Written in the Ashes (33 page)

In the dim temple archways, priests and priestesses held their breath, nervously anticipating the final rite in the coronation ceremony of the new Master Junkar.

“In this night of deepest darkness, we bow before the seed of light conceived in the hour of shadows.” Savitur’s commanding voice cut through the quiet temple. All eyes trained on him. “Tonight, in utmost reverence, we call upon the priestesses of Isis to perform for our new master
The Dance of Many Veils
, that one may be chosen as his bride of the sacred rite.”

Savitur bowed and winked at Julian, who sat patiently on a silk cushion near the front of the temple, his shirt removed, his thick black hair braided like a rope down his back, a string of shining garnet beads resting against his smooth, tanned chest. Encircling him were the abundant offerings of the ceremony: moist breads and cakes on silver plates, glass vials of the finest Arabian oils, golden pitchers of milk, bowls filled with ruby pomegranate seeds, apples, dates, olives, berries and shells, while rich Egyptian Frankincense dusted the air with its sultry smoke. Julian sat, poised upon the edge of his cushion, awaiting the entrance of the priestesses while several priests behind him tested their musical instruments. One tuned a kanun while another fingered his flute, as beside him two others tested their doumbeks with several loud slaps. There were pillows to be adjusted, drum skins to be tightened, strings to be changed, until finally, the priests were ready. With a nod from the kanun player, the drummers began to tap out a rhythm to invite the priestesses to enter.

Veiled and barefoot,
ching! ching! ching!,
the priestesses streamed into the temple, their silken skin gleaming in the candlelight, kohl-lined eyes peering over the colorful veils that hid their faces. Some held candles in their palms while others kept the rhythm with delicate brass finger cymbals. Their arms swayed, bare and bangled, jewels in their navels glinting as they turned in the amber light, bodies undulating with the ease of swirling river water.

The line of twenty-one priestesses approached the front of the temple and turned in a slow figure eight formation before Julian, hips swinging playfully, eyes smiling flirtatiously, polished toenails flashing like cut gems from beneath the chimerical cloth of their costumes.

Hannah could scarcely believe she was participating in such a ritual. She felt honored and ashamed in one breath. The excitement of the dance moved in her, yet she felt torn from her origins; whether or not she was Roman or gypsy did not matter. She knew who she was, and she was the daughter of Kaleb of Sinai, a Jew. She reminded herself that she could participate in the ceremony as an actor, as someone giving a marvelous performance, and this quieted her soul.

Julian was hypnotized by the beauty before him, in awe of the women and their flexibility, their radiance. He wondered how he would ever choose between them. He looked into their eyes. Languid, mysterious eyes. Some fluttered their eyelashes at him while some winked; others moved their eyes side to side like calm, Egyptian cats. He decided to wait, and choose from instinct when the time came.

Hannah, at the very end of the line, concentrated on the flow of the steps she had practiced so many times. Every few measures, she had to remind herself not to hold her breath. Several times her toes caught the end of the veil of the priestess beside her, but fortunately, she managed not to trip. Her throat dry and hands trembling, she could not help but notice how Mira, directly in front of her, danced with effortless ease and flawless rhythm, not a single bead of sweat upon her golden brow, while Hannah could already feel the droplets trickling down her spine.

Still, in spite of her fragile nerves and lack of experience, Hannah danced beautifully, her natural grace shining through. She lifted her arms as the women spiraled into three circles, and then back into one. When again they fell into rows, the priestesses ululated as the priests slapped the doumbeks to signal the end of the first dance. Hannah froze in position, as did the others, her chest rising and falling with breath. All she could hear was the throbbing of her heart in her temples. She wet her lips, tasting the moist salt with her tongue as her eyes flicked to Julian, who sat between the candles. He looked so peaceful sitting there, so at ease. She wondered how he planned to choose.

As the rhythm started up again, Hannah closed her eyes to center herself. At the music’s invitation, she felt the song she had composed rise into her throat. She inhaled, and then parted her lips for it to enter the world.

The instant she began to sing, Hannah felt a magical strength pour into her limbs.

The angel swooned.

Somehow, all Hannah’s anxiety melted away, untangled like a net from her bones. Never had her voice responded so effortlessly, so intricately, to the strength she thrust into each note. Never had she felt her heart come alive within the music so fully. She closed her eyes in ecstasy, and let the song carry her higher.

Julian sat up straighter, the melody sending chills through his entire body. What haunting voice was this? His eyes immediately began searching the row of priestesses, but their veils concealed her lips from view. Where was she? He looked for her as they turned before him, but he could not tell who was singing. Even when the priestesses split into three rows and she stood so near, he did not know for certain whom she was.

Listening carefully, Julian watched the three women he thought might be the singer, and decided it was probably the small priestess with the elegant frame who moved so effortlessly, the one with the golden eyes. He smiled at her, feeling the possibility that billowed between them like a sail. She returned his smile with her eyes, batting her long lashes.

Mira.

Hannah smiled, relieved.

The dance continued, and the priestesses fanned into one long crescent to give each woman the opportunity to step forward for a solo performance. Julian watched them all in a respectful but half-interested manner. He was waiting to see the singer, the priestess near the end of the row.

As soon as Mira came forward, Hannah could not take her eyes away from her friend’s jeweled figure. She had never seen Mira dance as beautifully and provocatively as she did that night, indisputably the most talented of them all. She arched her back and undulated her hips as her arms floated like weightless white snakes over her smooth, naked belly. Then she slowly tiptoed closer to Julian so that he might see the dip and curve of her shapely hips as she flirtatiously flicked the tassels that hung from the sides of her belt, letting him see the valley between the domes of her golden breasts. She held everyone in the temple spellbound, including Julian. It was possible that she was the finest dancer to grace the Temple of Isis in a hundred turns of the moon.

Julian was captivated by Mira’s movements, but as she approached, he more than watched—he listened. To his surprise, the melody seemed to be coming not from her, but from behind her. He leaned forward and listened again until he was convinced his ears were not deceiving him. No, this priestess was not the one with the angelic voice. She was not the one. He sat back and his smile dimmed.

As Mira stepped back into the line and struck her final pose, Hannah swallowed hard. It was her turn. If only she had been allowed to remain behind and clean the temple. It was an extra effort for her to dance and sing at the same time, but she had rehearsed with Iris so diligently that the movements were finally becoming more natural. Hannah took her position.

From within the music, Hannah lifted her eyes, dropped her shoulders, and let her long thin fingers float up to the sky. At last she felt herself relax into the shapes her body was making, letting the dance flow through her. The other priestesses watching were impressed with how far she had come in such a short time, though she still had a beginner’s gate.

Julian smiled happily. Here, undoubtedly, was the singer. True, she did not have the flamboyance of the other priestess with the golden eyes, but her movements were smooth, and the curve of her waist, the shining skin of her flat belly, her full breasts, he found as irresistible as her voice.

Hannah looked at Julian and then closed her eyes. But with her eyes closed, suddenly Hannah tripped on her veil and stumbled, sending gasps through the audience. She righted herself quickly, and tried to find her place in the steps. She thought the dreadful dance would never end.

At the song’s conclusion Hannah sustained the last note as long as her breath would last. In the silence that followed, her arms fell softly to her sides and she opened her eyes and met Julian’s intense gaze. Heat flashed through her body like the quick, trembling fingers of lightning.

Those dark blue eyes, the feline shape of them, he had seen them before, but he could not remember where. They seemed familiar. From that moment, Julian watched only the priestess with the azure veil, remembering the rapturous melody that poured from her throat like enchanted birdsong.

His decision was made. There could be no one else.

So.

The priestesses danced one final piece, a fast-paced rhythm with a happy turn. Hips swishing, wrists twisting, eyes smiling, they made a long line that brought the women close to where the new master sat upon his cushion so that he could smell their perfumed skin and be pleased by the way the light played upon the luscious curves of their young bodies.

They concluded with a deliberate crescendo: bangles, breasts, and tassels jiggling in a wild shimmy. Finally, the doumbek players struck the drumheads three times and the dance ended. The priestesses gathered together swiftly, breasts rising and falling as they caught their breath.

Savitur nodded to Julian from where he sat in the window of the temple. It was time to choose.

Julian rose gracefully to his feet and clasped his hands behind his back. He started at the far end of the line and walked slowly, deliberately, before the women.

Mother Hathora watched him from the rear of the temple, hands folded, eyebrows lifted. She had been predicting the girl he would choose. She waited with the others to see who it would be.

As Julian swept down the line past the priestesses, Hannah held her breath and looked down. Beside her, Mira smiled beneath her veil and thrust her chest forward to entice the new master one last time.

Julian looked into Mira’s eyes and smiled, and then stepped past her, and took the fingers of the priestess beside her.

Hannah looked up in disbelief.

Julian smiled and kissed her hand.

“I have made my selection,” he said softly.

“And so the sacred rite begins.” Savitur sprung down from the window with impossible ease given his age, and strode over to where Hannah and Julian stood side by side.

Hannah could scarcely breathe. Just beyond her, Mira trembled in fury, her fists clenched, and her eyes pierced Hannah like iron rods of hatred.

So.

The elder master himself led the pair away from the temple, up a dune to a trail that snaked along the north shore of the island. They walked for ages until Hannah realized where they must be going.

The lighthouse.

Soon it loomed before them, and Hannah followed as they climbed the three hundred steps to the top, the stone cool on her feet. They entered the octagonal tower and climbed another flight of stairs, all the way to the temple at the top, crowned by the statue of Poseidon. On the level just beneath them, the mighty brass mirror cast its gleam across the sea. Hannah bowed and entered the temple high above the sea through a narrow crawl space on her knees. Julian followed her. Inside, the light of three whispering torches set at eye level softly illumined the limestone walls of the round room. The tower had no windows except for one square in the east that let in the light of the full moon, much like those the Egyptians cut in the pyramids so the
ka
of the pharaoh might be free after his entombment.

When Hannah and Julian were both inside, two Nuapar monks stationed to guard the door pushed an enormous block of stone over the entrance with a slow scraping sound that continued until the last wedge of light from the outside world had vanished. Hannah swallowed, her throat tight and dry.

The room had been decorated for the ceremony with beautiful bird-of-paradise flowers set in tall vases all around the room, their shadows dancing on the walls in the torchlight. On the earthen floor adjacent to the door rested a simple wool mattress blanketed with linen sheets, the skin of a tiger spread before it. A brass hookah, an array of fruits, and an amphora of wine were set beside an offering of roasted meat from the slaughtered bull. The priest and priestess of the sacred rite would be expected to sample each, and leave the rest for the gods.

As Hannah came to her feet, she found she was shaking.

Julian turned toward her and, with a tender touch, slowly raised one hand to the side of her head and loosened her veil, letting it fall.

He cocked his head and regarded Hannah with a curious expression. “I remember you,” he said. “We met the day I visited Lady Hypatia in her study.”

Hannah nodded, still too nervous to speak.

Julian stepped back to admire the woman before him. “I had no idea you were a priestess of Isis. How beautiful you are,” he said, “and you have the most heavenly voice. What is your name?”

“Hannah.”

“Hannah.” Julian tasted the sweetness of her name on his tongue. “How did you come to be at the Temple of Isis?” As he spoke, his eyes flitted to her slave collar.

“Hypatia and Alizar wanted me to continue my education there.” Hannah fingered her veil. “I know Synesius would have wanted to be here for your ceremony.”

Julian shook his head, his voice tinged with regret. “I asked Master Savitur to let my brother come, but Synesius is a Christian. There was no way to allow him to be here.” Julian sighed heavily. “Now I will never see him again.”

Hannah tipped her head. “What do you mean?”

Julian looked down and two shadows like brushstrokes appeared beneath his cheekbones in the torchlight. “Tomorrow morning, to everyone who knew him, Julian is dead. There will even be a funeral for me, I mean, for him, on the north shore at sunset.”