“Oh?”
“Tonight there will be a torch light parade up to the wine god’s secret grove in the hills. There his priests will hold a Dionysia and revel in blood, pain, sex and madness.”
“I would like to see this procession to the Dionysia.” Sava responded.
Spargapeithes nodded. “I will take you to a balcony where you can watch as they pass by. Beware young Sava. Do not be lured by the boukolos’ spell. Do not even consider following them to observe their secret rites. If the Bacchae discover you when the blood lust is on them, they will descend on you in a crazed horde. They will rip you to shreds and eat your bloody flesh. This happened to King Pentheus of Thrakia. One of the maenads who killed him was his own mother.”
Chapter 10 - Procession to the Dionysia
And so Dionysos set out through Thrakia.
Lykourgos, king of the Edonians was the first
To show hubris to Dionysos by expelling him.
So Dionysos made Lykourgos go mad.
Thinking he was cutting a vine-branch,
Lykourgos killed his son Dryas,
Cutting off his arms and legs with an axe.
Then Lykourgos regained his senses.
When his land remained barren,
The god Apollon made an oracle -
If Lykourgos were to die,
There would be fertile crops.
When the Edonians heard this,
They took Lykourgos up to Mount Pangaion,
Bound him and there in accordance
With the will of Dionysos,
He was pulled apart by his horses and died –
Apollodorus of Athens, 180 BC
“Why do the `civilized’ Greeks and Romans follow Dionysos if his rites are so crazed and cruel? I thought we Skythians and Sauromatae were the primitive, depraved Barbari?” Sava asked King Spargapeithes as they dined in the great hall.
“The wine god’s priests are black mages. They use cunning methods to lure people into their net.” Spargapeithes intoned close to Sava’s ear.
“First the boukolos make the Dionysia into a lavish celebration, a bachannale. Drinking, dancing and sex. Unlimited sex with anyone you desire. They drop the barriers between rich and poor, slave and free. The people are told that if they slavishly follow the rituals, Dionysos’ power will come into them and they will become as the god himself.”
“The god is in the wine the boukolos say- so drink more wine, more, more.” Spargapeithes continued. “What his priests don’t say is that the wine is heavily drugged. After a time, his Bacchae, are so drugged, so drunk, they can no longer tell the real from the unreal.”
“So it is in this drunken, drugged state they will do anything the boukolos command?”
“Poor blind cattle. So foolish, so trusting. They go willingly to their own slaughter. The boukolos convince the people that by performing cruel degrading acts, the wine god will come into them with his divine powers. His sorcerers work the Bacchae into a mad frenzy, inducing them to commit heinous acts. In this crazed state the Bacchae will do anything the boukolos command. Anything. Even kill their own child!” Spargapeithes hissed. “This gives Dionysos’ boukolos enormous power.”
“Do his devotees actually gain divine powers from these rites?” Sava asked.
“Hah. You can be made to believe anything in such a manic state when you can’t even see straight. A boukolos could strike a rock with his thyrsus and all will bend down to drink, believing that wine is spilling out. It could be pure piss coming from above for all they know! I have yet to see my wife performing any miracles and she is a devoted Bacchante. I am sure Barkida would use her `divine powers’ on me if she could.
“What about the wine god’s priests, do they have divine powers?” Sava asked.
“As for the boukolos, that is another matter. Any sorcerer who can make a mother murder her own son, willingly, as Agave did to Pentheus, those priests are true adepts of the dark powers. They are to be feared. The true agenda of the boukolos is not divinity but power. Unadulterated power.” Spargapeithes grimaced.
“The wine god’s priests have no morals, no sacred ground. Every year, thousands are initiated. These initiates become agents, doing the will of the boukolos outside the Dionysia. Many have tried to stop this degenerate cult but it just keeps growing stronger.” Spargapeithes spoke in secretive, emphatic tones as if he feared being overheard.
The king’s pained words gave Sava pause to consider. Clearly the Agathyrsi king was torn between devotion to his god Sabazius and his queen, the devotee of a cult which sought power through threats and stealth violence. By now dinner was finished. Spargapeithes waved his hand.
“Sava of Sauromatia, we will hear you now. Rise. Speak your piece.”
“Honored Ones.” Sava saluted with a slight bow, palm over heart. “As you know, Persia has invaded Thrakia. Even now as I stand before you, King Darius’ engineers are building a great bridge of boats across the River Ister so that his army can cross over into Skythia. There will be a council of war in Royal Skythia at the coming full moon. We ask that you attend.
“You speak of an alliance. Why should Agathyrsia risk destruction by warring against such a great host? Would it not be wiser to offer Darius earth and water and become his vassals?” Queen Barkida asked.
“You can do that, but there is no guarantee Darius will let you stay in power.” Sava answered. “Darius has spies everywhere. He knows Agathyrsia is rich in gold. Once he has his foot on your neck, what is to stop Darius from doing as his predecessor, Cyrus the Great did when he conquered Ionia? Cyrus did away with the rulers of those Ionian city states so that his own trusted despots could suck out the wealth. Darius needs Skythian gold to fund his constant wars.”
This brought a muted gasp and nods from his listeners.
“Consider the risks with clear eyes.” Sava spread his hands. “Think of what Darius can do once he has you by the throat. But if you make an alliance with Royal Skythia now, before it is too late, you may be able to save your throne, your wealth and your lands. Consider also that as Persian vassals the Agathyrsi will be required to fight against us. Brother killing brother until we are all destroyed. This could break the Skythian people forever.”
Silence reigned as the people considered his words.
“Come to the war council.” Sava urged. “Hear us out. You will learn much, even as I have learned about Agathyrsia in my short time here.”
Barkida turned first to Archiboukolos Komkiza, then conferred in low tones with Spargapeithes.
“Your points are well taken young Sava.” Spargapeithes said. “But as you know, Agathyrsia borders the Ister. My spies report that in a few moons the Getae of Thrakia will be crushed by Darius’ army. And the Getae are notable for their courage. Once the Persians cross the great river, Agathyrsia will be first in the line of attack.
“Royal Skythia is far away and time grows short.” King Spargapeithes continued. “If we Agathyrsi join your alliance we cannot stand alone against Darius. We will have to leave everything, load our wagons and flee to Royal Skythia. Even then I doubt we will have enough men to defeat the Persian host. If we lose this war, Agathyrsia will be destroyed and my people sold into slavery. It is much you ask of us young Sava.”
“My lord this is what the council is for. We will devise a strategy whereby all our allies are protected. If you are not satisfied with our strategy, then you are under no compulsion to join the alliance.”
Barkida nodded. “I see no harm in attending the council. What do you think Spargapeithes?”
“Aye – I think it is important to go. It is decided then. When will you depart for Royal Skythia?”
“In two days. Our horses will be rested by then.”
“Good,” Spargapeithes said. “My son Charnabon and I will go with you.”
As they rose from the table, Spargapeithes touched Sava’s arm. “Come, I will take you to a place where you can watch the procession to the Dionysia.”
Sen
sing something was up, Brata and his Neuri comrades looked askance at Sava. Knowing they would like to see the procession, he waved them over.
As they were passing out of the great hall, Sava noted a brilliantly colored wall painting. The painting showed a group of people in celebration, drinking and dancing. What really caught his eye was a box in the foreground. The lid of the box was partly open and the head of a serpent was peering out. Seeing his interest, King Spargapeithes paused.
“Why is that snake in a box?” He asked the king.
“The picture is of a Dionysia. The snake in the box represents a captured soul.” Spargapeithes replied. “Certain powerful boukolos wear kestatot, magical armbands by which power they are able to hunt down and imprison the souls of weak men. The captured soul is locked in a kiste mystikae, a soul prison. It is said the person’s soul is replaced by a demon who controls the devotee’s body. The boukolos also put castrated pudenda in the kiste mystikae”.
“The boukolos claim that when the Titans warred against Dionysos as a child, they dismembered his body. His Bacchae saved the boygod’s phallus and put it in a kiste mystikae. When Zeus brought Dionysos back to life the boukolos opened the box and re-instated the wine god’s divine prick. Now isn’t that a wonder?” Spargapeithes spoke with a wry sneer.
“At the Dionysia the boukolos open the kiste mystikae and pull out live serpents which they say are inhabited by captive souls. Then they make a great show out of taking out `the gods’ amputated genitals. It is said some of their priests castrate themselves like the Galli of goddess Kybele. It is all crazed madness.” Spargapeithes’ lips pressed into a hard line.
Footsteps echoing down the stone floor of a long torch-lit hallway, the Agathyrsi king led Sava and his comrades up a flight of steps and through a door. They emerged out on a balcony overlooking the main street.
Already torches were approaching, threading through the darkness. Flutes, drums, tambourines and chanting resounded through the night air. The procession would pass directly under them, only a few feet beneath the balcony.
Shrill calls resounded – “Evoi yah! Evoi yah!”
“Here they come.” Spargapeithes breathed.
Chapter 11 – Lusty Men of the Forest
Then a hornèd God was found,
And a God with serpents crowned;
And for that are serpents wound
In the wands his maidens bear
And the songs of serpents sound
In the mazes of their hair –
Euripedes, Bacchae 450 BC
Evoi Yah! Evoi Yah!
Satyrs, wild lusty men of the forest, led the procession to the Dionysia. Bare-chested, they wore short goat skin pants with the hair side out.
Huge, erect phalluses of stuffed leather projected from the satyrs’ crotches.
Some wore headdresses of goat horns, long thick fox tails swinging from their buttocks. Others sported horse tails. Each satyr held a thrysos staff topped with a pinecone from which hung a mask to be donned during the rites.
The satyrs danced along chanting in deep voices –
Evoi yah Evoi yah!
Come, Come!
What so thy shape or name
Come!
Oh Mountain Bull
Snake of the Hundred Heads
Lion of the Burning Flame
Oh God, Beast, Mystery,
COME!
After the prancing satyrs came a balding, naked fat man riding an ass. Sava leaned close to Spargapeithes.
“Who is that man and what is he riding?”
“That is Silenos. He raised Dionysos from a babe. He rides a donkey.”
Ahh so THAT is a donkey. Sava noted the small size, long ears, bare rat tail and choppy gait of the animal. Some wag called Zlatna a donkey at the race in Taurica. Now I know why it was such an insult.
Men carrying large phalluses made of wood or bronze, tributes to the fertility of the wine god passed by. Behind them were carts laden with jars of wine and water to dilute the potent wine from last year’s harvest.
Rhythmically banging spears on shields, seven handsome young men dance-marched beside a cart pulled by two white bulls, their horns wreathed in flowers. The warriors were bare-chested, wearing only white loincloths with a golden border.
“Those are the Korybantes, the seven daimones who guard Dionysos.” Spargapeithes pointed.
Lounging between the wine jars on the cart was a handsome young man. He was nude but for a leopard cape, the front paws crossed over his chest. His crown was a wreath of grape leaves. In his left hand was a thrysos, in the right, a drinking horn. Raising the drinking horn he called out:
Come!
Drink, eat, play!
Lift up your hearts
Sing to The God!
Two Horned, Two Formed
Lord of Raw Flesh
Come swiftly with your spirit!
“He plays the role of the Dionysos.” Spargapeithes’ tone was resentful.
Strange movements around the wine god’s head caught Sava’s eye. Is there something in his hair? But in the shadowy torchlight he could not make out what it was.
“What is that in his hair? I saw something move.”
“Watch.” Spargapeithes’ lips pressed in a grim line.
There was no breeze. The night air was still under the winking half moon sky, yet the godman’s huge head of thick spiraling hair seemed to be moving of its own will. Undulating, twisting, rising and falling.
When the bull cart passed directly beneath the balcony the godman looked up. His cold black gaze swept over them, then stopped. Glittering black pools gazed directly at Spargapeithes, then into Sava’s eyes.
Backlit by torches, a sinuous halo of serpents writhed around the godman’s face. Stretching out, licking the air. Hissing, striking…watching …ever vigilant. Snakes – were tied into the godman’s hair.
Sava flinched with instinctive revulsion. “Who is that?”
“That is my first born son Carnos, crown prince of Agathyrsia. You see what those boukolos have done to him? Do you understand now what I am up against?” The king seethed.
“King Lykourgos of Thrakia opposed Dionysos. The boukolos made him go mad. He hacked his own son to death with an ax. The wine god’s priests know that I am against them. How long before they come after me? Poison me? Drug me into madness? Even my own family has turned against me. Not all though.” Spargapeithes breathed. “My son Charnabon and two of my daughters still stand with me. But for how long before they too are killed, driven mad or converted? Then the boukolos will rule Agathyrsia through my son Carnos, whom they have turned into a mindless pawn.”
Behind Prince Carnos came the maenads. The famed `mad women’ proudly held their thyrsus staffs aloft. Shaking tambourines, clashing finger cymbals and chanting invocations, the maenads danced bare-breasted, long blue hair wreathed with leafy grape vines. Some led young animals: calves, goats, puppies, lambs, fox and wolf cubs, even a bear cub ambled along.
Aware that none of these young animals would return from the Dionysia, Toxaris’ eyes narrowed with frustrated anger. Transfixed, they watched the strange torchlight parade pass out of town until it began winding up a hill toward the sacred Grove of Mysteries. The invocation to Dionysos still resounding –
Evoi Yah! Evoi Yah!
Come, Come!
What so thy shape or name
Come!
As Sava and his party headed back to their quarters, the slave girl Dodona signaled him from a side passage. His friends shot him quizzical looks, but Sava just smiled and waved them on, as if this was just some idle romantic assignation.
But his perceptive companions were not fooled. They had guessed Sava’s true intentions from the moment he presented himself as one of the Blue People. Perhaps the mind-reading Vukari sensed his plan before Sava even fully realized it himself.
Brata shot him a warning look. Placing a hand on Sava’s shoulder the Black Cloak shook his head – DON’T GO.
Dra
wing his companions out of earshot from the slave girl, Sava tried to explain his motivations to take such risk. “My friends, I do this for the alliance. I need to know all I can about the Hidden Hand. These boukolos will try to influence how the Agathyrsi vote at the war council. They may even try to break up the alliance.”
“Sava must you take such risk? I fear this will end in disaster.” Toxaris’ brow knitted with concern. “At least take us with you to the Dionysia.”
“Nay. If I go to the Dionysia, I go alone. The wine god’s priests are vigilant. More than one outsider would attract attention. Don’t worry, I know what I am doing.” I think.
Chapter 12 - House of the Maenads
Skythians forbid the worship
Of Dionysos on pain of death.
They see no purpose in worshipping
A god that makes men go mad –
Herodotus, The Histories
Shaking their heads at the huge risk Sava was taking, his companions departed on unwilling feet.
The boukolos’ tactics could be devastating for the alliance. By observing them first hand, I can help resist their cunning schemes. So the nomad justified his reckless plan, but in his heart he also had another, deeper intent.
When he returned to face Dodona’s shadowy form in the dark alcove, his tongue spoke the forbidden words –
“Dodona, I want to witness the Mysteries of the Dionysia. Will you help me?”
“Oh my Lord.” The slave girl shook her head whispering: “I thought as much. But your life will be forfeit should you make a single wrong move.”
“Does the wine god give his devotees the divine power of prophecy as they say?”
“Aye. When The God comes into you, you can do anything. Oracles will flow from your lips like water. You can walk over fiery coals. Your thrysos will become a magic staff. No sword or arrow can pierce your flesh.”
“Sauromatia needs a great oracle. Why fight the greatest empire on earth if we are fated to lose? I will come to the Dionysia, but only to watch.”
Wine God's Sorcery: The Horse Lords Page 6
