Goldsmiths - University of London

Now that I was close to the North Gate, the crashing of tree on wooden doors was louder, and more menacing. The whole room seemed to shake with it.

Kh'elem, the High Priestess, lit a candle, and shaded it with her hand. 'Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you. I was praying for guidance. And, see – the Goddess has provided.' Her shadow fell in angles across the corner of the room.

I was shaking as I flattened myself against the wall. If I were caught wearing all this stolen gold, she could have me sentenced to death. I felt like a mouse whose tail is pinned by a cat with hypnotic eyes. I wrapped my veil round me more tightly, and mumbled, 'Praise the Goddess.' Hypocrisy usually worked best with these priests. Perhaps I could just pay my respects to the shrine, and leave.

'The ways of the Goddess are truly mysterious. What daemon has drawn you through the darkness to my sanctuary?'

'I – I – ' No ready excuse came to my mind for being in the inner sanctum. 'I thought the enemy had broken in, my lady. I was coming to throw myself on the mercy of the Goddess.' Was she going to report me? But she knew about the daemons, understood what that was like, perhaps. I bit my lip, my pulse beating fast in my throat. Would that damn pounding on the gates never stop? I was starting to get a headache.

She sighed. 'How do we find a path through the tangled courses of this world? What makes us choose one passage over another?' There was a weariness in her question; perhaps she too had no answers.

I let out the breath I had been holding. She didn't seem to care whether I was lying. With any luck, she hadn't even noticed my finery.

She smiled. 'You are Heaven sent. At the last minute, but ... the Goddess always provides. Come here, my dear.' She held her candle up. What did she want with me?

I opened my mouth to argue, but I was almost overawed. In the warm glow of the candle, she seemed to grow taller; she assumed a presence that radiated power and knowledge of the Mysteries, and the light spun gold around her.

'But first, you must take off your veil – you know they are not permitted in the sanctuaries.'

I wrapped it closer, and turned, determined to leave, but she caught me by the wrist. 'You are trembling. Are you cold?'

Oh please, just let me go.

She drew my veil aside. Her eyes gleamed as she took in my talismans. 'Better and better. Come now, there's no need to be frightened. Women are naturally sympathetic to one another; they trust each other with their secrets. You have the hand of the Goddess upon you. Do you not feel it?'

I knew I felt sick; I was exhausted, and in terror of my life. But what did I feel about her? I looked deep into her eyes. My mother had taught me to see into the ka, the soul of a person. I'd not paid much attention when I was young – I didn't really need to. But now, everything was different. Now I thanked her for her foresight, and prayed I hadn't lost the knack.

At first, as I looked, I met only the darkness of Kh'elem's eyes. But I went on looking. Deeper and deeper I probed, seeking to pierce her shell and find the soul within. Until the dark clouds parted, and I saw a maze of tiny, cobbled streets, a filthy room, the only ornament imprints in blue of tiny hands, all over the wall around the cramped bed, and children, five or six, dusty, tear-stained, too frightened to be hungry. She blinked, and it was gone.

'And you, my lady? Do you give women your trust?' I covered my hand with my mouth. My unruly boldness would get me into trouble now.

But she neither flinched nor took offence: 'If the Goddess requires it.' She paused; changed tack: 'What goddess gave you the power to speak so passionately in the Chapterhouse?'

I lowered my eyes: 'The men were not so convinced.'

But she caught my gaze again, probing. 'Yes, it's hard there are not more women at such meetings.'

'My plan would have had an easier time of it if they'd bothered to turn up. Don't they care? Don't they want to take part in the deliberations about the future of the Temple? Most women are only interested in sitting at home, putting flowers in their hair, and painting their faces.'

She shook her head: 'You must remember, it's hard for most women to get away from their hearths. They have servants to check up on, their men to clear up after, babies to wash and feed, and put to sleep beneath the pergolas.'

It's all right for some. I bit back my bitterness. I'd never get to weave in patterned thread, my days lulled by the music of the loom. 'But you manage it, my lady. Do you not have a husband, children?'

I had said too much.

She withdrew a little. 'My slaves take care of them when it's necessary. It's true,' she nodded, 'you would have had an easier time of it if more women had been present. But you – what do you want? Do you really want power?'

I felt excitement like a pin prick, and then trepidation, all up and down my back, like a child on her first night alone in the forest.

She sensed it; seemed to make up her mind about something: 'Our Temple must pass through fire. The Mycenaean army is at our gates. The gods are testing us: how can we save the Phoenix egg?'

'What Phoenix?' And the Temple – pass through fire? I shivered at the thought.

She motioned me to a chair, and set her candle down upon a marble table. Its reflection quivered in the mirror before me, and threw shadowed shapes dancing across the walls. She waited until they grew still.

'There is a fair land, far to the east of here, where the door of heaven is set open wide.' Her voice flowed like honey. Even the hammering at the doors fell silent for a while. 'There is neither rain nor snow, nor breath of frost nor blast of fire throughout this country. There, trees are hung with fruit all the year round, with blossom too, and green leaves throughout the year. There, by a sweetly flowing spring, dwells the Phoenix, rarest of birds. Her feathers are purple, her wings are a span across, of finest beaten gold, and her beak is of precious ivory. Her voice is sweeter than the music of angels. There is only one of her kind in the world, and she lives for a thousand years.' The dark eyes in the mirror held mine.

'When her time has come to cross the River of Death, she flies westwards to the land of the Assyrians, till she comes to a hidden forest, far from the houses of men. There she makes her dwelling, on the tree which is called after her, the Phoenix palm. And in this tree she builds a nest from the down of her own breast, woven with the sweetest flowers of the forest. There she lays her egg, of pale green veined with gold, and waits for her time to come. At midday, in the height of summer, when the sun burns at its fiercest, the plants grow warm, and give off sweet odours. The pile is kindled, and catches fire; hot flames enfold the poor creature's dwelling. The Phoenix, feeble with age, is stifled with the smoke, and fire consumes her weary body, feather and bone alike.'

Her voice became hushed: 'The bright nest is shattered. In time, the corpse grows cold. The ashes grow pale, and are scattered by the winds. Only the tides of starlight mark its place.' She fell silent for a moment, and the noises of the Temple crept up into my ears: the lowing of the bulls, the bleating of a lamb in search of its mother; beyond, the drumming and the chanting from the crypt. And deeper down, even into the Understorey, where the dwarves and daemons roost, the noises I didn't allow myself to listen to in normal life, the secret tappings, the moaning, and the soft sobbing that tears at your heart.

'Then, amongst the pile, the shadows gather, and weave together. Shadows form a shade, and the shade becomes a dream. The dream forms to an essence, and the essence grows into a soul. That soul builds a shell around itself, and the egg sits in the darkness for untold years, till she is born, the fledgeling; and in her season, she stretches her wings, and takes to the winds, the Phoenix re-born.'

I was caught up in a silence at the spell she had woven round me. For a moment, all fear was calmed within me.

But is that not how great sorcerers spin their webs? This was surely not just a bedtime story.

'So – forgive me, lady, but why are you telling me this?'

'Don't you know? Let the Phoenix speak to you.' She spoke in the riddles priestesses were so fond of. She was not going to give me the answer.

I was lost in confusion, and my panic returned.

Then a small clear voice spoke from within me: 'You think we can survive this fire? Save the essence of our Temple before it's destroyed by the invaders?'

'You have the inner knowing. See, I knew you would be the One.'

'The one?'

'The One in the prophecy.'

I had never heard of such a prophecy. We were forbidden to pry into the Mysteries – but this was about me.

'What prophecy, Priestess?'

'Our times are storm-troubled. The Oracle foretold their coming. I know how, when the gods strike someone down, she must create a secret room in her heart to keep her soul alive. You know something of this too. When the flood comes, it is necessary to build an ark. So I studied the Egyptian Scrolls of the Dead, the Kretan Tales of Passing Over, and many other wisdom stories. I conceived a plan.

'For many years, I sought the Phoenix' egg. I followed many threads, listened to the whisperings of the winds. I found out nothing. I had given up hope. But only last moon, an old trader who knew of my quest, a Hittite of Hattusas, came to me in secret. He brought me an egg he had won from an alchemist of Uruk, who swore it came from beyond the Zagros Mountains. When I had satisfied myself as to its authenticity, I put my plan into action. I have, by my art, housed the soul of the holy land of Krete within its shell, there to be preserved within the Realm of Forms, until it too may be reborn, with the Phoenix.'

My mind raced silently. Perhaps she'd spent too long staring at raven's livers, and her wits had turned to moon-madness. Or perhaps there really was some magic here. This could be a test.

She interrupted my thoughts: 'Come with me. I am about to entrust you with a secret.'

Was this just some maverick plan of hers? Or was the whole Consistory was in on it. Either way, I couldn't afford to run the risk of being brought to court for breaking the dress laws of the Temple.

Kh'elem rolled back the rug of red and black and white stripes, to reveal a pair of doors in the floor. She gestured to me to help her, and together we slid the bronze bolts, and opened the doors. A stone staircase led down into the Crypt.

She took a flaming torch from the brazier on the wall, and pointed down the steps: 'We must consult the Oracle.'

I wasn't going down there in a hurry. There might be spiders, or rats, or worse ... I shrank back against the wall. 'I'll wait here.' My throat was so dry I could hardly get my words out.

'You must come with me.' She wasn't used to being disobeyed. But it was more than that. This insistent tone – she was after something, needed something from me. Something that was important to her.

If she thought I was just going to do what she wanted, she could think again. I wasn't one of her minions. But my heart was thudding; I couldn't afford to cross her. I bowed my head as meekly as I could manage: 'Surely no-one is permitted to enter except the priestesses of the shrine.'

'Those who are chosen may dare to commune with the Powers of the Underworld. The time has come for the prophecy to be fulfilled that says, “In the last days, the unclean shall be cleansed; the thief shall approach the holy of holies and receive the treasure.” Come with me.'

'Thief' – had she guessed?

'Please, after you.' My voice shook, and I did not have to pretend to be frightened. But she was not deceived by my new-found rush of humility. 'You must go first.'

A shudder ran through me: 'I can't go down there.' Down into the realm of daemons and ghosts and the witch lords of Hekat. I might never come back.

From beyond the Corridor, the rhythmic battering of wood against wood, as when a sapling is rammed against a door, added fresh urgency to her tone:

'You must.'

'No. I will not.'

'You will!' She pulled the veil from me, and pointed to the gold snakes on my arms, at my earrings. 'What is the penalty for blasphemy these days?'

I drew my breath in sharply. 'I was just carrying these pieces to safety. I – I found them in the Corridor.'

'I doubt if deserters receive a sympathetic hearing. What is the word of a traitor worth, I wonder?'

Not much against the most powerful woman in Knossos, I'd wager. I clenched my jaw, and with trembling legs advanced onto the steps.

Her torch threw fantastic shadows on the stones ahead of me, as I slowly descended the stairs into the blackness. The light was fitful, and my legs trembled so that I could hardly walk. I had to feel my way down between the walls, that closed in around me, cold and rough to the touch. A rat scurried away at our approach. At least, I hoped it was a rat.

Kh'elem followed me. Half way down the stairs, she put the torch in a sconce, and pulled each of the double doors in turn down over our heads, and slid the bolts that locked it from the inside. Was she going to imprison me? Murder me? I felt for my dagger.

She lit the torches, and I blinked at the unaccustomed light, but kept one hand on the dagger, under my veil. It was a small room, part stone, part hacked out of the living rock. The floor was of beaten earth, and the low ceiling gave it an oppressive air. Two pillars of rock stood before us, and beyond, in the centre, was the altar, a massy block of black granite. Before it, a gash showed where the ground had opened up a gaping hole that fell away into the depths.

'Don't be dismayed,' she said in a low voice. 'The powers of the Earth will spare those that fear them.'

Oh, I feared them all right.

Kh'elem took the large frame drum that hung on a stand behind the altar, and beat three low, resonant notes with her hand. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Then she stepped between the pillars, and approached the altar. She lit the sacrificial fire, and poured libations of wine and oil upon the flames. They leapt up crimson and gold. She threw frankincense into the blaze, filling the air with its sweet smoke.

She disappeared behind the altar, and for a while, I could see nothing. Then Kh'elem emerged, arms extended, holding in each hand a snake, with hooded eyes. Two cubits long, they were, green and purple and gold. She stood over the crack in the earth, and raised her arms before the altar in the attitude of prayer.

The snakes writhed and twisted in her hands, but she held them fast, and cried in a low, unearthly voice that seemed to come from some depth beyond the human: 'Mothers of the Deep, Your servant calls on You. From ancient times You placed swords of flame at the four corners of Krete to keep out all noxious animals: no fox nor wolf nor bear nor venomous toad was permitted within Your sacred groves.'

Her voice fell to a disembodied whisper, that would have haunted the chambers of the dead:

Invisible Powers of the Universe, you Fates who bring destruction and creation,

I hold your wands within my hands

weret-hekau tuet sau

You grasp the pillars of the universe: in your right hand is Day, and Night is in your left. Shake the pillars, and bring the heavens down upon your enemies.

weret-hekau tuet sau

You shake the earth like an olive from the tree; you split it open like a ripe fig.

Command the dragon to rise up and stride the earth.

Wadjyt, Hekat, Ereshkigal

weret-hekau tuet sau.

She stood there, in a trance, until the fire died down. Then, rousing herself, she handed the snakes to me. Gingerly, I grasped them firmly behind the head, and held them out from my body. She laughed, and stroked their cool, smooth scales, her fingers tracing the V behind the eyes. She turned to address the creatures in my shaking hands: 'Serpents of Ophis, Guardians of the egg of the Phoenix, I'm calling on you: strengthen Karisha with your wisdom.' To me, she said, 'Be like the snake, Karisha. She sheds her skin, but still remains the same.' Then she placed them reverently in their baskets.

She doused the fire on the altar, and raked over the ashes. I heard a gasp. Kh'elem pointed, lowering her voice to a whisper: 'Phoeniksas hovu. The Oracle has spoken.' With a cloth, she took from the ashes an object bigger than an eagle's egg. She dried it, and held it out to me. Curious, I took it.

It was an egg, of a pale, almost translucent green, fine-grained, with a high polish, smooth and warm to the touch. Here and there, I traced thin veins of gold. It might have been carved out of some rare stone. It must be very valuable. This would buy me a cottage, or a husband. But it was full of magic – I could feel it already beginning to cast its spell over me, drawing me in. She wasn't going to lay her sorcery on me. What if it subdued my will to its control? No, I was handing this thing back. Right now.

”It is your destiny to nurse the Phoenix egg. Take it to safety. I call the serpents of the Great Mother to witness, you have accepted the task.'

I was so angry I nearly dropped the egg. I was quite sure I wasn't taking anything on but my own survival. I was going to give it right back to her and tell her –

But my thoughts were interrupted by a charge, as if a deranged bull were smashing all his fury into our entrance gates: I felt its blows within my own body. I could scarcely disguise my shaking.

Kh'elem's soft voice barely broke through my panic: 'Come, girl; it's time to meet the enemy. May the Great Goddess who watches over all bring you sweet victory.' Then she turned and left me there, alone in the dark.