Hand of Fire

by Judith Starkston

  The procession fell silent as they entered the grove and followed the path to the meadow. The ancient carved stones, representing each of the gods, stood shoulder high in a semi-circle in the middle, surrounding the platform upon which Briseis would stand when she told Telipinu’s tale.

  Briseis watched the men place the gods’ statues on thrones next to each stone. She marched over to where the meadow rose up in a gentle curve on the right side and she joined the royal family and the other priests and priestesses in their places of honor. The central area around the stones was kept clear for the sacrifices and entertainments. Curving around the left side of the meadow, the nobles, her father and brothers included, sat on benches and the rest of the townspeople filled in behind, stretching out as far as Briseis could see. The whole community thus formed a circle around the ancient stones. Her people would listen and watch as she told the sacred story. Briseis switched the sistrum to her other hand and surreptitiously wiped her sweaty palm on a fold of her skirt so she could hold the instrument without it slipping.

  Kamrusepa’s prayers and sacrifices came at the end of the daylong rites, and Briseis had only a minor role before then. Occasionally she partook of a libation or added her cry of assent to a prayer, but primarily she turned inward, preparing herself as best she could to speak for Kamrusepa.

  During the offerings to the Lord of the Sun, the sound of shouting caught Briseis’s attention. Who disturbed these sacrifices?

  The noise came from a cluster of nobles standing next to the royal bodyguards. She saw Mynes strike another young man once, then again. The other man stepped back rather than return the blows, but when Mynes hit him a third time and angrily insulted him, the other man struck back. The men standing around them froze in horror. Then Bienor cut through the crowd, his head above the others. He threw himself in front of Mynes and caught the future king by the shoulders. He said something which caused Mynes to drop his arms and unclench his angry fists. Bienor called to the men standing near, who quickly led the other man away. Her brother put an arm on Mynes’s shoulder and guided him to the edge of the crowd, out of her sight.

  What had caused this fight? The king’s son, of all people, should know better, but she had already seen his temper. As a boy, he hadn’t needed much to make him lash out. A fight in the middle of the Spring Festival could drive away the gods they had worked so hard to entice here. How could Mynes have so little thought for the well-being of his people, especially with half-immortal enemies like Achilles threatening? The flustered people refocused their attention on the Sungod, the giver of light and life, hoping their gods still attended to the offerings.

  The final cycle of prayers—those to Kamrusepa—began. As Briseis lifted the goddess’s silver libation cup, shaped like a kneeling stag, and recited the hymn of thanksgiving, she felt the presence of the whole gathering in her voice, their hopes and needs. She scattered barley over the sheep and goat to be sacrificed. An assisting priest cut their throats, let their blood drain away, and while everyone waited, the priests who were trained in ritual butchering prepared them for the fire. The townspeople would partake along with the goddess of the roasted meat, so they could be patient.

  Later, as the smell of the roasting meat enticed Kamrusepa to be present with the people, Briseis climbed on the stone platform to recite Telipinu’s story. She tried to sooth the nervous twitch in her stomach with thoughts of the goddess. Instead of Kamrusepa’s image, her mother’s face came to mind, smiling and calm. Briseis took it as a good omen.

  She looked out at the people of Lyrnessos gathered in the ancient grove—except that instead of the trees, it seemed to her she saw a great hall, bigger and grander than Euenos’s, and the townspeople of Lyrnessos had disappeared, replaced by others all regal in dress and carriage, and seated on golden thrones. A wondrous awe filled her, the very air seemed clearer, her vision sharper.

  At the center she saw a young man, so handsome he seemed to glow. Of course. It is Telipinu, seated next to his father the Stormgod. Something is wrong—he is angry. Thunder and lightning crash and spark across the huge room.

  The assembly of the gods has taken something from him—his honor. He will not tolerate the insult. He lifts his sword and races from the gods’ assembly. She follows him, hovering above the ground. All the fields and houses burn as he passes. The great river dries up, withdrawing from its banks, now blasted and blackened. She tries to call out and tell him to stop, but she has no voice. She hears only a buzzing when she speaks.

  She realizes she is the tiny bee Kamrusepa sent to sting Telipinu so he remembers who he is and what he must do. Then she must comfort him and bring him back. She flies, hunting for him throughout the burnt landscape until she sees him blending into the moor. She stings the handsome god’s feet and hands. She must stop his rage. She soothes the stings with her wax, then rubs more wax on his shoulders and chest to calm him, but he burns it away. She flies around him over and over, seven times seven. The flames begin to damp down and amber fluid pours from the wax, down his face and chest, coating him in a glistening shimmer of sweetness. Now she can hear her words, “I burn away your anger, I sweeten your heart.”

  She is no longer a bee, but herself again. He looks into her eyes, lays down his sword and touches her face. Under his fingers, her hair bursts into flames, but she is unhurt. She hands him a cup of honey-sweet wine and his hand wraps around hers. They share the drink. Flames dance along their arms. A delicious sensation fills her. He laughs and pulls her into his arms. The sweetness of his lips shimmers through her like stepping into the warmth of the sun. His hands slide over her body. Together they float as if in water. She enfolds him into herself. A wave of delight undulates through her, golden and luscious, lingering, reverberating as she lies next to the god. She reaches for him, but he is insubstantial now, as fingers passing through the tips of flames or trickling water.

  Briseis blinked. She saw the sacred grove around her again. Why was everyone so quiet? What had she done? Were they waiting for her to speak? Their faces shone with contentment. The Stormgod’s priest smiled and bowed to her.

  “The story has never been told with such life before,” he said. “Truly you brought the goddess here amongst us. Kamrusepa and Telipinu will fill our land with abundance.”

  Briseis ground some astragalos root with her pestle. The solidity of stone meeting stone felt comforting against her hand after the visionary experience at the Spring Festival the day before. The experience puzzled her. She’d asked Iatros what he thought of the day—even with him she couldn’t be more direct about the intimacy she’d felt with the god. He only referred to Mynes’s fight as a problem and described her performance as different from their mother’s but luminous and inspiring.

  Her vision had filled her body with such intense sensation and yet it had not really happened—at least no one else had seen what she had, thank the gods. At the time she didn’t think she had spoken out loud, but she must have because the priest congratulated her. No one thought anything was out of order. The community shared her euphoria.

  On the trip down the mountain from the sacred grove, the townspeople exchanged joyous wishes for a fruitful year. They congratulated Briseis. She didn’t understand the experience, but she knew she had indeed become the priestess of Kamrusepa and Telipinu—a priestess of the sacred grove and the voice that rose from that place. The intimate connection she shared with Telipinu in her vision confirmed that he acted as her protective god.

  Only Mynes’s fight marred her memory of the day. When she asked Bienor about it, he said the fight had been over some insult Mynes felt from the son of a farmer who had recently been training with the nobles, one of many whom Euenos had provided with armor so that they could serve as henchmen to his warriors. The Greek army at Troy had already shifted their lives in many ways. Mynes’s inability to control his temper when most needed filled her with foreboding. How long could she hold off her marriage?

  Telipinu did not wait for the next f
estival to visit her with more visions. She had heard tales about gods loving mortal women. She supposed this might be how such things happened—through dreams. Gradually she became less embarrassed by her dreams, filled with her golden god, and they became more vivid. She could not refuse a divine gift.

  The moments before waking grew sweeter. He leaned over her and a shower of his red-gold hair caressed her cheek. "You are mine," he whispered "and I am yours." His sweet breath filled her with warmth. She reached up with both hands, following the margins of his sea-green eyes with her fingertips, down the straight nose, and the fullness of his lips. She pulled his face down to hers into a kiss and felt herself melt into him. His tongue explored the hollow of her neck, the aureoles of her nipples, and then, drawn by desire, glided lower until she lost herself in fiery waves of an ancient sea that radiated from her center through her limbs.

  She lingered in the warmth and aftereffect of her dream, and hoped that tomorrow would bring another.

  Her vision at the Spring Festival had one other result.

  A few days later, returning one afternoon from treating a man with inflamed eyes, Briseis crossed the portico opening into their megaron hall. Through the open door she saw Euenos seated by the circular hearth and her father pacing in front of him. Her father must have come in directly from supervising in the fields. His plain brown tunic was stained with sweat under his arms and across the back. The king, however, had dressed royally in a cream colored tunic with gemstones embroidered into a crescent design on the front.

  The king was speaking. “—seductive. You wouldn’t see. You’re her father. Mynes thinks of nothing else. He—” Euenos noticed Briseis and stopped.

  She came into the room. His face reddened. He turned his attention to the cup of wine he held. Usually the king held his broad chest and compact limbs at ease, but he held his back stiff, leaning forward, and his elbows didn’t relax against the carved armrests.

  Briseis looked from him to her father.

  “You’re back.” Her father was not in the habit of stating the obvious.

  “Good to see you, Briseis,” said the king. She bowed and sat in her chair by the hearth. The men would have liked her to leave the room—that was clear—but they were talking about her and she would stay.

  “We were settling on a date for your marriage to Mynes,” said Euenos.

  A date? She glanced at her father. He looked as unsettled as she now felt.

  “A speedy marriage is for everyone’s good,” said Euenos. “The war threatens to draw us in. Let us celebrate this happy occasion in proper form while all of us are still present.”

  Briseis felt her breath seize in her chest. The struggle with her mother’s loss hurt enough. She imagined her wedding ceremony if she lost her father in the battles that threatened. What if she didn’t have his advice either?

  “And Mynes pushes for it constantly,” said Euenos.

  Mynes wanted her—that was an interesting change and a source of strength if she needed it. So the ‘seductive’ did refer to her. When had he grown attracted to her? She realized when and blushed. How—

  Her father spoke. “A young man’s… eagerness should not determine a matter as important as this.” Glaukos returned to pacing. “Briseis did well stepping into her mother’s place so young. I’m proud of her, but not surprised. She’s never done anything with only part of her soul. Always shown spirit.” He stopped, placing his hand on her shoulder.

  The king sat opposite them. He had put down the wine cup. His neck muscles stretched taut. Briseis saw anger in his eyes. Briseis had never seen Euenos like this, but her father ignored the threat.

  “However, that doesn’t mean she’s ready for marriage,” Glaukos said. “Let experience temper her spirit without more responsibility resting on her.” He bowed slightly to Euenos. “Mynes will benefit from tempering also.”

  Euenos shook his head. “Marriage will steady them both. I am seeing to it that Mynes gains some tempering. He needs it. He showed poor judgment at the Festival. Just the day before I’d told him I’d appoint him commander of the city guard if he thought he could handle it, but after that fistfight, I took the honor away. We’ll hope his disappointment teaches him something.”

  Glaukos raised his eyebrows. “That isn’t what I had in mind. But let’s give the children some more time. There’s no harm in that, is there?”

  Watching Euenos, Briseis knew her father hadn’t persuaded the king.

  Euenos rose, his arms crossed and clamped hard against his chest. “Do not oppose me, Glaukos.” He took a deep breath and seemed to collect himself. “What do you gain from quarreling with me about this? Don’t we have enough enemies right now?” He sank into his chair. “Marriage will settle Mynes.”

  Briseis saw resignation in her father’s expression. She was going to lose her delay. She couldn’t force him further. He’d agreed to the marriage long ago. He’d never been willing to anger the king before.

  Glaukos reached out his right hand to the king in agreement. Euenos rose and embraced him.

  Glaukos turned to his daughter and laid his hands on her head in blessing. “May it be a happy marriage.

  Chapter Eleven

  Veiled Wedding

  “Get up, my Poppy. Last day of girlhood. Better have slept well. There’ll be little sleep for you tonight.” Eurome laughed and bent down to kiss Briseis. “No dallying this morning. Up, up, you lazy girl. To the bride bath.”

  Briseis allowed her nursemaid to tease her—all part of the day. Young brides were supposed to be tardy in their steps toward the marriage bed. Was she reluctant? She pictured Mynes lifting her veil in the marriage chamber. Part of her worried, but the last few weeks had been encouraging. As she enjoyed the warm summer days, her sense of hope grew.

  During the final courtship, when Mynes visited with still more bride gifts, he came now with a courteous demeanor. He complimented her beauty and talked about life in the palace. His words stumbled on occasion but he was trying to please her. Once as he went down on one knee to present her with a necklace of amber beads, he put his free hand on her thigh and whispered in a husky voice, “I dream about you every night.” He looked up at her and she saw desire so hungry it stopped her breath.

  A river of sensation flowed from his hand up into her. Her blood rose and her face felt hot. She thought of her own dreams. All well and good to be loved in her sleep by a god with fiery hair like her own, but this raven-haired, powerfully built man at her knee was real. She wanted the waking caresses his nearness promised.

  Off the courtyard in the cluster of rooms used for bathing, Eurome filled the stone tub with hot water and oil scented with roses. Briseis lowered herself into its perfumed steam, watching the glistening beads of oil form first on her legs then gradually creep along her belly.

  Briseis luxuriated in the warmth and soothing attentions as her nursemaid scrubbed her limbs, then helped her out of the tub and toweled her off. Eurome wrapped Briseis in a linen sheet, and they turned to the stone boxes and jars containing her cosmetics, all part of her bride gift. Briseis pivoted open the lid of a hematite jar on its golden peg and swiveled it back and forth a couple times, delighting in the fineness of the work. Tiny cylinders carved into the stone held black eye paint. Another jar of a deep mustard shade held ochre rouge. Eurome smoothed on the colors to highlight her cheeks and drew the black outlines around her eyes. Briseis studied her face in the mirror Milos had made from a wide, flat dish with shallow sides. The silver had been blackened so that when filled with water it caught her reflection. She smiled.

  The sounds of arriving guests drifted in. The courtyard and great hall would barely contain the ceremony and feasting. Briseis shrugged her shoulders up and down to loosen the tension gathering there.

  She put on her linen tunic and swirling skirt, bleached a brilliant white and rubbed with an oiled stone until the fabric glistened. Eurome reached underneath the pleated skirt to pull the tunic snugly over her breasts so that the
fabric curved and swelled around her body. Briseis ran her hand over the smoothness of the tunic and then spun in a circle to feel the heavy skirt fly out. Eurome laughed and then made her hold still while she tied on a linen belt decorated with gold sun discs. Briseis slid on the matched bracelets that Antiope had received from Glaukos for her wedding day—two wide bands of gold set with cornelian.

  Eurome brushed Briseis’s hair until it glowed, a long red-gold cascade. She wove the front strands into a crown and attached the diadem Milos had fashioned of golden sprays of lilies intertwined with tiny pomegranates. Traceries of flowers and leaves wound down from it, gleaming against the deeper gold of Briseis’s hair. Eurome clasped a matching necklace around Briseis’s neck.

  As Eurome lifted the saffron-colored veil out of its chest, they heard the king, queen and Mynes announced and her father’s greeting.

  “Your husband is here to claim you. Lucky we’re almost ready,” said Eurome. The breath caught in Briseis’s chest.

  Eurome covered her from head to toe in the translucent veil, holding it in place with a golden pin shaped like Kamrusepa’s bee and arranging it so the delicate fabric clung to Briseis’s form and suggested the beauty that it only partially concealed. Her hair, the jewels and shimmering fabrics glinted through the golden cloud surrounding her.

  Her old nurse stood back to admire her with a contented sigh, speechless for once. Briseis leaned against Eurome for a moment before they left the privacy of the bathing rooms.

  At the megaron’s doorway her father came forward to walk her to her groom, who stood with both families in front of the shrine. Her three brothers waited at the right of the shrine. Bienor and Adamas towered a head or more over the other men. She saw Iatros swipe his eye. Not working with him each day would be hard. She pressed her lips together to keep away tears.