart that lured me to her, not her beauty.” He
sighed. “Sita was like a rare jewel. She shone like the sun. But more than
that, she was curious about everything. She sopped up her tutelage like wine
from the gods. Her mind was honed to meld with kings, and even the gods
themselves, should Dionysus choose to grace us with his presence. Only the best
of tutors would do. And one of those fine tutors was Aidne.”

Ah!
I thought.
Now we come to
the thorn in the story.

“Did Aidne hate her because she was lovely and
clever?” I asked. Merikos gave a short laugh.

“Nay, young Doricha. She loved her for it.” His
voice trailed away, and I had to strain to hear it. “More than any of us
realized.”

Aidne
loved
my mother? It seemed
nigh impossible!

“Tell me more,” I said. “How did Aidne come to
hate my mother?”

“Aidne’s heart was blackened when your mother left
the temple to marry your father.”

“But
why
?” I persisted.

“Think, Doricha. Delus was a common soldier,
although a very good one. He came to the temple to offer a sacrifice before the
last war with the Spartans.” Merikos flushed, and I recognized the stain of
jealousy in his face. How he must have cursed the day my father came to the
mountain temple. “When his eyes fell upon your young mother, nothing would do
but that he would have her. So your father prayed, deep within the heart of the
temple, to give him victory over the Spartans, that he might claim Sita as his
bride.”

“And the
ktístai
allowed this?” I
asked.

“It is not for us to dictate the prayers of a
man’s heart. Your father was truly blessed by the gods. He must have been, to
prevail against the Spartan forces when no other army could. And blessed twice
over, to win the heart of your mother.”

You allowed this, you, who loved her?
I thought. He must not have been near the powerful priest he was now, to have let
her go so easily.

“He came late one evening to claim Sita. They fled
away into the night, and she went willingly, for as he loved her, Sita’s heart
held no other but him. They escaped, leaving Aidne to discover only your
mother’s empty chamber in the chill morning’s light.”

I could tell Merikos was speaking with godly magic
in his voice. He trained the story to make music to my ears. And I, knowing
full well that deep within the mountain temple there
was
no
morning light save from the ever burning torches, immersed myself in it
nonetheless.

How clearly I could picture my proud father with
the hand of my mother safely ensconced in his grasp. He’d guarded her with the
same fiery jealousy from the men of Perperek. But that still did not explain
the rage in Aidne’s eyes, or the poison in her tongue.

“And Aidne was enraged by the loss of her best
pupil?” I asked.

“Her best pupil, beloved of the gods and more…yes,
that is when Aidne’s heart turned to stone.”

“The Bacchae come and go as they please. Why
should my mother be any different to Aidne, even if she was a blood relation?”

“That is for your mother to say,” Merikos replied.
His eyes were hooded.

“You know the answer.” I pouted, twisting my face
in an ugly grimace of frustration. After all the music of his tale, to be
denied the final crumb of knowledge!

“I have my suspicions only. It is for your mother
to give you truth. But be warned, for it may not be the truth you would wish to
hear from a mother’s lips. Now, go.” He patted me on the shoulder. “For it will
soon be time for your lessons. Do not give Suvra chance to scold you. Oh, yes,”
he said at my surprised expression, “We are a tight fit, all of us, under the
mountain embrace. There is naught that goes unnoticed. Remember that, in the
days to come.”

And I did remember those words, but much later,
and not in time to save any of us.

Many days and nights passed. At last the blot on my
soul seemed to recede. I revolved in a blissful cycle of absorbing lessons and
watching my mother grow round with the weight of my unborn brother. Each day I
looked forward to the challenges of my tutors, and each night I sank happily
into sleep, with the memory of my hands cradling her burgeoning womb.

I was doing so well at the temple. Many times,
Amphis or Phryne complimented me, saying I was as lovely as my mother had once
been. I was aglow with happiness. I’d failed my father, but I would not fail my
brother. I was oblivious to all else but the approaching birth with which I
sought to redeem myself. So I grew strong and limber under the tutelage of the
Bacchae, and my mother’s weary eyes began to shine more in my presence. I
sensed her approval and reveled in it, so sparingly had it been handed to me before
our flight to the temple.

Merikos, too, marked the change in my demeanor.

“You are growing more beautiful each day, Doricha.
Just as your mother was. Though perhaps without her innocence about you.”

His words startled me. I had not told anyone of my
guilt or the part I had played in my father’s demise. Not even Mara, my closest
friend.

“I cannot think what you mean, Merikos.” I fought
the shame that flooded me. Why should he question my innocence? Fear pricked at
the guilt I’d buried deep within my own mind.

“Your father’s death. It has touched you here.” Merikos
touched a gentle finger to the soft skin of my cheek. “And here.” He laid a
warm palm to my chest.

I flinched and he removed it at once.

“Of course my father’s death marked me. Did you
think I would be unmoved?” I asked.

“I meant no offense, Dori. Do not let my words
cause you pain.” A frown creased his forehead. “It was only a difference in
your resemblance to Sita I meant to remark upon.”

“Why should you compare me to her at all?” I was
still angry with him. The room seemed unaccountably small and I turned away
from my stool at the fire.

Merikos shook his head. “You are more like her
than you might imagine. But, come and sit. Let us not quarrel. I have more to
teach you.” The corners of his mouth deepened.

“Will you tell me why Aidne loved my mother?”

I knew that would provoke him. Merikos was ever
patient and kind with all the devotees, but Aidne was a sore place to him, like
a splinter lodged deep under the skin.

“That again? Ah!” Merikos threw up his hands. “I
have told you. It is not my place to say.”

“You don’t
want
me to know!” I
challenged.

“Enough! Either sit or leave. I will not be
lectured by a child!”

“A child? I am woman enough to feel your hand upon
my breast.”

Merikos looked stunned.

I don’t know why I said it. Perhaps I did feel in
some way he was using me as a substitute for the affection he could not show my
mother. Or perhaps it was that angry black blot bubbling up from my soul to
taint everything that I loved and turn it to dust.

I spun on my heels and ran from him, wishing I
could slam one of those heavy wooden doors between us. But alas, there were no
doors to personal chambers. We trusted in the gods to protect us. Devotees had
few personal belongings that were not conscribed into the temple wealth. What
need had we for privacy and doors?

So I ran blindly, not caring that Suvra stood just
beyond in the shadows, with a faint ugly smile on her lips.

*** ***

I spent the morning crying. No one scolded me on
my missed lessons. If I threw myself wholeheartedly into my dancing lesson, no
one commented on it either, but Mara.

“Are you angry with me?” Mara asked. I stared at
her.

“At you? No. Why do you ask?” I covered her hand
with mine, so she might see I meant my words.

“You’ve been absent at meals. And just now, in
dance, your face flushed. I thought you were going to hurl me across the room
when we spun about!”

“I’m sorry. I…I argued with Merikos. I did not
mean to take it out on you.”

“Oh, Dori.” Mara looked troubled. “You mustn’t! Merikos
is powerful. You’d not do well to anger him.”

Mustn’t, mustn’t
. I was forever
being told what I could not do. But still, Merikos was powerful, and more importantly,
kind when it came to me. I needed to apologize, but I could not face him just yet.

“I know you are right,” I said. “I will visit him
tomorrow.”

Mara was silent for a moment. Then her eyes
twinkled merrily. “Ordis looked at me today,” she whispered.

“What of it? He looks at you every morning.” My
head was full of my own woe, I did not want to gossip with Mara.

“No,” she giggled and covered my hand with hers. “He
looked
at me. In that way. I think he wishes to lie with me.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling odd. “Will the priests
sanction your union?” Had Merikos ever looked at my mother in that way? I tried
to picture it, but the thought made my chest ache.

“I don’t know,” Mara admitted. And she went back
to her alcove, while I dithered, deep in thought.

I’d wronged Merikos, wounded him with my words. I
could not stand this ugly thing between us. I just wanted everything to go back
as it was before I knew of temple lies and secrets. Back to the days when
Merikos filled my head with dreams.

But the next day, I did not see Merikos before the
morning meal. I set out as usual, hoping to catch him before his morning
prayers. Suvra caught me before I left the devotees hall.

“Aidne bids you to come to her chambers.
Now
.”
She wore a smirk. I clenched my hand to keep from slapping it off her face.

“Why does Aidne wish to see me?” I asked.

“You’ll see,” Suvra responded. Her eyes glinted in
the darkness.

I knew personal chambers had no wooden doors, and
so I peeped at the one before me now and wondered at the marked difference in
Aidne’s status. Why did she merit such privacy and why had I never noticed
before now? My nose tickled, and I resisted the urge to scratch it, whilst
Suvra went inside to announce me. Then the narrow wooden door opened a crack.

“Enter, Doricha.”

I was startled by the pleasant timbre of Aidne’s
customary gruff voice. I swayed as gracefully as I could into the chamber,
conscious of my gait under her scrutiny. Whatever I had done to merit her
unwelcome attention, I would not provoke her further if I could help it.

“Are you unhappy here at the temple, Doricha?” Aidne
asked after a moment. Her breath was very warm on the back of my neck. She was
very close indeed, and the hairs of my arms stood on end.

“Unhappy? No! I am content here.” I tried to sound
like a proper devotee.

“Even with the loss of your beloved father? What a
strange girl you must be.” Aidne’s voice was mild, but as treacherous as a
hidden snake. I would have to take care that she did not twist my words.

“To lose a parent to death or slavery is a risk
all Thracian children must face at one time or another.” I raised my eyes then
and did nothing to mask the pride in my gaze. “I have learned to be content.”

“
Content
?
” Aidne’s voice hardened.

“Yes.”

I focused my eyes on the twin lines running down
her cheeks and watched as they deepened. She pursed her lips a little, giving me
a glimpse of what Suvra’s face would be in the years to come. Then Aidne spoke
again.

“And how fare your lessons with the priest
Merikos?”

“I am pleased to learn of our sacred myths,
Aidne.”

“Pleased?
Pleased
! I think that a
very odd choice for you, girl.”

I couldn’t think of why she should say such a
thing to me. “Odd? Not at all! I am happy to learn the mysteries of the temple
with Merikos.”

“Are you, indeed?” Her eyes slid like oil to where
Suvra stood. “Then you are very like your mother. She too visited Merikos’
chambers, both as a girl and now.” She paused.

I tried to follow her line of reason, but it was
beyond me. “I…I am flattered by your compliment.”

“Pah, you are more stupid then I imagined.” Aidne
put her hands on her hips and glared at me.

I tried not to shift my weight from hip to hip,
nor fidget beneath her reptilian gaze. And all the while, my mind raced over
the portent of her words.

 “Go,” she said brusquely. Her lips turned sour in
an expression I guessed to be disappointment. “I have finished with you, for
now.”

I confess that I ran back to my chambers, as fast
as the crowded passageways would allow, and not at all with the decorum of a
temple devotee.

*** ***

That night I visited my mother’s chambers, as was
my customary habit. She looked pale and more weary than usual. I should have
guessed something was amiss.

“You work too much,” I grumbled and pressed my
cheek to her soul.

My mother made a noncommittal sound. She lay on
her side on the stiff straw pallet. I buried my face into the folds of her
skirt, inhaling the soft scent of her skin. My nose tickled, and I wiped it
with the back of my hand as my mother reached for a goblet of herbed wine.

“What is that?” I asked, sniffing it. The scent
made my nose itch again, so I handed it back before I dropped it. The odor
reminded me of the musty scent of herbs in Aidne’s chamber.

“For my back. It eases away the pains from the
babe.” She put her hand over her swollen middle.

“Does he disturb you often?” I stroked her hair
away from her cheek

“A little,” she admitted. Her eyes brightened. “It
will not be long now.”

“How soon?” I said.

“We have a few weeks left before my waters spill. Time
enough for you to begin your patterns.”

Oh, how my joy overflowed!

Each Bacchae bore a tattooed pattern across the
back of their hands. My hands would be inked in cobalt, not intricate yet, but
a symbol of my devotion to the temple. And best of all, my brother would soon
arrive. I was so caught up in anticipation that I put the encounter with Aidne
completely out of my mind.

The following week, the priests announced that
Mara, I, and several others would receive our first marks. It was a time of
celebration. The older girls gossiped amongst themselves, speculating on whose
would be the most intricate, whose would boast the finest shade of blue-black. As
for me, I delighted in the fact my brother would soon be born.

At last the day came for my marking ceremony. Even
so, my mother was not allowed to set aside her chores to see me to the temple
artisan. I was led outside the mountain’s protection to a small hut near the
entrance to the temple. The frigid wind shocked the air from my lungs, and I
staggered against the priest who led me away. It felt strange to breathe in air
that did not reek of earth or humanity, to see the cold brittle sunlight of
winter and hear the plaintive cries of birds above me. My senses reeled from
the headiness of it all and from the excitement of being marked as the temple’s
own.

The hut was very small and leaned against the
rocky mountainside, as a child will cleave to its mother. A very old man, an
aged priest most likely, beckoned us out of the wind and frost. The temple
guard sent me inside and announced he would return forthwith.

“Come in, come in. Let me see.” The old man peered
at me with eyes that seemed much too rheumy to be of use. He bade me sit in a
high backed wooden chair.

When I obeyed, he motioned for me to place my
palms on the rough wooden table.

“Fine, fine….” He studied the skin on the backs of
my hands. “Well then, shall we begin? Don’t look so frightened, girl! It only
stings a little.”

I armed my nerves with his words and thought to
make my mother proud. I was well on my way to becoming a Bacchae, to fulfilling
my destiny…I would return, serene and triumphant and display my marks with
pride. The priest lowered his instruments to my flesh. She would see I was
worthy, that I was…I was…in pain!

The priest had
lied
!

My hands were on fire. And as soon as he’d pierced
the back of one so often that I felt on the brink of fainting, he grabbed the
other and began the same. The scratch of his needles seemed to dig clear to the
bones of my hands. And oh, the blood that ran free beneath his fingers! He
wiped it often to see the lines etched beneath the bloody skin.

Scratch, scratch. Wipe, wipe. The cloth abraded my
swollen flesh. And then, far worse, his fingers rubbed, smearing the blue-black
powder into my veins, only to repeat again, a fraction to the side of the
previous sore spot.

Scratch, scratch. Wipe.

“Steady, child,” the priest muttered, intent on
his designs.

Oh, the long, drawn out pain of it!

I fancied that I could see monsters howling and
the very pits of the Underworld opening up to expose my flesh-stripped fingers.
Tears pricked at my eyes like the needles in my flesh. My eyes rolled back in
my head, and I wanted to wipe my sweating upper lip on the folds of my robe. My
jaw ached from biting back screams of agony. And just when I felt darkness
crowding at the edges of my vision, the priest spoke again.

“You are finished. Such a difficult pattern I have
not attempted for many years, but your skin was so pink and fine, I
thought…Gods, are you ill? No? Well, there’s a good girl. Off with you.”

He patted my hands with a wet cloth, revealing a
lovely web of cobalt on my reddened swollen flesh. When I winced, he clucked
his tongue. He wrapped my hands gingerly in linens and told me to give them
time to heal.

“They’ll give you herbs to take with your evening
wine. Be careful you don’t overdo them, or you won’t wake for a week’s time, if
you wake at all.”