“It is indeed.” Rachel stifled a yawn. “You’d best sleep now. Your father wants you up at dawn.”
DAWN WHEN IT CAME WAS BARELY DISCERNIBLE. RAIN POURED IN torrents and savage winds battered the house from all sides. The departure had been delayed until the storm subsided. At mid-morning Rachel appeared to pull back the draperies. Sleepily, I looked out. The sky was dark as twilight.
“There is little for breakfast because it was expected that you would eat on the ship,” she apologized. “Your father had the last egg. He is in the library going over maps. Domina is there too, writing letters. She will finish the lamb unless you want it.”
“I’ll have a little. I was too upset last night. Now I’m starved.” I stretched, sat up, then started at a sudden thought. “Never mind the lamb. The priestess said, ‘nothing but liquids for ten days.’ It’s ridiculous—this storm will soon blow over. Perhaps we’ll sail this afternoon, surely by tomorrow. Still, I’ll follow her wishes.”
“There are oranges,” Rachel recalled. “I will make juice for you.”
Later that morning I went to the reception room and sat beside the water clock, an elaborate structure with a large wheel and floats, rented with the villa. Sitting as the priestess had instructed, I tried to focus my mind on Isis. Too many thoughts vied for my attention. The clock made an irritating trickling sound that I’d never noticed before. Outside, the wind howled, rain lashing down with no sign of stopping.
Rachel and Festus braved the storm for dinner provisions, returning with oranges as well as grapes to be squeezed into juice.
The rain continued.
The next day brought no sign of clearing, nor the one after that. At first I’d been excited by the idea of fasting but soon wearied of it. As my parents resumed normal meals, the seductive cooking smells wafting from Hebe’s kitchen made my ordeal all the more difficult.
It seems in retrospect that the fifth day was the hardest. The rain, the close confinement, frayed on the nerves of everyone. Tempers grew short, very short. Once Mother had established that I wasn’t ill, she grew angry with me for not eating. Unable to explain my reasons, I said nothing. This only made it worse. “Stop sulking and eat!” she snapped. “How many times do I have to say it? I’m not hungry!” I screamed back. Tata was furious. “Jove’s balls, what’s the matter with you two?” he roared. I ran off to my room, slamming the door. I thought I heard Mother’s slam too.
My daily meditations were no consolation. To the contrary, they merely added to my frustrations, focusing attention on the angry emptiness in my belly. “Surely this rain can’t last much longer,” I complained to Rachel that night as I lay down on my couch.
“Who knows,” the slave replied. “My people tell of a man named Noah. In his time the rain lasted forty days and forty nights.”
“Enough! Extinguish the lamp,” I ordered, turning my face to the wall.
THOUGH NO VISION APPEARED AT THE NEXT MORNING’S MEDITATIONS, I took comfort in the knowledge that my fast was half over. The rain had lasted five days. If by some miraculous chance it was to last five more, I could become an initiate of Isis.
Everything seemed to change after that, not only for me but for the entire household. No longer was the rain deplored as an exasperating personal inconvenience. Overnight it became an amazing phenomenon viewed with awe. The servants came home with disaster stories. “Oh, master! The whole east wall of the market has collapsed.” “Domina, a great ship from Athens crashed into the rocks below Pharos!” Rachel rushed back one afternoon with news that the governor’s palace was flooded. Yet despite the chaos around us, our home and its inhabitants remained snug and safe. Each family member settled into a routine, finding new activities to occupy his or her time. For me, it was writing poems and letters to Marcella. Tata sent to the museum for scrolls. By the end of day six, he was well into a rare history of Alexander’s conquest of Persia, a tome written, for once, by a Persian. Mother had her loom brought back from the ship and began a new tapestry, using Egyptian themes. Rachel experimented with vegetables, pounding and grinding them into juices. Some were quite tasty.
As the days passed and the rain continued, I became aware of a growing sense of peace and purpose. The storm was, I felt certain, the will of Isis. I knew it would continue until the goddess’s desires were met.
On the afternoon of the tenth day, the heavy buffeting winds calmed. By four, the skies cleared, the cloudburst ceased. People were venturing outside, some of them dancing and splashing in the great puddles. Tata set off immediately to confer with Germanicus. Jubilant, he returned to announce that we would sail the next day. “Everyone get ready!” Once again possessions were assembled and packed. I was certain that within twenty-four hours we would be on the sea, but in the meantime…the priestess had said that on the tenth night, Thoth would come for me.
AS MY CLOTHING WAS STRIPPED AWAY BY TEMPLE WOMEN, I THOUGHT of Diana. Might she strike me dead for my defection? And what would Tata say? The thought of his reaction frightened me more than Diana’s. Standing naked and trembling before the priestess, I searched the room as a trapped animal might, yearning to escape, but buried the impulse by force of will.
Myriad lamps cast flickering shadows on a large burnished golden bowl resting on the altar. I watched the priestess ladle the contents into a chalice. She extended it to me. My hand shook as I raised the vessel to my lips. The liquid’s tangy sweetness was unexpectedly pleasant. I drank again and again, at last draining the chalice. A comforting warmth stole over me. It no longer mattered that I was naked. After a time I ceased even to be aware of it. The chanting of those around me grew louder, the sounds of drums and sistrums more insistent.
The priestess motioned for me to follow her. We exited the grand chamber from the back, walking down a long torch-lit hallway that seemed to stretch forever. My head felt light, the will that moved my feet no longer mine. The priestess stepped to one side, revealing a flight of stairs that descended into a black abyss. She signaled that I was to go on alone. Her glance seemed somehow appraising. Was I being tested?
The marble steps were worn. How many had walked there before? I wondered. Step by step, I made my way down. The stairs were wet. I was descending into water. The steps were slippery. I walked gingerly, downward, deeper and deeper. The water was up to my knees, then my hips. I looked back over my shoulder. I couldn’t see the priestess.
The next step was steeper and threw me off balance. I slipped into the abyss. Once I thought I felt the pool’s bottom, but was buoyed up by water. I struggled not to breathe, not to swallow, but the water began to pour in, burning my throat, filling my lungs. Black water covered my head now, blotting out everything. Three summers before, a broken ankle had kept me from learning to swim with the other children. Now I cursed Fortuna.
Frantically flailing, sometimes floating up to the surface, only to slip back again, I scrambled wildly for the stairs but couldn’t find them. Terror gripped me as I struggled to hold my breath. Once more I reached the surface but only to gulp more water. My lungs felt as though they would explode as I fought the desire to open my mouth. I could no longer hold my breath. I was going to die. Why, Isis? Why have you done this? Did you cause the winds to blow, the rain to fall for ten days and nights merely to drown me? Recalling the sense of purpose that I had come to feel during my meditations, I would not, could not, believe it. Surely the goddess of the sea could lead me out of a pool! Help me, Mother Isis, help me! You who can do anything, guide me now.
Trying desperately to remain calm, I slid one foot forward across the pool’s bottom, then the other. Struggling to ignore the suffocating pain in my chest, I lifted one arm above my head as though to grasp Isis’s hand. It cleared the water.
Surely there was a wall somewhere that would lead me to the stairs. The floor was slippery, my progress slow, the pain in my chest crushing, unbearable. I gasped and inhaled more water. Just then my toes touched a hard surface. The wall? No, a step! Coughing and gagging, I strugg
led upward. Twice I slipped and lost my footing. At last the unforgettable moment when I lifted my face out of the water. Each breath pure ecstasy.
Sputtering, belly aching, body bent like an old woman’s, I reached the top step and fell sprawling across the marble floor. The sound of my own labored breathing echoed in my ears until I became conscious of a faint, rhythmic pounding. Eyes streaming, I looked about. Where was the priestess? I’d expected welcoming arms, congratulations. She wasn’t even there—no one was. In the distance I saw a broad veranda supported by seven marble columns. Beyond that the sea. Slowly, painfully, I pulled myself up.
Seven shallow steps led to sand fine as face powder against my bare feet. The clear night was filled with stars, the full moon a dazzling disk of light. As I reveled in the miracle of fresh air filling my aching lungs, the moon waxed brighter still. Slowly a radiant form rose from the sea. First the face appeared framed by luxuriant locks the color of flames; then the shapely body emerged from cresting waves. She wore a crown in which was woven every flower that I had ever loved and over her long white gown was a blue mantle covered with glittering stars.
This time Isis was no dream.
CHAPTER 8
Aftermath of Isis
Isis stood before me, great waves crashing about her. Rising from the sea even taller than Pharos, she was awesome in her grandeur, glorious in her radiance. Overwhelmed by emotion, I dropped trembling to the sand and yet, curiously, felt no fear.
A soft hand touched my shoulder, then another. The high priestess and her acolytes had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Now they clustered around me. “You saw her?” one young priestess asked excitedly.
“Yes, yes!” I gasped, looking up. I turned back to the sea, but Isis was gone. I sighed in disappointment.
The high priestess smiled gently. “If she remained, you would no longer be of this world.”
“Oh, but how can I go on without her, now that I have seen…”
“You will go on, I assure you. You have many years of life before you.”
Tenderly, but with a kind of wonder, the acolytes helped me to my feet. Taking my hands, they led me down a labyrinth of halls to an inner sanctum deep within the temple. The floors, the walls, the vaulted ceilings were of gold laced with lapis lazuli. Everywhere I looked, jeweled lamps reflected their brilliance.
There, in that magnificent room, I was anointed seven times with sacred Nile water poured from a golden ewer encrusted with emeralds. Temple priestesses patted me dry with soft linen towels and rubbed my body with fragrant oils. I was dressed in a flowing white robe and garlanded with red roses, their scent sweeter than anything I had ever smelled.
It was then that the high priestess pressed a miniature gold sistrum into my hand. “It is sacred,” she explained. “Isis, the eternal woman and goddess of life, has many symbols but only one weapon. The sistrum is an instrument she plays upon when she wants to create change or to see the true meaning of circumstances others merely accept. You, Claudia, have earned one of your own. Take it back with you into the world.”
“Back?” I looked at her uncertainly.
The high priestess smiled again. She put her arms around me, led me through the twisting passageways from which I had come until I stood forlornly in the temple’s immense atrium. How could I leave this place? How could I leave the acolytes who now seemed as close to me as Marcella?
The high priestess embraced me once more, then stood back. “Before your enlightenment you were the daughter of your parents. You are still the daughter of your parents. Nothing has changed.”
“Everything has changed!” I exclaimed.
“Everything and nothing.” She nodded her head toward Thoth, who must have ascended the stairs silently, for he stood now at my side. “Your litter is waiting to take you home,” the high priestess said. She wrapped a soft blue mantle about me, then turned and reentered the temple.
THERE WAS AN AWFUL FINALITY ABOUT IT; SOMEHOW I KNEW THAT I would never see her again.
What could I do then but allow Thoth to help me into the litter? Everything and nothing. What was the meaning of it all? I wondered as the slaves carried me homeward through the streets. Surely I would never be the same and yet I was exactly the same. A part of me knew every secret of the universe. For an instant Isis and I had been one, and yet here I was as I had always been, Claudia Procula, going home to her ordinary life as though nothing had ever happened.
I was also a fourteen-year-old girl with a big decision to make.
My fingers closed about the tiny gold sistrum that the high priestess had given me. For an instant I felt again the rush of joyous zeal that had followed the initiation, the moment when Isis had risen before my eyes. I sighed. Despite the miracle that had happened to me, I felt even younger than fourteen as I approached the villa. There was still my father to confront.
It was nearly dawn when I stepped from the litter. The villa was dark but for a single light coming from the library. I tiptoed into the atrium and stood for what seemed a very long time arguing with myself. It would be so easy to just slip up to my room, remove the gown and garland—hide them somewhere. With all the excitement of leaving for the ship, no one would find them. No one need ever know what had occurred. Tata need never know. And yet if I wasn’t honest, if I didn’t tell him of this wonderful thing that had happened to me, what meaning did the experience have?
“Who’s out there?” Tata called out. “Claudia, is that you?”
My hand tightened once again around the sistrum. Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door to confront him.
A large map slipped unheeded from his fingers as he surveyed my garments. He rose from his chair, staggering slightly, and shouted, “By Jove, what have you done!”
I thought of all the prisoners he must have questioned and felt sorry for them. My voice shook as I answered: “Isis called me.”
“Have you lost your senses?”
I took a deep breath. “I had to go to her.”
“What nonsense is this!”
“Isis is queen mother of us all,” I began. The tip of his nose was turning white, a bad sign. It only happened when he was very angry. “She protects us here on earth, and when we die, we don’t go to some awful place like Hades. Isis promises peace and joy for everyone and only asks that we keep faith with her and be the best that we can be.”
“Aren’t the gods of Rome good enough for you?” Father demanded, his voice a roar.
“No, sir, they’re not.” I took a deep breath and plunged on. “The old gods are like naughty children, but are the new ones any better? Can we really be expected to worship Tiberius…in our hearts?”
He looked as flabbergasted as if the cat had spoken.
Sensing an advantage, I ventured: “Perhaps you feel the same. Perhaps, sir, that is why you so often visit the Temple of Mithras.”
“What do you know of Mithras?” he asked, leaning closer, his eyes studying me. I knew I’d caught him by surprise.
I thought of Mithras, such a manly god, all about courage and brotherhood. It was easy to see why that would appeal to Tata’s sense of dedication. “Mithras is a warrior’s religion, his worship is forbidden to me,” I reminded him. “Isis is for everyone.” I reached for his hand as the words tumbled out. “Oh, Tata, after my initiation the moon was so bright and close that I felt possessed. My veins coursed not with blood but with Isis’s light. For the tiniest instant I knew all that had ever been or ever would be. I was a tiny part of her immense power.”
His gray eyes widened. He looked shocked as though seeing me for the first time. “And then what happened?”
“Most of it just seeped away. If I try to tell you more…I’ll lose everything.” I shook my head helplessly, fighting the sudden tears. “What happened isn’t something you can talk about, you only feel it. All I can say is that I saw the goddess as clearly as I am seeing you. I understand now why the poor, the lame, and the ill are welcomed by Isis. Don’t you see, Tata, we are all
part of each other like leaves in some giant tree.”
He sat mutely for what seemed a very long time, his face impassive. Finally Tata shook his head, almost sadly. “Why did it have to be the goddess of that whore, Cleopatra?”
“You hate Cleopatra, but what would you have done if you were an Egyptian with all her power?” Seeing his face redden, I lowered my voice. “Cleopatra thought she was mistress of the world. Wasn’t it only natural that she would appear on a golden throne at Antonius’s triumph?”
“Natural?” Tata raised a bushy eyebrow. “Natural to whom? She rode, he walked at her feet.” His voice rising again, he asked, “Is that the kind of woman you want to be?”
“No, Tata,” I bowed my head contritely, then looked up at him. “But Antonius loved Cleopatra. It was his choice.”
“Enough of this,” he said, rising to his feet. “Take off that—that costume and get to bed. Do you hear me? In a few hours we will be on the sea headed away from this accursed country. Perhaps one day you and I will talk again of Isis, but never of Cleopatra.” He put his arms about me. “There, there, dear,” he said, patting me on the shoulder. “Get a good night’s sleep and you’ll forget all about this nonsense.”
“Yes, Tata,” I agreed, but even then I knew it could never be so.
PART II
ANTIOCH
in the eighth year of the reign of Tiberius (22 C.E.)
CHAPTER 9
Casting the Spell
I worried about the upcoming party, dreaded it—my first as an adult. So much expected of me, so much for which I was unready. Oh, I knew well enough what to say and how to say it, had been drilled in how to walk and sit and stand. That was the trouble. Now the training was expected to pay off. Soon, very soon, I must find a husband. The auction block waited for me as surely as for any slave.
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