Thais of Athens

Chapter Nine. Visiting Mother of Gods

The temple of the Great, or the Highest, Goddess Ashtoreth, the Ruler of the Lower Abyss, the Feminine Triad: Ana, Belita and Daukippa, the Queen of Earth and Fertility, Kibela and Rhea All-carrying, Mother of Gods, the Mistress of Nights, was strange and slightly barbaric. It was not a temple of Aphrodite at all, as it had mistakenly been called by Alexander and consequently by Ptolemy.

At the outskirts of a grove of huge pine trees, double walls with cube-shaped towers outlined a large square courtyard containing rows of low, wide trees Thais did not recognize. Much to her astonishment, enormous spotted bulls, horses and lions walked and rested among the trees, and black eagles sat atop the walls.

The guards wore gilded armor and carried spears ten elbows long. They let Thais and Za-Asht go through, but left the hetaera’s soldiers between the walls. The horses became nervous, sensing the presence of predators, but their cousins in the courtyard of the temple didn’t mind the lions at all.

The aroma of Arabian incense floating from the temple doors could be felt even here. The temple itself stood on a platform of unpolished rocks. Thais hurried toward the stairs, but the strange company of animals didn’t bestow a single glance upon the women or their companions.

According to legend, pillars of black granite a hundred elbows tall had been erected by Dionysus himself. They guarded the entrance to the southern part of the courtyard. The broad wings of the temple were constructed out of large green bricks. Plum and Persian apple trees grew on the roofs of secondary structures. A staircase of white stone led from the platform up to the main entrance, which was above a wide, cube-shaped threshold, covered by glazed dark red ceramic tile. The entrance, framed by massive slabs of black stone, was divided into three sections by two pillars. Seven square columns on each side supported the flat roof with a garden and a walking platform. The center of the roof was crowned by a rectangular structure with no windows or doors.

One of Thais’ powerful benefactors had apparently informed the keepers of the temple of her arrival. As soon as the hetaera stepped onto the platform in front of the entrance, she was surrounded by an entire crowd of women. A man and a woman stood in the center of the group, dressed in heavy embroidered garments of identical cut, but of different colors: white for the man and black for the woman.

Thais handed over the gift chest from Alexander and received a deep bow in reply. The priestess in the black peplos took her hand and led her into the back of the temple. The doors, covered with mirror-polished electron, opened into a sanctuary with a ceiling of gold leaf.

A statue of the Great Mother, Astarte or Rhea sat atop a white rectangular stone slab. The ancient image was fairly small, just over two elbows. Legends claimed it was several thousand years old. The statue was made of terracotta, covered by pale brown glaze the color of tanned skin. The figure of a nude woman woman was kneeling, her torso turned slightly to the right and her hands pressed against her round belly. Her broad hips were much wider than her massive shoulders and served as a pedestal to the powerful torso, muscular arms and large, half-spherical breasts. Her neck was straight and long, almost the same circumference as her narrow head with its barely outlined face. It gave the statue an expression of proud alertness, or enthasis.

Woven gold chains, ornamented with purple hyacinths and emeralds, hung from the statue’s shoulders, and some unknown stone shone like fire from the middle of her forehead. Thais discovered later that the stone shone just as brightly at night, lighting the sanctuary.

The statue of the male god, with a coarsely carved, shovel-like beard, sat a step behind the goddess, in the shadow of a niche atop a similar slab. Bronze wheels with wide rims supported both pedestals. During the big moon celebrations these heavy carriages were somehow transported to the temple courtyard. After that, Rhea-Astarte’s carriage was drawn by the lions, and the male god, whose name Thais could not remember, was drawn by the sacred bulls.

The high priestess, who either didn’t wish or didn’t know how to speak Coyne^[26], silently unclasped Thais’ chiton and lowered it to her waist. Two groups of priestesses quickly and quietly appeared from the darkness of the sanctuary. They were young with focused, glum, almost menacing faces, and were grouped by height and hair color. They lined up to the right and to the left of the statue of Kibela-Rhea allowing for Thais to get a better look at them. Those on the right had dark red “Finikian” hair and were dressed from neck to knees in nets. The nets were similar to fishing nets, except they were made of thick red yarn, and seemingly woven to fit the girls precisely. Black chains with square links held these amazing garments at the waist. At the neck, a black strap decorated with metal secured the nets. Black bracelets held the nets at the knees and wrists. Their hair was shorter, after the fashion of slaves. It was pulled back and twisted into tight knots in the back, framing the broad low foreheads in the front and emphasizing the menacing fire in their dark eyes.

The priestesses belonged to different nationalities, but looked similar to each other, not only in hair color, but also in the regularity of their features, the perfection of their strong bodies and their height, which was no taller than an average Helenian woman.

The women on the left had dark bronze skin and black hair, and were dressed in thicker nets of black yarn with belts, bracelets and neck straps of red bronze. Their penetrating, luminous eyes shone with savage light. Gold dagger hilts could be seen in the heavy knots of their long hair. The priestesses examined the famous hetaera curiously. Thais smiled at them, but didn’t receive a hint of response in the dark gazes of the servants of Astarte-Rhea-Kibela.

The red priestesses stood with their hands held at shoulder level, their palms turned forward. The black ones rested their palms on their curvy hips with their fingers spread out.

The rightmost red priestess carefully handed a small gold vial to the high priestess. She dipped her pinky into it and rubbed some red oil with spicy fresh scent over Thais’ eyebrows. The Athenian’s head spun a little after that. She vaguely recalled a story she had heard somewhere about Ashtoreth’s red oil. It was said one drachma of the oil was worth a fortune.

A black priestess on the left held forth a chalcedony cup. Only now did Thais notice that both the black and the red priestesses’ nails were covered with sharpened bits of electron, sparkling like little mirrors. The high priestess took a little bit of dark ointment from the cup and drew a cross between Thais’ breasts, then underlined the breasts and circled the nipples. The skin became bluish. Thais became worried about whether the stains would last.

Still silent, the high priestess unclasped the necklace with golden stars, examined it and smiled for the first time. She took off an incredibly beautiful necklace made of sky blue berylliums, encased in pale gold. Thais made a gesture of protest, but the priestess paid her no attention as she put the beryllium necklace around the Athenian’s neck. She put her arms around the hetaera’s slender torso and put the star necklace around her waist.

One more sweep of delicate fingers, and a blue arrow was drawn over Thais’ belly. The priestess stepped back and clapped her hands. She was Immediately handed a wide cup with a drink of some sort. She tasted it, let Thais have some, then the cup was passed among all of the red and black priestesses. There were eighteen priestesses, nine on each side. Thais felt awkward under the intense eyes surrounding her. They lacked judgment or approval, sympathy or animosity.

“Something remarkable has happened,” the high priestess suddenly said in Helenian, with a clear Aeolian accent. “Our guest wears the ancient sign of feminine mystery and the power of letter mu,” she said, pointing at the star necklace she had moved to hetaera’s waist. “For that reason I initiate her at the highest level. Take her to the apartments already prepared for her in advance.”

With these words the priestess kissed Thais with her hot, dry, almost feverish lips and repeated the same instructions in a language unknown to the Athenian.

Two priestesses, one black and one red, from the outer ends of their rows, approached Thais, bowed respectfully, pinned up her chiton and carefully took her arms. Thais laughed, pulled her arms out of their grasps and walked between the two women, remembering to bow to the statue of Rhea on her way out.

A long hallway cut through the thick walls sloped gently down. It reminded the hetaera of the Egyptian temples. For a moment, grief for her past, still so alive in her memory, cut through her heart.

At the end of the hallway the faint light of an oil lamp lit a massive copper grate which blocked the passageway. The black priestess made a hissing whistle. A chain clinked and a woman appeared near the grate. She looked like a black priestess, but without the net, belt or bracelets, and with her hair in disarray. Covering her face, she opened the grate and jumped back toward the wall. Thais noticed that the woman was shackled to the wall with a light chain.

“Is she a slave?” the hetaera asked, forgetting that her companions might not know the language of Helenians. “She looks like …” Thais pointed at the black priestess.

The black one smiled slightly, but it was the red one who responded, picking out the words of Coyne with difficulty. “She is a priestess, punished.”

A heavy oak door blocked the exit from the corridor. The red priestess knocked three times and the door opened, blinding them with daylight. It was opened by Za-Asht, who was nude and had her hair down.

“Forgive me, Mistress, I had no time to dress. They brought me in here through the lower temple and took my clothes.”

“What for?”

“They examined me as if I were at a slave market.”

As if to confirm her words, the red priestess walked over to the Finikian and felt her shoulders and arms. Thais pushed the woman indignantly, gesturing for her to leave.

All of the hetaera’s possessions had already been laid out on the carpets in the second room, which opened onto a terrace. A staircase descended toward the road under the tall pines. Thais’ dwelling was located on the outside of the temple walls, while the passageway with the grate apparently pierced the entire thickness.

Thais breathed in the dry air, saturated with scents of pine resin and wormwood. She felt sick. This never happened to her. She was dizzy, and her breasts and belly, where they had been anointed with the blue stuff, were burning. She could still taste the tart temple potion in her mouth. Shivers ran down her spine.

Thais returned to her rooms. Vaguely, as if in a dream, she noticed Za-Asht’s strangely luminous eyes and wanted to ask whether she had been given anything to drink at the temple, but before she could say anything she was suddenly engulfed by a strange kind of languor. She fell on the bed among strangely-scented pillows and throws, falling asleep instantly. She woke up several times in alarm, then collapsed into sleep again.

A series of visions and uncommonly strong sensations, more vivid than life itself, was torturous. The bewitching ointment or the drink or both of them combined brought forth sexual desire of unbearable power. A frightened Thais sensed her own body as something separate, filled with wild cravings, trapping her mind and willpower, and focusing all the powers and senses of the body in the essence of its feminine nature.

The deepest, hot darkness with nary a glint of light or breath of coolness, wrapped itself around Thais. She tossed, moaned and twisted in the monstrous nightmares she couldn’t have imagined in her most feverish moments. The terror before the abyss that opened within her made her wake several times.

Thais didn’t know of an antidote to the poison given to her by the priestess. The drug possessed her, and fire raged in her body, burning from the ointment. Thais descended lower and lower in her desires, incarnating into the primitive mythical heroines: Leda, Philarrenippa, Pasiphae … The hetaera was exhausted under the burden of the dark forces of Anteros. Had it not been for her spiritual training, acquired from the Orphics, she would have rushed to the temple of Rhea to beg the goddess for release. During yet another period of wakefulness she stumbled to her medicine chest, rocking and shaking, and managed to crush a few bits of dried poppy flowers in some wine. Having downed an entire goblet, Thais soon fell into a foggy sleep with no memory and no visions.

Wind, pure and cold, flew in from the eastern plains, burst through the open door and windows and woke up a chilled Athenian. Thais barely contained a moan, feeling sore in every muscle as if she’d galloped for twenty parsangs without a stop. Her bitten lips were swollen, she didn’t even dare touch her breasts. Thais found Za-Asht in the next room on a woven reed mat, spread out as if in a fever. When she woke the girl, Za-Asht couldn’t seem to come to her senses, glancing at her mistress with either fear or rage. Thais herself was growing coldly furious. She mentally sent to the ravens^[27] the temple rituals she was so interested in, and the cunning priestesses of Astarte, who had purposely given her the horrible potion in order to force the servant of Aphrodite to feel the power of the Great Mother.

She gave the Finikian something to drink and rubbed her temples with fresh scented oil. Finally Za-Asht, moving slowly, brought some warm water, bathed and rubbed Thais down, finally waking completely. A servant from the temple brought some food, fortunately of the simplest kind: honey, milk, bread, dry grapes, none of which could be mixed with poison.

Thais felt stronger after she ate, so she went down to the grove to visit her soldiers, who were settled outside of the temple boundaries. She sped up, feeling her energy returning, and finally ran, rejoicing with her entire body.

Around the bend in the road the hetaera almost ended up under the hooves of the horses. Five riders rode toward her, leading two saddled horses. One of them reared up with a loud whinny. Thais recognized Salmaakh only after the mare greeted her mistress, and was astonished at her own absentmindedness. She blamed it on the poison. Boanergos, who was running next to Salmaakh, neighed quietly, as if embarrassed to express his feelings. Salmaakh pressed her ears back and tried to kick him to prevent his approaching the mistress. The pacer let the mare go forward, then suddenly bit her on the croup. Salmaakh dashed forward and missed her, while Boanergos stopped right in front of the Athenian.

Without further ado, Thais hopped onto his back and yanked the reins away from the stableman. Boanergos touched off at such a pace that he quickly left everyone else behind. Thais rode for nearly a skhen, going deeper into the grove, until she finally stopped the chestnut pacer. She squeezed him firmly with her knees and patted his broad neck.

The captain, lokhagos, had caught up with her. He noted sternly that she oughtn’t walk or ride alone here in the strange country, though he admitted he admired her courage.

“Why?” Thais exclaimed.

“Because you’ll be kidnapped or killed. Then all I’ll have left is to ask my comrades to kill me and spare me the disgrace, because I was unable to take care of you. I don’t even want to think of the punishment Ptolemy might come up with, or even our divine Alexander himself.”

The old soldier’s sincerity shamed the hetaera. She swore by the waters of Styx that she would be obedient. She would not stray far from the temple, even on horseback.

“In that case, one soldier is sufficient,” the captain decided. “He can cover your retreat, while you go get help, if needed.” Thais noticed that the young hestiotus, Lykophon, was as handsome as Ganymede. He swapped his horse for Salmaakh, who was compliant with her new rider, then rushed to the Macedonian’s house to get his weapons. His four remaining comrades waited for his return, wished their beautiful charge the best of health, then rode to reunite with the other seven Macedonians who were busy exercising the horses to the south from the temple.

Thais knew her companion from their trip to Hierapolis and frequently caught his admiring gazes. Smiling at him, she directed the pacer to the east, where the pine trees grew thinner and faded into the sand hills covered with bunches of tamarix. A few stadiums ahead, the waves of sand dunes surrounded a large grove of trees that looked like poplars. Thais suddenly wanted to peek into this cozy grove, which seemed as if it hid something forbidden.

The horses continued on, their hooves sinking in the sand, until they came to a particularly tall hill. As soon as the riders reached its top, both exclaimed in delight. A small, crystal clear lake glittered at the foot of the hill like a blue sickle. Where the lake was deeper and shadows of tall trees fell over the water, the eye was charmed by a deep turquoise color. The eastern wind did not reach here, and the green semicircle of reeds hugging the blue water barely moved their slender tips.

The visitors saw no sign of any other people, and Thais decided she simply had to bathe in this beautiful place. The plants indicated this to be fresh water, and springs bubbled up near the northeast tip of the “sickle”.

“Go on down to feed the horses, but not too far,” Thais said to Lykophon. “I’ll go for a swim then join you.”

The young Thessalian shook his head. “Hippophont, the horse-killing herb, grows there. I should warn my friends not to let the horses graze there.”

Pale green, thin-stemmed grass fluttered beyond the hills on the flat plane, interspersed by strips of wormwood and tall bunches of needle grass. The growth stretched to the edge of a distant pine forest, which marked the boundary of the oak-covered hills.

“Then watch the horses and don’t let them go down to the lake. We don’t know what sort of water is there.”

“What about you, Mistress Thais?”

The Athenian lifted her hand to calm him. “I’ll test it before diving. Perhaps you should tie the horses to a tree.”

Thais slipped down the steep, sandy slope, barely managing to stop at water’s edge. She threw off her sandals, tested the water, then splashed some onto her face. It was clear, cool spring water. It had been a long time since Thais had seen such water, so completely different from the cloudy Nile and the Euphrates. Like any true Helenian, she highly valued good water.

With a joyous squeal, the hetaera dove into the glassy turquoise depths and crossed the narrow lake. She jumped out to a white sand bank, splashed around some more, then swam to the northern tip. Here the ascending current of the warm underground springs tossed her up, then dragged her down, as if rolling her in huge, soft waves. Thais wasn’t afraid. She swam up, rolling onto her back and sweeping wide circles with her arms. Thais played in their bubbling domes until she grew tired and returned to the deeper waters, where she floated on her back. She swam, dove and splashed, washing away all the terrors of Anteros, until the impatient whinny of the pacer reminded her of the time.

Refreshed and happy, Thais climbed the hill to where the horses and her companion waited under a tree. By his flushed cheeks and obvious signs of embarrassment, Thais realized that the young warrior was admiring her.

“You were enjoying the water as one would fine wine, Mistress,” Lykophon said. “I found I wanted some, too.”

“Go, and you’ll see how much better it is than any wine. I’ll watch the horses.” The hetaera scratched Boanergos’ neck and patted Salmaakh’s face, while the latter threw jealous glances at the former.

The Thessalian parted with his weapons and his military belt only when he reached the bank. Thais gazed approvingly at his wonderfully built, muscular form, which complimented the beauty of his face.

“Are you married?” she asked Lykophon after the soldier had enough of swimming and climbed back to the top of the hill.

“Not yet. Our people don’t marry before twenty-five. I couldn’t marry before the war, and now I don’t know when I’ll make it home, if I make it at all …”

“Everything is in the hands of gods, but I think they ought to be merciful to you. You will make good children.”

The soldier blushed like a young boy.

“But I don’t wish to invite trouble,” the Athenian said, then caught herself. “Gods can be jealous. Shall we go?”

Salmaakh and Boanergos dashed forward at full speed as soon as they made it out of the sands. In order to exercise the horses, Thais turned to the north when they reached the road and, having ridden almost a parsang, rode up to the ridge above the valley of one of the Euphrates’ tributaries. Gnarled, sprawling oak trees surrounded a moss-covered portico with four pillars, hiding a statue of Ishtar Kutitum, which was made of smoothly polished gray stone. Greenish gold chrysolite eyes glittered in the shadow. The Scythian face had slightly high cheekbones framed by shoulder length, cropped hair, and bore a disdainful expression.

In the back of the portico, behind the statue, a narrow passageway led into a small cell. It was well lit through a wide opening in the roof. A tile of fired clay was set into a niche in the eastern wall, above the black wood altar. The tile was covered with pronounced sculptural images. The nude goddess stood on legs which ended in tightly joined owl’s feet, and her hands were held at the level of her face, with palms turned outward. A rope knot was carved in detail, held in her left hand. Owl’s wings, pictured behind her back, hung to the middle of her hips, and feathers were also visible above her ankles.

The goddess stood on the back of a lion, with another lion lying behind, its head turned to the side. The lower corners of the tile were taken up by the images of huge owls, much larger than the lions. Scale-like protrusions at the lower edge symbolized a mountain range. The entire sculptural group was painted with bright colors, including red for the goddess’ body and black for the lions’ manes. Black and red feathers were in both her wings and those of the owls.

Something about the enthasis of the goddess’ perfectly straight posture, her menacing companions with their terrible paws and wings, frightened Thais. But her fear vanished before the delight of the statue’s physical beauty. The goddess’ strong. shapely legs and pert, semi-spherical breasts were similar to those Thais had seen on the Cretan and late Helenian sculptures. Her narrow torso and curvy hips, all combined to create a harmonious image of sensuous power. The goddess was the seductive Ashtoreth-Ishtar, aggressive in her feminine power over beasts and people, more terrible than Rhea-Kibela, more mysterious than Artemis and Aphrodite.

Thais bowed before the ancient sculpture and promised the goddess some flowers.

Later, the Athenian asked the high priestess about the strange winged goddess. She discovered that separate sanctuaries of Ishtar Kutitum, who was worshiped along with the queen of the night, goddess Lilith, have existed near the temples of the Mother of Gods since the times of the ancient kings of Mesopotamia, approximately fifteen hundred years ago. She was still considered to be one of the faces of the Great Mother: Lilith was a goddess of submission to male love, and the rope in her hand was a symbol of that duty. Thais remembered the story by Herodotus about the Babylonian tradition of service to the Great Goddess, when the most prominent women of the city went to the temples of Ashtoreth to offer themselves to strangers. As a sign of their service, they tied a thick rope around their heads. Ishtar Kutitum must have brought forth the Syrian and Finikian goddess Cotytto, who was worshiped as the mistress of uncontrolled passion.

Lilith did not come across as being particularly benevolent on this first meeting. Trying to push away a bad premonition, Thais sent the pacer down to the pine grove at a swift trot. Reveling in the speed, the warm wind and the freshness of her own clean body, Thais rode up to the temple of the Great Mother, handed the reins to Lykophon and thanked him. From the moment they had left the lake of the Waxing Moon, as Thais nicknamed it, the Thessalian kept mum as if he had given a vow of silence.

Za-Asht said that a messenger had come from the high priestess and left a bronze disk. Whenever the mistress was rested enough, she should strike it and the messenger would come to take her back to the temple. The hetaera winced. She really did not want to go back into the sanctuary of the powerful goddess. She sensed there were more trials ahead.

The light, beautiful and mischievous joy of gods and people serving Aphrodite was very different from the unflinching Mother of Gods. It was not entirely in contradiction with her, but not in agreement either. One was the depth of fruit-bearing Earth, the other like the flight of the wind in the clouds.

As usual, Thais had dinner with her slave girl. But the Finikian, who was generally fond of food, hardly touched her meal. Quiet and keeping her eyes down, she settled the hetaera down on the bed and started massaging her legs, which were tired from the ride.

Thais watched her slave girl quietly, then finally asked, “What is the matter with you, Za-Asht? You haven’t been yourself since last night. Did you have too much of the poison?”

Suddenly the Finikian threw herself onto the floor and whispered passionately, clutching her mistress’ knees. “Let me stay at the temple, Mistress. They say I may become a priestess after a year of trials and serve Ashtoreth-Kibela like they do.”

Thais sat up in surprise. “Did the priestesses tell you of the trials? They could be such that you won’t even think about the temple. It is possible that you would begin your service to Kibela from the lowest stage and offer yourself to every stranger that comes here.”

“I don’t care. I am not afraid of anything. If only I could stay here and serve her, whose power I experienced last night. Her power enslaved me.”

The Athenian studied her slave girl carefully, remembering how sarcastic, mean and skeptical she usually was. Now she had been consumed in the fire of faith, as if she were fourteen. Perhaps Moira, the goddess of fate, had brought the Finikian here to serve at the temple. If she actually discovered herself here, it was the same as falling in love. In cases such as this, Thais never objected. If she lost her beautiful servants she would simply finding new ones just as eager to serve her.

But Thais hesitated. She was always careful when deciding the fates of her people. Besides, Za-Asht was all she had at the moment. Would she be able to find her replacement in this secluded temple town? Thais shook her head, not refusing, but not agreeing either.

“Wait. First, I shall find out what they will do with you, then I will find a replacement.”

The girl’s moist eyes lit up. “But you do not refuse. Oh, thank you, Mistress.”

“Don’t celebrate just yet. Nothing has been decided,” Thais warned the Finikian, who had started massaging her with twice the energy. “Tell me, Za-Asht,” Thais asked thoughtfully, rolling over onto her back. “Do you not see any other path in life, save for the service to the Mother of Gods? You are intelligent and attractive, and while fate made you a slave, that can change. Slavery at the temple is worse, for Kibela’s power is limitless.”

“You don’t know, Mistress, how jealous Finikians, Syrians and other local people are. We women do not like to see beauty in other women. The Great Mother makes everyone equal with her mighty hand.”

“I think different people serve her in different ways,” Thais objected. “Do I understand you correctly? Do you not love me at all?”

“Yes, Mistress, but you are too beautiful. I have looked and could not find a flaw in you. You are as agile as our thirteen year old dancer girls, strong as a mare, your breasts are as firm as those of the Nubian women at the dawn of their youth …”

“It is a list worthy of a lover,” the hetaera said, then laughed. “But what is it that offends you so?”

“You are better than everyone around, including me.”

“And because of that you are ready to be a slave to the temple?”

“Yes, yes.”

Thais shrugged her shoulders, still not understanding her slave girl. After a long pause, Za-Asht said, “The blue stones are so beautiful against your copper skin, Mistress. They make your gray eyes look even deeper. Whoever gave you this necklace understands the beauty of things.”

“It was the high priestess of Kibela-Rhea, Ashtoreth, or Ishtar, the many-named Mother of Gods.”

“Are you going to wear your old necklace like a belt?”

“Yes, like Hippolita, the queen of the Amazons.” Thais inspected the golden chain and decided to take off all the stars, except one. Her first victories and successes had long since vanished into the past, and even the star that had been given to her by Ptolemy didn’t mean anything. Only the last one with the letter mu. The priestess had said it had been a female symbol since the ancient times.

“Can you find me a jeweler to take off the stars, except the last one?” the hetaera asked.

“Let me. I am the daughter of a jeweler and know a thing or two.”

The Finikian took the belt, went into the corner of the room and pulled out tiny tweezers from her bag. She worked her magic with them, then returned. She triumphantly fastened the chain with one star around Thais’ waist.

“Now the balance is in the middle,” she said, fixing the former necklace. She handed Thais the remaining stars.

“Put them in the jewelry box,” Thais said. “You are quite a skilled woman. How can I bear to part with you?”

The Finikian’s face fell, but then she realized Thais was teasing her. With a smile, she ran to get the box.

“Would you like to come with me tomorrow?” the hetaera asked, snuggling lazily into the cushions. “There is a little blue lake nearby in the shape of the moon. I bathed there today and enjoyed it more than I have enjoyed anything in a long time.”

“What did you do, Mistress?” Za-Asht demanded. Her expression was filled with terror.

Thais lifted herself on one elbow and frowned. “Why are you yelling as if you are at the Syrian market? What is the matter?”

“I was told there is a sacred lake of Ishtar to the east of the temple, shaped like the moon. Cleansing of Ashtoreth takes place there in secret on the days of celebration. I think Helenians call her Artemis. Anyone who gets a glimpse of the sacred ritual is killed on the spot by the priests with long spears. I am afraid for you, Mistress. Ashtoreth is vengeful, and her servants are just as bad.”

Thais pondered this. “I think I’ll keep quiet about this. And I won’t take you with me, although I will go swimming there again.”

“Oh, Mistress …” Za-Asht began, then she dashed to the terrace door, hearing the clanking of armor. Thais pulled a silvery throw over herself. Lykophon entered shortly.

“Forgive me, Mistress, for disturbing you at a bad time,” he said with a bow.

“Is something wrong? With Boanergos or Salmaakh?”

“No, the horses are alive and well. It is only that an army messenger arrived and brought you a letter from Ptolemy the strategist. Here,” the soldier said. He handed her a packet of thin leather tied with a rope. A deltorion was attached, a small slate bearing Thais’ name and instructions to deliver immediately.

Thais placed the packet on a pillow and asked the soldier to sit down and have some wine. The Finikian, who had long since been enchanted by Lykophon’s beauty, instantly diluted and served some pink wine, wiggling her hips and throwing brief and pointed glances at the Thessalian. The young warrior straightened and drank a goblet, and Za-Asht poured him another. Lykophon waved his hand to decline, but accidentally as he did so he knocked the bronze disk from the edge of the table to the floor.

The bronze disk rung loudly as it struck the floor tiles. Soon someone knocked on the door to the corridor leading into the temple. A priestess in black net entered the room. Raising her hand to her forehead, she straightened up and gazed at everyone present with indifference.

“Ah! What have you done?” Thais asked the soldier, frowning. “Now I have to go.”

Lykophon didn’t notice her reproach. He slowly rose from his seat, gazing at the black priestess as if Aphrodite herself had magically appeared before him, taking shape from sea foam and starlight.

Thais was disturbed by the feeling of alien power emitted by the incredible woman. It felt like something not altogether human. It was as if she were an oread, a mountain nymph, or a mythical changeling, a titanide. The priestess was not indifferent toward the Thessalian’s admiration. She tipped her head slightly, and it was as if lightning flew out of her enormous eyes, finishing the victim. The young man blushed and lowered his eyes, pausing to look with awe upon her muscular legs and her amazingly sculpted feet. The priestess, glittering with her mirror nails, moved a strand of black hair to reveal her glum and beautiful face, as if before a battle.

Thais, who was normally far from jealous, couldn’t stand seeing one of her soldiers being bent in half like a thin branch.

“Za-Asht, won’t you offer Lykophon more wine? Perhaps he would like something to eat? Come,” she said dismissively to the black priestess, who smiled briefly and condescendingly, but not before sending the young soldier one more long, promising glance.

Thais wanted to walk ahead, but the priestess slipped silently forward and walked along the passage without a backward glance. She paused to wait for the hetaera near the grate, blocking the corridor. She summoned the chained gatekeeper, who huddled on a pile of dry grass in a barely lit niche. The guide did not go straight into the sanctuary, but turned right into the side passage, which was brightly lit and ended in a staircase leading up. They entered the upper floor, went up another staircase, and found themselves on a verandah. Behind them was the topmost structure. It had no windows and only one single bronze door of tremendous weight and strength. Cone-shaped protrusions covered the walls and the top floor. Thais guessed that it was a treasury and thought it was rather careless to keep valuables at such a height. What if there were a fire?

“What are you looking at, my daughter?” the high priestess asked.

Thais turned and saw her sitting in an ivory armchair next to a man, probably the high priest. The Athenian walked up to her, sat down on a bench decorated with ivory, and shared her concern.

“I know that you are smart, servant of Aphrodite. But those who built this sacred place weren’t fools either. The entire temple consists only of bricks, frescoes, and tiles of granite and marble that cover the ceilings. The builders made it so that even if fire were set intentionally, nothing would be lost save a few curtains and armchairs.

Thais was interested. She told them she had seen such methods of longterm construction in Egypt. The high priestess asked her several questions, then grew silent. Thais enjoyed the artful setting of the temple. In Hellas, the temples were built atop natural high points, like the tops of hills, along the edges of tall river banks, or on the crests of mountain ranges. When someone physically ascended to the temple, he also ascended spiritually, preparing to commune with the gods.

This temple, the priestess explained, was constructed according to the canons of the most ancient sanctuaries of Mesopotamia. It stood in the center of a round valley, walled by mountains on the south, west and north, leaving the east side open to the Euphrates. The treasury structure on the top and the pedestal on the bottom made the total height of the temple quite impressive. People who approached it from the valley could see the sanctuary from far away. As they came nearer, the building appeared to hang or loom over people, oppressing them so that they felt small before the mighty goddess and her servants.

Thais particularly enjoyed the view of the surrounding lands, perhaps seeing for the first time how the influence of height affected a person’s consciousness. The reality of being separate from everything that was taking place down below, the feeling of one’s own inaccessibility, the ability to cover great areas with one glance, all were different from just being in the mountains. A mountain climber conquering great heights was still a part of the surrounding nature. But this artificial structure protruded arrogantly in the middle of the valley, separating itself from the natural soil and bestowing feelings of superiority, purity and independence upon those who lived at the temple. Far in the east, beyond the dusty fog, lay the valley of the Euphrates. Its tributary flowed through the dark canyon in the north. The range above was home to a small temple to the Ishtar of Persia.

The silence was broken when the high priest said something, speaking in a language with which the hetaera was not familiar. In response, the priestess stretched out in her roomy armchair and asked whether their guest would like to continue familiarizing herself with the mysteries of the Mother of Gods. Thais replied that she had felt poisoned all night, and if “familiarizing” continued down the same path, she wouldn’t last much longer. The priestess chuckled both sternly and approvingly, then confessed that Thais’ dose of the ointment had been too strong. They hadn’t realized the Helenian was unaccustomed to such things. She promised they would be more careful in the future.

To delay giving an answer, because to directly refuse the hosts of this sacred place was inconceivable, Thais asked about the meaning of the priestesses’ garments and why they they were separated into two groups.

“There is no mystery in that,” the high priestess said. “The red priestesses serve during the day and represent the daytime powers of Kibela, while the black ones represent nighttime. In Libya and Hellas they are called Lamias, Hecate’s companions. It is thought that he who earns the love of such a priestess partakes of the powers of Kibela-Rhea, or Gaea, as you call her. He shall have good health, luck and fine offspring for the rest of his life. The skill of the priestesses, especially of the black ones, is above anything a mortal woman can give, because it is inspired by the Great Mother and strengthened by her might.

“Can any man attain that?”

The eyes of the high priestess flashed like those of a wild beast. Thais shivered, but held her gaze. “Any man,” the priestess said. “As long as he is not ugly and is of good health and sufficient strength.”

“How do you determine that?”

“That is what the net garment is for. It is strong, and in order to take the priestess, he must rip the net with his bare hands. Only a strong man possessed by uncontrollable passion is capable of that.”

“And what if he is not capable and can’t rip it?”

The high priestess leaned toward Thais and said quietly, “Then Kibela’s wrath falls upon him. If he chose a red priestess of the day, she calls out and the ill-fated man is caught, castrated on the altar before Kibela, and made a temple slave if he survives. The black priestess, Lamia, calls no one. Instead, she holds the unfortunate man to her, then bestows upon him Kibela’s kiss, stabbing him with a dagger here,” the priestess said, placing her finger in the hollow behind her left collarbone.

“What is the sense the Great Mother places in such violence?”

“Only the strongest, most beautiful and most self-assured heroes come here to become the lovers of Day and Night. Children are born and the girls become high priestesses. The boys become guards and keepers of the sanctuary. Have you noticed how strong they are? How long their spears are, and how heavy their swords?”

“I have also noticed that your high priestesses are beautiful, not one more so than the other. But is the intention only to get offspring for the temple? One could find children that are just as beautiful among thousands of others,” Thais objected.

“You are much too intelligent for someone not initiated,” the priestess said with a slightly mocking smile. Like Ishtar, Thais thought. “Of course that is not the true meaning. Humankind weakens over time, and the passionate madness of Kibela-Ashtoreth-Atargatis no longer possesses people like it used to. Kibela wants the fire of sensual rage, just as Aphrodite wants love.”

Thais thought of Urania and the priestess continued. “The service of our women immerses people into nature, uniting them with all living things reared by Rhea-Kibela. That is a man’s happiness and destiny. Gods do not offer a better path. Men find themselves and do that for which they are destined. If they turn out to be unsuitable, the Great Mother calls them back to her, to bring them forth again for a better life. And the men go to her never knowing the bitterness of old age, in the midst of fiery youth.”

“Why are you so certain that people are growing weaker?” Thais asked, hiding a smile.

The priestess suddenly laughed. “Look once again at the image of Kibela-Rhea captured in the ancient statue, and you’ll realize that only insatiable desire can seek such an ideal, and only incredible strength and endurance can hope to match hers.”

Thais remembered the incomparable might captured within the boundaries of that harmonious body and emitted by Rhea’s statue, and couldn’t find any objections.

“Where do the black ones and the red ones live?” she asked, changing the subject.

“They do not leave the temple while they are young. They frequently marry important people or travel, taking high level positions in other, less important temples of Rhea. On certain days of the month they go bathing in a sacred lake, and woe be upon those men who violate their seclusion.”

“What if it is a woman?” the hetaera asked, realizing which lake the woman meant.

“Nothing would happen to her. Only if the unfortunate woman violates the purity of the sacred water would she be killed.”

“Do the priestesses live there?” Thais asked quickly, pointing at the southern wing of the temple. Its flat roof was level with the floor of the main section.

“You are correct. Would you like to visit them?”

“Oh no. And what is in the northern wing?”

The priestess’ eyes flashed again. “I want to take you there at sunset. But I cannot do that unless you bring a sacred vow upon the alter of Kibela-Rhea: the vow of silence. We keep the ancient mysteries of the Great Mother secret. The rituals of the ancient times, brought here thousands of years ago from Licaonia and Phrygia, give power to the servants of Ashtoreth.”

Thais swore to keep the secret in the sanctuary, which was completely deserted at this hour. The mistress of the temple poured her a drink and Thais stepped back.

“Don’t be afraid, it’s not yesterday’s potion. But you will require courage when you see the mystery. Remember that the Great Mother is a mistress of animals,” she said in a strained whisper which filled the hetaera with vague fear. She downed the entire goblet at once.

“Excellent. Now accept this gift.” The priestess handed Thais two vials made of milky white glass, their deep pink stoppers made of precious Indian tourmaline. A moon sickle was carved on one of the vials and an eight point star on another.

“How can I? I cannot accept such expensive things,” Thais exclaimed.

“It’s nothing,” the high priestess replied. “The temple of the Great Mother is wealthy and can make even more precious gifts to beautiful women, for they are jewels created by Rhea for her own purposes. But you didn’t ask what is in the vials. This one,” she said, pointing at the vial with the star, “was in the potion you were given yesterday. If you ever wish to experience all of Ashtoreth-Kibela’s power in the guise of Anaitis, put six drops into a cup of water and split between the two of you. This one with the moon will free you from the effect of the first one. If you drink it alone, it will make you as cold as the distant Moon. No more than three drops, or you might remain cold forever,” the priestess said, then laughed, a sound both grating and menacing.

She led the hetaera to a niche in a side wall and pulled out a shiny black disk which Thais thought looked as if it were made of glass. In it she saw her own reflection, as clearly as in a regular mirror of silver covered bronze.

“This mirror is not made of glass but of stone,” the woman informed her. “It was made when people knew only stone. Metal ores served them as permanent paints, for even then they already painted on walls. Women gazed into this mirror many thousands of years ago, before Egypt and Crete. Take this as a gift as well.”

“You are giving me another priceless object. Why?” Thais asked.

“I am giving it to you along with the vials containing poison. Beauty and death are always together, since the dawn of men.”

“Death for whom?”

“For the one who is beautiful, or for the one who takes it, or for both.”

“Is there no other way?”

“No. Such is the way of the Mother of Gods, and it is not up to us to discuss it,” the mistress of the temple said sternly. Her tone almost threatened.

“I thank you. Your gift is truly beyond all treasures.”

“Are you not afraid?”

“Of what?”

“Of the mysteries of the Great Mother.” She narrowed her eyes while Thais shook her head. “No? Then come.”

In the north portion of the sanctuary a thick column protruded from the middle of a dark opening in the floor. A spiral stone staircase circled the column, leading down. The poorly lit passage led into a temple, decorated in a way Thais had never seen before. Broad stone benches on each side of the passage were set with real horns of huge bulls, or aurochs, curved with closely set, vertical tips. The low, square space of the sanctuary, with its coarse half-pillars of red terracotta, were decorated with beautifully-made heads of bulls constructed of stone or clay but with real horns. The bull’s horns on the western wall stuck out like those of the aurochs on the northern wall: bent down. The ones on the eastern wall were spread out broadly in wavy, horizontal blades after the fashion of the ancient bulls of Mesopotamia.

This ancient sanctuary was strange, sinister, even frightening. Enormous horns were everywhere, including on the short, square pillars and long benches, making it difficult to move around the temple. Silhouette frescoes of red ocher outlined figures of the bulls on the walls closest to the entrance.

Between the bulls’ heads were women’s breasts made of blood red clay, their nipples decorated with beaks of black griffons and snarling ferret skulls. The first room was followed by a smaller hall, with a sharp-cornered niche in the northern wall. Three horned bulls’ heads were set vertically, one above the other, with the figure of the goddess soaring above them with her arms and legs spread. On each side of the niche, two black passages loomed black.

The horns bothered Thais for some reason she was having trouble placing. Suddenly a vivid recollection flashed in her memory. The same symbols, but made of stone and magnified to titanic dimensions, marked sacred places on Crete. In one of the frescoes the Athenian had seen the image of a sanctuary, similar to the one she was in now. Horns of different sizes had separated the fresco’s sacrificial room into different segments. But here the real horns of wild bulls seemed particularly sinister. Though they were relatively small, they made just as strong an impression as the gigantic stone horns rising from the soil of Crete. Thais could clearly see the deep connection between the ancient religion of the Great Mother in Asia and the faith of her ancestors on Crete.

The sculptures of bulls in the sanctuary were particularly terrifying. They did not look like the blunt-faced Cretan giants with their tall horns pointed up. The bulls of the ancient sanctuary were portrayed with long lowered heads, their huge horns pointed forward. They either converged over the forehead with their tips curved menacingly, or were spread wide and arched like knives. This was definitely a different breed, and the Athenian thought that the sacred Cretan dance with the bulls wouldn’t have been successful with these frightening creatures as they seemed hellbent on a fight.

The high priestess paused and listened. Deep, low, rhythmic sounds of gipatas, the strings on the very bottom of a sitar, could be heard in the distance, interwoven with female voices, moans and screams.

Thais’ heart beat faster, expecting something terrible. The priestess silently picked up a torch from a horn-decorated pedestal, lit it from the coals simmering on the sacrificial stone, and stepped into the left passage. After passing through another dark corridor which felt more like a dungeon, Thais found herself in a spacious building, level with the temple garden.

Thais would never tell anyone about the things she saw here, but she remembered every single moment. In Egypt she had been struck by the frescoes in the dungeons of the Dead, portraying Tiau or the Path of the Night Sun. That was the Egyptian version of hell, located on the other invisible side of the Moon. But those were only images. Here at the temple that was almost as ancient as the stone mirror, the ten thousand year old rituals of the Great Mother took place in reality, and were performed by real people.

Strengthened by Rhea’s potion, Thais managed to withstand the performance to the end. All four stages of the incredible ritual passed before her eyes, gradually clarifying their secret meaning. The roots of Earth-Gaea and all things living on it descended into the abyss of chaotic storms, sweeping over Tartar in the terrible darkness of Erebus. That was why the roots of the soul also rose from the darkness of primal feelings, swirling in the womb of Kibela. These feelings, the darkness and terrors had to be experienced in order to become free from their secret power. They had to be released before the eyes of the women who were simultaneously the victims and the participants of the great union with the roots of all nature in the image of Ananka, an unavoidable necessity.

Late at night, accompanied by a black priestess, Thais returned to her temporary home feeling astonished, tired and depressed. Za-Asht was awake, waiting for her mistress. The slave girl’s eyes were swollen from tears, and Thais noticed nail marks in her palms. Thais had no energy to ask, and fell into bed without a bath. As a result, Ptolemy’s letter remained unread.

Thais could not sleep. The Finikian also tossed and sighed until the hetaera called her over.

“Sit down and tell me what happened. Did Lykophon offend you?” Za-Asht nodded silently, and anger flashed in the dark depths of her eyes.

“I shall call him tomorrow and ask the lokhagos to punish the Thessalian.”

“No, no, Mistress. He didn’t do anything and I don’t want to see him anymore.”

“Really? What a strange young man. You are beautiful, and I saw the way he looked at you. Did you give him more wine?”

“He downed a goblet as if it were nasty desert water. He didn’t touch the food and said nothing, simply stared at the door after that Lamia, daughter of the dark. This went on forever until I lost my patience and kicked him out. And then he left without a thank you or a word, as if he were drunk with millet beer.”

“I had never expected this,” Thais exclaimed. “Did the Lamia truly strike him with Eros? Why? He had seen you dance balarita, how agile your body is and how slender your legs are.”

“You are kind to me, Mistress,” the Finikian replied, barely holding back tears. “But you are a woman and won’t understand the black Lamia’s power. I looked at her carefully. Everything in her is contrary to what is in me.”

“How so?”

“Everything that is narrow in me is wide in her: hips, ankles and eyes. Everything that is wide in me is thin in her: shoulders and waist,” the Finikian said, clearly upset. “She is built like you, Mistress, but heavier, more muscular. And it drives men mad, especially those like this boy.”

“So he rejected you and thinks about her?” Thais shrugged. “That is all right. We shall soon travel on and the Lamia will fade from Lykophon’s memory. Oh, I forgot. Do you still want to stay here? Do you?”

“Now more than ever, Mistress. We Finikians have a teaching of Senhuniathon. It says that desire is creation. And I want to create myself anew.”

“We too have desire: Pothos. That is also creation. Desperate desire either brings forth the necessary form or ends in anoya, or madness. We shall see when the time comes. Give me the letter.”

Ptolemy sent his greetings and asked her to remember him. He instructed Thais absolutely not to travel further until he sent a detachment of soldiers to get her, commanded by his friend. If the news were bad, Thais should not stay at the temple, but take her soldiers and make a dash to the Issus bay. That was only fifteen parsangs away to the west, over the mountains. Three ships would be waiting there. The captain would pick up Thais and wait another half a month. If Ptolemy and Alexander did not appear by then, they should sail back to Hellas.

Thais kissed the letter tenderly. She thought Ptolemy was more noble at heart than he wanted to show among the crass Macedonian army leaders. Ptolemy wrote about the march across the hot plain, how the sea of tall grass had already faded from the summer drought. He said they rode and rode, day after day, going further beyond the horizon.

Vague premonitions had bothered everyone, even Alexander. Ptolemy could see lanterns burning late into the night in Alexander’s tent. The king had consulted with his spies and read their reports. Gradually Alexander had directed the army to the left, further to the north. The guides had warned him about the greater heat yet to come. The grass would fade, and the small rivers and creeks which supplied the army with water would dry out.

Thirty-five thousand people were now following Alexander, but there in the limitless plains of Asia, the king felt for the first time that his army wasn’t all that big. Hot winds blew at them with the breath of the deadly deserts which sprawled beyond the plains. Dust swirled like demons, and hot air at the horizon seemed to lift the earth above the blue lakes of ghostly water.

Ptolemy went on to say that when they turned north, the grass became taller and thicker, and yellowish rivers turned gray. There was a full Lunar eclipse.

“How did I miss that?” Thais wondered, then continued reading.

Knowledgeable people said the army was now in the country governed by the Mistress of Beasts, including those of heaven, earth and subterranean. She was called Ashtoreth, Kibela or Rhea. Helenians called her Artemis or Hecate. If she appeared riding a lion, everyone would perish.

Alexander had addressed his soldiers in a speech, asking them not to be afraid. He knew their destiny, and led them to the end of war, as well as countless treasures.

Thais read between Ptolemy’s lines, realizing he was a born writer. She discovered that the Macedonians had encountered a new feeling: fear.

For the first time, the hetaera thought about how insanely brave was Alexander’s mission. What divine courage one must possess in order to walk away from the sea and plunge into the depths of a strange country where they would meet the countless troops of the King of Kings. If they were defeated, Thais realized, the Macedonian army would be wiped off the face of earth. The divine army leader, Ptolemy, and Leontiscus would all cease to exist. Nearchus alone might possibly manage to save his fleet and return to his native shores. Their countless enemies, both large and small, must be waiting for this with such wicked impatience, burning with justified revenge and the cowardly triumph of hyenas.

Her friends could not possibly rely on the mercy of others. Ptolemy was wise to leave behind two possibilities for saving Alexander and himself. The first was with Nearchus’ fleet, waiting near the delta of the Euphrates in case they met Darius in the south. Ptolemy wrote about the rumors that Darius had assembled all his troops, including countless horsemen ranging from the famous Persian Immortal guards to Bactrians and Sogdians.

It was strange, but despite glimpses of anxiety she read in Ptolemy’s letter, Thais was filled with the certainty of victory soon to come. She would wait for more news with even greater impatience.

The next day, instead of Lykophon, the lokhagos sent a pockmarked Macedonian with fresh scars on his shoulder and neck.

“I am here instead of the hestiotus,” the soldier said, smiling. He was clearly pleased at the prospect of a ride with a famous beauty of Athens, the city of legendary elegance and wisdom.

“Where is Lykophon?”

When he said nothing, Thais clapped her hands, summoning Za-Asht, then sent the soldier to get his horse. The Finikian hopped on Salmaakh, whom she had ridden many times during the trip from the Egyptian border, and her sad face lit up with childlike joy. The two women started racing each other, leaving their guard behind and pausing only after he shouted angrily.

Having arrived at the edge of the deserted plane, both women stopped, enchanted. The plain was blooming with incredibly bright flowers unseen in Hellas. Globes the size of apples painted in a divine sky blue color fluttered on tall bare stems. They were scattered everywhere, along with the tall plants blooming with round yellow, almost gold flower clusters and sparse narrow leaves. The gold and blue pattern spread out as far as the eye could see, glorious against the background of dusty green in the transparent morning air.

“It’s a miracle!” the Macedonian exclaimed, struck by the fairytale colors. They decided not to ride through, because it would be a shame to ruin all that beauty with the hooves of horses.

They turned right to go around, but were forced to stop again before the growth of even more incredible flowers. Coarse tipped plants, tall enough to reach the riders’ feet, grew around them, covered with large crimson flowers and shaped like five point stars. Their petals had wide bases and sharp tips.

Thais couldn’t stand it. She hopped off the pacer and picked an armful of purple flowers while the Finikian gathered gold and blue globes. The stems of the latter turned out to be much like regular chive with a sharp onion scent.

Thais rode back at full speed, ascending the northern range and heading toward the small temple of the mocking, alien Ishtar. Trying not to look at the goddess’ slanted green gold eyes, Thais spread the flowers on the altar, stood for a minute, then snuck into the sanctuary with the high relief tile of the menacing Lilith. There she pulled out a hairpin and stuck it into a finger on her left hand. She smudged blood onto the altar, then walked away, licking the scratch. On the way back, her good humor deserted her. She suddenly felt sad, the way the young Thessalian had the day before. Was it the magic of the Persian goddess?

Soon Thais discovered the reason for her pensive mood. For some reason, after visiting Ishtar, she had felt concern for the handsome warrior. What if the young man decided to ask for the love of the black priestess, not knowing anything about Kibela’s laws? Would they warn the neophyte about what he was up against? If they did not, it would be not only cruel, but disgusting as well. Without waiting for an invitation, Thais decided to go and ask the high priestess; however, getting to see her turned out to be a difficult matter.

After the evening meal, the hetaera opened the inner door of her apartment. It led into the long hallway, which ascended to the sanctuary. She reached the locked grate and knocked, summoning the chained guard. The fallen priestess peeked out of her niche, pressed her finger to her lips and shook her head. Thais smiled and turned back obediently, remembering the hungry glint in the eyes of the punished woman, her hollow cheeks and belly. Thais sent the Finikian with some food for the woman, and Za-Asht was gone a long time. The guard had taken awhile to accept the food, since she had to ensure she was being neither bribed nor betrayed. After that, the Finikian or Thais herself fed the woman twice a day, having discovered a good time when there was no risk of getting caught by the servants of the temple.

Several days passed and Thais heard nothing of her hosts. The people of the temple seemed to have forgotten about their guest. Thais figured the high priestess must have been disappointed, since she had failed to captivate the hetaera and attract her into the service to Kibela-Ashtoreth, and into the mysteries of the Mother of Gods. Darkness, cruelty and torture inspired nothing but unyielding resistance in Thais’ soul.

She went riding either with the old pockmarked soldier, or with the lokhagos himself. The soldier was, for some reason, nicknamed Onophorbos, or “shepherd of donkeys”, by his comrades. Despite great temptation, Thais dared to swim in the wonderful little lake of the Waxing Moon only once. It was not out of fear of being caught — Boanergos’ speed would have saved her from that — but because she did not wish to offend the servants of Rhea. Za-Asht always asked to accompany her mistress and grew quieter each day. Thais decided to let her slave go.

Days passed, but there was no news from the east. Alexander’s army appeared to be lost somewhere in the vast planes and labyrinths of the hills. Thais consoled herself by reasoning that there simply hadn’t been an opportunity to send a letter. Still, not even the rumors that had reached her before from beyond the Euphrates, had come. Thais stopped riding, didn’t go to the temple and hardly ate. At night she frequently lay awake, falling asleep only at dawn.

Such strong anxiety was completely unlike the strong, healthy Athenian. She blamed it on the sinister atmosphere of Kibela’s sanctuary. Had it not been for Ptolemy’s warning, Thais would have long since left this “safe haven”, especially considering that Rhea’s temple was not really a haven for anyone. One only needed to meet her servants to realize what would be the fate of their “noble guest” should Alexander’s army lose and perish. Her handful of soldiers would be killed in their sleep by the mighty guards, and Thais herself would be sent to the lower temple to earn money for the Mother of Gods. Should she resist — well, there were many places here requiring a chained guard. And that would be the better option. At worst … Thais shuddered as she remembered the mysteries of Anaitis.

As if in response to her thoughts, there was a weak, desperate knock at her door from the temple passage. Thais jumped up and listened. She called Za-Asht, then carefully approached the door and asked, “Who is it?”

“Mistress … open up … in the name of …” the voice broke off.

Thais and her slave girl recognized Lykophon. The hetaera grabbed a lantern, while the Finikian opened the door. The young warrior lay just beyond the threshold, covered in blood and too weak to lift his head. Thais dragged Lykophon into the room, and Za-Asht locked the door. On Thais’ orders she took the external entrance and ran after the Macedonians as fast as she could.

Lykophon opened his eyes and smiled weakly. His dying smile cut her deeply, bringing back the pain of Menedem’s death.

The familiar dagger of a night priestess stuck out of the soldier’s left shoulder, having been shoved in all the way to the hilt by a firm and merciless hand. Along with his clothes, the dagger went through a wide gold necklace, becoming stuck between the links.

Like any Helenian woman, Thais knew a thing or two about wounds, and this one felt wrong. Lykophon could not possibly have survived with such a wound, let alone crawled along the long passageway, even though it sloped down. Something was different. Despite the blood still seeping from under the dagger, Thais didn’t dare pull out the weapon until the arrival of the lokhagos. He was not only an experienced officer, but also a surgeon and the veterinarian of his detachment.

The soldiers didn’t make her wait long. An entire decade of soldiers burst in after the Finikian, all ten with their swords and spears at the ready. The soldiers lifted the Thessalian and transferred him onto the bed. The lokhagos shook his head glumly at the sight of the wound and started examining Lykophon’s shoulders. To Thais’ amazement, Lykophon moaned, though his eyes remained closed. The veteran suddenly smiled.

“What? It isn’t deadly?” Thais asked, gasping with shock.

The lokhagos grinned, and shrugged. “A handsome warrior is always Aphrodite’s favorite. See? The dagger struck here and it would have pierced his heart, had it gone straight. But Lykophon had dressed up and put on the heavy necklace. The dagger pushed through one of the links, making it go between his ribs and his left shoulder blade. But the boy has lost too much blood. Prepare as much wine as you can, mixed with warm water. Give me some clean linen.”

Without further ado, the lokhagos ordered two soldiers to hold Lykophon’s shoulders down securely. He wiped the blood from the handle of the dagger, then wrapped his right hand around it so he had a good grip. While the others held Lykophon in place, the lokhagos pressed his left hand against the shoulder and pulled the weapon out in one powerful motion. The young man screamed. Despite the men holding him down, he sat straight up, his eyes bulging. Then he collapsed again on the blood-soaked bed, losing consciousness again. The lokhagos soaked his fingers in vinegar, then used them to pull the edges of the wound together. He wiped the blood from around it and bandaged it tightly with strips of linen stola, tying his comrade’s arm to his torso.

The Thessalian lay quietly and indifferently, barely moving his dry, blackened lips. At the lokhagos’ instruction, Za-Asht gave Lykophon water mixed with wine, which he drank one cup after another. When he had finished repairing Lykophon, the captain of the soldiers straightened up, wiped sweat from his face and accepted a goblet of wine offered by Thais.

“Who did this to him?” one of the soldiers demanded, voicing the question everyone else was thinking.

Thais tried explaining the temple rules, then told them of Lykophon’s meeting with the black priestess and the young man apparently having insufficient strength. It was possible that the Thessalian had forgotten that he was only just recovering from a previous wound.

“Well, both sides are guilty, and nobody is guilty. A condition is a condition,” the lokhagos said. “If you take something on, then do it. If you can’t, then don’t try. He is lucky to be alive, the young fool. I am glad. Lykophon is a good soldier, but has a bit of a weakness toward women. And here I thought the boy was going after her,” he said, pointing at Za-Asht.

“No, no, no!” The Finikian jumped up, her eyes flashing.

He frowned at her. “Leave it be, wildcat. We all know you are into him, so be quiet,” the captain said.

Za-Asht wanted to respond but was interrupted by a sharp knock from the temple door.

“Here come the pursuers,” the lokhagos said. He was grinning for some reason. “Open the door, Pilemenos.”

The soldier nearest to the door obeyed. An entire group of black priestesses with lit torches burst into the room, led by the high priestess, who was identifiable by her golden tiara. She was followed by the weeping black priestess who had originally come to get Thais and ended up captivating Lykophon.

“See, Kera, how much blood? I did not pity him. I struck correctly. I know not what saved him.”

“You did strike correctly,” the Macedonian’s captain replied. “The gold necklace the young idiot put on for you is what saved him.”

“I see that,” the eldest agreed. “You are acquitted, Adrastea. We cannot finish him off,” she said, then nodded at the Macedonians, who had grabbed their swords. “Let the great priestess be the judge of that. But Eris must be put to death for her second crime. Or, if you wish, we can send her to perform rituals in the temple of Anachita.”

Only then did Thais remember the guard in the passage. She realize that had the guard not felt pity for the soldier, Lykophon would have bled to death near the locked grate and never made it to Thais’ door.

Back in the dusk of the passage, one of the priestesses held the guilty woman by the hair. She was free of her chain, but her hands were tied behind her back. The eldest went back into the passage after casting an evil smile at the blood-covered, ashen young man on the bed, and an indifferent glance at the other Macedonians.

“Wait, Kera!” Thais exclaimed, having memorized the menacing name of this still-young woman. She pointed at the tied-up guard. “Give her to me.”

“No. She is twice guilty and must not live.”

“I will pay a ransom for her! Set the price!”

“One cannot set a price for life and death,” the eldest priestess said flatly, then paused. “However, you may give one life for another,” she said.

“I do not understand.”

“Pity. It is simple. I shall give you Eris, and you shall give me your Finikian girl.”

“Impossible. You’ll kill her!”

“What for? She is not guilty of anything. I see it this way: if we are losing a priestess who fell too low to tolerate, we are acquiring another who will be suitable to begin with.”

“But if you kill her, you’d lose her, even if you get another to replace her,” Thais objected.

“Death and life are equal before the Great Mother.”

Thais looked back at her slave, hesitating. The girl stood as pale as a whitewashed wall, leaning forward and listening to their conversation.

“Look, Za-Asht, you wanted to serve at the temple. Here is your chance, and I am letting you go. I am not exchanging you and not giving you away. You must follow only your own desires.”

The Finikian dropped to her knees before Thais and kissed her hand. “Thank you, Mistress!”

Za-Asht straightened, tall and proud, then added, “I am going.”

“Take your things and clothes,” Thais reminded her gently.

“No need,” the eldest priestess said, and nudged the Finikian toward Adrastea.

Za-Asht held back a little, but the black priestess put an arm around her waist and led her into the dark passageway. The priestesses made way and the one who was holding the tied-up girl by the hair kicked her in the back. The guard flew into Thais’ room and fell facedown onto the bloodstained carpet. The door slammed shut behind her, and all became quiet.

The puzzled soldiers hesitated, then one of them picked up the fallen girl, cut the bonds around her wrists and smoothed her hair back from her face.

“Sit down, Eris,” Thais said gently. “Give her some wine.”

“They have such strange names,” the lokhagos exclaimed. “Trouble, revenge, discourse …”

“I heard the other two addressed as Nalia and Ata: demon and madness,” Thais said. “Apparently all black priestesses have frightening Helenian names. Is that so, Eris?”

The guard nodded silently.

“Let’s make a stretcher so we can carry Lykophon,” the lokhagos said, breaking the silence.

“Leave him here,” Thais suggested.

“No. Their patroness might change her mind. The Thessalian must be moved. But how are we to leave you alone, Mistress Thais?”

“I have a new servant girl.”

“She’ll stab you to death, like Lykophon, and run away.”

“She has nowhere to run to. She has already saved two lives while risking her own.”

“So that is how it is. Good girl. Still, I’ll leave two guards on the veranda,” the captain insisted, then ordered the soldiers out.

Thais locked the temple door and put both bars across, then started cleaning up the room, wiping up all the blood. Eris snapped out of her shock and helped scrub and clean.

“Clean yourself,” Thais told her.

Caring nothing about her nudity, Eris ran a few times to the water cistern and furiously scrubbed off the dirt. It was layers thick since she had lived in that dirty niche near the grate.

When the dawn came, the tired hetaera closed the outside door and pulled a heavy curtain over it. She pointed Eris toward the second bed in her room, because the Finikian’s bed was covered in blood.

Thais settled down and stretched out, glancing at Eris. The girl sat motionless on the edge of the bed, looking into the distance with wide open eyes. The hetaera took the chance to examine her new “acquisition”.

“She appears to be a melaskhroma, black — skinned,” she thought, then changed her mind. “No, she is a melena, dark bronze with a touch of African blood.”

Without her net, bracelets, belt and dagger, the black priestess was revealed as a young woman with enormous blue eyes. Those eyes were filled with the same dark stubbornness as was in the eyes of the other priestesses. Her hair fell in tight curls, and her round cheeks looked to be as delicate as a child’s. Only her full, half-open lips, as well as an unspoken sensuality controlling her young, but already powerful womanly body, spoke of the fact that this young girl was actually a black servant of the Night and Great Mother.

Eris’ colouring reminded Thais of Ethiopian women, who were highly valued in Egypt. They came from a distant country, beyond the origins of the Nile. The freed guard could have been a daughter of such a woman and a pale-skinned man.

The Athenian rose, then approached Eris and stroked her shoulders. The black priestess shuddered, then suddenly clung to Thais with such force that she almost fell over. She was forced to put an arm around Eris to keep her balance.

“You seem to be made of stone,” Thais exclaimed in surprise. “Are you all like that?”

“Yes. Body of stone and heart of copper,” the girl said in broken Coyne.

“Oh, good. You can speak. But you have the heart of a woman, not that of a Lamia,” Thais said and kissed Eris.

The latter shook and sobbed. Thais whispered soothingly to her and told her to go to bed, but the girl pointed at the door and pressed a finger to her lips. It appeared the girl had to return to the grate for something important, and she had to do it before a new guard was chained there.

The hetaera and the black priestess opened the door noiselessly, and Eris slipped into the dark. She returned and carefully locked the door behind her, now holding a sacred knife of the Night priestesses. Its gold hilt glittered in her hand. Eris dropped to her knees and put the dagger at Thais’ feet, then touched it to her eyes, lips and heart.

A few moments later, Eris was asleep, spread out over the coverlet with her mouth half open. Thais watched her for a bit longer, then went to sleep herself.

The captain of Thais’ soldiers turned out to be right. Lykophon didn’t die. The priestess’ dagger had not been poisoned, as the lokhagos had feared. The deep wound was healing quickly; however, due to a great loss of blood, the soldier was weaker than a kitten.

She heard no more from her hostesses. The high priestess did not send for Thais and did not demand the soldier back so they could finish him off.

The entire town and the temple of the Great Goddess seemed to be on guard, waiting for news of Alexander. Thais ordered her detachment to get ready to march.

“Where to?” the lokhagos asked cautiously.

“To Alexander.”

Everything changed in less than three days. Late one evening, when Thais was getting ready for bed and Eris was brushing out her thick, wavy hair, shouts were heard from the temple town. Torches were lit. Thais ran out to the veranda wearing only her short chiton despite the north wind, which had been blowing for several day.

A rush of hoofbeats sounded through the pine grove and a veritable avalanche of horsemen on tall Parthenian horses rode up to Thais’ house, holding torches high above their heads. The Macedonians of her detachment were among them. They looked much cleaner, albeit sleepier, than the dust-covered, sun-scorched visitors.

A horseman in glittering, golden armor rode a snow white horse to the very steps of the veranda and Thais ran to him.

“Leontiscus, oh Leontiscus!” Thais cried.

The chief of the Thessalian cavalry caught her deftly and lifted her onto his horse, tossing off the smoking torch. “I am here for you, Athenian! Long live Alexander!”

“Victory, then! It’s victory, isn’t it, Leontiscus? I knew it!”

Unexpected tears rolled down Thais’ cheeks. She put her arms around the Thessalian’s neck and covered his face with kisses. Leontiscus kissed her back and, lifting her with his powerful arms, set her onto his shoulder. Elevated above everyone, Thais laughed while the soldiers yelled in delight, striking their shields and waving their torches.

A huge soldier with a fluttering mane of red hair sat atop a tall gray stallion. He spotted Eris on the veranda, looking puzzled, then rode to the railing and invited her to ride with him. Eris glanzed at her mistress, who nodded with encouragement. The girl leaped into the horseman’s arms and the giant set her onto his shoulder as Leontiscus had done with Thais. The former priestess rose even higher than Thais and there was a new roar of admiration.

The Thessalians rode around the sanctuary, yelling and waving their torches. Their armor clanked and the air thundered with the sound of hooves and shields being pounded. All the temple’s servants ran to the roof, including the high priestess.

Thais, joyous and triumphant, noticed the agitation among the priestesses and realized it was caused by Eris’ appearance on the soldier’s shoulder. The mistress of the temple made an abrupt gesture with her arms and the veranda was suddenly empty.

Thais chuckled. How disappointing for the mistress to see her former victim, who had been sentenced to humiliation, now being carried before the temple as if she were a goddess. The parade returned to Thais’ house and both women were carefully carried inside, not even allowed to touch the ground. Leontiscus came in too, and the other horsemen were let go. Only two close associates stayed to wait for him.

“So, it’s victory, darling?”

“Complete and final. Darius was crushed completely, his enormous army is scattered. We killed tens of thousands until we were so exhausted that we fell over the corpses with our swords and spears still in our hands. All of Persia lies open before us. Alexander is the new King of Kings, the son of immortal gods.”

“I have only recently understood that only a chosen one of fate, a titan-like hero like Achilles could conquer Asia.”

“I got to see it,” the Thessalian said quietly and fell, exhausted, into an armchair.

“Are you tired? Will you rest here? Eris will bring some wine and some walnuts in honey with cream. It’s the most nourishing food.”

“I’ll eat, then go to my camp. We have set up a tent at the edge of the grove where the rest of my people are.”

“How many are there?”

“Sixty horsemen, one hundred and fifty horses.”

“Did you come just to get me?”

“Yes. After the great battle, where my horsemen distinguished themselves yet again, I was out for two days as if in a sleep. Alexander decided I needed rest and sent me here to fetch you.”

“And what of him?”

“He is going straight to Babylon with his army.”

“Are we going there?”

“Certainly. I’ll just let the horses rest a bit. I galloped the entire way because I wanted to see you.”

“How far did you have to gallop?”

“A hundred parsangs.”

Thais thanked the warrior without words, instead expressing herself with a long kiss. Then she asked, “How far does Alexander need to travel to Babylon?”

“A bit longer than I did.”

Thais looked up and smiled. “Ah. Here is Eris. Eat and drink. I’ll drink with you to the victory.”

“Is the underground kingdom in your service now?” Leontiscus asked, sipping wine and observing her new slave girl.

“This story is interesting, but long. I hope to have time to tell it along the way and to hear your stories about the great battle.”

“Definitely,” the Thessalian assured her. He quickly swallowed a handful of walnuts boiled in honey and rose to go. Thais saw him to the steps of the veranda.

After taking some rest, Leontiscus appeared again. He wore such gorgeous armor that even Homer wouldn’t have been able to describe it. The tanned horseman in white silk and golden armor, sitting a beautiful white horse, looked like a demigod. And while a deep wrinkle crossed his forehead between the eyebrows, and the corners of his mouth were surrounded by a double groove, his squinted eyes, light and fearless, were laughing.

“What a beautiful horse you have. Like a titanide, Leukippa the changeling. What is her name?” the hetaera exclaimed in delight.

“Melodia.”

“Song? Who named her so beautifully?”

“I did. Do you remember that there is a river Melos? It sings as it flows over the ringing stones. My Melodia runs the way the river flows and bubbles.”

“You are a poet, Leontiscus.”

“I simply love horses. And this is for you,” the Thessalian said. He unrolled a package and handed Thais the costume of a Persian princess. The hetaera declined, saying she didn’t want to wear foreign togs, and decided just to put on the tiara, made of rare stones that sparkled in the sun. She kept the blue necklace of the temple of Rhea around her neck and put tinkling periscelides of electron with turquoise around her ankles, as if for a dance.

She ordered the servant to bring her Salmaakh instead of Boanergos and gasped when she saw her mare. The animal wore a golden harness, decorated with large tourmalines of the same divine pink color as the ones decorating the vials of Kibela. The sweat blanket was overlaid with the hide of a rare beast, yellowish red with black stripes, which she learned was called a tiger.

The horse’s fetlocks were dressed in glittering silver bracelets with little bells. Salmaakh seemed to understand the beauty of her attire and stepped proudly, her hooves ringing in unison with Thais’ anklets.

An entourage of thirty soldiers accompanied Leontiscus and Thais, who rode side by side along the wide path toward the main entrance into Kibela’s sanctuary. The Thessalians were singing, and Thais asked them to strike their shields in rhythm with the battle song.

The warlike cavalcade entered the first courtyard, where Thais and Leontiscus dismounted. They were met by the priests armed with spears, and went to the gate in the low fence which separated the paved yard from the cypress alley. At the end of this was an arched bridge and a staircase going over the pool, leading straight to the lower terrace. When they were on the other side of the gate, they were approached by a nude gatekeeper. She gathered her thick hair, dipped it into a silver basin of fragrant water and sprinkled it over the visitors.

Suddenly she shrieked and covered her face, but before she could hide, Thais recognized her Finikian girl.

“Oh, Leontiscus. Make them wait a minute,” she said, then nodded at the stern priests. She approached Za-Asht and pulled her hands away from her crimson face.

“They have punished you already? What for? Is it bad? Tell me.”

From her incoherent, rushed explanation Thais figured out that the Finikian had been forced to do something intolerable, but had refused. She was sent to the temple of Anaitis, where she revolted again. She was then sent here to be a gatekeeper, and the first treat for tired pilgrims.

“What happened at the temple of Anaitis? First stage of the mysteries?”

“Yes. They tried to force me to participate in the second one.” Za-Asht covered her face again. She shook in reaction to the impatient knocking of the priests’ spears as they struck sharply against the ground.

“My poor girl. You make a bad priestess. We’ll have to save you.”

“Oh Mistress!” The Finikian’s voice was even more pleading now than when she had asked to let her stay at the temple.

Not wishing to delay the priests any longer, Thais walked on. The high priestess and priest met her on the lower veranda, not inside the temple. This was a new sign of respect. Leontiscus bowed to the priestess and, following Thais’ example, accepted a smudge of fragrant oil on his forehead. He then untied a large leather sack he had carried carefully the entire way, and beckoned to a spear-bearer who carried another one. Together they poured a pile of gold and silver necklaces and bracelets, large precious stones, and skillfully-made tiaras onto the wide pedestal in front of the temple. Gold ingots fell with a heavy thud from the second sack.

“This is only a part of it,” Leontiscus said. “They are bringing four more talants soon. The priests are not used to carrying such heavy loads.”

The high priestess sighed deeply and her eyes flashed with greed. Alexander’s gift was truly royal.

“We took good care of our beautiful guest,” she said gently. “I hope she is pleased?”

“I am pleased and grateful, thank the Great Mother,” the hetaera replied.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“There is, Mistress of the temple. Give me back my slave, the Finikian Za-Asht.”

“But you have traded her.”

“Yes. But I just saw her chained at the gate. She doesn’t fit in at the temple.”

“That is why she is being punished.”

Thais glanced at Leontiscus and he understood her without words. “Perhaps I shall call back those carrying the gold,” he said, as if pondering.

“Don’t,” the high priestess said quickly, raising her hand. “The disobedient Finikian isn’t worth even a hundredth of this. You may have your stubborn slave back.”

“I thank you.” Thais bowed again and, hiding a smile, said goodbye to the mistress of the famous temple.

Za-Asht, forgetting about everything else, dashed to Salmaakh with a yell. “Here you are, my beautiful girl,” she cried, shedding tears all over the horse’s neck. One of the soldiers gave her a beautiful robe and set her behind him. The Thessalians left the courtyard in the same formation in which they had arrived, and Thais left the dwelling of Kibela, the Great Mother and Mistress of Beasts, forever.