Ensnared By Evil

By Carol s. Lacey

Confronted by family heritage and new thoughts can a young woman find truth and destiny?

Instilled from childhood by her grandmother's unrelenting dedication to the god, Apollo, at thirteen Daphne is at last eligible to join her family's an

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carol S. Lacey
• Release date: Nov 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9798986590219

Book preview

INTRODUCTION

Welcome to my new Series The Snare of the Fowler, book one Ensnared By Evil introduces you to the sometimes-frenzied world of Daphne, the demon-possessed slave girl who mocked the apostle Paul, in Acts 16 of the Bible. It’s easy to forget people mentioned in the Bible were real people, with a backstory just as real as ours. Her account covers only a few verses, but the outcome that followed was enough to make me wonder what brought her to this sad condition. Did she have a family? How did she become a slave? The work is totally fiction, but commentaries agree she had an evil spirit of Apollo or Apollonian, a spirit of divination.

Research led me to begin her life in Delphi, Greece, where for generations, kings and ordinary people sought wisdom in Apollo’s most prestigious temple known for its divination. Book two, Whom the Son Sets Free, follows the Acts 16 account to the victorious end of the chapter. Few will ever be possessed by a demon, but I hope these books open reader’s eyes to the power of darkness always ready to influence our thoughts and actions. Book three Free Indeed...is the story of what Daphne does with her new found faith.

Since this is a Series of Books, there are a number of different characters in each book, for clarification and ease of understanding, I have included a Character List at the end of the book.

PROLOGUE

Legends and myths of gods like Apollo lost their hold on most Greeks in the years after Jesus Christ became known as the only true God. But for those living in darkness before the good news reached Greece around AD 50, gods were an acceptable part of their culture. Satan’s demonic imposters took full advantage of those oblivious to his tactics. Posing as gods, these false angels of light deceived and brought into everlasting destruction as many as possible until God in His mercy revealed His plan of redemption.

And they shall know that I am the Lord, when I have broken the bands of their yoke and delivered them from the hand of those who enslaved them.

—Ezekiel 34:27

Chapter One

giving heed to deceiving spirits and doctrines of demons . . .

—1 Timothy 4:1

Daphne stepped around the glorious array of flowers blooming in her mother’s garden. Daffodils, tulips, and snowdrops were abundant and had bloomed sooner than anyone in Delphi could recall. Their bright yellows and reds blurred her memories of the long winter. Surely the early season was an omen—Apollo’s spring festival would be unforgettable.

The festival.

She knelt to pick yellow daffodils, then placed them in her basket. With a jerk of her head, she shoved doubts about this year’s celebration into the recesses of her mind. "Enough." Instead, she would concentrate on the bouquet for Yahyah, her paternal grandmother. She stood and brushed some dirt from her fingers. She needed to make Yahyah proud.

She passed the tulips and bent to pick pink hyacinths, Yahyah’s favorites.

Good morning, dear one, Yahyah said from behind her. Where are you going with those flowers?

Daphne straightened. You ruined my surprise. I was picking them for you.

They laughed at the upended plan.

Here, Daphne handed her the basket. Let’s go up to my room. I want to show you my peplos.

Yahyah sniffed the flowers and smiled, then handed them to a servant. Put these lovely flowers in water for me.

They crossed the courtyard to the house, climbed the steps to the children’s wing, and entered Daphne’s room. Her festival clothing had been laid out for Daphne final approval. According to Hebee, her mother, the peplos would complement her dark hair and olive skin. Three months after her thirteenth birthday, she had finally become eligible to join the temple. She would discard the short tunics of childhood and dress as a young woman.

How do you like it? Daphne asked.

Beautiful! Yahyah stroked the fine cream-colored linen.

Her admiration for the selection brought a smile to Daphne’s face, but it quickly faded. Becoming an adult made her a candidate for an arranged marriage.

Her grandmother stepped back, her eyes sparkling. I have been saving something for you. She shrugged and squelched a grin. I should hold off until the morning of the festival, but I cannot wait another moment.

With shaky, thin arms, she slowly raised a small, gilded chest to the height of her head. This is for special disciples. Beneath her lashes a tear threatened as she held the box before Daphne. Throughout my life, it has never failed to guide me. Yahyah’s tight graying curls shook as she expounded upon her treasure.

Daphne was accustomed to her grandmother’s theatrics, but this bordered on a rite. She drew an uneasy breath as she accepted the gift.

The serpent is sacred to Apollo, Yahyah said. Only those who fully devote themselves to him are allowed to wear that symbol. Her gaze fixed on her granddaughter’s face. You are chosen, dear one, to continue our family’s dedication to our god.

With great care, Daphne opened the box. She bit the inside of her lip. Oh no . . . Yahyah’s armlet. She stared at the shiny band as if for the first time. Generations past, an artisan had expertly forged it into the likeness of Apollo’s honored snake. Ripples in the heirloom’s soft metal replicated a serpent’s skin. At the top, its head lifted away as if ready to strike, while its spiny tail would cling just above the elbow. Its emerald eyes taunted her.

Tragic stories followed those adorned with the emblem who had not lived up to their commitments. Years of her grandmother’s vague answers about Apollo and the armband’s symbolism plagued Daphne. She struggled to find a believable reason to refuse the gift.

Yahyah . . .

Uncertain she could genuinely worship Apollo, she wrestled with her desire to please her grandmother. The matriarch had always exuded an obscure sadness, and Daphne did not want to add to it. But she didn’t think she could be a part of the mysterious rituals and secret ceremonies Yahyah once described or live a life centered on Apollo and his demands.

Yahyah tilted her head and raised her brows.

Daphne sighed. Any excuse would hurt her grandmother. Stirred again by her conscience, she had to try. Yahyah, I am not sure I—

Nonsense. Of course, you can. I have known since your birth you would be the one.

But you will be here a long time. Maybe when I am older.

Yahyah drew close and put her forefinger gently on Daphne’s lips. Your spirit is tender, beloved, and open to truth. Not everyone has that. Hold it dear. Remember what I told you about the day you were born? Yahyah’s face glowed with expectancy.

Daphne gave a faint nod. She closed the box and placed it on the bed. Maybe years would pass before she had to wear it, perhaps never.

Yahyah took her hands and looked into her eyes. A smile wreathed her wrinkled face, then she hugged Daphne and left.

Daphne rubbed her forehead. Maybe she could fake a commitment to the temple and talk Yahyah into wearing the bracelet until she passed into the afterlife.

Chapter Two

Their sorrows shall be multiplied who hasten after another god.

—Psalm 16:4

Two weeks later, Daphne was in the garden with her brothers, Alexander and Theo, settling another argument over Theo’s imagination, when her father rushed past, his face ashen.

Breathing hard, Tribia called into the house, Come with me, all of you! But to Daphne he said firmly, Take your brothers upstairs and stay there.

The household slaves dropped what they were doing and followed her father as Daphne and her brothers went to their rooms. From her window, she saw them reenter the garden carrying something wrapped in a sheet that dripped with water. As they jostled their way to the house, a frail, limp arm dropped from beneath the shroud.

Daphne ran down the stairs, Yahyah! At the landing, she fell into her mother’s arms. What happened? Is it Yahyah? At Hebee’s nod, sobs wracked Daphne’s body. No! It cannot be."

Hebee led her into the adjacent sitting room and held Daphne until her tears were spent. No one knows what happened, Kalon, she said, using her pet name for her daughter.

Neighbors arrived within the next two hours. Hebee told them the matriarch hadn’t been seen for two days, but she often attended meetings she did not explain or withdrew for spiritual refreshing without telling anyone. One neighbor whispered to another that she had spotted the bottoms of Yahyah’s feet protruding from the shallow part of the murky pond on Tribia’s land.

The servants cleaned Yahyah’s body privately, then laid her on a table in the foyer. Daphne entered on shaky legs and stopped abruptly beside her mother. A purplish bruise ran across her grandmother’s cheekbone and to her chin. Mother, what caused that?

We do not know, Hebee said. Perhaps a limb fell from an almond tree and knocked her down. Do not let it upset you.

Daphne grimaced and looked away. Wasn’t she almost an adult? She didn’t need to be coddled. She sighed and let Hebee’s reply pass.

Later, Daphne overheard neighbors talking with her mother.

Several marks darkened her arms too, Hebee said, as if she tried to fight off an attack. She was devoted to Apollo. I wonder if it was vengeance by one of the gods he replaced.

I cannot imagine, one of the women said. You have mentioned her poor health. I would not be surprised if she had a seizure and fell into the pond.

Yes, another said, but Dionysus knew of her outspoken disdain of his orgies and their corrupting influence. One never knows. It could even have been Hecate or . . .

Daphne ran to her room, the fear of the wrath of the gods quickening her steps.

contradictions of what is falsely called knowledge . . .

—1 Timothy 6:20

Memories of Daphne’s final pilgrimage with her grandmother rushed into her mind, obscuring the possibility of other gods overcoming Apollo’s ability to protect his faithful servant. After much debate over the matriarch’s health, Daphne had been delighted to accompany her to Apollo’s final festival last year. The long summer had softened Daphne’s disappointment in having to wait another year to be inducted into the temple.

Yahyah inched her way along, gasping for breath in the thin mountain air. She had recently lost her balance in the garden. If she fell now, could Daphne get her back to the carriage? The perspiration that formed on Yahyah’s forehead and upper lip alarmed Daphne.

At the beginning of the Sacred Way, they approached Yahyah's favorite statue of Apollo—life-size and cast in perfect proportions, a laurel wreath sat on volumes of curly hair that framed his handsome face. One hand, held his bow, an object of awe or terror to mere mortals. The other pointed confidently toward the sun, affirming his power and light.

Yahyah admired the tribute and spoke as if in a trance. Apollo is our solar god, whose light ripens our crops, and he uses his bow to drive off locusts and mice that infest the fields.

Daphne wanted to ask why they didn’t get a good crop last year and how effective a bow was against field mice but had learned early on her grandmother didn’t like her questioning Apollo’s actions or motives. Neither Yahyah nor her parents questioned the evil things attributed to Apollo, and Daphne had banked each question in a growing vault in her mind.

They stopped often to rest as Yahyah wheezed and struggled, but no reasoning dissuaded her from pushing on. She insisted on attending every festival even if it risked her health.

Before they reached the monuments too big for the Romans to carry away, Yahyah grew serious. You are almost old enough to be a member of the temple. Unless you decide to become a pythia, shortly after your induction, your father will betroth you to a man of his choosing. It is time I told you about my life.

Daphne drew closer. Yahyah had never talked about her past.

I wanted to serve as a pythia. Yahyah shrugged. When I turned six, your great-grandfather promised me to the grown son of a fellow merchant. Back then girls had even less to say about what we wanted.

Yahyah’s eyes glazed. At fourteen I was trapped in a marriage that brought nothing but sorrow. Soon I was with child and had something to live for. Your grandfather barely glanced at our wailing baby when it was born, then beckoned my maid. ‘Stuff the child into an urn and leave it far out of the city,’ he ordered loud enough for everyone to hear.

Yahyah . . .

Conflicts concerning one’s heir are best dealt with immediately,’ he said, and left without a word to me.

Tears filled Yahyah's eyes. "I caught but a glimpse of my baby girl before the midwife shoved her at my servant. I called out and reached for my child, but it was no use.

My maid trembled and froze when she looked at me. But at the midwife’s nudge, she ran from the room, tears dripping onto my daughter’s face. We dared not object to the decision of the master.

Daphne's tears flowed with her grandmother's. How could he?

Yahyah reached for her hand. Life does not always work out like we want. Unwanted baby girls, less than perfect children . . . a father can dispose of them in our society.

Yahyah’s voice caught. Sadly, to protect their estates, most men will tolerate a girl only if she is not a firstborn.

What happens to them? What happened to your baby?

Yahyah turned away. "We do not know, child. Sometimes the baby dies. But just as often, they are rescued and reared by whoever finds them. I do not like to think about what that can mean.

The custom so frightened your mother when she came to be with child that she took a chance and probed your father’s intentions. My pain had conditioned his heart. Such a good man. He wanted no part in an atrocity like that, no matter what others said.

She faced Daphne and smiled. Adding your little brothers after he already had an heir did not faze him either.

Maybe that was why her mother was so driven to serve her father.

Apollo help me, I never forgave your grandfather. I still mourn my poor baby girl. Only your father’s joyous welcoming of his daughter eased my pain.

To please her grandmother, Daphne repeated the matriarch’s version of the birth. Father placed a strip of sheep hide on the door to announce a girl had been born, and you noticed the wool curled into a fuzzy spiral.

And what did that tell me?

With confidence born of her grandmother’s conviction, Daphne said, Apollo had encircled me and given me a marked place in his family.

And he has kept his hand on you since. Your father adored you. Right after he completed the run around the hearth with you in his arms, Apollo told me you were to be named for his lost love, Daphne. When I told your father, he was delighted. You are chosen. Special!

Her words echoed with a guilty reminder. Chosen? Special?

Yahyah’s breaths soon turned raspy. Daphne reached for Yahyah's arm. We had best be going, let me help you up.

The old woman would not budge but launched into a retelling of Apollo's parentage. Daphne had heard of Apollo his attributes countless times but love and respect still curbed the urge to interrupt her grandmother.

You need to listen, child. Yahyah pulled her arms close to her body and walked straighter. An awkward silence followed, then she cocked her head, looked at Daphne, and stopped. Her watery gaze did not waver, but her plea softened. You must know your heritage to learn about the god we serve.

Daphne muffled a sigh and stopped beside her grandmother. Yes, Yahyah, she said, burying her misgivings about Apollo.

The mighty Zeus favored Apollo so he could proclaim the will of his father and bless us. Yahyah’s nod accentuated her words. We must always be grateful. You will understand better after next spring.

Please, Yahyah, Daphne coaxed after they had walked further, let’s stop for a cool drink. If only Father were here. Did Apollo know? Did he care about her dedicated grandmother’s state?

Yahyah rested a good while before they started up the steps to the temple, but once her breathing returned to normal, she said, Remember how he healed Alexander when the dark spirit of fever came over him a few years ago? Her eyes filled with tears.

Daphne squeezed her grandmother's cold, trembling hand. I remember.

And he was faithful, was he not?

Daphne nodded. After Alexander’s fever broke, she had thanked Apollo. From now on, I promise to do whatever you want. Always.

Whatever? Always? Did I really say that?

Daphne tried to focus on what her grandmother was saying. Regrets over missing the dramas, marriages of the new priests and the festival excitement poked guilt at her conscience and added to the impasse.

She looked at the sun and tried not to grimace. Had her grandmother noticed the time? She guessed not when Yahyah expounded on Leto's trials in birthing Apollo and his twin sister, Artemis.

She gripped Daphne's arm. But Zeus prevailed! You must always make this pilgrimage, Daphne. Promise me you will always come.

Daphne was taken aback by the urgency in her grandmother's voice. It sounded as if she did not expect to be with them for long. Daphne shook off the thought, Yahyah would always be with them.

To her relief, Yahyah had not waited for an answer. She squinted at the sun, worked herself up onto her feet, and successfully finished the journey.

The thief does not come except to steal and to kill and to destroy.

—John 10:10

Gossip flourished surrounding Yahyah’s death. Hebee expressed her concern that fear of association might stop many superstitious women from standing along the road during the funeral procession, but some had been ready to dismiss the rumors.

Visibly shaken, Daphne’s father postponed the banquet honoring his mother’s life. Speculation whispered by their servants and insensitive guests continued in their home and among the mourners. Up until the procession was about to begin, Daphne had received no explanation for the bruises nor understood what followed.

Yahyah’s strength had weakened, but an unexplainable knowing convinced Daphne that her grandmother had faced a vindictive god. Why did Apollo not protect someone so openly devoted to him? The question hung without answer.

Chapter Three

the spirit who works in sons of disobedience . . . children of wrath . . .

—Ephesians 2:2-3

The days of mourning passed, and Daphne accepted her closest friend Cyrene’s invitation to meet, grateful the ancient restrictions on young girls visiting one another had lessened. Hebee would send Sarvya, the family’s driver, to see her to the door, and Cyrene’s mother would loosely chaperone the group. Maybe Cyrene could tell her what to expect at the festival. At the tender age of eight, Daphne had sat on the edge of her seat and watched the young girls in flowing, pale gowns parade into the arena. From then on, she could hardly wait to take part in the ritual herself.

Daphne had made herself miserable the preceding spring, fretting over the prerequisite for admittance. No matter how hard she hoped, the coming into womanhood had not befallen her before the celebration. Worst of all was watching her three closest friends reach the coveted status.

Forced to be a spectator, Daphne felt left out and angry with her body. Her mother tried to assure her that nature’s timing was perfect, but Daphne’s attitude did not change. No matter, the tradition was nonnegotiable.

Disappointment lingered like a recurring drizzle on a rainy day until her menses finally occurred. For nine months, she put her doubts about Apollo’s authenticity aside and daydreamed of nothing other than the coming spring festival. Time passed slowly. Perhaps today she would receive answers to questions she had been too hurt or proud to ask a year ago.

Cyrene welcomed her and led her to an upper room where Helena and Semiele were already munching on shrimp dip and pita squares. After exchanging pleasantries and passing fruit drinks, Cyrene brought out a Latrunculi board.

Let’s play a game, she said. The others agreed, and soon each had chosen twelve beads of different colors and a king bead. Laughter followed as each found their beads blocked or captured an opponent’s king bead and worked her way to the other side of the board.

All of you took part in last year’s festival, and I’m a little nervous, Daphne said. Tell me what you remember most.

Her friends’ faces glowed.

You should have come. Helena tossed her hair over one shoulder. It was absolutely wonderful. She closed her eyes, extended her arms, and swayed dramatically. I felt like part of a gigantic cloud floating into the stadium with the other girls.

Daphne turned from her and rolled her eyes.

It’s your turn, Semiele said, and handed the dice to Helena.

She shrugged and tossed them on the board.

And the poetry. Was it not the most beautiful ever? Cyrene said like a contented lamb.

Daphne bristled as they went on about the procession and the ceremonies, all familiar. She smiled and nodded, hoping they would share what spectators couldn’t see.

But the priest’s assistant. Semiele held out her palms and leaned backward. She hardly let us breathe.

Did you see her face when she caught that tall dark-haired girl? Helena placed a hand over her mouth in a fit of laughter.

Cyrene giggled. She means when she caught the girl looking at the young men.

The two passed the story back and forth without even a glance at Daphne. Which one laughed harder was impossible to say. Daphne wasn’t amused.

No wonder she was looking, Helena said when they settled down. Did you notice the boy who demonstrated the javelin throw?

Cyrene sighed. He was so handsome—all of them were. It is a shame our betrothals are likely already planned.

Yes. Janaze overheard her father making arrangements the week after, Helena said.

The game proceeded in silence.

Janaze’s wedding had taken place soon after the festival. The man was old enough to be her grandfather. Goose bumps traveled up Daphne’s arms.

She could wait no longer. What happened in the second altar, and what you were told in your private interviews?

The others exchanged glances.

I believe it’s your turn, Helena, Semiele said, but you should tell Daphne how your bow caught on your banner during the procession.

More laughter followed at the retelling.

Daphne stood and reached for her shawl. I need to leave. Mother is expecting company, and I promised to help.

Dread of the unknown bowed to frustration over their reluctance to tell her what she wanted to learn. Did you have to pass a test on Apollo lore? What kind of a commitment was required? What happened at those interviews? She tried to picture her friends at the final ceremony. Even now, none appeared unsettled or bothered by what they had experienced. They had no qualms about pledging their devotion to Apollo in spite of his erratic, sometimes cruel, behavior. Why did she?

Chapter Four

He makes the plans of the people of no effect.

—Psalm 33:10

Daphne adjusted her breast band and smoothed the slip her mother had given her the night before, her first grownup undergarments. Cut from silk imported from the Far East, the delicate garment brushed her legs like the touch of rose petals. She applied the musky scent she had saved for today and slipped on her peplos.

The garment’s deep folds swept down one side of her neck and fell over her bosom. She secured the pleats at her shoulder with a finely tooled silver fibula her father had given her. He had beamed as he presented it to her. This is for you, Mikros. He had not called her little one in a long time. Created in the likeness of a delicate bird, the pin held the layers in place. She reached for the jewel-studded girdle her mother had loaned her and cinched her tiny waist.

Her earrings lay next to her tortoiseshell looking glass. She leaned into the polished Corinthian brass to insert them. Black onyx beads hung on the silver wires, a perfect complement to her armband and pin.

Daphne touched the armlet’s roughened metal and reluctantly put it on. Out of respect for her beloved grandmother, she would wear it today. Fear of what it symbolized was pushed aside for now.

Memories of her grandmother’s enthusiastic devotion to Apollo flared, resurrecting guilt and condemnation that smoldered like slow-burning coals. Daphne’s head drooped. She was not living up to Yahyah’s expectations. Daphne had neglected time at the family’s shrine and the fulfillment of her grandmother’s desire that she strive to glorify Apollo, the legacy was not hard to avoid.

Daphne grimaced at her failures, but she could not envision living up to her grandmother’s vision. Oh, Yahyah, she whispered, her thoughts fading to silence. She clutched her hands to her chest. If only I had known I would lose you so soon.

Shrouded in mystery, the long-awaited festival had arrived. She shivered and expelled a shallow breath at the inevitable forecast of change. Anticipation whirled like cream in a butter churn. It solidified her hopes for the future and cast aside seeping anxieties over what might result.

In spite of her resolve, her thoughts wandered to the day she had received the armlet. What if the signs Yahyah spoke of were wrong, or misread? What if she did not measure up? . . . What if the signs were right? Daphne shivered and shook off the possibility.

She scanned the room for the things she planned to take. For weeks they had contemplated the crowds. She must hurry. Ample time for proper seating in the theater was important to her mother.

Eager to see and be seen, influential women outdid themselves in costumes and jewels that rivaled the program and entertainment. Like Daphne and her mother, each had learned early to be properly adorned. The well-practiced art sparked envy in many Roman women whose husbands governed the city.

All woolen garments had been stored by spring. Peploses of finely spun linen, flax, or the newly cultivated silk in a bright array of colors better suited the season. Daphne inspected the looser folds over her bodice, satisfied with its fullness.

Her insides jumped from anxiety to exhilaration and back again at the thought of the ceremonies. Festivities she would finally take part in. She hugged herself against the chill that raised goose bumps on her arms. Like her mother, she did not want to miss a minute.

Her conscience nudged, rubbing like her cat when it clamored for attention. There would be no turning back if she joined the temple. She ignored the niggling doubts that pricked her soul. Still, they embedded themselves like tiny slivers easily forgotten until something brushed against them.

Daphne? Hebee’s voice carried up the stairs and down the hall. We must leave.

She winced at the growing impatience in her mother’s voice. Yes. I’m coming.

Daphne rifled through the rejected articles on her bed for her leaf-shaped fan. But it turned up behind her silk carry bag on a shelf near the door. Ah, her servant had told it would be there.

Her grandmother had given her the dainty purse to commemorate the arrival of Daphne’s womanhood. She picked up the exquisite bag and traced the sequins and jewels hand scrolled across the front. Where the pearls formed a star, she slowly caressed the glowing symbol.

Oh, Yahyah, Daphne thought. I wish you had lived to see today. I wish I could ask you— Another call came up from her mother. She did a quick inventory of her things.

I am coming. She stepped back for a final check before the looking glass. She smiled at the adult-like reflection she hardly recognized.

Daphne was ready.

spiritual hosts of wickedness . . .

—Ephesians 6:12

The nightmare never varied. Molonda stood in the dark on the altar, a fiery viper in his grasp. Cold, beady eyes glared behind fangs that dripped with hate, watching, waiting for a chance to strike. The snake thrashed and tried to free itself. Molonda felt his grip slipping. Frantically, he scanned for a way to release the creature without