Breaking The Alabaster Box - Tyson Goddard (most popular novels of all time txt) 📗

It was evening, the sound of excited feet scurrying along the streets of Bethany could be heard beneath the stone arches of the small developing town.

Greek, Roman and Sicilian men crowded beneath the windows of a two story, white stone house. Even the proud Hebrew men stole glances at the house of pleasure as they hurried passed, quickly shifting their eyes to...other things.

The sun had just begun to set, the air was crisp and fresh, like ink spilled by a painter, a rich pink was splashed across the sky, arcing over the roof of the Hetaerae dwelling.

The anticipation could be felt in the air, heavy and nervous, like a bird hovering just above an open flower the men’s’ lust vibrated through the street. There were other houses in Bethany, other houses in the nearby city of Jerusalem, but this was the house that held the five most beautiful courtesans in all of Israel.

The five windows with their curtains closed thrilled the men below into a frenzy as they began to wave and shout, pulling out their money bags and shaking them in the air

With a collective rush of noise the curtains were pulled back by young servant girls and tied with golden chords. The fragrance came first, the expensive, cloying scent of spikenard descended onto the street, billowing like a length of silk caught in the wind, twirling around the men like a dancer, seeping into their senses like a toxin.

Than the small noises followed, the approaching sound of tinkling bracelets and bells, the small sound of a drum being struck rhythmically quickly followed the fragrance out of the window and lingered on the street.

And then they came.

Haughty and beautiful, the five hetaerae took their places at their windows, leaning and luxuriating, laughing and giggling coyly at the suggestions made by the eager men. Although their bodies seemed to exude care free contrariness their eyes carefully picked out the men with the biggest money pouches and the finest clothing.

The owner of the house had made sure they were all different, not a single one of them looked like another, and they each had their own flavor, their own style. The only thing they each had in common was the small alabaster vial they wore around their necks filled with pure spikenard perfume, the signature scent of the house.

Mara, Tall and dark, she had a Persian great grandmother and Hebrew parents. Her mixture made for a breath taking collection of un-usually beautiful elements. She was not curvaceously endowed like the other girls, and she stood taller than the rest, her long skinny frame making her an awkward oddity amongst the other women in Bethany. Yet it was the confidence with which she wore her abnormalities that made her the appealing creature she was, it was this ability that had also made her a hetaerae.

She always preferred to wear the short tunic of Grecian tradesmen rather than the long flowing robes usually chosen by the other girls. The short tunic was always tailored to her liking, made purely of silk, and usually a glittering pink, it revealed her long dark legs. Because she decided to trade grandeur for cunning practicality when it came to her dress she instead over indulged in expensive jewellery, her arms and ankles heavily laden with bracelets of gold, ivory and silver inlaid with precious and semi precious stones.

Next came Tiy, the Egyptian born beauty who took pride in her exotic heritage and did her utmost to live up to every little cliché that was attached with being an Egyptian woman. Although Egypt had been under Greek rule till only a few decades ago and was now a Roman province she chose to dress like that of an original Egyptian woman, adorning herself with the finery of a Queen. Painted eyes and braided hair she wore only Egyptian style jewellery along with wide three layered collars in-laid with lapis lazuli and emeralds. In keeping with her Egyptian style she wore a figure hugging pleated linen tunic and kilt, always pure white.

Lydia, golden Lydia, her uncommon blonde hair was left to hang freely about her shoulders, she was an eighth generation Levite and yet her honeyed locks spoke of a break in the traditional bloodlines, evidencing the mixture of Hebrew blood and something less desirable. The only Blonde hetaerae for miles, if not the whole of the kingdom, she was a favourite among the younger customers, the son’s of rich governors and merchants.

Her golden hair making her seem like just a child, denying her twenty two years, and although she was not Greek she claimed she was a descendent of Alexander the Great himself, and held him responsible for passing to her the blonde locks that were like a siren to a mans body, calling, luring him till his body caught fire with the passion she had to offer, a passion that was so womanly it contrasted her youthful appearance.

Avagail was dark, darker than most Hebrew girls, her hair was jet black with streaks of red throughout, no one could really work out whether they were there because she had been blessed by birthright with the unusual trait or whether it was the work of a well paid and tight lipped hair dresser. The only thing anyone knew was from her debut as hetaerae the iconic streaks of red were there, no one can remember if they were there before but all anyone knew is that they never faded and she always matched her clothing to go with her symbol. Always dressing in scarlet or blood red she was hard to ignore when she sat at her window.

But at the middle window, the place reserved for the highest paid and most beautiful hetaerae sat the girl who not only fed a man’s lusts but always guaranteed that he would fall in love with her.

She sat quietly, her regal beauty sitting like an ever present breeze around her, men called out the crude things they’d like to do to the other girls, but not her, they just watched, treating her like a queen. As the highest paid hetaerae in Israel it was her privilege to choose her customers, she didn’t have to give herself unwillingly any more, she chose which man had the honour of being her companion for the night.

She was not un-usual or exotic like the others, she had the beauty that a million other girls might have, but there was something about her that dazzled like a star. She was not tall like Mara, mysterious like Tiy, she wasn’t coy like Lydia or dark like Avagail and yet it was her light that shined brightest.

She was small framed, curved in all the right places, she had dark skin, but not so dark that she appeared foreign, she had hair that was brown like ebony, she always let it hang in curling masses down her back and around her shoulders.

Her dress was always a simple shift made of pale and demure colored silk, she simply didn’t care, maybe it was her contrary disdain for life itself that made her a desirable entity.

Her name was desire, beauty, lust and all the other things men saw when they looked at her. Men didn't remember her name, they remembered her body, her whispers, her scent.

Yet on an out of town call she had come across a different type of man.

As she sat at her window, her long oiled muscular leg dangling over the edge she remembered the sunny day clearly.

She had been called to Galilee to attend to a senator who was visiting a provincial ruler there. On her way home to Bethany she was to pass through a place called Korazin.

She reclined inside her litter as they ambled along the "the international transportation artery" but she could clearly hear whispers amongst her attendants.

HE was here, they were passing through the place where HE was.

she had heard whispers of this new revolutionary man that had been causing havoc for the temple in Jerusalem. She laughed at the thought of those hypocrites getting their robes caught up over the exposing truths this man was claiming.

Her caravan had trouble pressing against the crowds that were making their way in a steady stream towards the great mount at Korazin, the man named Jesus was there teaching.

Something inside her flicked at her spirit, she looked at the faces of the crowd passing by, the eagerness, excitement, the skepticism and the hopeful all blending into a wash.

"Elizabeth!" Called the courtesan from her palanquin, her maiden came scurrying up beside her mistress.

"Turn the entourage around, we're going to the mount"

Elizabeth smiled excitedly and hurried to pass the orders around to the rest of the caravan.

Stepping out of her caravan she inhaled the smell of grass and earth. People kneeled on the lush grass or sat on rocks, old and young, rich and poor.

She looked up the sloping hill to where HE stood. She couldn't see his face clearly from here, but she could see he was tall and strong. His voice seemed to be carried by the wind as he spoke of love, forgiveness, giving and heaven.

It was a long time before she realized she'd been kneeling on the hill like all the others, mesmerized by his teaching.

She turned around to see her entire entourage of maids, palanquin bearers, porters and the like were all kneeling on the slope, some with glittering tears of joy on their faces as they smiled at the freedom that this man proclaimed existed.

"You have heard that it was said love your neighbor and hate your enemy, but I tell you love your enemy and pray for those who persecute you..."

He spoke of loving those who she hated, could she learn to do that?


And now as she sat at her window being desired by men she had heard that this man who had spoken so clearly to her heart was coming to Bethany!

Walking away from her window she sat at her mirror and toyed with the perfume jar around her neck. At sunrise he would be at the city gates, she would go to him, if only to say "I Love you" and then leave.

Tomorrow was a new day. But little did she know, tomorrow she would go down in history.


But what could she offer him? She had nothing, she stood outside of the house where the son of man was dining. Unlike the other gatherings usually hosted at this house this one was seemingly quiet, still, relaxed with just small hint of fear, something was in the air, something so pungent, and yet so distant. The hetaerae could not place it.


Her hands on her hips the hetaerae sighed and felt defeated, her many bangles clattering against each other she looked up to the night sky in frustration. If only this man had been like other men, if only she hated him with a blazing passion like she did the many men who frequented her house.

The difficulties in seeing this man seemed to mount one upon the other, she could not invite him into the house where