Cybele's Secret - Juliet Marillier - Cybele's Secret

“You’re very generous.”

“Not at all. I am a strong supporter of opportunities for women, which places me severely out of step with the culture in which I live. It delights me to encounter a girl with such a thirst for knowledge. You deserve every bit of encouragement that comes your way, Paula. You remind me of myself as I once was.” She sighed, putting her hands behind her head and stretching out her long legs, feet crossed. It showed off her figure to startling advantage. I kept my eyes on the marble slab, where the masseuse had finished her work and was rearranging her supply of oils, soaps, and sponges. “I imagine young women have few opportunities in Transylvania,” Irene added.

“In such a place, the opportunities must be found or made,” I said a little stiffly. “Fortunately for me and my sisters, our father saw the value in educating us.”

“Your level of knowledge and your breadth of interest seem somewhat beyond what might be expected even for a young man of your background,” Irene observed. “Are all your sisters scholars?”

“Not exactly. Jena studied mathematics. She works in the business, with her husband. When I’m at home, I teach Stela, who is only eleven. She’s quite clever. We’re making a start on Greek.”

“A little sister, how sweet. Does she stay at home with your mother while you accompany your father?”

“My mother is dead.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“I can’t really remember her; she died so long ago. While we are away, Stela is staying with Jena and Costi. They live next door. Though ‘next door’ is actually quite a long walk through the forest.”

“And the other sisters? You said four.”

“Iulia’s married with two children. And Tati…” This was always difficult, even though my sisters and I had practiced the half-truth over and over. “She lives a long way away. We hardly ever see her now.”

“She wed a man from another land? A merchant, a traveler?”

“Something like that.” I drew a deep breath. It was indeed hot in here. “May I ask you about your family?”

“Of course.”

“You seem very…independent. You mentioned your husband. Do you have children?”

Irene threw back her head and laughed. “That is rather direct, Paula. No, no, I’m not offended. My husband is considerably my senior. He was a widower, a man with grownup sons, when his eye fell on me. A good match, so my friends told me, and I have come to agree with them, for my own reasons. My husband’s duties take him away a great deal of the time, and that gives me space for my projects. One might say those are my children. You will have observed the women who study in my library—Jew, Christian, and Muslim together.”

“Don’t the authorities frown on your allowing Muslim women to come here for such a purpose?”

“Ah,” she said, “that is one reason for my ban on male visitors.” She glanced in the general direction of the garden with a rueful smile. “Apart from the troublesome few who will not take no for an answer, that is,” she added. “I wish women to feel quite safe in my house. Because this is known to be a female preserve, the husbands of my guests view it as a suitable place for their wives to go for an outing. They know there’s a hamam here, and I suspect they believe we spend the day bathing and gossiping, only in more salubrious surroundings than those of the public bathhouse. And, of course, some of the husbands don’t object to their wives’ scholarship; they sanction it provided the women do their study in private, in an all-female setting. My library is ideal for that. I do request discretion. I ask all my guests not to speak of whom they have met here.”

“I won’t, of course.” I thought of the strange woman in black and decided not to ask who she was. “I do admire you for doing this, Irene. If more women of learning were prepared to follow your example—”

She raised a hand to silence me, clearly embarrassed. “I do it because I enjoy it, Paula. Women have so much to offer. It is regrettable that social custom and religious stricture limit those possibilities. And it can be dangerous to offend the wrong people here. Istanbul is a place of high culture and refinement. It can also deliver sudden and deadly violence. Shall we wash now? Do allow Olena to assist you. She will do wonders with your hair. Tell me, are all your sisters formed like you, slim as willow wands and pale as snow?”

I felt myself blushing. “Jena’s like me,” I said as we went to the basins, where Olena began to sluice my sweating body with warm water that ran from the pipes at the turn of a little spigot. “The others are far more beautiful.”

“You speak without rancor.”

“I don’t care much about such things,” I said. “Good health and intellect are more important to me than beauty.” Olena had applied soap and was scrubbing my body with a rough sponge; it felt as if she was scraping away my skin.

“Oh, but you are lovely in your own way,” Irene said, lifting a scoop to trickle water over her shoulders. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that? A young man at home, perhaps?”

I grimaced. “Hardly,” I said. “Young men like curves and smiles, blushes and modest speech. I have yet to discover one who meets up to my expectations.”

“I’m certain you will change your mind in time, kyria,” said one of the other women seated close by. “Wait until you meet the right young man. Or are you too much of a scholar?” Her Greek was good. I could not tell what her origins were; since nobody was wearing a stitch of clothing, all I had to go by was general appearance, and these women were quite a mixture.

Irene took the opportunity to introduce me. The names were Turkish, Greek, Venetian, all sorts. I nodded and smiled, still not quite used to conversation without clothing. Several of those present did not speak any Greek, and I stumbled through some basic phrases in Turkish, trying hard to follow their questions while Olena scoured every inch of my skin, rinsed me off with a deluge of fresh water, washed and combed my hair, then laid me on the slab. She proceeded to pummel and knead me until my body felt boneless. During this process, I found myself unable to conduct a conversation at all, and I drifted into a daze while the women chatted amongst themselves. I only came back to full awareness when I heard the name Cybele.

They were speaking Turkish. Something about a fascinating story, or a rumor. Something about danger. I struggled to pick up enough of it to understand. “What are they talking about?” I asked Irene in Greek.

“Gül here has heard some scandalous gossip, Paula,” said Irene in the same language as Olena rolled me onto my back and started in anew. “Talk of a secret religion right here in Istanbul. It’s very shocking; the imams would be outraged.”

“A secret religion?” I murmured against the fists working on my rib cage. “What kind of religion?”

“A pagan cult,” said one of the Greek women. “Based on the worship of an ancient earth goddess. Gül’s husband heard that the Sheikh-ul-Islam himself is investigating it.”

“The Sheikh is the Mufti of Istanbul, Paula,” Irene explained. “The Sultan’s chief adviser on religious law. A highly influential man. He is certainly not the kind of individual one would want as an enemy. But perhaps this is not true about the cult.”

There was a silence, almost as if these women were waiting for me to make a comment.

“I did hear something along the same lines,” I said. It seemed safe to offer that much, since they knew about it already, and perhaps I might glean useful information for Father. “What would this Sheikh do if he discovered who was running the cult?”

“The consequences would be dire,” Irene said. “It’s not like one of the mystic dervish cults associated with Islam, such as the Bektaşi, whose devotees combine adherence to Muslim beliefs with certain freedoms—for instance, in that group men and women worship as equals, and there is a certain degree of celebration involved, music and dancing and so on. But the Bektaşi are recognized by the religious authorities, even if frowned on by the more conservative leaders. This—Cybele cult, I suppose one might call it—would not be acceptable to Muslim, Christian, or Jew, since it would be based on ancient pagan ways, idolatry and sacrifice and so on. Its practices sound somewhat wild.”