Hand of Fire

by Judith Starkston

  Briseis turned to her father and as they walked forward, she studied the familiar room—odd to see it full of people. She looked at the shrine and her mother’s presence. She thought of spinning wool next to her mother by this hearth, playing with Iatros, gathering the family in the evening to listen to an itinerant bard sing the tales she loved—especially tales of Achilles’ feats, though her feelings about that hero had shifted now that he had stepped from the realm of stories onto the shores of Troy. She caught sight of Mynes. He watched her intently. She felt her father’s hand on her lower back as he guided her toward the shrine.

  Mynes’s eyes moved slowly down her veiled form. Briseis only partially listened to the prayers and offerings the priests made. Mynes’s eyes were hooded by deep brows, his lips full with a slight downward tilt. He went clean shaven as most men did, but she could see the shadow of black hair on his jaw and imagined what his cheek would feel like under her fingers, how that would contrast with the smooth skin of his brow or his shoulder.

  As they reached the final part of the ceremony, one of the priests nodded to them. Mynes reached for her right hand and breathed in sharply as his hand touched hers. His hold tightened. Her long fingers suddenly looked small inside his powerful hand. He spoke the traditional words that sealed their marriage. “You will be my wife. I shall be your husband.”

  When Mynes helped her into her chair for the feast, his hand brushed down her back as she turned to sit. She felt herself blushing and lowered her head so that she did not look into his face, which she felt above her. He did not move to his own seat. A low groan startled her, and she looked up in concern. He lowered his head so that his lips brushed hers. She did not understand how she could feel that touch in so many parts of her body.

  Through the feasting and performances by dancers and jugglers, Briseis could only nibble at her food. She kept reaching up to her lips, remembering that kiss.

  Finally the time came to leave for the palace. Mynes handed Briseis up into a cart decorated with flowers and climbed in beside her, his thigh pressed against hers. A procession of carts and people on foot accompanied the bride to her new home. The loud crowd trailed around and behind the couple. Musicians played horns and drums. Guests made bawdy jokes and threw figs and almonds to bring the couple a sweet and fertile marriage. Briseis’s heart pounded and she kept her head down. She couldn’t look at Mynes, but the heat where their thighs touched seemed to speak for both of them.

  At the palace the huge gates stood open. Men in armor with upright spears flanked the area inside the gate. A loud hurrah went up from them as the cart carrying Briseis and Mynes came through. A guard offered Briseis a hand down. Hatepa stepped forward and signaled for Briseis to follow her to the bridal chamber. Behind her, Briseis heard Mynes respond to the teasing crowd, “No more waiting for my prize—she’s mine now.”

  The brightness slipping through the cracks around the shutters told Briseis morning had come, but she didn’t care. The darkness she had sensed as a little girl watching Mynes beat another child had proved to be her husband’s true self.

  At a knock on the doorframe, Briseis shuddered. She clutched the covers close around her in this strange bed.

  “May I come in?” Eurome called.

  “Yes,” Briseis answered, but the word came out hoarse and strangled. She watched Eurome through half-opened eyes.

  Eurome pushed aside the door curtain, peeked in the bedchamber and entered, carrying an elaborate breakfast tray. A wide smile creased her face. She placed the tray on a chest and approached the bed as though expecting her Poppy to say something, but Briseis stayed silent, unable to speak, even with Eurome.

  “I’m sure you’re hungry. Here’s a fine breakfast. No, it’s more than that, a wedding feast for the morning. Fresh boiled eggs—maybe there’ll be some new little chicks ’round here soon— almonds, sweet honey cakes and sweet mead—you can never have too much sweetness at a time like this and—” The old woman stopped. Her smile faded.

  Her eyes swept the room. “Oh my, oh my,” Eurome muttered under her breath.

  She lifted Briseis’s wedding tunic, snagged on the corner of a chest, and folded it. Briseis heard her gasp. Eurome stooped and picked up a fragment of gold. The bee pin lay on her palm, smashed flat. She sat on the edge of the bed and brushed some strands of hair from Briseis’s brow.

  Briseis turned away and drew her knees toward her chest. The movement sharpened the pain between her legs and increased the warm stickiness of her blood. She shifted her knee from where it rested on the other thigh to keep it from pressing a place where her flesh felt raw. She had no energy; only murky fog where her thoughts should be.

  Eurome looked at the remains of the bee in her hand. “So it’s like that, is it?” She sighed. “Oh, my sweet girl, who should be prized beyond measure.”

  Briseis knew what Eurome had expected to find—two entwined bodies, bashful at the intrusion of a quickly left tray. Mynes and she had not entwined last night—what he had done to her had no kinship with the images of love that she had expected. When the agony of his grunting thrusts and the stench of his panting breath had stopped, he had left. Eurome’s knock had made her fearful he was back—and even her presence was no protection if he returned. Her servant could easily be sent away by the man who would be king.

  Tears ran from Briseis’s eyes. She pulled a hand from under the covers to wipe them away. Eurome leaned in and pulled Briseis into her arms even though Briseis went rigid. “There, there, my little Poppy. There, there.” Eurome rocked her back and forth.

  After a time Eurome said, “A bit of food’ll give you strength.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Then drink the sweet mead I brung.”

  Eurome silently fed her little bites and sips. Her nurse tugged a clean handkerchief from her belt. Briseis wiped her tears and blew her nose, smearing it with the makeup Eurome had put on her for the wedding. Had that been only yesterday?

  The dirty handkerchief made her think of Hatepa whose rooms lay nearby. She cringed at the thought that Hatepa might have heard her cries. “Eurome, have you seen Queen Hatepa this morning?”

  “No, but I talked to that pretty maid of hers, Maira. She said the queen is wore out from all the carrying-ons yesterday, and she gave her a draught to help her sleep. The queen is sleeping still. She’ll never ask for you today—I’m sure. Not when she’ll think that son of hers is with you. Maira will manage and no need for you.”

  Eurome seemed to have misunderstood her question. Briseis certainly hadn’t been thinking of attending on the queen. “Yes, you’re right. I only wondered if…”

  Eurome looked at her. “A sleeping draught—Maira said Hatepa slept like a stone. She said that particular.”

  Eurome put the plate and cup on the tray to carry to the kitchen. “It’s hard for you to believe, but you’ll come through this. Rough treatment by men is nothing new to women. I just never would ha’ thought you’d ever know such as this. I’ll do my best by you but I wish your mother was here. She’s what you need most, I’m afeared. She’d be the one to tame that beast they call a prince.” Eurome looked over her shoulder at the doorway as if worried someone might overhear. Briseis didn’t blame her—for the worry or the insult.

  When Eurome left, Briseis lay back. Her mother. If her mother were alive, would she have the courage to talk to her about any of this? She had seen tenderness between her parents countless times. Last night had started well enough, giving her hope that her fears were groundless. After Hatepa brought her to the bridal chamber and Mynes came in, he had treated her gently. He seemed shy. Certainly she felt that way. He hadn’t said anything when he sat next to her and lifted her veil from her face. He had kissed her lips and tentatively touched her breasts. They’d both laughed in embarrassment.

  She’d felt a shadow fall upon her when he tugged away her veil, but it was fine stuff, easily tangled and the little bee got caught in the linen fibers. She cried out when he stomped th
e bee flat, but he seemed startled at his anger and kissed her as if to erase his outburst.

  He pulled at the tie around her tunic’s neck, and she had giggled, embarrassed at the thought of her nakedness.

  “Wait, let me untie it,” she had said.

  He yanked at it then, so hard she could still feel the burn on her neck. Had he thought she was laughing at him? Once he pulled the tunic off and exposed her body, he pushed her hard onto the bed. He spread her legs roughly and leered at her while he tore off his own clothes. She sat up, reaching out a hand to calm him, but he flung himself on top of her, shoved her legs apart again and thrust himself into her. She screamed in pain but he smashed his hand against her mouth and hissed, “Silence, or I’ll beat you.” She writhed and kicked under him trying to escape, but it made him angrier. She lay still, hoping for an end to the pain and humiliation.

  Eurome was right. She’d mend somehow, but she felt like the little bee—smashed beyond repair. The smith would have to melt down the gold and start over. How could she re-form herself? What fire would she need—and how could she endure it?

  Eurome returned. Maira slipped in behind her, her eyes downcast.

  “I’ve brung Maira so you won’t go worrying about the queen,” said Eurome.

  Maira said, “There’s no need for you to attend the queen today.” She added in a murmur barely loud enough to hear, “I remember your courage when you faced Hatepa’s demons, Lady Briseis. You remember also.” She looked directly at Briseis, her eyes full of understanding. Maira, who always slept by the queen’s bedside, had not taken a sleeping draught. She bowed and left the room.

  Eurome bustled around unpacking Briseis’s possessions. “Most of the household is thinking Mynes is here in your chambers—I surely did—but when I found he wasn’t, I wanted to know where he’d gone. I found some of his menservants gossiping outside the stables. Mynes ordered them to gather hunting spears and the dogs—and supplies for sleeping overnight in the forest.”

  Briseis lifted her head as Eurome continued. “Mynes called out the best of his fighting men—servants, not none of his noble friends—to go after a boar causing trouble in some fields far from the town. He claimed it was a duty for a prince, but oh my stars and fishes, the servants found it mighty odd on this day and they were full of talk.” Eurome patted Briseis’s arm. “He’s safe away for two days at least.”

  Briseis felt the fear release its grip on her insides. Two days.

  Chapter Twelve

  Wool

  Two days of sleeping and resting in solitude restored Briseis’s determination if not her happiness. During those days, Eurome kept the palace staff at bay and wrapped her shielding of Briseis in her genial chatter. If the servants wondered whether Briseis’s stay in her room was a sign of trouble—they had witnessed Mynes’s violence often enough—no one gossiped loudly enough for Eurome to hear. The palace was accustomed to Hatepa, who regularly stayed in her royal bedchamber all day.

  Briseis had no intention of letting Mynes find her moping in bed whenever he returned. She arose and dressed, well before his predicted arrival. Eurome arranged her hair in a low, wide twist to hide the raw cut on her neck where Mynes had ripped at her tunic. She had to go out into her new household. When she had arisen each day at her father’s, she knew what tasks lay ahead, felt love surrounding her and feared no one. She did not know how to live this new life, but she would figure it out. The more independently of her husband the better.

  Hatepa’s room lay first in her path, a dreary thought, although she might learn something useful about Mynes. Understanding would help her prevent those dangerous flashes of anger. The queen was not a perceptive person, but his mother must have some insight.

  As Briseis walked down the hall, she heard Hatepa’s voice complaining. “You must send for her. Certainly my son can spare her for a little while. He should come to visit me also.”

  Briseis knocked on the doorframe. “It is Briseis. May I come in?”

  “Why has it taken you so long to come to me?”

  Hatepa lay in her huge bed, propped against pillows. The deep creases on either side of her mouth accentuated the sour mood permanently inscribed on her gaunt face. Her bulging eyes gave her a startled, unsettled look. Briseis worked a smile onto her face.

  She placed her hand on Hatepa’s cheek and listened to her breathing. “You look well today, Queen Hatepa. Your color is good—bright roses blooming in your cheeks. Maira must be taking excellent care of you.” She turned to look directly at Hatepa’s servant. “Thank you, Maira, for all your care.”

  Maira dipped her head.

  “My son has not come to see me since the wedding,” said Hatepa, picking at a rough bit of skin on her arm. “His desire to spend time with you must not distract him from his duty to his mother.”

  Briseis held in the answer that first came to her lips. “I am told the prince has gone to hunt a boar that has become dangerous to his people. I am sure when he returns he will visit his dear mother before he comes to see me.”

  “No one told me he was attending to his duties as prince.” Hatepa turned to her maid. “Why didn’t you tell me that? How annoying you are. How can I run the palace household without knowing everything that happens?”

  Briseis interceded. “Queen Hatepa, I believe only his menservants knew your son’s plan. You understand his habits best of anyone. A new wife knows so little. Perhaps you can tell me if this is customary for him?”

  Hatepa opened her mouth and then abruptly shut it again. “If the prince is attending to his duties, that is all you need to know.”

  Briseis searched for some safe topic to fill her visit since Hatepa offered nothing useful about Mynes. She remembered a question she wanted to ask. She had not decided yet whether to bring to the palace the loom she and her mother had used together. She had a strange feeling that if she removed it from her mother’s hall, all the memories of weaving on it together would also tumble down—or the emptiness would break her father’s heart.

  “Queen Hatepa, I have always loved to weave, but I am not sure if there is a loom for me to use here.”

  “You may use the one in the women’s hall. A virtuous activity for a young bride like you. I’m too ill for it. That loom belonged to Euenos’s mother.”

  “I will start on a tapestry. Shall I brew you some licorice tea or are you feeling strong enough without it?”

  “Don’t you have some stronger medicine? My cough will return.”

  “Licorice will soothe you.” Although anxious to get away from the woman, Briseis stirred the ground root into a pot of boiling water Maira had ready for her and made herself wait until the tangy scent rising from it told her the tea was ready.

  Hatepa sniffed, her nose twitching like a rodent’s. “That smells good. Always sweeter when you make it. I have slept soundly these past two nights because I knew you were near. I feel safe now.” Briseis met Maira’s eyes across Hatepa’s bed.

  “I am glad to find you well, Hatepa. I will leave you to rest now but will visit again later.”

  Briseis pushed through the curtained doorway and walked toward the staircase. Her legs felt unsteady. How could she live in this household? How had her mother taken such patient care of that woman through the years? Angrily, she brushed away some tears. She didn’t want servants seeing her cry.

  She spent the rest of the afternoon in the women’s megaron. She opened the shutters of its clerestory windows and ordered the hearth lit, driving off its abandoned look.

  The loom leaned against the west wall, its beams marvelously carved with figures of people and animals, the wood rich in tone, deepened by time. Piled beside the loom sat a basket filled with balls of wool yarns the colors of gemstones. Briseis knelt down and picked through them. They had been spun thin and fine, for detailed work. An idea bloomed in her mind: a tapestry of the medicinal herbs and flowers. She would record them all in a weaving.

  She went upstairs and retrieved her basket of weaving supp
lies and settled into the job. She enjoyed the familiar repetitions of setting up a warp and the oily, earthy smell of wool running between her fingers.

  As she was absorbed in her work, Euenos entered. He wore a gray tunic edged in red braid, much finer than her father would have worn for every day. He greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.

  “It’s been a long time since the women’s hall has been used,” he said. “Hatepa prefers her chamber upstairs. When I was a child, this was one of my favorite rooms in the palace. Let’s sit and visit.” He indicated the small central hearth with its the grouping of three chairs made of cedar inlaid with ivory and ebony. The feet of the chairs were shaped like lion’s paws as if they might pad silently out of the room.

  They sat together, discussing palace life, the staff she would supervise and her duties running the royal household—Hatepa could do so little, the steward would be glad of Briseis’s help. She saw a place for herself that had nothing to do with Mynes.

  The king apologized for Mynes’s sudden departure. His son did not always think before he acted, but Euenos promised to reprimand him. She could not confess how relieved Mynes’s absence made her—nor did protecting the farmers from a boar seem a great sin. The king’s willingness to find fault with his son when he did not seek to understand his son’s actions bothered Briseis. She could almost have felt sympathy for Mynes if he’d been kind to her.

  Euenos invited her to join his Council, the group of nobles who advised the king, as the Queen of Lyrnessos traditionally did. Her father held the chief advisory role there, although he did not always attend when the needs of his estate occupied him. Euenos assured her that her experience as healing priestess would bring a useful perspective, despite her youth, and she needed to learn statecraft by observation. Hatepa had not fulfilled this role, as had always been done before her reign—her health, of course, prevented that—but Briseis should follow the more active model of traditional queens. This challenge appealed to her, although she suspected the son did not share his father’s vision of her role. She could not see that vicious beast consulting her at the Council.