Pagan Passions

by Randall Garrett

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The morning of the Autumn Bacchanal dawned bright and clear--thanks tothe intervention of the Pantheon. In New York, the leaves were only justbeginning to turn, and the sun was still high enough in the sky to makethe afternoons warm and pleasant. Zeus All-Father had promised goodweather for the festival, and a strong, warm wind from the Gulf ofMexico was moving out the crisp autumn air before the sun had risen anhour above the horizon.

  The practicing that had gone on in thousands of homes throughout thecity was at an end. The Autumn Bacchanal was here at last, and theBeginning Service, which had started in the little Temple-on-the-Greenright at dawn, when the sun's rays had first touched the tops of NewYork's towers, was approaching its end. The people clustered in thebuilding, and the incomparably greater number scattered outside it, werefeeling the first itch of restlessness.

  Soon the Grand Procession would begin, starting as always from theTemple-on-the-Green and wending its slow way northward to the upper endof Central Park at 110th Street. Then the string of worshippers wouldturn and head back for the Temple at the lower end of the Park, withfanfare and pageantry on a scale calculated to do honor to the God ofthe festival, to outshine not only every other festival, but every pastyear of the Autumn Bacchanal itself.

  The Autumn Bacchanal was devoted to the celebration of the harvest, andmore specifically the harvest and processing of the grape. All thewineries for hundreds of miles around had shipped hogshead afterhogshead and barrel after barrel of fine wine--red, white, rose, still,or sparkling--as joyous sacrifice to Dionysus/Bacchus, and in thanksthat the fertility rites of the Vernal Bacchanal had brought them goodcrops. Wine flowed from everywhere into the city, and now the immensereserves were stacked away, awaiting the revels. Even the brewers anddistillers had sent along their wares, from the mildest beer to vodka of120 proof, joining unselfishly in the celebration even though,technically, they were not under Dionysian protection at all, but werethe wards of Ceres, the Goddess of grain.

  Celebrants, liquors, chants, preparations, balloons, confetti, ediblesand all the other appurtenances of the festival spiraled dizzyinglyupward, reaching proportions unheard of throughout history. And, in aback room at the Temple-on-the-Green, the late William Forrester sat,trying to forget all about them, and suffering from a continuous case ofnerves.

  Diana marched up and down in front of him, smacking her left fist intoher calloused little right palm. "Now listen," she said crisply. "I knowyou're all hot and bothered, kid, but there's no reason to be. You'redoing fine. They love you out there."

  "Sure I am," Forrester said, unconvinced.

  "Well, you are," Diana said. "You just got to have confidence, that'sall. Keep your spirits up. Tried singing?"

  "Singing?"

  "Singing, kid. Raises the spirits."

  Forrester blinked. "Really?"

  "Take it from me," Diana said. "How about Tenting Tonight?"

  "How about what?"

  "Tenting Tonight," Diana said. "You know."

  "I--guess I do." Forrester wished that Diana would do more than treathim like a pal. She was a remarkably beautiful woman, if you liked thetype, and Forrester liked virtually any type.

  Now, success appeared to be within his grasp. But it did seem an oddtime to bring the subject up. Oh, well, he thought, maybe she was justtrying to cheer him up and had picked this way of doing it.

  It worked, too, he told himself happily.

  He cleared his throat. "Where?"

  Diana stared. "Where?"

  "That's right," Forrester said. Something was going wrong but hecouldn't discover what it was. "The tenting."

  "Oh," Diana said. "Right here. Now. Raises the spirits."

  "I should say it does!" Forrester agreed enthusiastically. "But afterall--right here--"

  "Don't worry about it, kid. Nobody will hear you."

  "_Hear_ me?"

  "Anyway, it's nothing to be ashamed of. Lots of people do it when theyfeel low."

  "I'll bet they do," Forrester said. "But it's different with you andme."

  "Me?" Diana said. "What do I have to do with it? I just told you--"

  "Well, sure. And here and now is as good a time and place as any."

  Diana stepped back a pace. "Okay, let's hear it. Sing!"

  "Sing? You mean I have to sing for my--"

  "I'll join you," Diana said.

  Forrester nodded. He was beginning to get confused. "You'd better," hesaid.

  "_Tenting tonight on the old camp grounds_," she sang. "Now come on."

  Forrester coughed. "Oh," he said. "Sing."

  "Sure," Diana said, and they went through the song together. "How aboutanother chorus?" she asked.

  "It's all right, Diana," Forrester said, knowing she preferred the nameto her Greek one of Artemis. "I feel fine now."

  "Well," Diana said in a disappointed voice, "all right."

  What surprised Forrester most was that he _did_ feel fine. All the Godshad helped him in the past several months, but Diana had been especiallyhelpful. As a forest Goddess, and as Protectress of the Night, she'dbeen able to tell him a lot about how an orgy was arranged. He had oftenwished that she would teach by example, but now, he discovered, it wastoo late for wishing.

  She was, he told himself with only faint regret, just like a sister tohim. Or even a brother.

  "I guess everything will be okay," he said. "Won't it?"

  Diana clapped him on the back. "You're going to be great. Just go outthere and show 'em what kind of a God you are."

  "But what kind of a God am I?"

  "Just keep cool, kid. You won't fail me--I know it."

  "I'll try," Forrester said. "Only I'm getting nervous just sittingaround here. I wish we could go out and stroll around; we've got plentyof time, anyhow."

  Diana nodded. "It's ten minutes yet before the Procession starts. Isuppose we might as well take a look around, kid, if it makes you feelbetter."

  "It might."

  "Fine, then. But how do you want to go?"

  Forrester blinked. "How?"

  "Invisibility," Diana said, "or incognito?"

  "Oh," Forrester said. Then he added: "You're asking me?"

  "Of course I am, kid. Now, look: this is your celebration, remember?You're Dionysus. Got it? Even in my presence, you act the part now. Youought to know that."

  "Well, sure, but--"

  "Keep this in mind. These people haven't had a Sabbatical Bacchanal inseven years. Every seven years they get to see their God--and this yearyou're it. Right?"

  "I guess so. But--"

  "No buts," Diana said. "You're the boss and they're your worshippers.That's all there is to it. Now, you've got to make up your mind. What'llit be?"

  Forrester thought. "Well," he said at last, "I guess it had better beincognito. With this crowd, there's too much likelihood of gettingbumped into if we're invisible. Right?"

  Diana grinned. "That's the boy! You're thinking straight now!"

  Forrester had the sudden feeling that he had just passed another test.But he didn't quite dare ask about it "All right," he said instead."Let's go."

  He put his mind to work concentrating on the special faculties that hisdemi-God power gave him. His face began to change. He looked less andless like Dionysus as the seconds went by, and more and more likeWilliam Forrester. At the same time, the golden aura around his bodybegan to fade. After a few minutes he looked like William Forrestercompletely, a nice enough guy but pretty much of a nonentity.

  Diana, with the greater power of a true Goddess, achieved the same sortof result almost instantly. Her aura was gone and the sparkle had lefther eyes. Her brown hair looked a little mousy now, and her face wasmerely pretty instead of being gloriously beautiful.

  "Just one thing," Forrester said. "We'd better make ourselves invisiblejust to leave the Temple. Somebody might suspect we weren't ordinarypeople at all."

  "Right again," Diana smiled. She nodded her head and blinked out.

  Forrester coul
d still see a cloudy outline of her in the room, but heknew that was because he was a demi-God, with special powers. Anordinary mortal, he knew, would see nothing at all.

  He followed her into invisibility and walked out the back door of theTemple-on-the-Green. The door was open and two Temple Myrmidons, wearingthe golden grape-clusters of Dionysus on their shoulder patches, stoodoutside the door. Neither of them saw Forrester and Diana leave.

  * * * * *

  Three minutes later, they were standing near the doorway of the Temple,watching the preparations for the Grand Procession. The fifty priests ofDionysus gathered there while the enormous crowd pushed and shoved toget a better view of the ritual. The sacrifice of the first fruits hadbeen completed, and now, at the door of the Temple, each of the fiftypriests filled a chalice from a huge hogshead of purple wine.

  They chanted a prayer in unison and spilled half the wine on the groundas a libation. Then they lifted the chalices to their lips and drank,finishing the other half in one long motion.

  The chalices were set down, and a cheer rose from the crowd.

  The Bacchanal had begun!

  The priests separated into two equal groups. Twenty-five of them startednorthward, marching to their positions at regularly spaced intervals inthe procession. The remaining twenty-five stayed behind, ready toaccompany Dionysus himself at the tail of the parade.

  Each of the other Gods was represented by a special detachment of tenMyrmidons, each contingent wearing the distinctive shoulder patch of theGod it served: the thunderbolt of Zeus, the blazing sun of Apollo, thepipes of Pan, the sword of Mars, the hammer of Vulcan, the poppy ofMorpheus, the winged foot of Mercury, the trident of Neptune, thecerberus of Pluto, the peacock of Hera, the owl of Athena, the dove ofVenus, the crescent of Diana, and the sprig of wheat that representedMother Ceres. The Myrmidons grinned in expectation of the good timescoming; a Dionysian festival was always something special, andcompetition for the contingents was always tough.

  There were balloons everywhere, as the crowd shoved and pushed into theline of march. Someone was bawling an old song about the lack of liquor,and the strident voice carried over the shouts and halloos of the mob:

  "_How dry I am--_"

  Forrester and Diana, now visible, pushed their way through the crowds. Aman flung his arm around the Goddess with abandon, shouting somethingindistinguishable; Diana shook him off gently and went on. Forresteralmost tripped over a small boy sitting on the grass and crying. AMyrmidon was standing over him, and the child's mother was trying tolift the boy.

  "I wanna go to the orgy," the boy kept saying. "I wanna go to the orgy."

  "Next year," the mother told him. "Next year, child, when you're six."

  The Myrmidon lifted the child and carried him away. The mother shoutedan address after him, and the Myrmidon nodded, pushed his way through agesticulating group of celebrants and disappeared in the direction ofCentral Park West. There, other Dionysian Myrmidons were patrolling,making sure that no non-Dionysian got in except by special invitation.Any non-Dionysian who wanted to celebrate was supposed to do it on thestreets of the city, and not in Central Park, which was going to becrowded enough with legitimate revelers.

  The shouting and screaming went on, people pushing and shoving, confettibeginning to drift like a light snow over the worshippers. One man heldfive balloons and a cigarette, and he was popping the balloons with thecigarette tip, one by one. Every time one of the balloons exploded, agroup of women and girls around him shrieked and laughed.

  Forrester turned back. Behind a convenient bush, he and Diana madethemselves invisible again, and re-entered the Temple-on-the-Green.

  The silence inside the Temple was deafening.

  "The noise out there could break eardrums," Forrester complained. "I'venever heard anything like it."

  "Just wait," Diana told him. "The music will start any time now--andthen you'll _really_ hear something." She paused. "Ready?"

  Forrester glanced down at himself. "I guess so. How do I look?" He hadconstructed a golden _chiton_ and mentally clothed himself in it. It wascovered by a grape-purple cloak embroidered with golden grapevines. Andaround his head a circlet of woven grapevines had appeared, made ofsolid gold. It was a little heavier than Forrester had expected it wouldbe, but it lent him, he thought, rather a dashing air.

  "Great," Diana said. "Just great."

  "Think so?" Forrester said, feeling rather pleased.

  "Sure you do. Now go out there and give 'em the old college try."

  Forrester gulped. "How about you?"

  "Me? I'm on my way out of here. This is your show, kid. Make the most ofit."

  Forrester watched her go out the rear door. He was alone. And the AutumnBacchanal Processional was about to begin.