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

she lived, her place of business, she did not want to shame him in the streets by walking up to him in front of the many watchful citizens of Bethany. Instead she followed him at a distance to the house of the man known as Simon the leper

She’d followed him all afternoon, her make up had melted in the heat, the dark kohl she’d worn around her eyes had begun to fade with perspiration and the henna on her lips had become a faint pink. The perfume jar all Hetaerae wore around their necks had bled its scent like a tap in the heat of the afternoon sun and now that night had settled the heady aroma had diminished and left behind a lingering vapour of juniper.

She clutched the vial of perfume as she worried, a habit she had developed over the years. She’d traipsed behind him and his followers since midday, stopping in the shadows of an arch a street away, watching from behind a corner where she could not be spotted. At one point she had even walked along the roof tops, keeping her eye keenly fixed on the tall, dark featured man in white below her on the street, the only evidence of her presence was the silhouette of her figure cast haphazardly onto the market stall roofs and shade cloths.

All of this it seemed had been for nothing, she had stupidly decided to seek him out and yet had not thought to bring him any gifts, again she handled the vial of perfume around her neck, clasping its little alabaster frame in her fingers. She usually wore the vial under her shift, where it could not be seen. The little vial was a symbol of what she was, a beacon to all around her, it was a tool of her trade, it was so each man that visited her could smell nothing of the man that had been there sometimes moments before. It said simply to all who saw her, that she was a prostitute, she was hetaerae.


She had not always been so disdainful, she had dreamed of a different life than the one she now led. Little did she know, that although she was the most desired woman in the kingdom, her life had a bigger purpose than to satisfy the hungers of men, She was was destined to change history.

But before this, even before her life as a courtesan, she lived another life, not as the famous seductress of Bethany, but as the peasant girl....from Nazareth.

And it is the girl of Nazareth we are going to meet.


The pain still burned her little body as she huddled weeping in the corner, her knees pressed tightly together, she wasn’t sure about what had happened, but she knew it was wrong. The sound of dust being crunched under sandals grew closer and closer, she knew it was her father.

The wooden door swung open so fast and hard that it nearly shattered it’s hinges and fell off the wall.
Her father was a powerful man, he filled the doorway, casting an intimidating shadow over the little girl as she cowered in the corner of the kitchen.

He ran at her, he came at her fast and lifting his foot kicked her in the face. Her little head snapped back and with a thud collided with the mud wall behind her.

Putting one hand to her nose and the other to the back of her head she knelt with her face to the ground crying hysterically, half in pain, half in fear.

She heard the sound of one of the stools in the kitchen being moved and as she looked up her father hurled her mothers’ little wooden stool at her, crouching into a ball again she cried out in pain as the stool smashed into her little bony shoulders.

“You little whore! I should stone you AND that stupid bitch of a mother of yours! It’s her fault she gave me a whore for a daughter when I wanted a son!” He went to the fire place and picked up a small log in his hand, and with death in his eyes he marched towards her.

All she could do was watch as he raised his hand above his head and came down swiftly with a sudden crack against the side of her face.

And then she felt nothing.

She was dreaming now, or was she remembering?

Something was pounding against her and it hurt, she could feel big hands gripped around her tiny shoulders, when she dared to open her eyes all she could see was an enamel breast plate hovering above her face, the sound of all its leather chords and metal buckles creaking and clacking as it moved. Her hair was tangled and matted as she lay in the dust, the initial pain was gone now, now she just felt strange. She was crying, something was wrong, but she couldn’t discern what. Finally he lifted from her and she could see his face, his protruding chin with its gruff un-kempt beard, bushy eye brows and large dark eyes. She propped herself up on her elbows.

He smiled down at her, it wasn’t even a greedy smile, who would have guessed that, that same smiling friendly face was the same face had just abused her.
He didn’t try to stop her when she got up and ran, and she knew he wasn’t pursuing her. But she ran never the less, although she knew it was an impossible notion she wished that somehow, if she ran far enough, she might just out run that moment.

And then she woke up, still on the dusty floor of the kitchen. Pain shot through her body as she tried to move. As she pushed through the pain and rose up on her knees she was amazed that nothing was broken when she should have been dead.

From where she knelt she could see out the window, the sky was night time black, dawn was fast approaching. Something shuffled beyond the door to her parents’ room, and quietly the door creaked open and her mother crept out into the kitchen. Gingerly closing the door behind her, her mother pulled her shawl around her shoulders and tip toed towards her daughter.

“Good, you’re awake. We have to hurry, I’ve organised a way to save you, but we must be quick before your father rises.” Pulling at her arm her mother tried to hasten her daughter to her feet, but she winced in pain and tried to stand more delicately.

Impatiently her mother jerked her to her feet “quickly, you’ll have to forget the pain for now, just hurry”, limping behind her mother the two fled through the door and around to the back of the house near the window of the children’s bedroom where her sister Michelle was waiting, “Here, thank you Michelle” said their mother as she took a small bundle from Michelle. “Now make sure the children stay quiet, in an hour take them outside and into the markets early, before dawn, make sure no one, or nothing is here to wake your father when he is usually woken. We need him to sleep for as long as we can” Michelle nodded, she glanced at her soiled sister and then disappeared into the darkness of the house.

Her mother turned and taking her hand they made their way through the still streets. The frightened little girl had not thought till now to ask her mother what exactly was going on.
“Mother, where are we going?”
“To my sister’s house”

Opening the door to the small stone house the little girl and her mother hurried into her aunts house.
“Sister” mother took her sisters hand and hugged her, both turned back to look at the little girl with sad eyes.

She stood a little of balance, her hair fell in long curling masses around her shoulders, knotted and dusty from having slept on the floor. Blood that had run in rivulets down the side of her face after being hit with the log had dried in a horrible pattern like red lightning down the side of her cheek. Her eyes were dark and weary, but luckily nothing was too damaged.

With tender hands they gently but quickly undressed her, sponged the blood from her body, rubbed soothing ointments into her bruised shoulders and brushed the knots out of her hair.

Dressing her in a simple long tunic and wrapping a shawl around her head and shoulders they sat with her by the crackling fire place

“Your father is a cruel man, you know that, he wants you stoned, he does not care if people know about what happened with you and that soldier, his mind loves cruelty too much. And I am sorry, he’s always hated me, and in turn he’s hated the children I’ve given him. I know you yourself would not be shocked if he was the first to pick up a stone against you. That is why I have made a plan to save you. It is not the most desirable path you might choose for your life, but it is better than death. Today, at dawn there is a caravan leaving Nazareth and heading for Jerusalem, in that caravan there is a man who owns a house in Bethany and he needs girls to work there.”

“What kind of house mother?” The little girl still asked, even though she knew the answer.

“Daughter understand that you are ruined, no man can marry you now, and if you are discovered you will be stoned! Even if they take mercy upon you, no man will ever touch what another has already had....”

The little girl held up her hand, her mother was silenced. Even at twelve she knew what her mother had planned, and as much as it hurt her, she knew her mother was right. She would either die by the stone, or die lonely and old because no one would care for her. The only way she could live, would be to do the unthinkable, her mother had sold her, and she would go with the caravan, and this little Nazarene girl, would become a whore.


Eight years later.....


Two men passed her on the street and spotted the perfume jar around her neck, they saw her many bangles and layers of neck laces made from semi precious stones, the saw the ear rings of lapis lazuli and the diadem of carnelian worn on her head. One of the men regarded her with a somewhat curious disgust, muttering a curse in Greek to his friend as they passed her, the other man nodded obediently agreeing with the other mans outrage, yet he said nothing, he saw her, she saw him, he was a customer.

Self consciously she pulled her veil around her. What was she to do? Stepping into the enclosed privacy of an alley she leaned against the wall,

“how can I go before the son of man as I am, these common folk scorn me, even those who have known me, I have no right”

Yet something pulled at her heart, pulled in the direction of the house. she’d often been described as brazen, yet this was not the same, this feeling was courage. She knew what she must do, she slipped off the diadem, unclasped the lavish necklaces and removed the bangles from her wrists. Just as she went to discard the alabaster jar she stopped and looked down