HETAERA: Daughter of the Gods

by Coffey, J. A.

  “Why not?” I asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “He hasn’t!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Yes,” I lied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  *** ***

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

  I dared not ask my mother.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  What did I think?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “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 circl
ed 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.”