start, I confess I found the end of the story disappointing and disturbing. It was not how I wanted my story to go at all. “I don’t get it.”
“Ah, liebling, don’t you see? Isis knows. She knows love; she knows sorrow. Just like us.”
“That’s not it for me,” said Dido. “What I like is that she rules—not just one little piddling thing, like these Greek goddesses, and their cheap Roman imitations—but everything—life, death, stars, seas, wind, thunder, everything people make from ships to looms. And she’s smart; she tricked the sun god Ra into revealing his secret name—”
“But that’s not the best thing about her,” said Succula impatiently. “Do you want to know the best thing? Berta left this part out. Almost no one knows, but it’s true.” She paused for effect. “Isis was a whore.”
“I have never heard this part. How do you know it?” Berta demanded.
“And what’s wrong with being a whore?” Dido countered.
“Shut up, both of you,” I said. “Let Succula tell the story.”
“Well, she’s wandering around the world for years. How do you think she supported herself?”
“Succula, she is a goddess. She doesn’t have to worry about such things.”
“Berta, you said it yourself. She’s just like us. When she was in Byblos, in Astarte’s Temple, she was a whore. They were all whores. Only in those days, people didn’t despise whores. Whores ruled. They were fucking priestesses. They were more important than kings. A king had no power at all unless the high priestess took him as a lover. When she did—if she did—she wasn’t just a priestess, she was the goddess.”
“Like Cleopatra,” said Dido.
“Where do you hear these things about Isis?” Berta still resisted any interpretation that departed from strict romance.
“Domitia Tertia,” Succula said solemnly.
There was a moment of silence. Succula had invoked her ultimate authority.
“Domitia Tertia!” I couldn’t help it. “She doesn’t worship any gods. I heard her making fun of Bone’s devotion to Cybele. She believes only in herself.”
“I didn’t say she was a devotee.” Succula was surprisingly calm. “I heard her arguing with Uncle Joseph. He was going on about the Greek heterae the way he does, and she went him one better. Also, Domitia admired Cleopatra—not many people know that either. She actually saw her once when she was a little girl. Her father was stationed in Egypt for a time. That’s when she started keeping cats.”
Circe and Cleopatra. Two women who ruled—or tried to. Too bad Cleopatra hadn’t turned Julius Caesar into a pig. Then my people could have roasted him.
“Succula,” I marveled, “you know more about Domitia than Bonia.”
“Bonia told me the story about Cleopatra,” Succula admitted. “Bonia’s been with Domitia a lot longer than I have. But I’ve taken the trouble to know as much as I can. You can hate her if you want, but as far as I’m concerned Domitia Tertia rules.”
We were all silent for a time, the bath water lapping at our separate shores. It was a comfortable, comforting silence, the silence of sisters who could insult and forgive each other as easily as we breathed. I was so at home with these women. But that was the trouble; I didn’t want to be at home. I wasn’t meant to be at home. When Osiris disappeared, did Isis sit telling stories in the bathhouse?
“Why have none of you ever told me about Isis before?” I finally asked.
“She is just there,” said Succula. “We don’t think about her. We know she loves us. We can’t be real devotees, going to morning hymns, observing periods of celibacy. But Isis knows how it is with us. Isis understands.”
“But can we go to the Isia?” I persisted. “Will the priestesses let us?”
“It’s more a question of will Domitia Tertia let us,” said Dido. “And the answer is no. Not if it interferes with business.”
“But, kinder, listen. The third day, the procession to the river when the priestesses go in the boats, it happens at dawn. We come back in plenty of time to work.”
“Dawn,” shuddered Dido. “Ugh!”
“Just this once,” said Berta. “We get up, all together, we go. Succula will ask Domitia Tertia.”
“Will you, Succula?” I appealed to her.
She looked at me, her dark eyes strangely fearful. I knew that next to Domitia Tertia, Succula loved me more than she loved anyone. I knew that love sometimes gives people the sight. What did she see?
“You never answered my question, Red,” she said. “Why are you so interested in Isis now? Why does the Isia matter so much to you?”
I had become so self-protective, so secretive. My first impulse was to evade her question. Succula loved me. I was asking her to do something for me out of that love, so I made myself answer.
“I had a dream, Succula. I dreamed about the Isia before I could possibly know what it was. I think it’s a message. A message from Isis.”
Succula continued to watch me, her eyes no less troubled. Dido and Berta for once held back, watching, the silent chorus to some drama none of us understood.
“All right, Red,” she said. “I’ll ask her. And I’ll go with you. We’ll all go.”
And she turned her fierce gaze on the other two. “Whores’ deal.”
And we sealed our agreement according to our custom.
Whatever her apprehensions, Succula kept her word and succeeded in securing permission from Domitia Tertia. An hour before dawn on the appointed day, we rose in the dark having barely slept. In the atrium we found old Nona waiting for us with her arms full of something that looked like moonlight. When we approached her she held up white linen robes just like the ones the priestesses at the temple wore. Wasting no time or breath and with a curious authority for someone at the bottom of the slave heap, she made it clear that she would dress us, and she did so with efficiency and care, making sure to tie the knot of the fringed mantle so that it fell in two pleats down the front. In the damp, chilly dregs of night, we were so glad to have some extra garments that none of us questioned her. Then Bonia came out with mulled wine and bread.
“Magna Mater!” She almost dropped the tray. “You look like a gaggle of virgin sacrifices. Where on earth did you get these garments? Please don’t tell me you robbed a temple.”
“I made them,” old Nona said with that eerie command, and she stuck out her lower lip. “Long ago, long since for this very day.”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to check with the domina about this. You’re breaking the law not wearing your whores’ togas. Not to mention impersonating priestesses.”
“We are not impersonating priestesses,” I
