The streets of Lycopolis were eerily quiet. Sarapias wrapped her cloak tighter around herself, a protection against the chilly night air. As she left her home and ventured into the streets she made sure to stay in the shadow of the houses. As bustling and friendly as the city could appear during the day, it was not prudent to stand out at night. Criminal gangs or drunkards looking for trouble could be around every corner. And on top of that there were the potential supernatural dangers, the spirits of the dead and great black demons in the shape of owls prowling the night. The amulet of Isis around her neck and the dagger in her belt held some comfort, but that didn’t mean she had to invite danger.
Luckily, the only things that bothered her on her journey were two agitated dogs and they soon ran off to chase a passing cat. So, with only the sound of her own feet to keep her company, there was nothing to do but think on what had brought her out so late at night.
It had started two months ago, when she had gone to the market to buy food. Normally her slave Helen took care of the task, but one of the merchants owed her money and she’d wanted to have a word with him about it. If she was already going out there, she’d reasoned, she might as well take care of the groceries while she was there.
Nothing out of the ordinary had happened at the market until Sarapias had reached the stall of a fishmonger. She had just picked out a fish to buy when she saw her.
She was a young woman, younger than Sarapias, though probably not by more than ten years, with strong arms from carrying fish around, beautiful long dreadlocks and an easy-going smile. For some reason Sarapias had felt compelled to stay and talk some more with the woman. The market was busy of course, so there was little time for small talk, but Sarapias did learn that the woman was called Thermoutharin and that she and her father had moved into the city from their home town further up the Nile. Despite the short interaction, something in her had made Sarapias eager to see Thermoutharin again.
Over the next weeks, Helen had had her duties drastically cut as Sarapias had taken every opportunity to go to the market, and especially to the fishmonger’s. She reckoned she’d eaten more fish in those few weeks than ever before. Every time she had managed to make some smalltalk with Thermoutharin, she hand found herself liking the other woman just a bit more. It had seemed like Thermoutharin appreciated her visits too. Sarapias had gotten the impression that Thermoutharin had started treating her with more friendliness than she usually gave customers at least. She had even managed to have a few longer meetings outside of the market with her, in taverns or at her home.
Up till then, Sarapias had thought it was just normal friendship. Sure, her feelings for Thermoutharin were stronger than those she had for any of the other women she counted among her friends, but that was normal wasn’t it? Sometimes people just naturally got along better. But one day they had visited the bathhouse together and Sarapias had caught herself admiring her friend’s body in a way she had certainly never done with other women. To make matters worse, that night she’d had a dream where she and Thermoutharin were doing things that female friends were very much not supposed to do with each other.
Confused, Sarapias had sought the help of a dream interpreter and he had been very clear. Dreams that involved unnatural sex acts were a bad omen and Sarapias was likely to meet with a bad end. She had left the interpreter’s house concerned and jumpy, doing her best to avoid the routes back home with ongoing construction work or seedy reputations. For the next week, Sarapias hadn’t left the house, until a concerned friend had convinced her that just lying around in fear wouldn’t do her any good. Really, the only good thing to come out of the situation was the warm feeling in her chest when Thermoutharin said she’d been worried about her absence from the market.
Even with the dream, she hadn’t yet realised her feelings for Thermoutharin were anything but friendly. She just really liked the other woman. Plus, it made sense for the gods to send an omen in the form of someone you cared about didn’t it? She had only realised the change in her feelings later that year.
It had been the time of the Anthesteria festival, on the third day of which the spirits of the dead were commemorated and food was left out for them. Sarapias always got melancholy around this time of year, ever since her husband died four years before. It was easy to fall into nostalgic reminiscences about the past and their relationship. And it was while reminiscing, and after a few too many cups of wine, that a crucial realisation hit her.
Her feelings for Thermoutharin were the same as what she had felt for her husband.
She had known, theoretically, that there were women who acted and felt towards other women as a man would, but to realise she was like that was another thing entirely. Not to mention that such feelings and relationships were clearly not acceptable. There were the jokes in the plays in the theatre about lusty women from Lesbos who desired everything that moved, including other women. There were the accusations and jokes thrown around by drunken men, about masculine women having sex by using enlarged clits. There was that preacher she’d heard condemning women for it in the name of that new god of theirs. Even if she decided not to push those feelings away, expressing them would not be easy.
But at the same time… it felt good. It had been years since she’d loved someone like this, she’d missed it, the butterflies in her stomach and the heady feeling of affection. Could such a feeling really be bad? Love came from Aphrodite, would the goddess really send her such feelings if they were unnatural? And if She would, then not Sarapias, but the goddess Herself would surely be at fault, right?
Even if it would need to be secret, would a relationship with Thermoutharin be so bad? To kiss her, to take care of her, to make her happy? It wasn’t like either of them were betrothed or married, no charges of adultery could be levelled at them. Two women being friendly was normal enough, maybe no one would notice if they were more than friendly behind closed doors?
Of course, that would require Thermoutharin agreeing to such a relationship. And that was very much not guaranteed.
It had taken her a lot of deliberating, and many trips to the temple of Aphrodite-Hathor to pray, but eventually Sarapias had decided that simply letting her feelings rest was not an option. She couldn’t just let them dwindle when they could lead to something beautiful. But the practicalities of trying to seduce Thermoutharin were not easy. In the plays that showed women being involved with women, there was usually one masculine, active woman seducing the other. So Sarapias had tried to imitate that. She obviously couldn’t just start wearing a tunic, she had a respectable image to maintain, but still.
Her hair was cut shorter, still a fashionable women’s style but much closer to the haircuts Greek men wore. She stopped applying eye-shadow, only using kohl to accentuate her eyes as was traditional for Egyptian men. And she started acting more assertive. Going off her own experience with men, she imitated some of what they did when they wanted to woo a woman: give her gifts, invite her to places alone, pay compliments. Thermoutharin had not seemed to mind at least. She always thanked her for the gifts, looked to enjoy herself when they talked, she had even complimented Sarapias’ new haircut!
But… did that mean Thermoutharin also held romantic feelings for Sarapias? What if the other woman had just been politely thankful for the generosity, what if she had just thought the hair was a nice style, nothing more? What if she just saw Sarapias as a friend?
If she was a man, Sarapias could’ve risked confessing. It wouldn’t likely have given any problems other than some awkwardness between them if Thermoutharin turned her down. But their genders made the situation much more risky. Every time Sarapias had thought the time was right, she had found herself backing out due to her fears.
Sarapias had almost been ready to give up on it, and let the friendship remain a friendship after all, when she happened to overhear two women gossiping. Something about a witch who had set one of them up with a love spell.
Discreetly asking around had gotten her the address of the witch without any issues. Travelling or sedentary sorcerers were common, and even if no one trusted them, visiting them was common enough. This particular witch had only just moved into the city, but she had already helped plenty of people with their requests, including love spells, and was therefore quite well known already.
Visiting her for a love spell had seemed like a good idea. All the risk of confessing to Thermoutharin would be gone if Sarapias was certain the other woman would respond favourably. There would be no risk of Thermoutharin outing her and Sarapias being publicly ridiculed, they would be able to just get together and be happy. Maybe using a spell to make Thermoutharin love her was not the most moral thing to do but if Sarapias made sure to treat her right and make her happy, it wasn’t much of an issue, was it?
So she had gone to see the witch, a tall, gaunt woman from further down the Nile. The house the woman was living in hadn’t corresponded to what Sarapias had imagined, much more like a peasant's house than a witch's. The woman had raised an eyebrow when Sarapias had explained her situation but hadn’t commented, just moving to a chest and rummaging through some books. After the witch had apparently found what she’d been looking for, she’d given Sarapias a precise set of instructions and quoted her price. Somewhat confused by how businesslike it all was, but eager to leave, Sarapias had paid for the help and left, the whole experience over in what had felt like no time at all.
And that was why she was now walking through the streets of Lycopolis at night. Part of the instructions had already been completed at home: she had made two wax dolls, one of Ares representing herself, and one of a woman representing Thermoutharin. Sarapias had questioned the witch on why Ares represented her, since she was a woman, but the witch had waved it off and said the spell would work regardless. Never one to question a professional, Sarapias hadn’t inquired further. After having made it so figurine of Ares was piercing the woman with his sword, she had proceeded by tying a rope with a large number of knots around the figurine of the woman while chanting a formula in a language unknown to her. The final step, however, needed to be completed in the graveyard.
After a long walk Sarapias finally reached the graveyard at the edge of town. She hesitated for a moment at its boundary. It was night, and the anthestheria, when the spirits came back to this realm, had not been that long ago. Maybe entering a graveyard at night would not be safe. She almost turned back around but… if she went back, everything would stay the same. Nothing would ever happen between her and Thermoutharin. It’d just be her pining while pretending she only wanted the other woman as a friend. Was that really something she wanted to go on with?
With newly determined steps Sarapias walked into the graveyard, to the grave she had selected during a visit by daylight. The man, Creon, was a soldier killed on the southern frontier and his spirit was still likely wandering around, waiting to be released. A perfect spirit to entrust a task to. With her hands she dug a shallow pit in front of the grave and placed the lead tablet, carefully inscribed beforehand, in it. On the tablet was a long invocation the witch had told her to write, involving a lot of deities she’d never even heard the name of. She quickly covered the tablet with earth before scraping her throat, preparing for the verbal part of the spell.
“Creon, son of Antinous, by Anoubis and Hermes and all those below, attract and bind Thermoutharin, whom Herais bore, to Sarapias, whom Pantous bore. Enflame her heart and soul, torment her body night and day; force her to rush forth from every place, loving Sarapias whom Pantous bore. maei ote elbosatok alaoubeto oeio. Do not oppose me in this, governors of the earth, but bind Thermoutharin, whom Herais bore, to Sarapias, whom Pantous bore.”
The invocation finished, Sarapias looked around. Nothing had changed in the cemetery. It was just her, the wind and the shadows. Although she was thankful no one seemed to have overheard her, having broken the silence of the graveyard made her feel rather self-conscious, so she quickly hurried towards the exit. Still, she couldn’t help having a slight spring in her step, full of eager anticipation for the results of the spell.
