Myth of the Moon Goddess - The Aradia Chronicles, Books One, Two and Three

by Rane, April

  “We won’t speak of this,” Aradia told him. “Not now or ever!”

  The next morning bright and early, when Thaddeus came to bring her food, he told her that they were to reach port on the morrow. Aradia, noticing he was paler than usual, tenderly put her hands on his sweet face and placed a motherly kiss on his cheek. His blush was deep, and shyness overcame him for a moment. But then a glowing smile lit his face. Apparently that gesture from Aradia and the fact that they were near port and no one seemed to care what had happened to the rigger, helped ease his pain. He shared with her that he was very excited, because he loved to run around the city bragging to everyone that he was the cabin boy on the Satarcia. He loved to tell city dwellers that it was an African ship and the name meant, free as the wind.

  The conversation took a more somber tone when Thaddeus let on that he felt uneasy about what was going to happen to Aradia. He had found out that the captain had been paid handsomely to bring back a beautiful young woman from Etruria, which was renowned for allowing their women to take part in scholarly pursuits. It was important, the captain had told them, that she know many languages, Greek among them. But Thad blushed again, when hanging his head he said that he could not imagine any man in Greece wanting a learned woman, though he knew men would pay much for a comely young maiden. Aradia, seeing his genuine concern told him not to worry, that she could take care of herself and that she had no intention of becoming anyone’s slave.

  That night in her dreams Aradia listened to the wisdom of the goddess again.

  “So you embark on the next part of your journey?” Desimena spoke softly, her voice a musical balm to Aradia’s soul.

  “Yes… the ship docks tomorrow. I am apprehensive, yet glad to be done with this ship.”

  “Ahh yes, the unknown causes the most fear. Yet if you think of this part of your journey as an adventure, it will be easier for you. Remember the things we talked of before. It is important to watch your thoughts, for they open the doorway to the future.”

  Desimena’s smile was softer than a spring shower. Resonating approval with a nod of her head, she slowly began to disappear from view.

  Remembering her dream from the night before, Aradia knew it was going to be very important to look at her life as an adventure and try not to think of herself as a martyr, or a casualty in this power- play of men. For when she did that, she noticed that she drew more suffering to herself. She could remember bits and pieces of her spirit guide talking to her last night, and the other times when she went into a trance. Yes, that is what she called herself, a spirit guide. Aradia realized that when she applied the positive thought process, she drew positive results into her life. Aradia breathed in deeply and said out loud, “This day is important to the rest of my life, and I will remember to feel powerful and positive.”

  Sputtering and splashing, Aradia awoke in a deep, scented tub of water. Her senses were dazed, and time felt altered. She was only aware of the fact that she had been drugged when they carried her from the ship. Inhaling the aroma of perfumed oil, she observed a comely young maid scrubbing her feet. The maid chattered in a sing song rhythm. Looking around at the strange surroundings, Aradia tried desperately to get her bearings. Feeling the delight of warm water caressing her skin she wanted to relax, yet her senses were alerting her to danger…

  Shoving the maids hand away from her, Aradia demanded to know what she was doing and was told that the girl had been paid to wash her and get her ready, although for what, she did not say.

  “They’ll be back soon,” the girl said, eying Aradia’s silken curves and the droplets forming between her breasts. “Hear you kin speak real fancy,” she chuckled. “Bet you’ve got a lot of other talents, too.”

  Mortified, Aradia leapt out of the tub and ran to the door. Finding it locked, she demanded the key – and her clothes, only to be told that what was left of the robe she had been wearing had been burned.

  Reluctantly, but knowing that she had no alternative, she slipped into the resplendent linen robe the girl provided before she begged for the key again.

  “You must give it to me!” she cried. “They want to make me a slave! I must get away before they come back!” With a frightened look on her face, the girl explained that they were locked in and she was sure the door would be opened shortly.

  Aradia began banging on the door. As she yelled and pounded louder and louder, her damp robe clung to her well-rounded figure, making the delicate cloth nearly transparent. Grabbing the pins the maid handed her, Aradia lifted her dripping locks away from her robe and hastily fastened her errant hair on top of her head. Furiously she resumed banging on the door. Suddenly, and to her great surprise, it opened.

  “Regina Bella,” said a startled man who had heard the shouting and come to investigate.

  The deeply resonant sound came forth from a finely chiseled face. Standing in the hallway holding open the door, stood a Greek God. For a long moment which seemed like eons they gazed at each other. Never before had Aradia felt as though she was losing herself in someone else’s eyes, and it was only with great reluctance that she looked away, her thoughts tumbling over each other. What if he’s the one who brought me here? What if it is he that wants to make me a slave…? What… Her thought hurtled to an end as he laid a strong gentle hand on shoulder, whereupon her arm tingled; waves of warm liquid traveled the length of her body, sending a flush to her porcelain cheek.

  “Regina Bella….Beautiful Queen,” his hand slid lightly over her arm.

  Frightened of her own conflicting feelings, she suddenly pushed him out of her way. Leaving him felt wrong to her somehow, but she knew that she must be free. A long darkened hallway led to a narrow stairway. Taking the stairs two at a time she bound for the opened doorway that led into a bustling street lined with merchants, carts and boisterous people.

  Soundlessly she darted in and out of the crowded thoroughfare. Sustaining a quick pace, her bare feet kicked up dust as she flew away from the hectic market area. Once away from the noisy avenue, she glanced back over her shoulder and was relieved that no one was following her. Heart pounding, she stopped to catch her breath. Bending forward to ease the sharp pain in her side, she murmured, “Blessed freedom.”

  Aradia wandered aimlessly for hours. She was glad to be free, but the original sense of exhilaration wore off as the sun began to slide behind the horizon. Following voices and strange scraping sounds she found herself in an overgrown courtyard where an old woman was sweeping the flags which constituted a walkway of sorts. The voices, which seemed to come from a room at the further side of the yard, were those of men who appeared to be drinking and cavorting in an unruly manner. Still, there was no way around it. She needed a place to stay the night.

  As she began to address the old woman, who was staring at her with a look of amazement on her face, a pot-bellied man came bursting into the courtyard.

  “So this is what they send me,” he growled, looking at her lustfully. “I made a bargain for three of you. Where are the others? Does he think that because you have a certain beauty, one of you can service my customers?”

  Aradia knew at once what he had mistaken her for, and began to protest, but the old woman suddenly roused herself. “This is the daughter of a distant cousin who is visiting from Corinth. There is not enough room for her at my nephew’s house and she has been sent to stay here for a short time.” Swearing loudly, the irate man reached for the small women, but she deftly ducked out of his way. “She can help me in the kitchen,” said the frightened woman, “and – well - the courtyard needs attention. Do not fear. You will get much work out of her.”

  “I will pay,” Aradia said, quickly following the old woman’s lead, although she had no idea where she would find the coin. “And work…of course!”

  Growling to himself, the man turned and plodded back across the courtyard, stopping now and then to send suspicious glances over his shoulder.

  “I am Poletzia, the angry man is Giorgos,” the old woman sa
id. “Do not feel you must explain. I can see you are in trouble. Come. Follow me. Tomorrow you can speak upon your troubles, or not. That of course is up to you.”

  Looking about her new quarters, she mused that her cell-like room was smaller than the pantry they had had at home. She berated herself; I need to stop thinking like this. It is better here than the hole I have been in for the last few weeks. After all, here at least she could think, she could be free. Hesitantly moving to sit on the small straw mat that she assumed to be a bed, she breathed a sigh and settled in to her new room.

  Poletzia came into the room quietly as Aradia slept. Startled awake, she was not in good humor. Looking forward to privacy once she got off the ship, Aradia told Poletzia harshly to knock the next time. The woman looked at her strangely. She handed her a plain robe and told her that she needed to wear it. “We start work at sun up,” she said as she shuffled away.

  The owner of the establishment greeted her as she sleepily walked out of her small quarters the next morning. Squinting, he feasted his eyes over her enticing body and rubbed himself as he licked his thick lips. His pot-belly bulged over his worn grayish robe, and his dullish brown hair lie on his head like a threadbare tapestry showing pink scalp beneath it. Stretching his short frame he made an attempt to assert power over Aradia saying, “I’ll squash that saucy air of yours, and enjoy it!” he snarled, “What place are you from with your uppity manners? Never mind, it matters not. Here… what are you doing?”

  “Looking to find a large pot,” she answered, staring defiantly, “as we are going to thoroughly clean the courtyard, and not to waste any of the herbs for tea, we will boil them today.”

  He pointed down to where the pots were kept, and when she bent over to look at them he pinched her derriere. She was so startled, she at first thought it to be an accident.

  “All women are whores,” snorted Giorgos, as he pinched her bottom again, and then pulled her up close to his erection.

  Aradia tried to move away, but he had her backed into a corner. Forcefully pressing himself against her, his strength surprising, he ran his rough hands over her breast. Reaching under his robe to expose himself, he rubbed his hardness on her leg.

  In his ecstasy he lost his hold on her and she pushed hard, gaining just enough room between them to kick him with her knee in the groin. It was not a debilitating blow, as she was at a disadvantage and could not put a huge amount of strength behind it. Slapping her he grabbed for her hair. She slapped him back, but instead of moving out of his reach, she moved closer. Prepared now, she decided she would never get close to this man again without being ready for him.

  Breathing deeply, she called upon the elementals. She leaned close to Giorgos’s ear and said, “Bastido avere ne la pace e ne bene e rana cantare,” placing a spell on him, “that he know no peace, and forever sound like a frog.”

  Aradia laughed, but the laughter was devoid of pleasure as she said to him, “You touch me again and I will squeeze the life out of your balls!” Brushing herself off, she noticed that her hair had escaped its pins. Sweeping it behind her shoulders, she said in a husky voice, “I will work hard in this place, from morn till dark to earn my keep, but you do not have privileges here,” and she pointed to herself. “Are we understood?”

  “Go to work, butana,” he mocked her as she sauntered away.

  A picture of her grandmother ran through her mind as she quickly moved away from him and out into the courtyard, gladly filling her lungs with the aroma of sweet basil. She would do well to be as strong as her, she thought; she was such an amazing woman. You either loved her or hated her. Aradia remembered the outrageous words her grandmother had said as they took her off to prison, “You are making a mistake young man, but I will tell you this about the women of Etruria… one little cunt hair is stronger than an entire army. So… putting me in prison does not make you a big man, huh?”

  Her grandmother had gone to prison because she had been accused of poisoning two men through a spell. No matter that an enormous amount of women came forward to speak in her favor about the many mothers and children that she had saved with her talent as a mid-wife. Even men came to her aid speaking about her skill with herbs, declaring that it gave them more energy to do their work—a clever way of saying she put passion into their sex lives. But in the end, the accusers were believed. It was much easier to place the blame on a witch, than to think two high born women would poison their mates.

  Aradia remembered how hard her father had worked to clear his mother’s name, even after her death to set her free somehow. Aradia always felt that her grandmother did not need liberating; she just needed to be remembered for who she was. She had been a witch and she had been proud of it. She had never looked for excuses, nor had she asked for pardons.

  Aradia remembered with a chuckle, that when her grandmother was being hanged, all of the prison guards had gotten sick and had kept disappearing to the outhouse. The judge hadn’t been able to keep still long enough to read the crimes against her grandmother, busy as he had been scratching his red blotchy hives on his face and arms.

  When it was finally over, Aradia’s father had locked himself in his study for days. When he had come out, with his eyes swollen and his expression determined, he moved his mother’s family coat-of-arms that had hung on his wall, from his study to the sitting room where it would be more visible. He had wanted the world to know he was not ashamed of her.

  It suddenly came to her that she could make money working spells for women here in Athens. Her grandmother had always told her, “Never do a spell for others that they do not cross your palm with coin.” Grandmother had indeed been wise.

  Dripping with sensuality, a deep male voice spoke in her ancient tongue. “Bella donna, siete venuti da dio la grazia di questo luogo desolato?” Aradia upon hearing, “Beautiful woman, have you come from the gods to grace this desolate place?” turned gracefully toward him. Struck by his rich smooth voice and mesmerized by his liquid eyes, she was tongue-tied. Here was a Greek god come to life.

  He had come upon her in the courtyard, leaving the room where the men drank. He seemed so intent on her, that she found herself shivering. All day she had gathered the few herbs she could find in the courtyard and those which the old woman had brought her, and now she had been about to retreat to the whitewashed cell that was her bedroom.

  Flickering in the glow from the lanterns hanging on the wall, his golden hair seemed bathed in stardust. He traced her shoulder caressingly, and warmth tingled through her arm and body. Standing perfectly still, her mouth slightly parted, her tongue seductively traced her full upper lip.

  The pale velvet blue of his eyes pulled her into their depths, mesmerizing her with thoughts of an ocean on a sultry day. With sun bronzed skin, his shoulders broad and waist narrow, he glowed of vibrant health. His aquiline nose was the same as that of the drawings of statues of the Greek gods that she had seen, yet the statues that she had found so exotic had never troubled her in this manner.

  “You do not desire to be with the men and…well the women?” she asked when she finally found her voice.

  “Now that I have found you, Regina Bella,” he told her, “no other company, no other laughter and no other woman will ever give me the pleasure that your presence is giving me at this moment. I have searched the streets since I had my first fleeting glimpse of you. I have questioned servants, slaves and noblemen alike, but no one knew where you had disappeared to. I have tossed and turned at night wondering when I will set my eyes upon you again. And so it is with the utmost restraint that I pull myself from your presence, for unfortunately I must leave, as the tide waits for no man. It is only the most pressing business that calls me away. But I will soon return, and then I will hear your musical voice as it speaks my name.”

  He took his leave so suddenly, wrenching himself away forcefully it seemed, that it left Aradia confused, as she realized that she did not even know his name. She knew that she wanted to hear her own name upon his lips; s
he wanted to breathe in his scent, and feel the aching warmth again that coursed through her when he was near.

  Suddenly exhausted, she headed to her room and fell asleep at once, only to dream of the handsome stranger, dreams so bittersweet they caused tears on her pillow, yet they put lightness in her heart for she knew with certainty she was going to see him again.

  Aradia’s modest room had no window, but she knew the sun had already risen. Dressing hurriedly, she dashed out to greet the day. Coming out of her room, she nearly knocked Poletzia down. They laughed and walked out back into the courtyard together. It was the first time she had heard the old woman laugh. They sat down on a small bench.

  Aradia whispered, “I have put a spell on the patrone. He is a miserable old man! Why do you work for him? Surely you could do better.”

  “I do not work for him. He is my husband,” Poletzia acknowledged, hanging her head.

  “Pardone mea fallo,” responded Aradia, so stunned that she used her own language.

  Aradia had no idea what to say to this disclosure, so she repeated her words again, this time in Greek. “Pardon my fault. I do not know what to say. I thought you worked here. I cannot believe you are married to such a man. Will you tell him that I have put a spell on him?”

  “What spell did you put upon him?” asked the woman with a curious glint in her eye.

  Aradia dropped her head. Not wanting to lie, she quietly shared, “he will have no peace. You will notice he will not sleep well at night, and will sound like a frog when he is able to speak.”

  “May I ask why you spelled him?” said the old woman, more with curiosity than censure.

  “He… you know, he …” Aradia did not want to put into words what had happened when Giorgos tried to forced himself upon her.