B. Alexander Howerton (3 page)

Her strokes became more gentle and more suggestive, and her
hand roamed more freely, up to his neck and shoulders and down to his firm
belly.  She noticed stirrings down beneath his loincloth.  “Yes, the wine has
done its work.  You will do just fine.”

She reached over behind her, grabbed a corded rope that hung
from the wall, and pulled on it.  A bell rang somewhere, and almost instantly
the door to the chamber opened and two guards rushed in.  Without warning they
seized the captive, yanked him to his feet, and hauled him struggling out of
the room.  He stared, wide-eyed, at the priestess, exhibiting a look of terror
and realization of betrayal.  She smiled sardonically back at him as she once
again donned her headdress.

The guards hauled him back onto the platform and over to the
stone altar, where they threw him down on his back and proceeded to lash him
down.  Despite his frantic strugglings he was able to perceive that the great
hall had filled with chanting denizens of the town, and there were many more
torches than before, casting their light all about the hall.  The mysterious
sounds of mouthpipes, lyres, and drums filled the hall.  As the guards
completed their lashings, securing him firmly to the altar, he was not able to
look anywhere else but straight up at the face of the statue of the goddess
that the priestess had identified as Inanna.  She seemed to gaze down
derisively at him, holding the mysterious blank yet colorful oblong stone high
above her head.  The chanting of the crowd grew to a crescendo as the priestess
stepped out from her chamber, holding her arms up and out in front of her.  The
prisoner could see that her left hand held the urn with the wine, while her
right held a long, serrated dagger of gold.  She stepped in front of the altar
and spoke in a regal, measured tone.

“People of Uruk, our time of uncertainty has passed.  Inanna
has seen fit to restore that which Enlil sought to take away.  Our new king
Ulanpazzal was taken away from us long before he could fulfill his primary
duty, but Inanna, who has journeyed to the land of the dead and back, has
provided for us new seed.  Shall we make a new king, and restore fertility to
the land?”

Triumphant cries of “Yes!  Yes!” filled the hall.

The priestess turned, strode to the end of the altar to
which the captives feet were lashed, and gazed down at him.  The crowd settled
down into a low chant, which, if the prisoner could understand it, he would
have heard, “Inanna, grant us a new king.”

The priestess suddenly slashed downward with her right hand,
and the captive’s tattered loincloth fell away in a heap, cut by the knife,
leaving him naked.  She raised the urn to the statue.  “Inanna, we offer this
blessing to you.”  She poured the wine all over the length of the prisoner’s
body, handed it to an attendant priest, then leaned over and began licking the
wine off him.  Fear filled his eyes at the strange, unexpected ritual.  Her
tongue wandered up and down his body, and eventually stopped at his groin.  She
licked all around the area between his legs.  The prisoner, despite his fear,
was unable to refrain from responding, due to the powerful aphrodisiac that he
had no way of knowing was an integral ingredient of the wine. She wrapped her
lips around his shaft, and increased her tempo slowly, along with the
increasing rhythm of the chanting crowd and music. 

Once she perceived he was as erect as possible, she stood up
and ceremoniously removed her belt and skirt, handing them to another attending
priest.  She climbed up on the altar, still holding the golden knife, and stood
astride the captive’s hips.  She began to undulate her hips in time to the
chants, and lowered herself slowly.  She reached down with her left hand and
guided the prisoner into her, maintaining the rhythm of the chant.  She
undulated and rocked as the tempo increased, and the prisoner began to writhe,
too, as the pleasure of being inside the priestess began to possess his body.

After a time, he began to moan, closed his eyes, and tipped
his head back.  The priestess, sensing he was nearing his climax, increased her
undulations.  Finally the captive arched his back and let out a deep, low
moan.  The priestess, feeling his release inside her, swiftly raised her golden
dagger and plunged it deeply into the captive’s heart.  The captive’s head shot
up and his eyes opened wide, staring into hers, the final surprise of death
etched on his face.  He then fell back, and was still.  The priestess, still
astride him, sawed at his chest, until she could reach in and pull out his
heart.  The blood ran down the sides of his thick chest onto the altar, into
little channels that ran along the sides of the altar into waiting gold cups. 
Attending priests stood by, patiently waiting for them to fill. 

The priestess held the captive’s heart high above her head
and cried,  “He has given me seed, and he has given us his lifeblood.  We will
pour his blood upon the thirsty land, and we will have a new king.  We must
give thanks to this stranger, who is the incarnation of Dumuzi.”

To chants of “Thank you, o great dying-and-reviving Dumuzi,
who gives us life, thank you,” she squeezed the heart over her tilted-back
head, and drank every drop of blood that splashed into her mouth.  The stone in
the hands of the statue of the goddess Inanna radiated multi-hued rays of light
upon her followers.

“I’m joining the he-man woman hater’s club!  I’m serious
this time!”  Alan said, then guzzled the rest of his Budweiser.  With one
motion he crushed the can and whipped it into the bonfire.

Steve chuckled, recognizing the reference to an old Little
Rascals episode.  “What is it this time, chieftain?  I thought you were getting
along well with Stephanie.”  Steve had known that Alan was upset over his
breakup with Stephanie, and had invited him to stay overnight at his place in
the country, south of Grand Rapids, Michigan.  Alan liked to go out to Steve’s
every now and then, and they usually stayed up far too late drinking beer
around a bonfire in Steve’s firepit, in a clearing among the pines.  This night
was especially beautiful.  The stars twinkled brightly in the crisp cool air of
early September, and the crackling flames danced around the logs like
frolicking wood nymphs.

Steve tossed Alan a fresh cold can of beer.  He caught it
and popped the top.  “She’s a cast-iron bitch!  She dumped me.  It feels like
she ripped my heart right out of my chest.  You asshole,” he shouted at Steve
as he quickly scooted his feet back while leaning forward, in order to avoid
the foam that oozed out of the can, over his hand, and onto the ground.  Steve
laughed.

Alan sucked the foam off the top of the can, spit it out,
then took a long drink.  He wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand, and
continued.  “I couldn’t please her, no matter what I tried.  She was never
satisfied.  She wanted to be made love to in a specific way, and I couldn’t do
it.”  He accentuated the last four words, spoken in a mocking tone, by waging
his head from side to side.

What do you mean?” Steve asked, stooping to grab a small log
and tossing it on the fire.  He then sat down on the wooden bench behind him,
extended his legs, and crossed them.

Alan ran his fingers through his red hair, pushing his bangs
back, let out a sigh, and replied, “Well, she was only into the missionary
position, and she wanted me to hold her just right, and go glacially slow, and
I had better not be the first one done, or there was hell to pay.  Man, I just
wasn’t used to anything like that.  I always finished too early for her.  But
I’m thinking it’s not all my fault.  Remember Jeanne, my girlfriend before
Stephanie?”

“Of course!” Steve rolled his eyes.  “You wouldn’t shut up
about her for the year or so before you met Stephanie.”

Alan picked up a stick and poked at the fire, attempting to
make it burn brighter.  He only succeeded in singeing the light red hair on the
back of his hand and knocking over an ember-encrusted log, which almost rolled
over onto his foot.  “Shit!” he yelled, and jumped back.  Steve chuckled as he
raised his can for a swig.

Alan used his stick to flip the burning log back into the
fire as he continued.  “Jeanne was whacked, too, but she was great in bed.  I
mean, it didn’t matter who was done first.  We just kept going, until we both
were satisfied.  But she was just getting a divorce, and didn’t want a serious
relationship or anything, so
she
ditched me.

“Now Stephanie, we really made a spiritual connection.  I
mean, we thought we loved each other.  But it all fell apart when we got into
bed.  So
she
ditched me.  Went back to that Matt guy.”  Alan drank from
his Bud.  “You know, it makes me feel a little better now that I’ve figured out
I was just a scab, replacing the real union guy until he came back.  But it
still sucks.”  He glowered into the fire.

After a few moments of silence, Steve spoke up.  “You’ve
just got to chill out a while, dude.  You’ve got to relax, and learn to be
alone with yourself.  Once you’re comfortable with who you are, the right woman
will show up.”

“No, you’re wrong, pal.  They all want something.  Either
they want money, or you have to please them just right, or they want to tie you
down, or something.  I just want someone I can love, who wants to be with me,
who is great in bed but we’re also friends, you know what I mean?  But I don’t
think women like that exist.  No, I’m a confirmed bachelor from now on out.”

Steve smiled to himself, then said, “Whatever.  I’m sick of
your whining.  Here, shut up and drink another beer.”  He tossed a can to Alan. 
The shot went a little wild, and Alan took a few steps to reach for the can
passing just beyond his fingertips.  He tripped on a piece of wood at the edge
of the log pile, next to which he had been standing, and went flipping over it,
landing on his back on the other side, making a huge clatter in the process.

Steve laughed uproariously.  “Serves you right, man.”

Alan yelled back at him, “You did that on purpose.”  Then,
seeing the humor in the situation, he began to laugh as well.  They chuckled
for a minute or two then resumed drinking, talking, and staring into the fire.

Menelos never tired of the bustle of the bull ring.  He
never felt more alive than when he was practicing for a bull-jumping ceremony,
and he especially enjoyed showing off his skill and prowess before Alena, the
best girl bull-jumper.  She was there today, obviously showing off for his
benefit as well. They were exercising strenuously in the bull ring with all the
other hopeful young bull-jumpers.  They were all preparing for a great festival
which was to be held the next day, the day of the year the sun was longest in
the sky.

The youths were stretching, or running, or wrestling, or
practicing back handsprings on the ground. They were all young, lithe, and
beautiful, the boys as well as the girls wearing nothing but short tight
skirts, accentuating their narrow hips and thin waists.  Despite all the
beautiful young people about him, Menelos was strangely drawn to Alena.  She
had an indefinable quality that piqued his interest, and he was mulling over in
his mind ways to get a chance to talk to her more.  They had done their
exercises together, but had never gotten a chance to trade more than a few
words, and those were focused on their training.

Menelos was proud of his skill.  Bull-jumping was one of the
most highly prized talents in the city of Knossos, on the island-state of
Crete.  Knossos and her sister cites had become rich and powerful by building
great ships and plying the waters around their home island, trading as far away
as the mysterious land of the Egyptians, with the crafty but practical Phoenicians,
and with the barbaric Mycenaens to the north, who were crude and clumsy, but
possessed gold and many other goods that were scarce on Crete.  Residing on an
isolated island with a powerful fleet, Knossos felt little need to maintain an
armed force.  The walls of Knossos and the other cities were not fortified. 
But they were all wary of the heavily-armed barbarian Mycenaens to the north,
and wished to maintain their youth in a state of physical perfection and
readiness.  That was the ultimate purpose of the bull-jumping ceremony.

Menelos was good.  He had already jumped bulls several times
in practice, and twice in ceremony.  He was tacitly acknowledged by his peers
to be the foremost among them.  He never tired of the thrill of watching in
tense anticipation as a raging bull charged at him, horns lowered.  At the last
possible second, before he would have been gored, he would quickly thrust his
arms out, grab each of the bull’s horn next to its head, and leap upward.  The
bull, surprised and angered, would flip its head up, tossing Menelos high into
the air.  He would execute and expert flip and land, feet first, on the bull’s
back.  He would ride there as long as he could, arms outstretched, the beast
raging and thrashing beneath him, until he was compelled to leap to safety.  He
could never ride more than a few seconds, but he held the record for length of
ride.  His coaches acknowledged his excellence, marked him for greatness, and
gave him extra exercises.  This was a great honor, for it was not infrequent
that a hopeful young bull-jumper was severely injured, or even killed.

His pride was wounded when one day a girl arrived from the
not-too-distant town of Zakro and demonstrated bull-leaping skills almost as
great as his own.  She was young, lithe, athletic, and her breasts were at
their full ripeness of youth.  Menelos began to feel strange new sensations,
and these, coupled with his desire not to be bested, drove him to even greater
achievements in the bull-ring.  The young challenger, however, did not let up,
and Menelos often found himself struggling to catch up to her prowess.

She had come to participate in the great mid-summer
festival, held in honor of the mother-goddess who presided over the island.  A
towering statue of her likeness loomed over the bull-ring, her terrible visage
staring down at the youths.  She was dressed in a long, flowing, layered skirt,
which rose to a bodice open at the bosom, presenting her ample breasts to the
world.  She held aloft in each arm vicious-looking snakes, which entwined
themselves around her forearm.  At the other end of the arena stood the horns
of consecration, which were stylized bull horns.  It was here that during the
ceremony, the bull would be sacrificed to the mother-goddess, after it had been
successfully jumped, therefore symbolically defeated.

Menelos was determined that he would be the one to
symbolically defeat the bull, but the girl from Zakro, whose name he had
discovered was Alena, was just as determined.  He realized that for the
ceremony to be conducted properly, both a male and a female would have to
successfully jump the bull, still Menelos would not be bested by a mere girl.

This midsummer festival was especially important, for it
seemed that the elder gods which lived under the world were, for some reason,
aroused to anger.  The earth had been shaking a lot lately, sometimes mildly,
sometimes severely, and the town elders concluded that the gods must be
appeased. Therefore, they had concluded not only that the bull was to be
sacrificed, but that the best bull-jumpers, one male and one female, would be
ceremonially married, then sent into the labyrinth under the magnificent
palace, where the Minotaur would have his feast, then carry the remains of the
offering to the nether gods.  It was hoped that by allowing the blood of the
boldest and strongest youths to run back into the land, that this would
diminish the hunger pangs of the earth, and the rumblings would cease.  Menelos
and his companions were well aware of the purpose of the ceremony, but were
unperturbed.  They considered it a high honor to do their best and give their
lives so that the rest of the island could live in peace and prosperity.  Such
was the nature of things.

“Listen, youths,” called Artaxes, the head coach, “it is
time for the final trials.”  Line up, boys on this side, girls on that.”  He
pointed to the sides of the ring, on either side of the large wooden door
through which the practice bull would enter the arena.  Menelos assumed his
place in the ranks, and looked across at the girls.  Alena was almost directly
across from him, returning his gaze.  He allowed himself a subtle half-smile. 
She saw it and returned the same.  Suddenly their attention was drawn to the
door, which had creaked open, allowing a raging bull into the arena.  He
charged into the ring, stopped, looked fiercely around while snorting, then
charged the line of boys.  Most of them scattered except for a boy three boys
down from Menelos.  This was a boy two years Menelos’ junior, who had never
jumped a live bull before.  He stood, frozen terror etched on his face.  The
bull charged even faster.  When the bull was practically on top of the boy,
Artaxes yelled, “Now!”  The boy reached out for the bull’s horn, but his grasp
was too tentative, and he only got a hold with his right hand, missing with his
left.  The bull threw its head up, and the boy flew in an awkward spiral
through the air.  He landed hard on one shoulder, and lay unmoving in a
crumpled mass.  The bull turned and charged again, not breaking its stride at
all as it rammed its horns into the boy’s abdomen. It flipped its head again,
and the boy flew through the air again, more like a sack of wheat than a living
thing.  He landed hard, his arms and legs jutting away from his body at odd
angles.

The bull turned to charge again, but Menelos jumped out from
the crowd of huddled boys and clapped his hands sharply, calling, “Oy! Oy!
Oy!”  The bull turned and looked at him.  Menelos called, “Yaaaa!”  and waved
his arms frantically.  The bull scraped the ground with one hoof, then charged
at Menelos.  He stood stock still, waiting, waiting.  At the last possible
instant, when it looked as if the bull would overrun him, his hands shot out
and seized the horns.  The bull once again flipped its head, and Menelos shot
straight up.  At the apex of his flight, he tucked, flipped and extended his
legs to land expertly on the small of the bull’s back.  He balanced there for
several seconds, then leapt high again, letting the bull run from underneath
him, and landed expertly on his feet.  He turned to receive the adulation he
expected to hear, just in time to see Alena being launched into the air.  She
had run up to the bull behind him and grabbed the horns.  He watched as she
performed and expert flip, landing in the same spot on the bull’s back.  After
a few second’s pause, she jumped again, executing another flawless flip, and
landing solidly on the ground.  Cheers broke out from the gathered boys and
girls, as the bull trainers captured the enraged bull with ropes and nets, and
assistant coaches rushed to the boy who had been gored.  It was apparent that
the boy had not survived his first encounter with the bull.

Artaxes called the youths over to the stone platform which
lay before the great statue of the mother goddess.  After assembling them in
rows, he called Menelos and Alena forward.  “I am very proud of both of you,”
he said, his chest swelling.  An assistant brought him an urn of olive oil, and
he dipped two fingers in and anointed the pair on their foreheads and
shoulders.  “You are our best bull-jumpers.  You will jump the bull in the
ceremony tomorrow, then you will be ritually married and offered to the gods. 
You should be very proud.”  Menelos grinned broadly at the coach, then turned
to face Alena.  She was obviously happy, returning his wide smile.

That evening, after a sumptuous feast and much reveling,
Menelos lay in his straw bed in his tent with five other boys, and could not
sleep.  He was too excited with the prospects of the morrow.  Suddenly, a thought
struck him. He was to marry Alena, but he knew nothing of her.  Even though
they would not live long past their marriage, yet he wished to know who his
betrothed was.  He quietly sat up and left the tent, sure that he had not waken
the other boys.  He knew it was a grave violation of the rules to enter the
girls’ camp, but a strange compulsion drove him on.

He walked between two of the girls’ tents and called softly,
“Alena.  Alena.”  There was no response.  He called again.  A girl stuck her
head out of a tent.  “Who is that there.  Menelos?  I recognize you.  What do
you want here?  You know it is not permitted.”

Menelos stared at her, fearful he might be betrayed. 
“Alena,” was all he said.

The girl hesitated a moment, then pointed to a tent opposite
hers and one further down.  Menelos nodded in thanks and rushed to the tent.
Without hesitation, he burst in and glanced around.  He found her sleeping in
the corner and rushed over to her.  The other five girls, hearing the
commotion, awoke from their slumber.  “What is it?”  What’s going on?”  “Oh, a
boy!”  Menelos hissed through his teeth and made a downward gesture with his
hand.  Alena had propped herself up on one elbow and was staring groggily at
him.  He grabbed her other wrist, tugged a little, and said, “Come.”

“Now?” she responded hesitantly.

“Yes.”  His eyes were insistent, and she read something in
them.  She jumped up and followed him, amid the squeals and giggles of the
other girls.

They were still dressed in their short skirts, having slept
in them, but wore nothing else, neither on their feet nor on their heads. 
Dragging Alena by the wrist, Menelos headed out of the camp.  “Where are we
going?” she asked.

He stopped and faced her.  “I know a place in the cliffs by
the sea.  I want to know you.  Will you come?”

She returned his gaze.  “Yes.  I want to know you, too.”

He turned quickly and continued his pace toward the sea.  No
one else saw them leaving the encampment.  After walking for about fifteen
minutes in silence through low brush, they came over a hill, and the sea spread
out before them, glittering in the almost full moon.  The sounds of waves
crashing against the cliffs far below them reached their ears.

“This way,” Menelos motioned to Alena as he began to make
his way along the cliff, cutting down on a small natural path that descended
gradually downward.  “Just a little farther.”

After about five minutes of picking their way around
boulders, they came to a flat, wide ledge.  The cliff wall at that point curved
inward toward the earth, finally opening into a cave behind the ledge.  Menelos
sat down on the edge of the ledge, letting his feet dangle over.  Alena
silently sat beside him.  They looked out at the Moon-speckled sea for many
silent moments, not moving or talking.

Finally Menelos said, “We are to be married.”

“Yes,” replied Alena flatly.

“We are to be given to the gods, to appease them.”

“Yes.  It is good.”

“Yes, it is.”

Silence again descended for a few moments, then Menelos
turned slowly to Alena.  She was already looking at him.  He extended his arm
and put it around her shoulder.  She melted against him.  Their lips met,
sharing the sweet taste of the first kiss.  He raised his hand and gingerly
touched her exposed breast.  She gently thrust her body forward, offering more
of herself to him and filling his hand.  She reached up and stroked his broad,
well-muscled chest.  They lingered there for uncounted moments, reveling in the
initial explorations of each other’s bodies.

Eventually Menelos stood up, taking both her hands in his
and helping her to her feet.  He walked a few paces toward the cave, to a soft,
sandy area.  He bent down and brushed the larger stones aside, leaving a soft
sandy bed for them.  He knelt and drew her down, kissing her when her mouth
reached the level of his.  He lay her gently down on her back in the sand, then
caressing her body with one hand, removed his skirt with the other.  She did
the same.  He gently lay on top of her, pressing her warm body against his, and
resumed kissing her.  His hand began caressing her at her cheek, moving
tenderly down her neck to her breast, pausing briefly, then continuing down her
side, stroking her hip, then down her leg to her knee.  With a smooth motion,
his hand slid across to the inside of her leg, then traveled back up her thigh,
ending between her legs, slowly caressing in a circular motion.  Alena softly
gasped in surprise and pleasure.  Her hips began undulating in rhythm to his
strokes.  Her hand absetmindedly pushed against his chest, then traveled downward
until she reached between his legs.  She grasped him, and slowly began to
stroke him up and down, in time to his caresses.  He had swelled to his erect
size, and gave out low moans of pleasure as she stroked.