“Didn’t it worry you that you were being unfaithful?”
She reddened, thinking that she was ready to cuckold her old husband without the need for religion. “For believers, coupling with others in worship of Fufluns is a sacred union. You feel the god within you as your heart responds to the beat of the drum. The wine courses through you, strong and unwatered. You’re dizzy as you dance. Filled with elation.”
“You’re intoxicated.”
“You’re possessed by the god’s spirit through the wine’s magic. It’s like being in a trance.”
Again Lady Caecilia paused, digesting each morsel of information. She glanced around her as though checking for eavesdroppers. “So you weren’t whipped?”
Stunned by the question, Semni shook her head. Her father used to thrash her often enough. And it helped her sixty-year-old husband to harden if he birched her. But she’d never suffered pain at a Winter Feast. “No, my lady.”
“And the possibility you might fall with child. Was that not a concern?”
Again the girl was surprised. Surely Lady Caecilia knew Nerie’s blond father was a fellow worshiper? “It was a risk I took. The resin and alum plug failed when I lay with the man with the ram’s head mask.” She smiled. “But I don’t regret bearing a son conceived on the night of the Winter Feast.”
The princip’s eyes widened. “I didn’t realize . . . I always thought Nerie was a result of one of your many . . .”
“You mean from sleeping with any man who wanted me.”
This time it was Lady Caecilia’s turn to blush.
“Don’t be embarrassed, mistress. I know I was a slattern before I met Arruns.”
“And if you ever get the chance to reach ecstasy again, won’t he be jealous?”
Her words gave Semni pause. She’d not thought about this. Yet Arruns had never complained that she followed the Pacha Cult.
“Fufluns is not his god, but I believe he sees the feast as part of a holy rite.”
“And what about you? Would you be happy for him to seek epiphany with another woman?”
“You must understand, mistress, it’s different under the mask. You are liberated from fear and care, jealousy and duty. There’s just heat and madness. I’m no longer Semni. And he would no longer be Arruns. If he wished to follow Fufluns, I wouldn’t deny him the chance to ward off death through seeking ecstasy.”
She pointed to the decoration of entwined leaves on the edges of the mirror. “See the ivy? It’s sacred to the wine god. It blooms in autumn and fruits in spring. It grows green in winter when the grape vine is dry and lifeless.” She traced the grape leaves. “Vines give us the fruit of life. They are sunlight and warmth. Ivy is shadow and night. So too is Fufluns. You must accept light and dark when you worship him. And then you can forget mortal bonds for that brief moment in time.”
“You speak with such passion, Semni. You make me understand a little more.”
“May I ask why you ask all these questions, my lady?”
“Because I wish to follow the Pacha Cult as the king has asked. I want Fufluns’s protection for me and my family in the Afterworld. But I revere Uni. I fear she wouldn’t approve of me worshiping Fufluns.”
“Veientane women have long worshiped both deities without being punished. We honor the divine queen as the guardian of our city, but all the Rasenna revere Fufluns. We turn to Uni to protect us in childbirth and give succor to our children, but it is the god of fertility who promises us resurrection.” She pointed to the couple on mirror again. “Do you remember the day you came to the pottery and saw the last vase I ever painted? It depicted Fufluns and Areatha as well.”
“Yes, I do. You were a skilled artisan.”
“Thank you, mistress. I remember how you and Lord Mastarna held each other when he came to say good-bye before the battle.” She ran her finger over the immortal pair etched into the silver. “Just like them, you had eyes for no other.”
The queen bowed her head, examining the mirror again. “Yes, I love Vel very much.”
Her mention of Lord Mastarna’s first name surprised Semni. The queen never directly referred to him as such to any servant other than Cytheris. “Fufluns and Areatha were the most devoted of couples. The god fell in love with her when he found her asleep after the slayer of the Minotaur deserted her. But after such betrayal came a happy marriage. And Areatha bore many sons.”
“You know the myth well.”
“I know all the legends, my lady. They were the inspiration for my vases. I enjoyed learning of divine love and passion, bickering and heartbreak.”
“So what, then, is the rest of Areatha’s story?”
“I won’t lie. Her life was one of melancholy as well as joy. For there is the pain in loving Fufluns. He’s a suffering god, and those who love him can suffer, too. Some say Areatha was killed by one who hated the freedom Fufluns granted to women. Others speak of her hanging herself because she had angered the goddess of the hunt. But Fufluns descended into Acheron and saved her from Aita. Thereafter she became immortal.” Semni pointed to Areatha’s wedding tiara. “See her diadem? Fufluns tossed it into the sky to create the Northern Crown in her honor. At night you can view the starry corona and remember her.”
“Lord Mastarna calls me ‘Bellatrix’ after a tiny star in the constellation of Orion.” The queen placed the mirror on the table and took up the tortoiseshell lyre again. “But I don’t want to be likened to this sad goddess, Semni. Or my husband to Fufluns. I just want him to return so I can embrace him again.”
The queen averted her head, and Semni realized she was holding back tears. The girl hesitated, not sure what to do. Yet she sensed offering words of comfort would only cause the noblewoman to weep.
She thought of Arruns. How she would hate it if they were parted. Lady Caecilia had spent years as the wife of a warrior, never knowing if a farewell kiss might be the last ever shared. She stood and curtsied. “Thank you, mistress, for allowing us to wed.”
Lady Caecilia brushed her fingers across her eyes. “I’ll pray for your baby. And that your life with Arruns will be blessed.”
The nursemaid headed to the doorway, but before she reached it, the queen called, “And I’ll also pray you’ll have the opportunity to render other myths in terra-cotta one day. Then I’ll be able to fill this palace with red figured vases with your initials etched into their bases.”
Semni curtsied again, tears pricking her own eyes. In this beleaguered city, such a world seemed a lifetime ago and a lifetime away.
THIRTY-SIX