Chapter Two - Part I

Sisera’s mother, Bethena, peered through the palm wood lattice screening the solarium window. She longed for her son’s return, with a lover’s longing. And once again the pangs of that deep emotion bothered her. Such feelings from a mother for her son were not seemly. She had never acted on them; never even hinted at them. But ever since Sisera’s father had been killed by the Haibrus seven years ago, and Sisera had accepted the role of protector of the house, Bethena, had felt a new, deeper, almost sexual, she blushed at the admission, feeling for her valiant son.
When, two years ago, Sisera, then twenty eight had been elevated by King Jabin to command first the palace guard, then the corps of chariots, Bethena had felt her longing become tinged with worry and concern that sometimes bordered on pain. Sisera’s duties required him to be away from Hazor often, and though she was forty-four, with a comely body and the vigor of youth, Bethena kept to herself and was lonely without her son.
It need not have been that way, for Bethena was a princess of royal blood, being Jabin’s half sister, they had the same mother, also of royal blood. Perhaps the longing was in her blood, a thing passed down through the generations. Something she must simply learn to bear, a dull ache that was always present, sometimes stronger than others. Yet it did seem as if there had been a time, when she was twelve, before she’d spent her first month in the Temple of Astarte, when the ache had not been with her.
Even royal maidens offered themselves as sacred prostitutes, though they lived and served in the Temple’s inner-most courtyard, the one reserved for the great leaders of the nation.
Bethena saw a cloud of dust on the horizon, between the city’s twin guardian peaks. Sisera! Her heart leapt. Gently, she said to herself, it may not be he. Yes, gently. She studied the cloud for a moment. Her vantage point on the third floor gave her a good view. It was not a large cloud; probably not chariots, perhaps one or two riders on horseback or a small column of men on foot.
The sounds of the city drifted up to her and Bethena looked down. Across the street immediately below her were the Kings granaries. A small group of functionaries were talking over a donkey laden with sacks of grain. Tomorrow, when the grain was distributed the noise would be deafening. Behind the granaries, was the slave market, with its stalls, pens and platforms for showings. Some few merchants were walking their human property around the stalls, exercising them. Once a week, in two days time, the market overflowed with the color, noise and spectacle of the very rich in their finest regalia, buying the very poor in rags. To the left were the public wells from which most of the noise came.
Bethena looked up. The dust cloud was dissipating. She could not see the great gate from her position, but if it were Sisera, she would hear his horse’s hooves on the street stones in a moment.
Sisera had been born nine months after her first stay in the sacred temple of holy Astarte. Thoughts of the Great Goddess made Bethena’s heart race. She had lived a gentle chaste life outside the city, in a small quiet village with her amah. Her mother, who lived in the palace with the king, had little interest in Bethena; rarely came to see her and rarely invited her to the palace. Bethena was untroubled by this and thought it the natural state of affairs. She loved wandering bare foot in the lush fields and playing with the lambs. She actually saw the city for the first time when she’d turned twelve and her half brother Jabin, the King of Hazor, rode out in great state and pomp to bring her to the temple.
Bethena had never seen the shimmering fantastic colors of silk or breathed the mingled smells of oranges and lemons, dung and spice, nor felt the sway of horse and litter. All of this was bound up in her sensual memories of Astarte, Goddess of Fertility, and of serving Her in Her Temple, so that her heart still raced when she thought of it.
No sound of horse’s hooves. Sisera had not returned. Bethena sighed and turned from the lattice. The sun was setting. Slaves were lighting torches and the quickening breeze sent a chill through her. Bethena pulled her robes more tightly about her.
First, they had bathed her. Temple maidens only a few years older than herself, naked but for jeweled loin clothes that barely hid their clean shaven genitals and slid suggestively into the clefts of their buttocks, disrobed her and led her to a pool of steaming water. Bethena had never seen such large quantities of hot water before. She dipped a toe in and drew back. The three girls waiting upon her tittered. One of them, a lithe red-head who she would come to know as Melka, took Bethena’s hand and led her into the water.
Bethena had never, ever felt anything as satisfying as being in that pool. The girls stood away from the pool with their backs to Bethena as she acclimated herself. Bethena had not had an opportunity to study a naked person before and her eyes roamed hungrily over the flowing, full curves the teenage temple maidens. Do I look like that? She wondered.
Melka turned, bent to pick up a sponge and came to sit beside Bethena in the water. Looking deeply into Bethena’s eyes, Melka gently rubbed first Bethena’s hands, then arms with the sponge. Bethena’s heart raced and she felt her abdomen and genital areas turn to liquid. She groaned and closed her eyes, giving herself up to the other girl’s ministrations.