She looked down at her hidden hands. “Did you grieve? Was she very dear to you?” I shook my head. “She had tried three times to have me killed, once by my own father’s hand unknowing. She deserved to die. But I left her to the Goddess.” She paused, then said still looking down, “Why was she angry? Had you been with someone else?”
“Only in war,” I said, “as happens everywhere. No, it was not for that; she thought I would change the custom. And so I did; I come of a house of kings. But I never profaned the Mystery. The people were content, or they would have killed me themselves.”
She said after a pause, “And you will swear all this is true?”
I answered, “What oath shall I take? I have told you, as it is, on pain of cursing.” Her lips parted, and shut quickly. I thought, “She had forgotten that. She is a priestess, yes; but what else?”
“That is true,” she said. “You need not swear.” Then she was silent again. I saw the cloth stirring over her hands.
“What now?” I thought. “And if all this is so heavy, why not an older priestess? It is not common, to trust such things to girls.”
She stood in thought, twisting and untwisting a fold of the robe. I said, “I have been with the bulls three seasons. If the god is angry, or the Goddess, they have not far to reach for me.
She said again, “That is true.” I saw her lick her lips and swallow hard. “Perhaps the Mother has some other thing in mind for you.”
I thought, “Now for the truth,” and waited. When no more came, I said, “It may be so. Has she sent you some omen?”
She opened her mouth; but only breath came out of it. Her breast rose and fell within her arms. “What is it?” I asked, and came a little nearer.
Suddenly she spoke in a little high voice, swift and breathless. “I am here to question you. You must not question me. We must know these things in the sanctuary; that is all. That is why we sent for you.”
“I have answered,” I said, “as well as I can. Am I to go back the way I came? Or can I walk across the courtyard?” And I bent down for my cloak; but I was watching her.
“Wait,” she said. “You have not leave to go.” I dropped the cloak again; I had only wanted to get some sense from her. While I waited I saw that her hair was fine, waving of itself, with a silky burnish. There was a small waist in the close-drawn robe; and they must be tender breasts, which her arms cradled so softly. “Come, speak,” I said to her. “I shall not eat you.”
A lock of hair, which fell down within her robe, went suddenly straight as if the end were being pulled. “I was to ask you,” she said, “to ask you for the Goddess, that is, for the records of the sanctuary …” She stopped, and I said, “Yes, what?” Her eyelids blinked, and she said faster than ever, “We have no account of the Mother’s rite in Athens. What is the ceremony, how many priestesses take part, how many girls? What victims are offered? Tell me from the beginning, and leave nothing out.”
I stared at her surprised. At last I said, “But, Lady, there are six girls in the Bull Court, all Athenian born, who know the ritual. Any one of them could tell you, better than a man.”
She began to speak, then bit it off in the middle. Suddenly her face, which had been so pale, was as pink as the morning mountains. I strode toward her, and rested my hands on the plinth either side of her shoulders, to keep her where she was. “What game is this? Why ask me things to no purpose? You are keeping me here—for what? Is it an ambush? Are my people being harmed while I am gone? No more lies now; I will have the truth.”
My face was close to hers. Her eyes were swimming like the eyes of a netted fawn; and then I saw she trembled all over. Even the thick robe shook with it. I was ashamed I had threatened her as if she were a warrior; yet it made me smile too. I took her between my hands to hold her still, and she gave a little gasp, like a swallowed sob. “No,” I said, “do not say anything. I am here, and it is no matter why. See, I obey you, and do not ask a reason any longer. I have reason enough.”
She turned up her face, flooded with changing color; and something hovered in my mind, that I could not name. Now I was near, I smelt the scent of her hair and of her body. “Who are you?” I asked. Then my breath caught in my throat; I knew.
She saw it in my eyes. Hers opened black and wide; with a quick cry she ducked under my arm, and ran. I saw her shadow slipping away round the great image, and ran after. All the huge hall stood empty and echoing, but the only footsteps were my own. The black robe she had been wrapped in lay trailed along the floor; even the whisper and clink of her skirt was still. I paced about, looking where she might have hidden; the further door she could not have reached in time, yet I had heard something closing. “Where are you?” I called. “Come out, for I will surely find you.” But my voice rang too loud in the hollows of the sanctuary; I felt the Presence angry, and dared not call again. Then, as I stood still, my shadow leaped out black before me, from some new light behind. I sprang round, remembering I was unarmed. But when I saw whence the light came, then indeed my breath grew thick. The plinth had opened beneath the image. Within, a clear blue fire danced on a tripod. It shone upon the Earth Mother, living, crowned with her diadem; her arms stretched forth over the earth were wreathed with twisting serpents. Her hands grasped their middles; the light shone on their polished skins, and I heard their hissing.
My heart was a hammer shut in my breast; I made the sign of homage with a shaking hand. Rooted on my feet I looked at the Earth Mother; and the Earth Mother looked at me. And as she looked, I saw her eyelids tremble.
I stood still, and stared. The flames flickered, and the Earth Mother looked straight before her. I took a pace forward, softly, and then another, and one more. She had not had time to paint her face, and the diadem leaned a little. As I came, I saw her gasp from holding her breath. She held out her arms stiffly, and the serpents wriggled, disliking the light, and wishing for their house again. But I did not watch them as I drew near; I watched her face. When I stretched out my hand toward them, I knew well enough that their teeth were drawn.
In her dark eyes, two little mirrored flames stood flickering. At the mouth of the shrine, I reached inward, and slid my fingers over her hand. As I closed it in mine, the snake, released, twined for a moment round both our wrists, and bound our two hands together; then it fell slithering, and poured itself away. Out of the Earth Mother, mistress of all mysteries, looked a maiden flying; a girl who has gone one step forward and three back, and wants to punish what scared her. I took her other hand; its snake had escaped already.
“Come, little Goddess,” I said. “Why are you afraid? I will not hurt you.”
7
IN THE CORNER OF the temple, behind the image, was a curtained doorway and a little room. It was where she went to eat, when the rites were long; to be dressed, and painted. It was simple like a child’s, only that the litter was sacred emblems and vessels, instead of toys. There was a bath in the corner, painted blue inside with swimming fish. Also a bed, for her to rest on if she was tired.
To this room I carried her. It was where she put off her gold-weighted diadem, and her heavy robes; where her women loosed her jewelled girdle, which no man had undone before. She was shy, and I only saw the place a moment before she blew out the lamp.
Later the moon came up, plunging down a steep court to spill light upon the floor. I lifted myself on my arm to look at her; my hair fell down on hers, and she twisted them both into one rope.