Ivan Yefremov - Thais of Athens

The silence was broken when the high priest said something, speaking in a language with which the hetaera was not familiar. In response, the priestess stretched out in her roomy armchair and asked whether their guest would like to continue familiarizing herself with the mysteries of the Mother of Gods. Thais replied that she had felt poisoned all night, and if “familiarizing” continued down the same path, she wouldn’t last much longer. The priestess chuckled both sternly and approvingly, then confessed that Thais’ dose of the ointment had been too strong. They hadn’t realized the Helenian was unaccustomed to such things. She promised they would be more careful in the future.

To delay giving an answer, because to directly refuse the hosts of this sacred place was inconceivable, Thais asked about the meaning of the priestesses’ garments and why they they were separated into two groups.

“There is no mystery in that,” the high priestess said. “The red priestesses serve during the day and represent the daytime powers of Kibela, while the black ones represent nighttime. In Libya and Hellas they are called Lamias, Hecate’s companions. It is thought that he who earns the love of such a priestess partakes of the powers of Kibela-Rhea, or Gaea, as you call her. He shall have good health, luck and fine offspring for the rest of his life. The skill of the priestesses, especially of the black ones, is above anything a mortal woman can give, because it is inspired by the Great Mother and strengthened by her might.

“Can any man attain that?”

The eyes of the high priestess flashed like those of a wild beast. Thais shivered, but held her gaze. “Any man,” the priestess said. “As long as he is not ugly and is of good health and sufficient strength.”

“How do you determine that?”

“That is what the net garment is for. It is strong, and in order to take the priestess, he must rip the net with his bare hands. Only a strong man possessed by uncontrollable passion is capable of that.”

“And what if he is not capable and can’t rip it?”

The high priestess leaned toward Thais and said quietly, “Then Kibela’s wrath falls upon him. If he chose a red priestess of the day, she calls out and the ill-fated man is caught, castrated on the altar before Kibela, and made a temple slave if he survives. The black priestess, Lamia, calls no one. Instead, she holds the unfortunate man to her, then bestows upon him Kibela’s kiss, stabbing him with a dagger here,” the priestess said, placing her finger in the hollow behind her left collarbone.

“What is the sense the Great Mother places in such violence?”

“Only the strongest, most beautiful and most self-assured heroes come here to become the lovers of Day and Night. Children are born and the girls become high priestesses. The boys become guards and keepers of the sanctuary. Have you noticed how strong they are? How long their spears are, and how heavy their swords?”

“I have also noticed that your high priestesses are beautiful, not one more so than the other. But is the intention only to get offspring for the temple? One could find children that are just as beautiful among thousands of others,” Thais objected.

“You are much too intelligent for someone not initiated,” the priestess said with a slightly mocking smile. Like Ishtar, Thais thought. “Of course that is not the true meaning. Humankind weakens over time, and the passionate madness of Kibela-Ashtoreth-Atargatis no longer possesses people like it used to. Kibela wants the fire of sensual rage, just as Aphrodite wants love.”

Thais thought of Urania and the priestess continued. “The service of our women immerses people into nature, uniting them with all living things reared by Rhea-Kibela. That is a man’s happiness and destiny. Gods do not offer a better path. Men find themselves and do that for which they are destined. If they turn out to be unsuitable, the Great Mother calls them back to her, to bring them forth again for a better life. And the men go to her never knowing the bitterness of old age, in the midst of fiery youth.”

“Why are you so certain that people are growing weaker?” Thais asked, hiding a smile.

The priestess suddenly laughed. “Look once again at the image of Kibela-Rhea captured in the ancient statue, and you’ll realize that only insatiable desire can seek such an ideal, and only incredible strength and endurance can hope to match hers.”

Thais remembered the incomparable might captured within the boundaries of that harmonious body and emitted by Rhea’s statue, and couldn’t find any objections.

“Where do the black ones and the red ones live?” she asked, changing the subject.

“They do not leave the temple while they are young. They frequently marry important people or travel, taking high level positions in other, less important temples of Rhea. On certain days of the month they go bathing in a sacred lake, and woe be upon those men who violate their seclusion.”

“What if it is a woman?” the hetaera asked, realizing which lake the woman meant.

“Nothing would happen to her. Only if the unfortunate woman violates the purity of the sacred water would she be killed.”

“Do the priestesses live there?” Thais asked quickly, pointing at the southern wing of the temple. Its flat roof was level with the floor of the main section.

“You are correct. Would you like to visit them?”

“Oh no. And what is in the northern wing?”

The priestess’ eyes flashed again. “I want to take you there at sunset. But I cannot do that unless you bring a sacred vow upon the alter of Kibela-Rhea: the vow of silence. We keep the ancient mysteries of the Great Mother secret. The rituals of the ancient times, brought here thousands of years ago from Licaonia and Phrygia, give power to the servants of Ashtoreth.”

Thais swore to keep the secret in the sanctuary, which was completely deserted at this hour. The mistress of the temple poured her a drink and Thais stepped back.

“Don’t be afraid, it’s not yesterday’s potion. But you will require courage when you see the mystery. Remember that the Great Mother is a mistress of animals,” she said in a strained whisper which filled the hetaera with vague fear. She downed the entire goblet at once.

“Excellent. Now accept this gift.” The priestess handed Thais two vials made of milky white glass, their deep pink stoppers made of precious Indian tourmaline. A moon sickle was carved on one of the vials and an eight point star on another.

“How can I? I cannot accept such expensive things,” Thais exclaimed.

“It’s nothing,” the high priestess replied. “The temple of the Great Mother is wealthy and can make even more precious gifts to beautiful women, for they are jewels created by Rhea for her own purposes. But you didn’t ask what is in the vials. This one,” she said, pointing at the vial with the star, “was in the potion you were given yesterday. If you ever wish to experience all of Ashtoreth-Kibela’s power in the guise of Anaitis, put six drops into a cup of water and split between the two of you. This one with the moon will free you from the effect of the first one. If you drink it alone, it will make you as cold as the distant Moon. No more than three drops, or you might remain cold forever,” the priestess said, then laughed, a sound both grating and menacing.

She led the hetaera to a niche in a side wall and pulled out a shiny black disk which Thais thought looked as if it were made of glass. In it she saw her own reflection, as clearly as in a regular mirror of silver covered bronze.

“This mirror is not made of glass but of stone,” the woman informed her. “It was made when people knew only stone. Metal ores served them as permanent paints, for even then they already painted on walls. Women gazed into this mirror many thousands of years ago, before Egypt and Crete. Take this as a gift as well.”