I laughed at the idea. “Mother fusses a lot, but wouldn’t hurt a bug.” I paused, considering. “Tata’s a soldier. What he does, he does for Rome—not himself. Besides, he’d think it poor business to injure his own slave.”
“I know that,” Rachel said. “Your mother reminds me of my own. Had life been different, had they met at Herod’s court, they might easily have been friends. Your father’s a fair man. More than fair, he’s kind; but if either of them thought I’d wrongly influenced you, they would sell me. I couldn’t bear that, not again. I want to stay with your family forever.”
“I want you to,” I assured her. “Often I forget that you’re a slave. I was so lonely after Marcella was taken—” I paused, overcome by sudden emotion, then continued. “We’ll go tonight when they’re asleep. No one will ever know.”
CHAPTER 6
In the House of Isis
Even in the dim lamplight, I saw that Rachel’s skin was pale, her jaw tense. I pretended not to notice as we stole out into the night. We were dressed simply. I wore Rachel’s threadbare palla, not the new one that Mother had given her after the banquet. It was as though I wore a costume. Having never been out at night without my parents, I found the prospect thrilling.
Walking briskly, we passed unnoticed and soon reached the market square where many stalls remained open. Crowds still jostled. The air was heavy with the scent of roasted lamb, temple incense, and human bodies at work. Rachel rushed me forward, her eyes constantly watching, wary as a cat.
After much bargaining, she hired a litter. I wondered if the rickety frame would hold together, then fretted over the slow, clumsy bearers. Behind the soiled curtain, confused by the many twists and turns, I lost all sense of direction until I smelled the sea. I pulled the curtains aside to look out, but Rachel yanked them back. “No, no, you must not,” she admonished me, her voice anxious. “What if someone were to recognize you.”
At last the litter was roughly deposited on the ground; Rachel and I climbed out unassisted. I paid the bearers, then looked up expectantly. Before us a broad flight of stairs led to a garden illuminated by at least a hundred torches. I caught my breath at the sight. Ibises and peacocks strutted along walkways of green serpentine bordered by multitudes of many-hued roses, their scent hovering seductively on the balmy air. I pushed back the hood of my palla as an unexpected sense of familiarity swept over me. The faint sound of chanting grew louder as we passed row upon row of fluted columns, then entered the temple’s anteroom, where Isis’s many trials were depicted in mosaics on the floor. I shivered in anticipation as I read the words inscribed in gold beside them.
I am the first and the last
I am the honored one and the scorned one,
I am the whore and the holy one
Beyond, gauzy draperies stirred gently in the soft breeze. The splendor of lights, great circles and squares, arcs and clusters of lamps hanging from the vaulted ceiling, dazzled me with their luminosity.
People stood talking softly in small groups or sat on marble benches. Men as well as women. Some were dressed fashionably, but not all, yet even the most simply garbed appeared immaculately clean. Many recognized Rachel. I was surprised by the smiles and friendly nods she exchanged. How could it be that a mere slave could be accepted, even welcomed, into such a grand place?
As I looked about the large marble room studying the people gathered there, I became aware that I, too, was being watched. Beneath a broad column a young man sat alone. The scroll that he’d been holding slipped unheeded to the floor as his eyes studied me. Intense eyes, great, dark, filled with…what? I shivered. Straightening my shoulders, I turned away. Who was that man, how dared he look at me as though…as though he could see into my very soul?
I looked back, couldn’t help myself. He’d gotten up, retrieved the scroll, and was smiling at Rachel. She nodded a friendly greeting, and he moved toward us with an easy grace. He was taller than most, long-limbed and slender. “Do I know you?” I asked, raising my chin as Mother sometimes did.
“For a moment I thought I knew you,” he said and bowed low. Then, his eyes again on mine, laughing eyes. “I was mistaken. How could I, a simple wanderer, know such a grand lady?”
Was he mocking me? The young man’s manner was humble, his Greek thickly accented, yet I wondered at his assurance.
Rachel muttered a few impatient words in a language I’d not heard before. He nodded in agreement.
“What are you saying?” I demanded to know. “What tongue are you speaking?”
“It is Aramaic, the language of our country, Judaea,” he said. “Rachel says that your high station should not be known in this place.”
“Yet you knew it. How?”
He shrugged. “You are who you are. Simple clothing cannot change that.”
I looked at the man curiously. His own garments were simple enough—a brown homespun tunic, partially covered by a dark blue mantle. There was nothing to attract notice and yet…something set him apart.
“Why are you here?” he surprised me by asking.
“Why are you here?”
I studied the clear, unlined face and guessed him to be about twenty. For a moment I thought that he’d been mistaken, that perhaps we had known each other. I’d traveled so much in the past years, but no, that was impossible. I’d never seen that calm, confident face before. He was young, but sure of himself. A natural leader, Tata would say. He’d want him to be an officer. Shrugging at my foolishness, I answered. “The priestess called me. I want to know what she knows. What about you?”
“I will teach, but my time has not yet come.”
“Now he asks endless questions, challenging everything. The way of the goddess is new to him,” Rachel said. For a moment I’d forgotten she was there.
“I came to Egypt when I was a baby,” the young man explained. “I remember this temple. My mother brought me here—against Father’s wishes. When I was four, the politics changed at home and we went back. Mother never spoke again of Isis, no longer sang her hymns as lullabies, but one day Father found a small clay statue that she had kept—Isis holding her baby Horus. He ground it to dust. Our ways in Galilee are different.”
“I should say they are!” Rachel agreed. “That difference is why we are here, is it not?”
“I don’t know…” The man’s serene, open face clouded unexpectedly. “I have studied with other teachers as well—great rabbis. Soon I must return to my home. My father has need of me. His health is failing. I am the eldest.” He sighed, looking about the marble anteroom. “There is great strength here…strength and compassion. My Father in heaven is also compassionate, but that has been forgotten.”
A great gong sounded. The massive golden doors before us were thrown open. People pressed forward. I was eager to go inside, but hesitated uncertainly. “I am Claudia Procula,” I introduced myself, “and you?”
“I am Yeshua—Jesus, you Romans would say.”
Impulsively, I took his hand, looked into his eyes, solemn now and a little sad as he returned my gaze. “I hope—I hope you find that for which you are searching.”
“I wish the same for you.”
Turning, I moved forward, following the crowd. “What an intriguing young man,” I commented to Rachel as we passed into the inner sanctum.
“You cannot imagine,” she answered cryptically. “He is like no one I have ever met.”
My questions were forgotten as I looked about me. Despite the hour, worshipers filled the white alabaster chamber that shone in the reflected glow of hundreds of lamps. Advancing slowly, I saw a slender figure seated on a golden throne. It was the high priestess that I had seen in the parade. Once again the woman’s eyes held me, glittering green and bright. Though painted in the Egyptian fashion, they needed no artifice. She raised her brows in a private greeting that sent pleasant chills down my spine.
While the priestess kept time with a golden sistrum, white-gowned women played lutes, their voices rising in a hauntingly sweet hymn. Finally as
the music faded, the priestess rose from her golden chair. I gasped at her gossamer blue gown. Golden stars and crescent moons glittered from its silken folds. Her radiance filled the room.
“I am the mother of nature,” the priestess said, addressing the group as Isis’s earthly embodiment. “Only through me can fields flourish and animals multiply. It is I who makes the barren wife fertile.” Her soft voice filling with tenderness and compassion, she continued:
“Come to me if you seek truth,
“Come to me if you have lost your way,
“Come to me if you are sick and desire to be healed.
“Come to me if you have sinned and seek forgiveness,
“There are no divisions in my house. I bring peace to all. Woman and man, slave and master, rich and poor—all are welcome. Come to me for I am Isis, loving mother to you all.”
My knees felt weak with wonder. I knew then that Isis was more powerful than Fortuna, for she could conquer fate. She was every goddess, every god, evoked in every name. She is the one. My soul cried out. The group surged forward, seeking to be closer, to touch the hem of the high priestess’s robe. I was swept along with them, wondering if I dreamed.
I dropped to the marble floor, kneeling before the priestess. Slowly, deliberately, she raised me to my feet, gazing for a long moment into my eyes. Then, without a word, she handed me the golden sistrum that rested in the crook of her arm.
I stared wordlessly at the instrument, a graceful oval, surprised at the way it fit my hand so naturally. As the priestess turned me about to face the group, I began to shake the rattle to an instinctive rhythm as if I’d done it many times. I knew then that all I had ever sought was waiting here in the house of Isis.
CHAPTER 7
The Initiation
The morning after my visit to the temple, Tiberius issued a four-word order that could not be ignored: Proceed immediately to Antioch. The household plunged into a whirlwind of activity. Most of our furnishings had been rented with the villa, but personal belongings remained to be packed. Throughout the frantic activity, my thoughts whirled.
“How can I leave Alexandria?” I whispered to Rachel as we stood together sorting clothes. “How can I leave Isis now that I’ve found her?”
“She is everywhere,” Rachel assured me.
Exasperated, I threw down the tunic I’d just folded. “Isis’s power is here in Egypt.”
“Her power is everywhere,” the slave repeated, picking up the tunic and folding it again. “If she has a plan for you, you will know it.”
My cousins, Druscilla and Julia, kicked their slaves when they were annoying. For the first time I felt tempted.
That evening at dinner Mother chattered on and on about Antioch. The highly political and very social capital of Syria was second only to Rome. She was already plotting alliances. It was Selene’s kind of place, but Tata, too, was pleased. Antioch was a military stronghold, strategically located, a window on the east. He and Mother, so full of plans, were finishing each other’s sentences.
Hebe, our cook, had spent the afternoon shopping for Egyptian herbs and spices to take with us on the voyage. As a result, the evening meal was a light supper of roasted lamb, peppers, onions, and rice. Mother, signaling for more, observed my plate, barely touched. “Are you ill?” she asked, patting my forehead. “No fever, but you do look tired.”
“I am tired, Mother. It’s been a busy day,” I answered, my eyes cast down.
“Then you had better be off to bed,” Tata advised. “Remember, we sail at dawn. Everyone must be ready.”
Nodding to my parents, I rose from the dining couch. Their enthusiasm merely added to my depression. On lead feet I walked to my bedroom, but inside, my pulse quickened. Rachel was there. The room felt charged. “What is it?” I asked, puzzled by her flushed face.
She placed a finger to her lips. “Follow me, come quickly.” Silently, Rachel led the way down to the kitchen. “Don’t let Hebe see you. Wait here.” Opening the door cautiously, she looked in. Satisfied, she turned and beckoned. We crossed the room on tiptoe, hurrying to the rear entrance.
A curtained litter rested on the ground outside, two burly bearers beside it. A third, larger man approached, his clean-shaven head gleaming in the light of the torch he carried. “I am Thoth,” he introduced himself. “The high priestess bids you come to the temple—but only if you desire it.”
I looked inquiringly at Rachel. She nodded, encouraging me. “I know Thoth well. Besides, I will be with you.”
I shook my head. “Not this time. There’s no need for you to risk more than you already have.”
“You’re certain?” she asked, searching my face.
“Certain,” I replied, trying to sound like I meant it.
I felt Rachel’s relief as she wrapped a palla about my shoulders. Thoth helped me into the litter. I wondered if he could hear my heart thumping. I forced a smile and settled back. At least the litter was comfortable. The cushions were soft. A porcelain jar filled with almond oil and citron lightened the curtained stuffiness. Nevertheless, the ride seemed interminable as I tried to imagine what lay ahead. Often my thoughts strayed to Marcella. She had been forced to dedicate her life to a goddess who never went anywhere, while my goddess roamed the world. Vesta just tended a fire. Isis did everything. Would Marcella envy me for what I was doing or would she think me disloyal—even demented? Whatever she might think, I missed her at that moment as I never had before.
Suddenly, it seemed we had arrived; Thoth was helping me to alight. The great temple loomed large before me. It was as exquisite as I’d remembered, but so vast, so very mysterious. My legs trembled as I climbed the marble steps. The high priestess rose from her golden throne as I entered the sanctuary. How lovely she was, but otherworldly, untouchable. Silently acknowledging me as I knelt before her, she lit incense in a white alabaster censer, sending sweet smoke into the lofty reaches of the great marble chamber. Somewhere, perhaps in the next room, I heard chanting. At the priestess’s nod, I rose. Just when the suspense seemed unbearable, she spoke, “Surely you are not afraid.”
“No,” I answered, surprised that I spoke the truth.
The priestess’s dazzling smile enveloped me. “Of course you are not. The goddess has called you. She invites you now to become an initiate.”
“Oh! I would love that!” I exclaimed, almost overcome with emotion. Sadly I shook my head, explaining, “It is impossible. My parents are sailing to Antioch…I love my parents,” I added almost apologetically. “I must go with them.”
“Of course you must. Isis knows that. She would never ask you to give up your family. She asks nothing that you do not give willingly. She is never capricious.” The priestess paused, searching my face, then continued. “If you choose, your preparation can begin tomorrow. The process will take ten days.”
“But we’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Perhaps.” A gentle smile played about the priestess’s lips. “We shall see what the goddess decides. For your part, do you truly want to become an initiate?”
“Oh yes!”
“You do realize that you can always worship Isis in your mind and heart? There is no need to even go to a temple, though there is an Iseneum in Antioch. You can worship there any time without subjecting yourself to the risks of initiation.”
Risks? I paused briefly. What did it matter? “I would gladly brave any risks to become an initiate, if only that were possible.”
“Then you must prepare,” counseled the priestess. “I admonish you to refrain from sexual intercourse, though I doubt that will be an issue.”
I fought an impulse to giggle.
“Tomorrow,” the priestess continued briskly, “you will begin your fast. Consume nothing but water and juices for the next ten days. Most important, set aside a part of every day, at the same time each day, to be alone with Isis.”
“Alone with Isis?”
“This is how it will happen,” the high priestess explained. “You will sit w
ith your spine straight and both feet flat on the floor. Place your hands together with your palms and fingertips touching—no, not like that, like this.”
I nodded politely, copying her hand positions, listening obediently as she instructed: “Focus upon the goddess, holding her image firmly in mind. Whenever your thoughts wander, gently draw them back. After ten minutes of concentration, turn your hands over palms up and rest them on your lap.”
Ten minutes sounded like an awfully long time to sit still, but I nodded dutifully.
“Perhaps,” the priestess continued, “you will see pictures or images, experience strange sensations or hear voices. Whatever happens, do not be afraid. Accept what occurs as a gift from Isis. Allow it to progress without attempting to hold on to one particular idea. Do this every day. Then, on the tenth night, Thoth will call for you.”
I looked at her in surprise. All these instructions…it was as though she had never heard me. “But I told you, I am leaving. I won’t be in Alexandria ten nights from now. Neptune willing, I shall be in Antioch.”
“We shall see.”
I left the temple with Thoth, quickly descending the marble stairs to the waiting litter. Earlier the night had been clear and star-filled, but now I was surprised to feel light drops of rain. Before long the bearers were trotting. A strong wind had come up and heavy rain pelted the roof. By the time I reached home the curtains were soaked through and my palla was damp.
Rachel waited anxiously. “Be very quiet,” she whispered. “Your father is awake. A servant from the lord Germanicus arrived minutes ago. They are in the library.”
I slipped off the palla and handed it to her. “Most probably last-minute arrangements for the journey.” Tiptoeing quietly, we made our way up the stairs to my room. All but a few essentials had been taken to the ship.
I shook my head in bewilderment as I unclipped the fillet that bound my hair. “It was wonderful,” I told Rachel who was putting away my clothes. “The priestess invited me to begin my initiation tomorrow; but, of course, that’s impossible.”
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