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

fists. I could not discern male from female at first. They were all
connected by limbs and hips.
    I was dizzy, so very dizzy. In my herb-muddled
thoughts, some great tragedy had befallen us. The floor tilted under my feet
and I stumbled. I blinked once, trying to clear my bleary vision and the smoky
room became the nightmare forest battlefield I’d escaped in Perperek. The
jutting columns became black limbs of the misty cypress grove. Crimson blood
covered everyone and ran down the stone floors to puddle at my feet. Surely, I
heard the mournful cries of the dying. My ears felt stuffed with wool.
    I shook my head and the bloody scene vanished.
    In its place was a scene I have difficulty
describing, even now.
    I crept behind a large urn to search for my
mother, fearing most to see her amongst the tangled bodies. Fate was with me
and she was not to be found amongst them. I watched in fascinated horror as the
mass of temple denizens heaved and bucked. Many voices called out as if in
torturous pain. This was so very unlike my memories of the Greek invasion, yet
in my mind it seemed one and the same.
    My vision wavered, and I clutched the columns for
support.
    The room spun. I felt ill.
    All around me, time seemed to slow.
    The mound of exposed flesh and limbs writhed. They
seemed to grapple with one another, vying for some higher unattainable ground. Appendages
flexed and extended with agonizing slowness. My stomach clenched. Swirling
fumes coiled around each naked body, like demons. Men and women, women and
women, and yes, even men together sweated and slithered in a great pooling of
grunts and thrusts and sighs. The hairs on my neck prickled and I sensed that I
was both welcome and not.
    The floor pitched beneath my feet. I toppled
sideways, and rolled before crawling on my hands and knees to escape. One of
the Bacchae nearest me reached out her hand towards me. Her beautiful eyes were
glazed in what I thought was the throes of death. How could I refuse?
    I crept near to her and she grasped my hand. Her
pink tongue slipped between her lips to moisten them and she kept her eyes
focused on mine. I heard a grunt and my eyes traveled the length of her exposed
breasts to her trim abdomen. I glanced at the priest sweating between her legs,
at her robes hiked up to expose her womanhood.
    “Stop,” I whispered. The floor bucked beneath me
and I swayed on my knees.
    The priest’s eyes bored into me like a sarisa .
He groaned and his head lolled on his neck as he bucked against the Bacchae. I
panted with him, as pressure aching to be released simmered in my midsection. His
buttocks flexed and his hands held her legs wide like a butterfly’s wings. They
flapped as he continued his onslaught. She moaned low in her throat and
squeezed my hand harder.
    “You’re killing her,” I whispered. My voice
refused to work properly.
    I tried to let go of her hand, to beat at him with
my fists, but her grip was too strong for me to break. She pinioned me with the
huge ebony pupils of her gray eyes. Tears of frustration stung my eyes and
poured down my cheeks as she arched her back against the cold stone floor and
tried to buck him off. Her hips rose and pumped. Then she gave a small cry that
sent liquid heat rushing between my legs.
    Her body strained and then fell limp. Her eyes
unfocused and then closed. I thought the Bacchae dead with the sheen of sweat still
dewy on her lips and breasts. The man gave a hoarse bark and then slid away
from her. I saw the spurting tip of his erect phallus as he spilled his
glistening, pearly seed onto the ground. His eyes rolled back into his head and
he crumpled to the tiles.
    My hands shook as I pried at the Bacchae’s
fingers. I lifted my gaze, only to meet my mother’s across the room. She smiled
at me, a terrible pride shining in her gaze. It was then the haze of perfumed
smoke lifted, and I realized what I had witnessed. My blood ran colder than a
sea storm.
    Not a battlefield at all, but a levy to the