THE LOVERS OF MYLITTA
A new day was in the offing. A placenta-red sky slowly emerged from the dark horizon, and in its wake a translucent orange orb pierced the sterile firmament as it initiated its eastern ascent.
The encroaching light swept everything in its path, interrupted only by low mud dwellings and a ziggurat with its attending temple reigning imposingly over the Babylonian landscape. The tall structure, with its massive brick walls, loomed heavily over its surrounding as the long shadows of dawn desperately clung to the remnants of their midnight empire. As the tide of darkness reluctantly receded, a lone figure sprung to light, sprawled upon the dusty ground.
Tummaz could feel the radiant warmth slowly envelop him. The morning had not come too soon, for rest beneath the frigid stars was not comfortable. Gazing at the portico of the temple, he relished the thought of soon sleeping under a roof, anticipating the end of ordeal which lay within the temple walls. The last task required for his enfranchisement was at hand.
He pulled his tall husky frame upright against his body’s protest – it still felt the abuse received in the long bloody hours of battle and the subsequent trek back to Babylon. His limbs ached in every tendon and the cuts and bruises were still painful.
It had all started when he had finally saved the fifteen shekels required for the purchase of his freedom. But this was only the first step, for he then had to prove his worth to Babylon. It meant accomplishing two tasks prescribed by the head temple priest. The images of his first ordeal were still vividly imprinted upon his memory.
They had met the Egyptians at Carchemish, near the Euphrates, in sundrenched fields. Nebuchadnezzar led the Babylonian army in the battle that would seal the fate of his people. A defeat would have meant a return to the vassalage of olden days. Their hard-won victory had securred control of trade from the Persian Gulf to the Mediterranean Sea.
Tummaz had done well in the confrontation: he had disposed of many of the enemy, even slaying an Egyptian commander, whose adornments he had stripped as proof of the deed. That completed the first part of his schedule.
But it had not been easy as the battle had been long and bloody and many sons and husbands, did not return to their loved ones. He could still see the corpse-ridden fields of the encounter in his mind; how peaceful and serene it seemed as one heard the song of passing birds, the only sign of continuing life. The shock came the following morning. Tummaz felt revulsion as he viewed the battleground strewn with naked bodies: the local peasants had stripped the dead soldiers of everything the pilfering soldiers had left behind, leaving the fertile landscape blooming with crimson-stained flesh. (As a freedman he would no longer be denied the privilege of participating in such carnal distractions.) But all of this was of little importance now as a new life loomed before him. He had but one more task to accomplish before securing his freedom; he was required to make love to a woman who lay within the confines of the temple of Mylitta. This task would perhaps prove the hardest yet.
At one time in her life every woman of the city must lay in the temple and sexually accommodate a stranger. Wealth could not buy one’s way out, for all women regardless of station, were required to discharge this sacred duty to Mylitta, the goddess of love.
The woman sits in the temple, wearing a crown of cord round her head. The stranger follows the indicated passages that leads to where a woman is to be found, surveys the crop and makes his choice. When a woman is in the temple she cannot return to her home until a stranger has thrown a piece of silver into her lap reciting the prescribed words: “I beseech the Goddess Mylitta to favour Thee”; then, taking her outside, he makes love to her. She must refuse no one, neither for his looks nor for the value of his silver. Her obligations being thus fulfilled she is permitted to return to her family. It naturally follows that the more seductive participants are quickly set free, but the ugly or deformed could be detained for years, living on the alms of the fane.
To rid the temple of these holdovers, slaves wishing their freedom were frequently required to engage them. Tummaz cringed at the thought of the human refuse he would likely encounter in the recess of the temple. Rumour had it that the current crop of atrocities had turned many a slave back to his master.
Finally brushing the dust off his badly worn garments, he headed for the Ziggurat, feeling he had wasted enough time. He had been told he would find the temple priest within the Great Tower, as the Holy Man usually spent his nights atop the tall structure, reading the fate of the city and its leaders in the wanderings of distant stars.
He did not have to enter the building as the priest was waiting for him at the entrance. Tummaz felt a shiver run down his spine at the sight of the man as he stepped into the sunlit street. Old, but yet vigorous, he stood erect, an imposing figure in his long flowing robe decorated with mystic symbols. His piercing eyes and long grey beard were all Tummaz could discern of his face as he gazed in awe at the glowing apparition.
“You are Tummaz?” the old man asked in a low, steady voice, before Tummaz could speak.
“Yes, You have heard of me?” Tummaz uttered half surprised by the recognition.
“I am Radrkenzor, guardian of the temple of Mylitta”, he continued as Tummaz peered into his fiery eyes. “As such it is my duty to show you the way that you must go to reach the women you are to set free.”
“I am ready to accomplish any task required,” Tummaz heard himself say, trying to maintain his courage in the presence of the Holy Man, amidst an almost tangible tension that charged the atmosphere.
“Do not be so hasty, young man. The task demanded of you might well prove more difficult than facing death in the midst of battle,” the priest continued in an emotionless tone, “You would probably favour a sow over the woman you are about to meet. But come, see if you are up to it.”
Tummaz followed the pries across the narrow alley that separated the temple from the Ziggurat. The Holy Man pointed the way:
“Follow the hall till you reach the end. There, in the inner entrails of the fane you will find the human refuse that not even vermin will approach. Go and do what you must … if you have the courage.”
Tummaz found these words rather disconcerting and felt a mounting sense of apprehension. Was the priest trying to discourage him? Why? He surely could not profit from any failure on Tummaz’s part. Grabbing a torch off the entrance wall, he headed down the narrow dark corridor as the thought of being returned to his master soon stifled any reservation he had about his forthcoming ordeal.
He walked on down the hall till, reaching the end, he found a small entrance to the left. As he entered hesitantly, his torch before him, he found himself in a small dank room where his eyes came to rest upon a squatting figure which gazed at the earthen floor, apparently oblivious to his stare.
He was repelled by what he saw: a lump of misshapen flesh, the merest semblance of a woman. He could clearly see a large hump on her back, her limbs grossly deformed, sagging like those of a resting puppet, a contorted face in which nature seemed to have done her utmost to violate the laws of symmetry and proportion; the eyes uneven as to location and size, the nose upturned and crooked, the gaping mouth that bared blackened jagged teeth from an abnormally forward protruding lower jaw. Even her skin had not been spared, having the melted-wax texture of scalded flesh.
Slowly he approached the drooping figure. She was still, her mind seemingly unwilling to accept the thought that the approaching stranger was to be her deliverer. As her closeness encroached upon him, he froze, repelled by the putrid stench.
Tummaz was bewildered by the abomination. He could not understand how she had survived. Why had she not been exposed at birth? Only the most cruel of parents could permit a child to live with such a burden of deformities, he told himself as he gazed upon the wretched wench. He now felt pity for the poor soul, realizing that not even a slave had to endure what she must every minute of her life.
Finally, trying not to gaze directly at her, he threw a silver coin in her lap and said:
“With this silver I beseech the Goddess Mylitta to favour thee”.
Slowly she raised her head to look upon the stranger who had spoken these long-awaited words. Was she dreaming?
“Are you speaking to me?”, she asked with an incredulous look that struggled to register on her badly lacerated face. “Are you blind, stranger?”
“No I can see you perfectly. Still I choose to free you.” Tummaz answered trying to conceal his revulsion. “Now we must go outside so that everyone can see that you have done your duty to the Goddess Mylitta.”
“But why me? Do I not repulse you? Are there not many comely women in the temple?”
“Your time has come to leave this place and we must not displease fate, so hurry before I change my mind.”
He raised her to her feet and led her down the long corridor into the street. There he undressed her, only to reveal more decrepit flesh, shrivelled breasts and a maze of blue veins that raced across her body seemingly desperate to escape. More and more he felt a dull queasiness in his stomach. He valiantly fought the urge to balk against this last ordeal, diverting his eyes to the distant mountains that walled the city.
“What’s your name?” He heard himself utter.
“Seddim,” she answered.
“Well Seddim, lie on this piece of cloth and prepare yourself to taste pleasures I am sure you have not experienced in all your existence.”
She quickly complied as requested, spreading out as best she could her contorted body on the garment he had arranged on the ground. Tummaz felt a new hesitation at the sight of the outstretched wretch and wondered whether he would be able to perform. Closing this eyes he lay upon her and, to distract himself from the nightmare that embraced him, he envisioned the nights he spent in the arms of his mistress when his master was away on his frequent business trips to far-away lands. His handsome features and powerful frame had been too much of a temptation for the bored women, who spent long days in idleness alone in the confines of her husband’s enclave. Tummaz had of course welcomed her advances as a blessed and pleasurable respite from the drudgery of his existence. Perhaps it was that taste of life’s finer pleasures which nurtured hope for his own freedom. And, as he straddled the crippled creature, it was the seducing image of his former mistress that sustained him.
He finally reached orgasm, as he ploughed the parched furrow with increasing frenzy. The guttural rasping of the creating shook him from his fantasy. Revulsion again dominated his mind, as he gazed upon the woman who now shed the mask his imagination had woven for her.
He rose to his feet, manfully trying to conceal his disgust.
“You can go home now Seddim, you are free,” he said. “And so am I.”
“Thank you stranger”, she said in a distorted voice. “I will never forget you and may Gods be with you.”
Her heart felt gratitude was barely visible on her ravaged face as she struggled to replace her clothes and hide her shameful body from public view. Finally, clutching her loose clothing with one hand, she left limping, looking back at Tummaz till she was lost in the shadows of a nearby alley.
Tummaz felt a warmness in his breast at the thought of the deed he had accomplished, realizing that, if nothing else, he had alleviated the poor women’s suffering. She more deserved to be delivered from her bondage than a thousand well-fed slaves.
Brushing the dust off his ragged clothes he headed back towards the Ziggurat where the priest was waiting for him near the entrance.
--------------------
Freedom! Freedom! The words revolved endlessly in his mind as he became intoxicated with the idea. He now walked the narrow alleys towards the market, where he could palpably taste all the pleasures that life would now offer. He had a lot of lost time to catch up with. Still he wondered if he would be able to see his old mistress again; the pleasure of her charms he would not so soon forget. There surely would be many business trips for her husband in the foreseeable future. No matter, he would soon be able to choose from a gamut of choice women. He increased his pace as his long-emptied stomach rebelled against emptiness with the urgent pangs and quarrelsome noises of hunger. He thought he could smell the smells of the market.
Down the narrow alleys of windowless houses he headed, leaving one only to enter another. Suddenly as he entered another dark and musty street, he saw three men walking towards him, wielding clubs. At first he paid no attention; surely they had no quarrel with him. His newly won citizenship would protect him from being molested by these slaves beaters, as they surely must be, the day being too young for bandits.
But as he approached the threatening men, fear began to mount as he could see their eyes gazing directly into his, as they menacingly tapped their clubs in the palms of their hands.
Tummaz turned about and was going to try and make a run for it in the direction he had came from. But he found himself confronted by two more men who also coming directly at him.
Tummaz looked to his side for an avenue of escape, but all he could see were walls and closed doors. Running as hard as he could he tried to break down one of the doors, but it prevailed. With the exasperation of a cornered animal, he rushed the two men that came at him from the rear. His arms shielding his head, he managed to ram his way through the waiting aggressors, but he was not to escape so easily. When he came to the end of the alley a sixth foe, hiding behind a corner, pounced upon him and before he could retaliate the others had joined in and clubbed him into unconsciousness.
--------------------
As sensitivity returned, Tummaz found himself sitting upon the floor of a small lit room, his hands and feet bound together in front of him. As he looked up he gazed at the men who had so brutally attacked him. From their garb it could easily be seen that these were men of stature and wealth. Finally his eyes rested on two whose faces he recognized: his former master, Brador, and the temple priest, Radrkenzor. They were all obviously waiting for his senses to return.
“Master,” Tummaz uttered in an incredulous tone, “You here, why?”
“Yes Tummaz, me!” A sarcastic grin broke over Brador’s plump face, “You are surprised? You wonder why I wish you arm?”
“Yes master, have I not served you well all these years?”
“You certainly have, my wife can vouch for that.” The smirk receded and his expression became threatening. “Yes Tummaz, she has betrayed you. It seems she could not stand to lose you and so prefers that no one else have you.”
“But I am a free man,” Tummaz protested, half expecting to be taken seriously. “You cannot do this to a citizen. The law will punish you as a criminal.”
“I don’t think so,” Brador interjected. “Some of the men you see here are magistrates and agree with me that you are too dangerous to be left alive. You see Tummaz, not all freed slaves are allowed to participate in the life of Babylon”, he continued. “Some, deemed as potential leaders in plotting revolts to free their old companions still in slavery, are simply made to disappear! The not-so-bright, the clever subservient and the crippled are left alone to show others that freedom can be attained if one perseveres and is prepared to keep one’s place thus instilling hope in the otherwise dismal lives of the enslaved. When I spoke to my friends of your audacity with my wife, coupled with your rapid completion of the required tasks, especially toughened for you at my behest. We concluded that we could not take any chances with you. Yes Tummaz you have shown too much disrespect for your master, and this lack of respect, my friends and I fear, may eventually be expressed in general disregard for our social institutions. You must be liquidated”
“But I, having a special grudge to bear, have been granted the pleasure of ending your life in the manner I feel would best atone the insult you have rendered me. And so Tummaz for each grain of pleasure you have gained in the arms of my wife, you shall feel a pain that is a thousand fold worse.
Sweat poured profusely from Tummaz’s forehead as the prospect crossed his mind; he would end his life in useless agony, having wasted his efforts in a fruitless cause. Still, perhaps he could make Brador change his mind by transferring at least part of the blame. Was it not she who had seduced him? Had she not enticed him with her partial nudeness whenever they were alone together? Cajoling him to come to her room late at night ostensibly to massage her sore back. Was he not the victim of this woman’s lust? His taunted flesh could no longer resist the opportunity to satisfy a long denied want. But it would be useless to try and dissuade his former master. He would only believe what he wanted to. It would be easier to assuage the resentment felt for his wife by extinguishing this poor expendable soul. Anyway, Tummaz knew that his master had archaic beliefs about the opposite sex that would go against any argument he might present. Was it not true that a woman was a slave to her instinctive behaviour, and only men could be relied upon to protect the moral fabric of society? In Brador’s mind Tummaz was certainly the guilty party and thus must be punished.
“Have you ever smelled the odour of burning flesh Tummax?” Brador asked. “I will not deny you the pleasure much longer. Bring me the branding irons Radrkenzor.”
Brador took the glowing rods from the impassive priest and slowly, ever so slowly, he traced Tummaz’s silhouette an inch above his skin, so that he could feel the heat that would soon sear his flesh.
Tummaz did not flinch, not wanting to make the merest suggestion to his torturer of the fear that filled his heart. Still the seat poured with increasing intensity from his expressionless face.
Having finished his teasing of Tummaz, Brador spoke again.
“Now that we have tested your ability to feel heat, let us see if your nose is as sensitive to the smell of burning flesh?”
The hot iron neared Tummaz’s chest and he sensed his final minutes of life would be spent in excruciating agony. Ever closer the searing rods came, till Tummaz could again feel their radiating heat. But as he mentally prepared himself for the impending pain, a low moaning sound disturbed the moment and Brador halted the advance of his branding iron. As he stepped back to listen to the puzzling sound, he stared quizzically at his companions, that soon shared the same concerned look. Now a slight draft could be felt in the enclosed room. It was a cold, blood-curdling breeze, that soon became a forceful wind moving things about in a circular fashion towards the center of the room.
Tummaz was as entranced by the strange happenings as his torturers were, not even consciously aware that these sudden manifestations had postponed his agony. Finally, their minds filled with fear, Brador and his companions headed towards the door. But the malefic storm was heightening and every step they took was hard won, till finally, as the noise became deafening, one by one they were lifted from the floor and began circling the room.
Tummaz gazed incredulously as his former master rose in a furry of moving air, his clothes flapping violently as though resisting the assault. He looked into his frightened face which reflected only terror, as the roar of the storm muffled his screams.
Still standing in one corner was Radrkenzor seemingly defying the brutal centripetal phenomenon, his clothes sparkling as they moved in convulsing unison with the wild wind. His head was facing upwards, his arms held above brandishing a small black rod that glowed with a pale greenish light. Finally Tummaz heard his booming voice rising over the roar:
“Spare your servant”, he was pleading repeatedly, as he fought off the onslaught of moving air.
Suddenly another sound was heard above the quieting wind, a feminine voice.
“You are not my servant”, it said. “You have not been for years Radrkenzor. Do not think I know not of your prayers to Mordock. His magic will not save you. You have betrayed me and you will suffer the consequences.”
As she spoke his wand exploded, severing his arm. Before the gushing blood could reach the floor, he was lifted from the ground to join his friends in their circle of doom. Finally, as the file reached the center of the room, circling faster and faster, each in turn was thrown against the ceiling with such force that Tummaz could hear the noise of their bones being crushed above the roar of the wind. The limp body of Brador now lay motionless atop his companions, limbs and head awkwardly distorted in their final repose, as if served up to Tummaz for his approval.
The wind stopped as suddenly as it had began and, from the center of the room, above the bodies, a light appeared, slowly brightening and casting unearthly an aura about the room.
Tummaz could only gaze in awe at this new phenomenon, his mind still bewildered by the happenings of the last few moments. So intense was his trance that he failed to notice that his hands and feet had been freed. A distinct form was now emerging amid the luminescence, as the brilliance of the light slowly reduced. A woman materialized, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her flowing golden hair seemed to skim over her fine features as it caressed, in fine tresses, the delicate back and firm breasts, barely concealed by her silvery robe. Her face was like none other, yet it seemed to possess the features of all women, to be the embodiment of the essence of feminity. Smiling at him she bid him come to her, not speaking, but communicating in the unmistakable way of a woman who yearns for a man, with a look in her eyes that transcends the spoken word.
But Tummaz was paralysed by her sight” He thought he recognized something in the face, but he could not quite place it. Finally his faculties returning, he spoke.
“Who are you?” he asked in a bewildered voice. “What do you want of me?”
“Strange you should not know who I am,” she answered with a now sensuous tone as the walked towards him. “Do you so easily forget a woman you made love to a few hours earlier?”
“The cripple? You?” he asked, reluctant to admit the possibility that the repulsive being he had earlier known could be the vision of perfection that now beckoned him.
“Yes Tummaz,” she continued as she took his hands into hers. “It is I, the goddess Mylitta, the one you had enough courage to embrace when all others rejected her. I come now to offer you your reward.”
Tummaz could hardly believe his ears, nor his eyes, as her robe left her revealing to Tummaz the charms that moulded all others. Surely his reward, he anticipated, would be one seldom offered a mere mortal. His premonition was right as she embraced him and led him down onto the soft cushions that mysteriously materialized beside them.
--------------------
When he woke Tummaz was alone. It took him awhile to regain his senses as his mind was not completely comfortable with the evenings events. He wondered if it had not been a dream. But the vivid impressions of his recent love making with a Goddess soon dispelled any doubts. No it had been all to real.
Slowly he rose to his feet, feeling that perhaps his life would be a weary experience from now on. How could he surpass last night? But as he stepped outside into the dimly lit city greeting dawn’s early rays, he felt a new courage rising, realising that a new life was about to begin for him. Yes a new day was in the offing; a placenta red sky…