HETAERA: Daughter of the Gods Read Online Free PDF Page A

will do anything.”
    The babble began anew. One man’s voice seemed to
carry over the others. I rubbed my hands on the undersides of my chilled legs
and fought the urge to peek into the gap. What would become of my poor mother if
the Bacchae turned her away?
    “You were favored once by the gods, Sita,” said
the woman. “More than most can claim to be. Now you are spoilt by your time
amongst the villagers. Your hands are chapped and your body made slack for all
your youthful appearance.”
    How those words must have stung my mother’s heart,
for the villagers had hated her so for her beauty. Now she was deemed unfit for
the Bacchae, the glory for which she was trained.
    The voice continued. “Still, for the sake of the
girl, you may stay and take such tasks as will make you useful to the temple. Perhaps
your daughter will achieve the greater glory you forsook to breed a soldier’s
get.”
    I wondered at the venom in that voice. I’d always
assumed my father had the temple blessing to take my mother to wife.
    My mother murmured her thanks, and the door flew
open. The priest who’d led us through the temple peered down at me, still
crouched in the corridor. His eyes flickered once to the door and the corners
of his mouth deepened.
    “You,” he said. “Follow me.” He started off down
the passage without explanation.
    “My…my mother?” I stood and brushed the dust off
my knees. I was determined not to stay without her. The priest stopped. Though
his manner was abrupt, his eyes were not unkind when he turned to look at me.
    “She will be given a place. Your place is with the
other supplicants. Over there.” He pointed to one of the halls where I had
heard music earlier. He waited until I shuffled forward before continuing. “You’ve
come at a fortunate time,” he said, as we once again crossed the great center
hall. “There’s to be a festival in honor of the last harvest. This winter we
should press twice the number of grapes than the previous year.”
    This was fortunate news indeed, as there is
nothing quite so fine as good Thracian wine. Indeed, it is our lord Dionysus’
blood that runs in our veins and causes such jealousy in the hearts of other
men. And after our life in the village, I could not believe that I would be
given such fine clothes and good food. My exhaustion waned in anticipation of
seeing my first Bacchanal. I was certain it would live in my memory forever,
and so it has, but not for the reason I thought it would.
    After being seen to my quarters, which were little
more than a small alcove in a room of five other inductees, I was given a clean
chiton and sent to bathe. A meager repast of bread, lamb, and cheese was
brought to curb my hunger.
    I’d just brushed the crumbs from my lips when
weariness descended upon me, but I could not stop worrying for my poor mother. I
begged news from one of the women setting out figs and thyme for the meal and
was informed that she was settled into her own quarters. I should rest, as my
inspection and training would begin on the morrow. I yawned so hard, I thought
my jaw would crack from my skull. One of the temple priestesses saw and sent me
to my pallet until the feast.
    I set my guilt aside and slept like the dead until
the moon sailed high in a curtain of the night sky. At least I thought it must
be evening. Who could tell? It was odd residing underneath the mountains, like
a serpent hiding under a rock. When my mother appeared to lead me to the
Bacchanal, all my misgivings vanished. Lines of grief still etched her
features, but her eyes were rested and alert. She seemed resigned and composed
among the frenetic excitement of the feast.
    “You must be silent, unless spoken to, Dori,” she
admonished.
    “What part will I take in the Bacchanal?” I asked.
    Mother compressed her lips. “I do not know, but
for certain you should be as unobtrusive as you can.”
    “Is it not safe, here?” I wondered.
    “It is not safe anywhere, Dori.” Her