Mary and Miriam E-Book

Tracy deMercleden

• Herausgeber: WS
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: The Miriyama
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 613

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

The first two books of the Miriyama, where Mary and Miriam broke the mould for women of their time; with the Master’s blessings. Mary, as equal to any male disciple and Miriam as the Master’s lover, companion, devotee and wife.

Mary Magdalene’s route from priestess to the Master’s feet took her through abomination, and possession by seven devils, but to stay there she must defy all the male prejudice and bigotry of those days.

Miriam was Yeheshua’s sternest test in the Halls of Heliopolis, and comes to him again in Magdala, raising the spirits of all with her singing.

Yeheshua sends them together on a quest to Kadesh, to regain the powers of ‘Miriam of Old’ for the severest trials to come.

Leseprobe

Mary and Miriam

The first Two books OF the Miriyama/ ‘MiriamRing’

Book 1: Magdalene’s Blog

Book 2: Kadesh Quest

Tracy de Mercleden

Mary and Miriam

Published by Tracy deMercleden

ISBN 978-1-0685366-1-8

Copyright © Tracy deMercleden, 2024

The moral right of Tracy deMercleden to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved.

Printed and bound by publishdrive.com

Book 1: Magdalene’s Blog

Preface

Miriam wants to go to the East where Yeheshua had been travelling and teaching earlier in his life. To go to places he had spoken to her about; to renew his message to the people there.

I cannot bear to see her go; she who has been like a second saviour to me in these past few weeks.

When all the work of the master with me had seemed to be unravelling like a badly sewn shawl.

And I cannot help feeling that her going has a lot to do with the attitude of some of the brethren.

*

Where should I start with the story?

That day in Galilee that meant so much to me perhaps, where the voices of confusion were lifted from my mind? Around the very same time that Miriam re-found her Love and her Lord?

Or maybe those fateful few days, or weeks, around the crucifixion?

Yet, who is able to hear the deeds of others without being all too ready to give judgement?

If you can allow, stay with me and I shall go back to what was the beginning for me, of my search.

Then hopefully all the rest will make some sense.

Magdalene’s Blog 1

As a young girl, everything was so clear and simple. Life was good because God made it that way. There were hurts and upsets too of course, but put there perhaps just to be overcome.

Then, almost imperceptibly, a thin cloud came to cast a veil across my sun.

What was this cloud and where did it come from?

I don’t know; I only knew that something had started to slip away from my grasp. The happiness that I needed, as food and sleep, had become half a step removed from me.

I sought hard to regain it, looking to our scriptures and prophets for the way as I was taught.

Great Solomon and his father David knew, being beloved of the Lord.

Their songs and prayers helped keep my spirit winging forward, and encouraged, I threw myself onwards into my studies and devotions; until I met the wall.

I was a girl fast becoming a woman and not permitted entry to the mysteries of the God of the Jews.

The magic, mystery and mastery opened to Elijah and Elisha would always be closed to me.

I was told that there was another way for me through being a loving wife and mother; once a good match was found for me. For me as an accepting woman but not as a rebellious child!

Something nearly died in me then… if I would have accepted that my God was this ‘God of the Jews’ and not the true ‘Most High God’ of all my childhood.

But I couldn’t.

I rebelled in my heart, determined that I would not follow this path dictated to me by others.

Then my father died; victim of a gang of thieves.

Though he could see the rebellion growing in his daughter and admonished me often and severely, he had never withdrawn his love from me. I loved him too, even enjoying the fighting between us, right until he was taken from us so suddenly; for it was not his fault that the world was as it was.

But with our father gone my brother was not so patient, looking to offload me into marriage as soon as possible.

And he found a market trader willing to take me on.

So I ran away.

M’s Blog 2

Luckily or through Grace perhaps, it was made easy for me.

I had always loved the comings and goings of the trade caravans to Magdala and had become friendly with a few of the route-masters, plying them with questions of the lands they travelled between.

The particular caravaner about to leave Magdala at the time of my flight was one of those I knew and he agreed to help me.

Within his camel train was a woman of wealth and substance travelling back from Egypt to the far-off city of Ephesus.

She was of Greek origin, travelling overland because she could not bear the sickness of the sea and was wealthy enough to manage things her own way.

Several maids travelled with her as well as guards and other servants. Maybe this lady, called Dianaela, would take me on to earn my passage.

She was intrigued by me I think, and it must have amused her to help me escape from the zeal of the Jews.

So it was I found myself setting off into the desert night, watching the glorious display of stars arrayed around us, as Dianaela’s newest handmaiden. I was almost as happy as the little girl who used to point at those same stars from the arms of her father.

My mistress was an ample, kindly woman who also had a keen business sense and a wide knowledge of the customs of different peoples of the world, which she loved to display when given the chance.

In me, she found a very willing audience. Partly as this allowed me respite from other tasks, which in truth were not very onerous; but also for my love of all such tales and knowledge.

It was her that told me of the Great Goddess, and how she was worshipped far and wide. Isis and Astarte, Ishtar and great Diana. All encompassing was Her realm, stretching back to the beginning of time; but not in Judea or Galilee.

“Yet even great Yahweh must have a consort, but you Jews keep the secret very close;” and she laughed.

I was shocked at her but it made me wonder; now that I was travelling through another country with companions nourished on such different ideas.

M’s Blog 3

We travelled north, going quite close to the sea, crossing slopes where magnificent cedars grew. Past Tyre and Sydon and where Ancient Byblos lies, the centre of Astarte’s realm, and on towards Antioch in the north.

Lady Dianaela also told me the tale of Adonis, Asarte’s love. Born so beautiful and carefree that goddesses vied for his love and feted him as their delight.

He was fated though to perish through his own delight in hunting and the lamentations of the women have never been surpassed. Yet he came back to life in spring, bringing beauty and freshness ever new as the harvested seed brought forth new life, perennially returning for the rites of Astarte’s love.

Something of this struck a chord in me, young as I still was, and liking the idea of renewal and of life being refreshed.

We passed through Adonis’s especial valley; but we journeyed on northwards and I was saddened to be leaving all this romance behind.

Venus, Astarte’s sign, still shone bright in the western sky following the sun down toward the sea and I knew I didn’t want to leave this land. More especially I was filled with a great desire to know more of the ways and mysteries of the Great Goddess and her loves. That missing piece that I had been searching for, I could see that now.

My mistress told me much of Ephesus of course, and the young boys who held Adonis as their model; for she sensed the interest she had aroused in me.

She had large estates in and around the town and claimed to be descended through her mother’s line from a princess of the Amazons.

Her father had apparently been a famous physician from Corinth, yet I thought I felt a kind of loneliness in her and discovered that her husband had been killed in the wars of Rome. She had not married again but thrown herself into her businesses.

Maybe she did wish for me to stay with her but once she knew I had developed another longing, to devote myself to the Goddess and Adonis, she helped me in every way she could.

There were not many places where she didn’t have influential connections and Antioch was no exception.

There was a great temple of Astarte there, where she knew the High Priestess and could recommend me to her as a likely neophyte.

Which was how I entered into the new phase of my life and search.

M’s Blog 4

My former mistress Dianaela had not long left when I was called for interrogation by the High Priestess herself.

A fine-featured woman of indeterminate age; mostly perhaps because she was wearing beautifully applied make-up.

She asked me questions in Aramaic with a heavy Assyrian accent which I could barely understand; but I gathered enough to know I would be required to learn many things quickly if I wanted to stay in the temple; it wouldn’t be an easy ride.

Then she took me by the arm and led me to stone steps that circled up around the inside walls of the tower that stood at the centre of the temple. Stairs that led up to a wide flat space surrounded by a wooden parapet that formed the top of the tower. From here there was an uninterrupted view over the roofs of Antioch and across some of the surrounding fields and hills; and of course, up and out into the sky.

Night was just drawing its velvety depth from the completed day with the strongest stars shining high above the oval roof area. The two furthest ends of this space each boast a tall alabaster pillar, curved and pointed like a horn of purest ivory. In the centre, where a broad circular platform had been raised to knee level above the rest of the roof, a deep bowl of incense was burning and letting sweet smelling smoke drift into the cool evening air.

This passed by me as a series of fleeting impressions for the woman had led me over to one edge of this stage to where a clear crescent moon lay suspended in a fine glory that heralded the melding of day into night.

Floating close beside the moon fair Venus shone with amazing intensity and they were all that seemed to exist out over the city.

It was a sight that made me gasp with its unexpected impact.

I turned towards the High Priestess whose painted face shone faintly. The beautiful mask smiled and said how auspicious it was for me to have applied to serve the Goddess on this night when Her signs were brought together in such a way.

So it is, I have been accepted to learn the ways of Astarte’s Priestesses.

M’s Blog 5

I sleep in a dormitory with many other girls but they treat me with some suspicion. The Jewish girl from Magdala. What does she want in the temple of the Goddess?

Indeed, I do feel quite out of place with these laughing, pretty creatures of polished smiles and sliding glances.

Instead of worrying though I am throwing myself into service, eager to please the Goddess Herself if not her young handmaidens.

My first duties, with other new neophytes, are to clean the dormitories, toilets, washrooms and kitchens of the temple complex. These are laid out around the sides of the main courtyard, which has openings on the south, leading down a hillside where the gardens and orchards of the community are spread out.

These cleaning tasks are the most menial service in the temple but it is work that I am well able to do and take some pride in. Several of the other young neophytes obviously hate it but I hate rather the mess of it being left undone.

We all prefer helping in the kitchens as this gives opportunities to go out into the farm gardens where a group of the oldest priestesses are responsible for all that is done; or who actually spend much of their time sitting round under the trees and snoozing. Quite a happy retirement, it seems to me.

Out on those southern slopes there are many different areas. An ancient olive grove is separated from a citrus orchard by equally ancient walls, alongside which a tangle of fig-trees and prickly pear cacti compete with each other.

On the other, rockier side of the olive grove are rough pastures where our goats and straggly cows wander, whilst in the better tilled ground beside the citrus orchard there are a swathe of well cared-for vines.

Closer to the temple buildings lie the vegetable and herb gardens which occupy most of the elder priestess’ working hours, and water brought from the kitchens and the washrooms keep the vegetables growing in the peak of condition.

On the other side the effluence from the toilets is diverted into covered pits, away from all the rest, but which will eventually change into something more useable, I am told.

M’s Blog 6

Fetching and carrying for the kitchens has led to us joining classes with the ancient crones, to learn about the usage of the herbs which is their great delight.

And every day we all gather in the ‘Courtyard of the Tower’ for morning and evening rituals; just before the sun rises and then as it sets. Rituals led by one or other of the senior priestesses from a balcony built around an opening that is near the base of the tower.

I haven’t got to climb the steps of ‘Adonis Tower’, as it is called, since that first magical evening. It stands at the northern end of the great courtyard close by an arch that leads to the grove and an ornate door to where the high priestess has her apartments with a few others.

That is called Temple Court and it is from here that Billel commands her ‘empire’ within the city and district of Antioch.

Temple Court is quite grand; its sides being three stories high with golden columns on the ground floor. They are arranged around a central water-pool, which extends within the columns on one side of the courtyard, to form a heatable bathing area.

There are rooms for receiving important visitors, teaching and other purposes, all dedicated to the Goddess in her different guises, particularly Aphrodite and Isis who are the most popular at this time.

Tower Court has a simple colonnade on two sides, and communal buildings for eating and sleeping, with an arch going to the Goddess Grove in the east and gates to the west that lead to the fetival grounds, neither of which we neophytes can enter until we have passed through our Acceptance.

Our dormitories are in a single story complex on the west side of Tower Court with access to the flat roofs which we use a lot.

And gradually I am becoming used to the workings of the great temple and feel more a part of it all. My fellow neophytes called me ‘Magdalene’ and it is a name that has stuck with me.

M’s Blog 7

There is so much to learn before a neophyte can even be considered for ‘Acceptance’. One by one new duties and tasks are being added as the weeks go by.

We work hard in every aspect of the temple life in a series of rotas, but none of these allow us outside the temple and its gardens.

We wash all the robes, shifts and winding cloths and dry them on lines strung from poles on the flat roofs above the dormitories and washrooms; but the priestesses do all of their own under garments themselves. Then there is the sowing, mending and pressing to do as well.

Our ‘discoveries’ within the herb garden have become more formal instruction into making them into ingredients, some of which are for the kitchen but there are others that have quite different uses.

We are learning about them all.

Potions, powders and different sorts of mixtures are sold to the women of the town for personal and household use, and we do much of this.

Certain ointments and potions are used only by the temple priestesses, and these we are learning to prepare as well, except for one that is a great secret. Even its use is only to be revealed to us after we have undergone our ‘Acceptance’.

We keep a record of our bodies, especially around our times of menstrual bleeding; and how this affects our moods in relation to the phases of the moon and other heavenly bodies.

And now we are learning the arts of beautification; such as face-painting and arranging our hair for this or that occasion; which can take quite a long time for it is sometimes very intricate.

Then there are the dances that are so important and of course there is the proper way of dressing and holding ourselves, and even walking. All of these create certain effects that a priestess needs to be mistress of.

Beyond that we shall also be learning about massage and other womanly arts. Some of the priestesses are skilled midwives, much in demand amongst the noblewomen of Antioch.

There is a very great need for priestesses that excel in any area of women’s life and such talents are always looked for amongst us neophytes.

I don’t think I am very special at any of them.

M’s Blog 8

I am fascinated by the lessons we are getting about the Goddesses. Many of these are represented in the temple and some others aren’t.

You may reproach me for turning my back on the one God I professed to love so much, but it isn’t like that.

The Almighty is still everything, as much as ever I have felt, it is just that my views are expanding, allowing for other versions of that truth than the ones I had previously been taught.

In fact, I am starting to wonder how much of their knowledge our Priests and Scribes have deliberately been keeping hidden from us, the ordinary Jewish people?

At just fifteen I am neither the youngest nor the eldest of the thirty or so neophytes at the temple, and of these thirty there are four or five of us that hang about together, when we can.

Sarita is the first that I have got to know well. She has dark, glossy hair and golden-brown skin. She is beautiful, though some would say too thin.

Her family had come from the east where they worshipped the Goddess Durga. They came in a trading caravan and lived here for some years, but they fell on hard times.

It was Sarita’s choice to serve the Goddess at this temple. Dance is her passion and she has real talent. She was welcomed by High Priestess Billel. In many ways Sarita and I are both outsiders which is maybe why we befriended each other.

Perhaps too this is why Aella and Helen latched onto us for support. These two sisters came to the temple a few months after I did.

Whereas Aella is older than Sarita and me, Helen is a year or so younger. They are the daughters of a Roman auxiliary whose wife has died and who have no other family.

Both Aella and Helen are tall and fair haired, making a striking contrast with Sarita.

They hated the endless rounds of menial tasks that they had to do at the beginning and I took some pity on their misery, helping them when I could. For this they were very grateful and together the four of us make quite a happy gang.

The other sometime member of our group is Carmel who I think likes to be with us just because we are different to most of the others.

Carmel doesn’t like to miss out on whatever is happening and she keeps us involved as well.

She is a lively soul to have around.

M’s Blog 9

There are many occasions for communal singing and dancing in the temple but nothing is quite like the late summer festival. This is the timeless celebration of the harvest and one of the two great rites of the temple when Adonis and Astarte are especially honoured.

The autumn rite is about the death of Adonis and the spring rite brings his rebirth. It is for these that the High Priestess takes the name Astarte-Billel, when she portrays the Goddess, and the ‘Adonis’ is chosen yearly from the young men of the city.

Carmel and Sarita have been involved in the official dancing arrangements, whereas ‘the sisters’ and I are free to wander around the ground, dressed in the dark red cloaks that declare us promised to the Goddess but not yet fully in her service.

Great tents have been set up in the ground and coloured streamers festooned everywhere, strung from pillar to post; and many rugs are spread inside these tents where musicians have practiced all the afternoon.

Toward the end of this first day huge pots of steaming food: fish, meat and vegetables, were prepared to join the baskets of many different breads, spread out on the makeshift tables to welcome the townspeople in; just as the sun sets over the western edge of the world.

The day has been very calm and there is hardly a cloud above to interrupt the pale evening sky that is spread from horizon to horizon. Caught in the magic of the moment I walked away from all the tents towards the rim of the festive ground.

The moon is half grown, sailing in the southern quarter, soft and beautiful. I moved back, slightly away from the bushes and trees, instinctively peering toward the western sky, knowing that when night came Venus would be riding peerless amongst the stars.

But the Queen of Heaven was already shining bright in the still pale blue sky. No other star would be visible for a good while, but there she is, with a magnificence that is all her own, displaying an unearthly beauty I could hardly fathom.

Held in my reverie I was caught by surprise to hear the voice behind me. “Look well Magdalene…” the High Priestess Billel had been watching me and I had been unaware of her approach. She has the knack of being able to do that kind of thing, “See truly and you are seeing the Goddess herself. The sky is hers alone this evening.”

I knew she spoke the truth for I could feel it in me and wished to let the Goddess in completely. “Your studies will be starting in earnest soon and her realm will open to you as it has for me. Come, join back with your companions, for there are other things you should observe this night as well.”

We went back to the tents where the feasting had nearly started, for the great and rich men and women of Antioch and around had come to pay their homage. The handmaidens of the Goddess were arrayed in white festive gowns to meet and entertain these worthies; for the autumn rites had begun in earnest.

I rejoined my friends who asked where I had been, scolding me for being a neophyte out alone amongst the bushes. Didn’t I know the risk?

Until a neophyte is accepted by the Goddess, she must not have relations with a man, but remain a virgin. If she flaunts this rule then she would lose her chance to become a priestess, even if it hadn’t been by her choice that it happened. High Priestess Billel has been vigilant on my behalf.

Sometimes there are men driven to make rash attempts to ravage the unwary neophyte, and if caught at this in olden times, such creatures would be hunted and slain by the priestesses with their slim but deadly bows and arrows. Nowadays the town guards are asked to pursue them and deal out Roman justice.

The festivities went on late into the night, on this, the first day of the rites. There was still a slightly formal order to the proceedings and only the priestesses picked by Billel would lead their high paying guests away into the night.

Tomorrow it will be slightly different.

But tonight, we neophytes approaching Acceptance were taken to special places in the outer wall where we could view the intimate rites in play; the first time we have glimpsed how the Goddess will work through us.

I am fascinated but rather shocked, though of course I know there is more to love-making than kissing and cuddling. No topic has been more discussed amongst us ‘virgins’, but I was not expecting to witness it quite yet; the time for our acceptance is coming soon.

M’s Blog 10

The second day’s festivities start in the western outskirt of the city where there is a temple to the God that rules the earthquake and the sea; Ba’al-Poseidon.

Many youths are out there, testing their acrobatic skill and courage against that of the chosen bull, rushing up behind it and bouncing off its rump, if they dare. And as the animal whirls to confront the insult, others jump in from the other side. Not quite the feats of ancient Crete, and quite often there is a goring of one or other youth, but the excitement continues to grow stronger and deeper.

Eventually, when the bull becomes sufficiently tired or confused it will be brought to the ground by the use of ropes and then sacrificed to the great God by the temple priests.

Later the triumphant young men will bring two parts of the dead animal to be the offering to the Goddess; the head and loins.

All the priestesses of the temple, including us neophytes, have spent the morning bathing in the sacred grove and readying each other for the day ahead; gossiping about the young men they eyed the night before and offering to help each other net the lover they desire. For today there will be much revelry once the offerings have all been brought, and this year’s Adonis chosen.

Many, many offerings were brought before the Great Goddess. From the field portions of grain and fruit and wine, and from householders, small bottles of oil were the favoured offering; to be blended into the balms and potions of the priestesses skilled designs; or used to make some tasty delicacy and resold again into the marketplace.

Last of all came the offering of Adonis. One of the youths that brought the offering of the slaughtered bull would be chosen for the role.

They could not tell who it might be, or what approach was likely to make their suit succeed. Only the High Priestess knew, and she would say it was the Goddess herself who made the choice.

All the young men’s bravado had drained away, leaving the group almost naked to the scrutiny of the circling priestesses. They met the enquiring glances as best they could, not knowing which was Astarte-Billel, for she had disguised herself for this special task, being hard for even us neophytes to distinguish.

Then suddenly the choice had been made, and one young man was being carried shoulder high by his comrades to the centre of the arena, amidst great cheering from the crowds of onlookers, and the youths themselves.

With him were brought the bull’s head and loins which were placed before the altar of the Goddess and her sacrificial fire.

The chosen Adonis knelt before the Goddess’s statue but Astarte-Billel raised him up and embraced the youth, signalling to her aides to deal with the bull offerings.

They took the head and fixed it by the horns to a pole that enabled them to lay it across the sacrificial fire. But before fixing it there they expertly plucked, with short curved knives, the eyeballs from the shaggy head and placed them on the lowest step of the three-tiered altar in a silver cup.

Then they took the loins, cut into sections, and arranged them around a grid of iron that formed the lower ring of the fire.

Once this was done the moment arrived for the Adonis to perform his trickiest task. He had been armed with a sharp short-sword, given him by Astarte-Billel, and whilst the other priestesses tilted the bull’s head to present its under-neck, he had to cut out the great tongue which had been roasting over the top of the fire.

A tough task in front of all the crowd, but one helped by the earlier preparation of the head by Poseidon’s priests. Confidently the youth pushed his sword into the animals opened neck and after just a couple of slicing cuts was able to pull out the bull’s great long tongue.

Again, great cheers went up in the crowd as Adonis raised high his trophy before placing it on a copper salver held out by Astarte-Bel. This she laid on the second tier of the Goddess’s altar.

On the topmost level of the altar there was inset a shallow golden bowl, and now the moment had arrived for Astarte-Billel to complete the magic rite and offering.

Two doves were held out by her priestess aides; and she received their offerings; one in each hand. Raising them high to either side, she propelled one dove up into the sky in a noisy fluttering of wings. The crowd watched hard.

In that brief moment a small curved silver handled knife appeared in her emptied hand and with one quick motion she cut the neck of the other dove and laid the bird on top of the altar, holding it there as the blood drained into the golden dish from the severed neck; and its wings flapped feebly.

It was a moment of awed hush, for once again the Goddess had shown her rule over life and death.

Adonis led the cry that was taken up by the crowd. “Hail Great Astarte; Hail;” and she took the Goddess’ crown of disc topped horns and affixed it on her own head.

Then as he knelt again before her, she smeared a bit of the dove’s blood onto her Adonis’ forehead.

M’s Blog 11

Today, being special to Adonis, the feasting started in the middle of the afternoon, rather than after sundown. The Adonis-chosen was led away by a group of virgin neophytes clad in short scarlet tunics, to be bathed and dressed ready to lead the feast.

I was part of that group and was fascinated to see how the young man would cope with our attention. He didn’t seem sure at first as two of us tried to take his clothes from him and others awaited around the pool of warmed water we had prepared for him.

He was handsome I suppose, clean cut with curly black hair, but not quite the young man that I would have chosen to be Adonis. There was something in his demeanour that made me think he expected our admiration. But once he knew he was to lose every last vestige of clothing before entering the pool he lost something of his haughtiness.

The splashing and playing that ensued helped him to laugh and relax. The changes that this brought softened him and made him seem younger. Closer to the role I felt he needed to portray.

I was one of two given the task of arraying him in his godly robes. We passed him the under-tunic of golden yellow and then helped him with the covering robes of cerise and purple, trimmed with many silver threads.

His dark eyes locked momentarily with mine and I beheld the questing hunt that drove him on and felt an answering pull from within me. I smiled and his returning one lit up his face.

We took him back out into the arena, a young Godling fit to take the arm of Astarte-Billel. She was now dressed in a shapely white dress with trimmings of gold and on her head a curved gold and silver tiara set with precious stones that also indicated her to be high priestess of the Goddess Aphrodite.

She welcomed him with a warm smile of her own and set on his head a thin circlet of gold. Honoured and encouraged he stepped forward to acknowledge the cheers of the assembled crowd and to signal the feasting and music to begin anew.

*

As the sun set and the evening drew in, Astarte-Billel took the arm of her young Adonis and led him back into the tent, to the whistles and acclamations of the well wined revellers.

We neophytes were still his attendants at this point and the great tents were laced closed and Roman guards posted on the outside. A tough job for even the most seasoned of soldiers, not to partake in the evening’s revelry; but they would get their rewards later.

In the inmost sanctuary of Astarte’s tents two priestesses, skilled in the arts of massage, worked their arts upon the youth with perfumed oils, from head to foot, as he lay upon a spacious cushioned couch.

Then after some time Astarte-Bel herself came in and sat down next to the youth, to finish what her aides had started.

They made way for her and joined the few neophytes watching from behind surrounding drapes. We had been instructed to watch and learn everything we could, for there would be no better way, time, or teacher to receive it from; an opportunity we were not to waste.

*

M’s Blog 12

Before first light the young lord was awoken and we took him back inside the temple gates and out into the sacred grove. Priestesses bathed and sported with him anew, in readiness for his final trial, when once we re-entered the arena.

That day many, many of the town’s women were at the festive ground, as was the custom; dressed gaily for dancing and merriment. This was the day for them and their Adonis.

Once the singers and musicians had done their job of working up the expectation of the crowd, the Adonis finally entered the arena with his entourage of young comrades and attendant priestesses, all carrying baskets of sweetmeats and cakes that had been specially baked for the occasion.

These delicacies were as much sought after for their aphrodisiacal qualities as their renowned taste, and it was a major task to distribute them to all who wanted without being completely mobbed. But distribute them they must, far and wide.

Gradually the baskets started running out and, and the priestesses one by one retired to take their place around a big ring of drums in the centre of the arena, giving their last few sweetmeats to Adonis to give out, ensuring he would be the last to finish.

The drumming from the central arena grew stronger as the priestesses worked up the tempo and the crowd responded. Adonis moved as fast around the throng as he could, and girls would catch at him to steal a kiss or any contact they could make as well as grab the cakes he offered out.

It became increasingly hard for his entourage to protect him. His helpers themselves became engulfed in the mob of women and only Adonis remained, pushed and hugged until he half struggled and was half chased through the ring of priestess drums into the centre of the ring.

There he stood alone whilst flutes and lutes joined in the swirl of sound to urge him on.

And at the very centre of the ring stood a nine foot pole, newly stuck into a freshly cut mound of earth.

On top of the pole were the charred remains of the sacrificed bull’s head, with horns still proudly jutting up into the sky. The youth had nowhere else to go and six priestesses stepped into the ring, swaying to the music and dancing around him within the impenetrable ring of onlookers.

His responding dance weaved in and around the priestesses, round the mound, again and again, out towards the pounding drums, where the crowd were stacked many deep, back to the centre and out again. It had a well-worn traditional form but it was the Adonis that imparted to it the energy needed for the dance’s impact.

On and on it went until the six central priestesses produced three long lengths of cord which they included in the dance, holding the ends in pairs and restricting the range of Adonis’ dance, bringing him back towards the central mound.

Adonis mimed the chase of a chosen ibex, springing on and off the mound and all around, embellishing the display with acrobatic handstands and tumbling leaps.

Then he appeared to notice the horns atop the central pole and made strenuous efforts to jump and reach them, though they had been carefully placed beyond his reach.

Again and again, he leapt high in the air until he paused for a minute to regain his breath and strength, leaning against the pole.

At this point the priestesses moved in, each pair having their cord stretched out between them as they circled out and about each way, around the mound and pole.

The first cord caught him round the top of his thighs, and as the dancers crossed behind, they pulled him back against the central pole.

He started to pull at this binding but the second pair, with arms aloft, circled him and caught his arms against his sides, pinning them there and him to the pole, unable to struggle free.

To complete the task the third priestess pair circled lower, taking Adonis around the knees and with swift counter circulations of all three cords he was bound securely to the post.

The youth tried, with renewed vigour and pulsing strength, to break his bonds. The music drove on wilder and stronger until, in a climax of clashing symbols the Adonis finally collapsed and slumped against the pole, hanging in his bonds.

A great moan went up in the crowd as they witnessed the conclusion of their hunt. Other priestesses dressed all in white now crossed the ring and went up to the spent form. They unbound the cords and as they brought the youth down from his post, they gave him a long drink of what included a sleeping draught.

By the time that they had carried him back to the tents, he was as still as death itself.

It had been a magnificent performance and I found myself strangely moved, as was the whole audience, though most of them had seen the rite enacted many times before.

Astarte’s priestesses washed and oiled the sleeping youth and used their arts to give his face a deathly palour that emphasised his natural beauty.

They clothed him in a fresh purple-red tunic and laid him on a litter that had been prepared as a bed and arranged all manner of fresh flowers, leaves and fruit around him.

Whilst this was going on the moans of the crowd had increased to a kind of wailing that was very hard on the ears, until suddenly the High-priestess stepped forth and signalled all to quiet.

She was very strikingly dressed in a long robe of gold, green and black, looking taller than ever. Pale and beautifully painted she now had the upturned crescent of Hecate set upon her brow. Her demeanour was neither sorrowful or glad, but entirely commanding. She crossed to where the mortal Godling lay, looking down at his recumbent beauty, whilst the crowd stared on in hushed silence.

She signalled to the youths who had been his entourage to come out of the crowd and pick up the litter, instructing them to carry him and follow her.

She led the procession out of the festive ground and down the route that took them through and past the town and out to the temple of Poseidon once again.

Many priestesses accompanied the body, bringing further offerings to accompany their Adonis into the Underworld.

A wailing recommenced amongst the townswomen and many were allowed to reach out to the body and touch it with little terracotta statues of Adonis as he passed.

The god would give them favour.

And by the evening the procession had been received back at the temple of Ba’al Poseidon, and then on to a nearby cave entrance of the Underworld where the great autumn festival was brought to its completion.

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A lot has changed after the autumn festival.

It has left me with so much to think about, so much to work out in myself and I didn’t know how to begin.

Eleven of us have been told we should be ready for our initiations after the longest night has passed. So, sixteen weeks to understand what we are taking on…

And now we are starting to learn much more directly with the trained priestesses; both inside the Temple’s sacred grove and outside in the city of Antioch itself.

The grove is where we celebrate the turning of night into day. Priestesses who have tended the rites of night, plotting the passage of the planets, stars and moon around the sky, come here to relax before they retire; whilst the early rising team that will take the temple produce to sell at market also like to spend this hour here… and those who are taking over from the kitchen’s early bakers.

Then, after the morning rite of greeting the Lord of the Day, there is another hour when the rest of the priestesses can enjoy the grove, often joined by B’el herself.

These hours have become our favourites of course.

We have been divided into pairs. Sarita has been put with me and Carmel with Aella; whilst Helen was thought to be not quite ready, which has really upset her elder sister.

Our pairing suits Sarita and I quite well for she is my oldest friend at the temple. We have already shared most of our secrets and helped each other in many ways.

We all talk about the things we will be required to do as the Goddess’s priestesses and Sarita seems quite sure of herself and the path ahead. Of course, the subject of sex is foremost in most of the discussions of our group.

To Sarita the arts of love are the highest gifts that she can perform for the Goddess, to be her vessel in the world of men. Each time it would be a sacred act performed to make men love the Goddess more, to raise the desire to the higher level where beauty rules.

I am not so certain. I think I would need to feel attraction and some kind of love first, before committing myself in sexual union with any man.

I was lying naked on my tummy in the grove, whilst Sarita’s slender hands kneaded a surprisingly powerful pattern across my back. She laughed at my objection to her argument.

“The only choice we women have is to take control of every situation. Use the power that the Goddess has placed in us; for Her, but also for ourselves.”

I considered this. It made a sense, but was very different from the romantic notions that still lingered in me.

“Could there ever be a combination of personal love and sacred sex?” I asked.

“Our personal love can be for Adonis of the Goddess,” Sarita answered, “which is hidden in every man, and our task at these times is to help him gift his love to Her.”

She seemed really pleased with her explanation and I rolled over to see her expression.

“But this is going to be real; as real as us talking here. Can it be deep and yet so casual at the same time?”

She looked at me with her quizzical brown eyes gleaming.

“Only with the Divine grace. That is why we serve Her, Maddy.”

I sighed and turned back onto the mat, studying the edge of it through one eye of my side-turned head. If only I could find it so simple.

A priestess came over and started giving Sarita instructions on the massage she was doing, which was really unnecessary as the Gandharan girl was as accomplished at this as she was at dancing.

I let my thoughts drift away. Today is the first time that Sarita and I are going out to the city market.

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Aella and Carmel have already been into Antioch.

They came back full of tales of boys and men and boys and a few descriptions of the city and its market places thrown in as well. Now our time has come to venture out and see the city we have lived so close beside but never visited.

We have helped each other with the final touches to our makeup and dress. Both of us are in the ochre working dress of neophytes and our dark red cloaks. The priestesses wear green cloaks, in all shades from almost yellow to arguably blue. Somewhere beyond the temple walls a cockerel is crowing.

Mario was waiting with the four donkeys at the gate to the sacred grove. Sarita and I followed the two priestesses Nereyn and Selene through onto the dusty street where a dog scavenging in a pile of rubbish and an old lady cleaning the doorstep of her house were the only other beings around.

The sun was yet to rise but the cool air breathed the fresh promise of a lovely day. Gaius the grizzled old door guard and the black eunuch Bocca watched us go down the street and round the corner before turning back to the gate-house and some hot mint tea.

The environs of the temple are in New Antioch, although there has always been some sort of temple on the site of the spring.

There are quite a few rich people living in the area and the streets are relatively well tended.

Today we are making a couple of stops at local houses before going into the city proper.

Delivering rolled lengths of cloth and collecting finished garments from the women who have made them to the customer orders they had been given.

The priestesses act as intermediaries for many women who work within the textile and clothing trade, having all the contacts needed to keep a thriving little industry going.

As we approached the south-west gate of the city wall, two guards that would accompany us to the market came out to meet us. Part of a longstanding arrangement between the temple and the city guards, who are also some of the temple’s best customers in other ways at other times.

The inner streets were already awake with activity. At one corner a group of merchants were haggling with the owner of an inn about the storage of their goods.

At another some children were being berated by a mother to get back inside whilst a group of beggars lurched along the other side of the road.

There were cages full of chickens stacked up by a wall beside one doorway, whilst song-birds sang from smaller cages out on higher balconies or roofs; between lines of washing strung out to catch the early sun.

It was colourful, not yet very noisy, but certainly smelly in places and both Sarita and I had to watch carefully where we stepped as we followed the clip-clapping hoofs of the donkeys towards the market square, avoiding the detritus of city life.

The closer we got to the centre the more the bustle of early morning city life intensified.

Mule drawn carts carrying goods of every kind passed us down the centre of the way whilst hand-carts were pushed out to the sides jostling one another and us until we all spilled out into the centre areas of the town.

The forum is a large rectangular space with the twin temples of Zeus-Jupiter and Hera-Juno set back up several wide banks of steps at the farthest end. Today the market activity extended from the market square through the surrounding streets and into the forum itself.

Two of our donkeys carried on to Market Square with Selene, Mario and the produce from the temple. Speciality vegetables on the one with breads and all manner of other freshly baked products piled high upon the other.

In the Forum Sarita and I stayed with Nereyn at two stalls being constructed side by side. One has clothes of every sort that we have brought, and the other is smaller but stacked with a myriad of glass and terracotta vessels of all shapes and sizes, variously filled with lotions and potions; individually marked and sealed closed.

Many of these are ready to be claimed by the person bringing a token with the same sign, for they have been re-filled at the behest of their owners, to be collected at the stall.

There are also larger pots on display containing the range of cosmetic and other speciality products that Astarte’s priestesses make; ready to be decanted into smaller ones, from boxes on the cart.

This is where we spent most of the morning, greeting and seeing to the needs of our customers, who are mainly well-to-do women of the town, but also the occasional man on a mission for their wife or other lover.

There were a number of young men in the Forum too. Some were engaged in a debate upon the steps of the temples, whilst others were less discernibly involved in anything.

Both Sarita and I were aware of being assessed at different times by these little groups and we were as actively involved as them, looking to see what the young men around were like; anyone that could spark our interest? It didn’t look completely un-promising.

The sun was warm, despite the time of year and a travelling band of musicians had set themselves up near one side of the Forum. Our business had slowed and I was allowed to stroll over and watch the performance at closer hand.

The musicians seemed to have come from a different world for they were from a tribe that wander in the semi-desert lands, children of a mysterious tradition. Their music is simple and yet I think more beautifully constructed than anything I have heard. Entranced, I moved closer amongst the encircling audience.

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Rather loud laughter, coming from nearby, interrupted my enjoyment and turning round I realised it came from the youth who had been Adonis at the autumn festival, laughing with his friends.

Somehow it rankled more, coming from someone who I felt should have known better, but then another movement caught my attention. A man was walking over to the stall where Sarita was still serving any customers who might come.

I watched as he went over and started studiously looking at the things we had to sell. It wasn’t long before he was asking Sarita questions, and as they talked together, they seemed to grow in animation. Could they really still be discussing cosmetic lotions?

Nereyen came over to them and he parted from Sarita’s side as he addressed the priestess, quite formally.

The music behind had reached a particularly poignant turn and reluctantly I tore myself away from watching what was happening at the stall to immerse myself in its final passages.

Once it had ended, I returned towards our stall and I caught ‘Adonis’ watching me. Deliberately I raised my chin a bit and swayed my hips a little more, chastising myself all the while for doing so.

By the time I got back, Sarita’s admirer had disappeared and I had great difficulty in prising any information from her. It was Nereyen who said “He has got a big desire for Sarita. He saw her dancing at the festival and she has apparently been constantly in his thoughts. What are you going to do Sarita?”

“Don’t be silly,” answered Sarita. “He is just like all the others; trying to impress us with his fine talk.” But she looked down as she said this, pretending to adjust some pots that were fine just where they had been.

“Really? Well, he looks very rich,” I couldn’t help adding, for the young man’s hair was well oiled and he sported a finely worked cloak-like coat.

“Yes” said Nereyen, “and he has asked to meet us formally. I said he could join us when we go to our town-temple at midday.”

The temple in question was Aphrodite’s, situated a few streets beyond and uphill from those of Zeus and Hera. We had packed up the stall and left it under the guard of the two stall-keepers who worked partly on a wage for the temple but also for their own separate business.

Not much was done in the hottest part of the day and they also retreated into the shade to have their provisions and enjoy a nap.

We climbed the last few yards to the modest entrance of our sister temple, glad to be let into its cool interior by the little old woman in black who was the doorkeeper.

In the middle of the courtyard we had entered, was a pool where a statue of a youth let water fall from a shell onto the reclining form of a goddess.

Two priestesses greeted us, dressed all in white and obviously well known to Selene and Nereyen.

Sarita and I were introduced and much to Sarita’s embarrassment Nereyen explained about the possible arrival of Kasver, the aristocratic suitor that Sarita had attracted.

After that we all sat down to a selection of spicy dishes that had been prepared, together with some fine red wine, relaxing on Grecian style divans whilst the priestesses enjoyed as much fresh gossip as there was to tell.

Sarita must have been mortified by the realisation that she was about to become a major topic of gossip, or I certainly would have been.

I told her about the musicians and their wonderful music, hoping to take her mind off the subject of Kasver, but as I recalled how I had also seen ‘Adonis’ our thoughts both came back to the young man who might be about to join us.

It was not till after the meal was over and we were drinking sweet mint tea that the doorkeeper came in to say that there was a visitor at the gate.

I was encouraged to stay but Aphrodite’s two priestesses left Selene and Nereyen to deal with whatever they had arranged.

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Kasver came in, bearing gifts. He presented some bracelets he had bought, two to the priestesses and one to Sarita, before realising that I was there and he had not included me.

He seemed genuinely distressed and wanted to give me something of his own, but I declined, smiling as encouragingly as I could.

He had a handsome face with a bronzed complexion, slightly lighter than Sarita’s own. His manners were very courteous and he asked whether he could talk a while with Sarita. The priestesses said he could but that they must stay within the bounds of the court of the fountain.

I did not know what the customs were for this situation, for clearly Kasver had more than just a passing fancy for Sarita. He was serious in his intentions, whatever they might be.

Later, when we had got back to our own temple, she told me all about their conversation and how stricken he appeared to be. She also said that she really liked him and had noticed him more than a little at the autumn festival; as he had her, and her dancing.

“You’ve kept very quiet about him then,” I said. “I thought you were about to embark on a quite different path… you know, to help every man who came your way.”

“Maddy you are terrible,” she retorted. She was the only person who didn’t call me just Magdalene. “If the Goddess wishes that I serve her with this man, then that will be the path that I embrace. If not, then I won’t.”

I gave her a hug and told her how jealous I was. Kasver seemed to be really nice, “though not my sort at all,” I added, as she looked at me from behind her defiant lashes. She laughed and hugged me back.

I think she was almost frightened to dare believe something could come from it. But something did; for he approached Billel and declared his wish to take Sarita for his bride.

Kasver was a younger son from a noble family and for them to know that the girl he had fallen for was a virgin, promised to the Goddess but not yet consecrated, made the possibility of the match acceptable.

B’el was wise to all the business angles and she made much of the loss to the temple this would mean, of a dancer that they had not seen the equal of in many years.

Negotiations continued and within a couple of weeks the price of compensation was settled and the release of Sarita to become Kasver’s bride was agreed.

Emotions warred in me for though I was happy for Sarita, as she seemed so pleased herself, I was really sad to be losing my best friend at this time of severest trial.

“You shall all come and visit me,” she told us as we helped with planning her part in the wedding. Aella was pleased because Helen was now rejoining us in our ‘Acceptance’ group. Helen was paired with Carmel and Aella was working with me, and Sarita too for a while.

“What! We could all entertain your husband?” jibed Aella and Sarita punched her arm. “No, you shall not!” and she paused, “at least not until I am very bored with him;” and we all laughed.

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The wedding came and went in a grand manner, close to Winter Solstice, following the Zaroastrian customs which Kasver’s family adhered to.

I missed Sarita so much. Though there were only a very few weeks to go till the ‘Acceptance ceremonies’ it seemed to be an eternity without her.

She followed her path with such a simple faith that it was hard to believe she really meant what she said; but I am sure that she did. To me she was a little golden Aphrodite, Goddess of love, and I was not surprised that Kasver had fallen for her so completely. Well, he had better appreciate what a jewel he had gained and to be fair to him he seemed to be a man that might. I sighed again and again inside; where to for me now?

My mind turned to the Goddess herself. I needed to comprehend what it meant to follow her path, rather than just blindly blundering on.

What had I really understood about Her? Them? The questions continued to circulate in my head.

Astarte must be the greatest, embracing motherhood as well as all other aspects of womanhood; Queen of heaven, lover and even warrior. Surely this is why the temple is dedicated to her?

Aphrodite is and yet isn’t the same; all consuming is her pursuit of love and beauty and in this alone she is perhaps the greatest force. Certainly, she seems to be the goddess most widely honoured in this modern world.

The goddess Isis is another that high priestess Billel seems to esteem most highly, but the reasons for this are still a bit secret, and not much shared with us neophytes.

Thrn of course there is Hecate; peerless in her own right. No God cared to contend her greatness; yet the one most often overlooked. None escaped her power, curled hidden in the underworld, expressed in the crossroads of life and death itself.

The winter, with Adonis in the underworld, seemed to belong most particularly to Hecate and with that thought I found myself wandering towards the herbal gardens where the eldest priestesses stayed, that understood so much of Goddess’ lore.

Maybe they could help me; though I didn’t quite know what with.

It was the middle of the afternoon and though the day wasn’t very hot the sun was bright and most of the temple was still enjoying a lull in the day’s activities.

I crossed the outer courtyard, trying to think what question I might ask of the ancient sisters.

Perhaps about the rite of Acceptance? Except we pretty much knew now what to expect. After a day of preparations Astarte-Billel would take the exploration of our bodies into its most intimate areas and herself play the part of Adonis by opening our channel to the cup of Venus with a tool of polished marble. There would be pleasure because the priestesses were expert in bringing this about, and pain because our bodies were as yet untried. So much we had found out.

Then again, I could ask about the great secret; the potion that was called Hecate’s knife. Only these ancients knew its whole, apart from the high-priestess herself and perhaps her closest aides. Yet though we didn’t know its formulation we already understood its purpose for nothing could be kept completely secret in the temple.

The potion is what the priestesses took that stopped them from getting pregnant; and B’el would prepare it for each of us.

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I stepped through the lower gate and down the stony path towards the corner of the gardens favoured for a quiet rest. Still undecided about what I might ask but looking for the one I most hoped would be there.

We called her Grandmother Beth or just Granny-Beth and she was the oldest, most bent and most wrinkled of all the priestesses. She hardly ever left the inner gardens where she had her own hut, and was the only one excused from attending morning and evening rites.