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 his
demi-God power gave him. His face began to change. He looked less and
less like Dionysus as the seconds went by, and more and more like
William Forrester. At the same time, the golden aura around his body
began to fade. After a few minutes he looked like William Forrester
completely, a nice enough guy but pretty much of a nonentity.
Diana, with the greater power of a true Goddess, achieved the same sort
of result almost instantly. Her aura was gone and the sparkle had left
her eyes. Her brown hair looked a little mousy now, and her face was
merely pretty instead of being gloriously beautiful.
"Just one thing," Forrester said. "We'd better make ourselves invisible
just to leave the Temple. Somebody might suspect we weren't ordinary
people at all."
"Right again," Diana smiled. She nodded her head and blinked out.
Forrester could still see a cloudy outline of her in the room, but he
knew that was because he was a demi-God, with special powers. An
ordinary mortal, he knew, would see nothing at all.
He followed her into invisibility and walked out the back door of the
Temple-on-the-Green. The door was open and two Temple Myrmidons, wearing
the golden grape-clusters of Dionysus on their shoulder patches, stood
outside 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 of
Dionysus gathered there while the enormous crowd pushed and shoved to
get a better view of the ritual. The sacrifice of the first fruits had
been completed, and now, at the door of the Temple, each of the fifty
priests filled a chalice from a huge hogshead of purple wine.
They chanted a prayer in unison and spilled half the wine on the ground
as 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 started
northward, marching to their positions at regularly spaced intervals in
the procession. The remaining twenty-five stayed behind, ready to
accompany Dionysus himself at the tail of the parade.
Each of the other Gods was represented by a special detachment of ten
Myrmidons, each contingent wearing the distinctive shoulder patch of the
God it served: the thunderbolt of Zeus, the blazing sun of Apollo, the
pipes of Pan, the sword of Mars, the hammer of Vulcan, the poppy of
Morpheus, the winged foot of Mercury, the trident of Neptune, the
cerberus of Pluto, the peacock of Hera, the owl of Athena, the dove of
Venus, the crescent of Diana, and the sprig of wheat that represented
Mother Ceres. The Myrmidons grinned in expectation of the good times
coming; a Dionysian festival was always something special, and
competition for the contingents was always tough.
There were balloons everywhere, as the crowd shoved and pushed into the
line 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. A
man flung his arm around the Goddess with abandon, shouting something
indistinguishable; Diana shook him off gently and went on. Forrester
almost tripped over a small boy sitting on the grass and crying. A
Myrmidon was standing over him, and the child's mother was trying to
lift 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 shouted
an address after him, and the Myrmidon nodded, pushed his way through a
gesticulating group of celebrants and disappeared in the direction of
Central 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 the
streets of the city, and not in Central Park, which was going to be
crowded enough with legitimate revelers.
The shouting and screaming went on, people pushing and shoving, confetti
beginning to drift like a light snow over the worshippers. One man held
five balloons and a cigarette, and he was popping the balloons with the
cigarette tip, one by one. Every time one of the balloons exploded, a
group of women and girls around him shrieked and laughed.
Forrester turned back. Behind a convenient bush, he and Diana made
themselves 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've
never heard anything like it."
"Just wait," Diana told him. "The music will start any time now--and
then you'll _really_ hear something." She paused. "Ready?"
Forrester glanced down at himself. "I guess so. How do I look?" He had
constructed a golden _chiton_ and mentally clothed himself in it. It was
covered by a grape-purple cloak embroidered with golden grapevines. And
around his head a circlet of woven grapevines had appeared, made of
solid gold. It was a little heavier than Forrester had expected it would
be, 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."