HETAERA: Daughter of the Gods (7 page)

I stifled a sob and allowed him to lead me to the
door. If I’d thought the frigid winter air uncomfortable before, it was now
doubly so with sweat soaking my chiton. The chill was unbearable but the cold
made my hands ache less.

I went to my chamber and drank the herbed wine
that was laid out for me. Then I lied down upon my pallet and waited for sleep
to overcome my agony. The world went dim and my chamber seemed to spin behind
my closed eyes. My stomach roiled and I thought I might be sick. And then I
dreamt.

I cannot remember now, how the dream started, save
that I ran towards my father and someone held me back. I thought it might have
been my mother, but when I turned to face her, there was no one there, only a
flash of light. I heard a child’s laughter echoing through the mist, and then
my own beloved father’s voice calling to me. The thunderous sound of the sea
filled my ears, and then it became the sounds of a battle ringing through the
tree branches. Father’s voice rang in my herb-clouded brain.

“Dori,” he said. “My treasure!”

I could not see him. I could not see
anything
.
I was lost in a haze of mist.

“Papita?” I could not find him.

“Doricha,” he called. And someone shook my
shoulder hard.

I whirled and saw Aidne standing beside me.

“Doricha!” She reached for me with clawed fingers.
Her mouth curled into a triumphant smile. I struggled to free myself. Her hands
gripped my shoulders like iron.

“Dori!” Aidne screamed my name again.

I shuddered.

“Dori….” she called. “Dori!”

I jolted awake, my lungs heaving for breath.

The voice was both a woman’s and real.

Not a woman, but Mara, her forehead creased in
worry.

“Are you awake?” she asked.

“Yes,” I answered. My tongue felt thick. I reached
for wine to ease my raw throat. My nose was stuffy and my head ached
abominably. “What is it? Have I missed the meal?”

Mara helped me to stand. “You must come at once! It’s
your mother. Her pains began early this morning, but she did not want to ruin
your ceremony.” She glanced meaningfully at my bandaged hands.

“Is everything all right? Is my brother born?” How
could I have missed his birth?

Concern gave my feet wings and erased the last
traces of my night visions. I cupped my bandaged hands around the goblet and
tried not to slosh the wine over the edge of my cup.

“Her labor is coming too early--her birth canal
has not yet softened. She’s holding up well, though. The healers say it will be
some time before the babe arrives. I thought you’d like to be there.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” I said.

Mara eyed my bandaged palms. “Does it hurt much?”

I took a sip of wine and winced. My nose began to
tingle.

“What? Oh, no. Not much.” I swiped my fingertips
under my nose and tried to sound brave. No use frightening Mara before her own patterns
were inked. A dubious look crossed her sweet face, but she nodded and fell
silent as we approached my mother’s chamber.

“Mamita!” I flew across the room to her, heedless
of the wine dripping on to the stone floor like fragrant drops of blood. I
scarcely noticed the two women crouched on the far side of the room, or the
girl by the fire.

My mother lay on her side on the straw pallet. Her
lovely hair was plastered to her head with perspiration, and her face seemed
very pale and drawn. But she smiled at the sound of my voice and turned her
enormous eyes on me. I set my goblet of wine to the side and knelt beside her.

“Doricha.” She reached out a hand to me. “I knew
you would come. How…” she paused and blew her breath out in one forceful huff. “How
went your assignment with the artisan?”

It was a point in itself, the attention she
lavished on me despite my brother’s impending birth and her own pain. I held
out my bandaged hands for her to unwrap.

“Oh,” she breathed. “They will be lovely, when you
heal. They remind me a little of my own.” I glanced at the patterns crusted
with my dried blood and shook my head. They were not nearly as fine as hers.

“I shall believe it when the swelling is gone.” I
smiled to reassure her. “How is my brother?”

“He is….” Another gasp of pain escaped her lips. “He
is well, I think. They say his head has not turned to the proper placement for
birth. I will not lie to you, Doricha. It will not be an easy time. You must be
brave for me.” Her words sliced my heart. I hated that she was in such pain.

“Humph!” said one of the women, wiping my mother’s
brow. “Her pains come too close. It will not be long.”

“The girl should go. There will be much blood
here,” remarked the other with a frown.

“No!” My mother and I voiced the same objection. “Please,
let her stay. She is a strong daughter. She will not faint or turn away at the
sight of blood. Will you, Doricha?”

I thought of the crimson rivers I had seen on the
night my father was killed. I pictured the cooling life’s blood seeping from
the man I struck down and shivered.

“No.” I shook my head. “I will not turn away.”

“She will be a hindrance! What can she do with her
hands bandaged thus?” asked the first. “Send her away, Sita, until the child is
born.”

“I will not.” My mother grimaced again.

“Be reasonable! There is little enough room here.”
They continued to argue until the girl turned from the fire that glinted along
the dull lengths of her red hair.

“Let her stay. She may aid me.” It was Suvra!

A look passed between the two women. It was a
glance I have often thought back on, and wondered at its portent. But such
mysteries are hidden from me now, just as they were then. I was too shocked by
Suvra’s interference and too full of the birth of my brother that I did not
think to question their swift acquiescence.

“Very well, heat some water, girl, if you can
manage. The other one must leave.” The woman shooed Mara out of the room.

“She will manage.” Suvra grabbed at the vessel. I
followed her to the fire. Her oily gaze settled on my bandaged hands. “How do
you fare?” she whispered.

“They only sting a little, now. The wine helped.” I
glanced at my mother being helped to a squatting position. One of the women
held a cup to my mother’s lips. How close was the birth?

“The herbs. Aidne sent them to ease your pain.”

“Oh,” I mumbled, my eyes on my mother as she
grunted her way through another birth pain. “I didn’t know she cared so much
for my comfort.”

“Oh, yes. She insisted I have the wine prepared
for your return. She mixed the batch herself.” Suvra’s face flushed. “After
all, you
are
kin.”

My mother gave a sharp cry. She clutched her
middle and the women hovered around her like insects.

“Bring the water,” one of them snapped.

I rushed to her, afraid to do anything, afraid to
do nothing.

“Ohhhh,” my mother panted and clutched her
abdomen. “The pain!”

The room was unbearably hot and thick with the
stench of womanhood and sweat. My nose and cheeks tingled as if swollen, and
tears threatened to spill from my eyes.

The two women hovered, one at each elbow balancing
my mother in a crouch between them. My mother’s legs buckled and all three of
them nigh collapsed.

“Steady, Sita! You cannot rest just yet.”

My mother moaned and panted like a wild animal. Her
lank hair hung over her eyes. Another cry erupted from her throat and suddenly
there was a wet, smacking sound. I stared at the chiton rucked up between her
legs and saw it was stained and dripping. Fluid puddled on the stone floor
beneath her.

“There now, your waters have burst. The babe will
move down out of your womb.”

“Something…wrong. I can…
ugh
!...feel
it.” My mother slurred her words and continued to clutch her stomach.

“Give her more wine!” I cried.

“We have no more to give her, girl. I doubt it
would do much good anyway. She won’t keep it down.” One of the women wiped the
sweat from my mother’s brow.

My mother wailed again.

“Use mine,” I said and thrust my goblet in their
hands.

Another look passed between the midwives before
they reacted.

“As you say, girl.” They poured it down her
throat, and I encouraged them, thinking it would ease her pain, as it had mine.

“Look!” one of the women cried. She pointed to the
mess on the floor. There, in the life giving waters of my mother’s womb was the
unmistakable tinge of red.

My mother screamed again, and trembled between the
unforgiving women. A gush of bright blood flooded the skirt of her chiton and
ran down her legs. She cried aloud.

“Mother!” I moved to her side. Her fists flailed
out and caught me full on the left cheekbone. I think she struck me out of
agony, but the women misunderstood.

“Get back, you foolish girl!” one chided. “She
doesn’t want you. Here, Sita. Bend your knees and try to relax your womb.”

“Gods,” my mother shrieked. “Help me!”

I covered my face with my hands as the panic in
her voice set chill bumps along my arm. Agony and fear drowned the murmurs of
the two women and everywhere was blood, blood….

“Get Aidne,” one of the women barked at Suvra.

“But…she said….” Suvra’s voice trailed away and
she eyed the overturned wine goblet on the floor.

“It is not right! This is too much. Now go, and
the gods claim us all if you are too late!”

Suvra glanced once at me and then hiked up her
skirts and ran from the room.

My mother grunted and strained, her body working
to free her unborn child from the confines of her unyielding womb. Her face
turned red from the strain. As she pushed, I prayed.

Dionysus, hear my plea. Help us. Bendis,
Earth Mother, watch over us.

It seemed like several lifetimes before Aidne
arrived carrying a goatskin pouch. Hours of watching helplessly as my mother
strained and raved like a wild woman. It takes only moments to get from one
section of the hall, from another. Aidne did not appear to have hurried.

“So,” Aidne said, after my mother finished bearing
down. “It comes to this.”

My poor mother was exhausted. I did not think she
could possibly face Aidne’s hatred and so I moved between them.

“Please,” I begged. “Do something. If you know
what is to be done, do it!”

Aidne considered me for a moment and then moved to
where my mother dangled between the two women. She brushed the hair from my
mother’s face and gazed at her unfocused eyes. Her hand lingered on my mother’s
cheek.

“Ah, Sita…how you must wish Delus had never come
between us,” she crooned. “To see you brought so low by his seed….”

I do not know if my mother was coherent; she was
too far gone with pain and the wine. I think perhaps she was, for she drew her
bobbing head back as far as she could and spat in Aidne’s direction. It
spattered across Aidne’s face and neck like a bitter storm. And then, my mother
laughed.

“You were never so close to my heart as you might…
ugnh
…have
wished, Aidne. You taught me the skills of a Bacchae, nothing more.” And she
laughed again and cried at the same time.

I froze.

Aidne’s face turned to creamy stone. “You were the
most beloved of devotees! You were meant to serve the gods, not some mere
mortal!” Her eyes bored into my mother with such force that I was sure it would
kill.

“And what of you, Aidne? Were you not a mere
mortal?” my mother asked weakly. The women on either side turned their faces to
the walls, as Aidne’s gaze raked across them, over Suvra crouched by the door,
and finally rested on me.

Fear lanced my heart. She took a menacing step
towards me, and the toe of her sandal caught the overturned wine cup on the
floor. Aidne glanced once at it, and a crease appeared between her brows. Her
eyes flickered towards me. Then, like a serpent uncoiling, she smiled. Sadness
touched her eyes, but she smiled.

Aidne whirled to face her two assistants. “You
two. Take the babe.”

“
What
?” I cried. She would not dare!

“You should not do this, Aidne. It is not for you
to say.” One of the women glowered at her. “Get the
ktístai
. Bring
Merikos.”

“
No
! Leave Merikos out of this. He
has done nothing to merit your wrath, Aidne.” My mother lunged at her, but the
women held her and another pain forced her to her knees.

“Has he not? “Aidne seemed unconvinced. “We shall
see.” Aidne jerked her chin towards the door. Suvra blinked once and rushed
from the room. “Now, lay Sita back on the pallet.”

“No,” I said. “Wait.” I struggled to make sense of
what was happening, but my head felt stuffed with wool.

Aidne turned her dark eyes on me. “You stay silent
or it will be the worst for you.”

Mother was too exhausted to fight them. My mind
rambled from shock of the situation and herbed wine. I put a hand on my cheeks,
where my face ached both from the strike of her fist and from the constant
tickle in my nose.

Aidne drew forth a small parcel of goatskin. She
laid it on the stool and knelt beside the thrashing body of my mother. With
steady hands, Aidne unfolded the many flaps of the parcel to reveal its
contents.

It was a set of sharpened stone blades.

“No.” My mother moaned. “Aidne, please, no! You
cannot do this!” Her hands fisted in the manacles of the other women’s grasp.

Aidne was unmoved.

“He’s just a child. A babe. The gods will never
condone your actions. Please,” my mother babbled. “Please, Aidne. For my sake.”

Aidne’s hands paused.

“You are nothing to me, Sita. No more than a cow
giving birth. You brought this upon yourself when you turned your back on the
Bacchae to lie with that unsanctified wretch.”

My mother sobbed and sank back on the pallet. “Take
me, if you need your revenge, then.”

Aidne spat in the dust and drew the stained chiton
up and over the mound of my mother’s abdomen. She removed a small animal
bladder from her pack. When she had loosened the leather thong, she dipped a
long finger into the bladder and drew forth a nasty black powder.

“How much did she drink?” Aidne asked, dodging my
mother’s feeble kicks. She drew a greasy, dark line down my mother’s heaving
abdomen. The older women looked frightened. I forced myself to inch closer.

“How much?” Aidne demanded again. “How much before
it spilled?”

“Almost the cup.”

“And before? Did she take wine before then?”

The women glanced at each other before answering. “She’s
been taking doses for weeks. Two full goblets since this morning, and then the
girl brought more.”

Aidne’s eyes slid towards me.

“Yes…I saw.” The way she drew out her words
sounded even more serpentine than usual. “Listen well! Sita’s had too much
pennyroyal. She will most likely die, though I meant only for her to suffer the
loss of Delus’ seed. The girl’s wine was laced with it for her initiation. If
Sita drank it...we must take the child now.”

“What?” I cried. “No!”

My mother began a keening high pitched wail that
rattled the walls of the chamber. I covered my ears with my hands and sobbed
beside her, determined not to let this terrible thing happen. Aidne lied, she
had always lied. She meant to murder my mother, and I vowed to do whatever I
must to stop her.

The stone knife glinted in the firelight, sharp
and polished fine. Aidne wet both sides of it with her tongue, drawing her own
blood. It stained her teeth.