The Princess of Prophecy

by Aria Cunningham

  But the vizier was not content to follow commands. "You should heed my words, Highness. An unannounced foreigner lands on our soil caught in the company of pirates, and in his midsts he brings one of them? Pharaoh rots in his bed. You should not treat with those who tried to unseat him!"

  How dare he? Helen bristled with deep offense. Even Menelaus at his most paranoid would not speak so brazenly of a guest before the court. "Them?" She could not keep the heat from her voice. "I know not whom you speak, but I am a Princess of Sparta. Disparage my honor at your shame!"

  A stunned silence followed her words. Too late Helen realized she had exposed herself. She was not supposed to claim her parentage. A royal woman traveling in the company of foreigners was highly suspicious. No one would think twice if she were some minor noble seeking her future fortune in Troy.

  The vicious harpy, Helen simmered. The vizier meant to insult, or he would not have switched to Grecian tongue. So unsettled was she at the man's actions, Helen had forgotten about Bay.

  The sickly chancellor, already standing so close it bordered on impropriety, gaped openly at her. "Princess?" His face reflected his horror, and he backed away, finally embarrassed by his indecent behavior.

  A loud clap broke the tension, followed by several more. Seti lounged in his throne, clearly entertained by the drama unfolding around him. "Of course she is a princess!" He laughed, also switching to Greek. The cutting note in his mirth was directed back toward the chancellor. "You are a fool if you did not see it, Bay. And I thought you more clever than most." When his attention turned back to Helen, his eyes lingered appreciatively as he studied her up and down.

  Helen stiffened under the scrutiny. She could always tell when a man desired her. It was in his eyes. His pupils would constrict and his breath became heavy as though the lust-filled thoughts fought for control. Before he could act on those impulses, however, the Egyptian princess stepped forward, a restraining hand placed on Seti's shoulder.

  "What is it, Twosret?" He simmered over the interruption.

  "Such fire and grace," the princess whispered in awe, her hazel eyes locked on Helen again, soaking in every detail. "If Hathor took human form, I would swear it were She. Nemhet has wronged our guest, Husband. We must make amends."

  Helen studied Twosret with equal amazement. She was the beauty of a starlit night and spoke with a courage uncommon in women of the Hellas.

  Seti waved her back with an imperious gesture. "My wife speaks true, Princess. Please forgive the brash words of my vizier." He stared crossly at the scowling official, the disapproval evident on his pinched face. "Ask what you will of Egypt, and we will do our best to comply."

  "Thank you, Your Grace." Helen blushed with discomfort. "I require nothing. We came to marvel at the splendors of your Temple. That privilege should suffice."

  But Seti was not a man one refused. He leaned forward, a mischievous glint to his dark eyes. "Surely there is something you desire?"

  Helen turned to Paris, trying to get some guidance, but his face was a blank slate. Her mind racing, she hunted for a response. "Well, there is one thing..." The admission fell from her tongue before she could think better of it.

  "Yes?" Seti pressed.

  With the undivided attention of the court upon her, she had no choice but to proceed. "Prince Paris spoke to me of a purification ritual," she stammered. "If it is not too much bother, I would like to undertake it."

  Shocked dissent broke out amongst the nobles. Even the priests were affronted by her request, their complaints piling on top of one another:

  "Preposterous."

  "She's a woman!"

  "Would you offend the Gods?" One priest's shrill voice pierced through the others. "She's a foreigner!"

  "The Gods of the Two Lands are the Gods of All." Twosret shot back at the thin man. "A truth, as Second Prophet, you well know, Penanukis!" But the princess' argument only sparked further protest. The dais quickly resembled the atmosphere of a tavern brawl. Fists shook and angry slurs filled the air.

  "Quiet!" Seti screeched the command. He waved down the other protestors until order resumed on the dais. Slowly, while his advisors quietly begged his forgiveness, the wild affront melted from Seti's stiff posture and his indulgent smile returned. He shifted his focus to Helen, lifting the decorated crook and flail from his lap, rubbing the objects suggestively. "By my eyes, Helen of Sparta, you are perfection. What need have you for purification?"

  She stiffened, knowing she was being mocked. Though her pride flared, demanding these insults be challenged, she heeded Paris' warning for caution. "You flatter me, Your Grace." She nodded to Seti and the other nobles on the dais, locking eyes with the only sympathetic face before her, that of the Egyptian princess. "I did not mean to offend. Had I known the ritual was forbidden to women, I would not have asked."

  "But it is not!" Twosret objected, drawing the angry mutters of the gathered priests. Again, the princess' courage amazed Helen. She could never have spoken so openly in Agamemnon's court. The Mycenaean king made it abundantly clear how he dealt with unwelcome outbursts from his queen and royal sister.

  Twosret stepped forward, her proud stance silencing her detractors as much as Seti's demands. "If the need is great, Pharaoh can approve your petition." With a delicate gesture, she dipped her head respectfully to her husband. "Pharaoh, or his Prince Regent."

  Seti's eyes narrowed. He had the look of a man weighing his options. He glanced between his wife and the priests, his mischievous smile returning. "State your case, Princess," he urged her, "and know that Egypt will treat you fairly."

  Helen hesitated, her heart hammering in disbelief. Was it possible? Could all she had suffered in Mycenae and before, all the guilt and shame, be washed away? That possibility took hold of her, and a flare of hope blossomed in her chest. She found herself desiring this ritual with a desperation that frightened her.

  Before she could answer, Paris stepped beside her. "It's not safe, Helen. Withdraw the request. Tell him you made a mistake," he whispered urgently into her ear.

  But it was not a mistake. She wanted a future in Troy, not just a chance to live. Just as leaving Mycenae required a leap of faith, so too did this. Helen pushed him away. Steeling her nerves, she approached the throne. "I have lived my whole life along the western frontier, Your Grace. Our ways are brutal, cruel." She poured all her hurt into that plea, allowing her hope to show naked on her face. "I wish to be cleansed of it before I travel to more... civilized lands. Please, grant me this boon."

  She could see Seti waver. He stared deeply into her eyes like one struck. Helen did not blink. Nor did she turn her head. "Please," she pleaded again and dropped to her knees. She prayed it was enough to sway the prince.

  Paris had to fight himself from rushing to her side. He hated seeing Helen humble herself before any man. He had no idea what possessed her to ask for the ritual, or why she petitioned for it so fervently, but there was something compelling about her honest plea. Seti would be a man made of stone to deny her.

  Unfortunately, despite what Twosret claimed, Seti's authority only went so far. It was a matter for the Temple, and the decision did not rest with the crown alone. The five priests crowded about Seti and began bickering amongst themselves in Egyptian.

  "She's a woman. It's never been done before."

  "Perhaps, but we should consult with the First Prophet."

  "Impossible, we can't let a foreigner into the inner sept! Her pagan blood will offend Amun. The First cannot change that."

  "We must refuse."

  Paris' heart sunk as he listened. Helen had not stirred from her respectful pose. She was fortunate not to know what they said. Her courage, which so clearly captivated Seti, would evaporate with that knowledge.

  But Helen was not blind. She could sense defeat in the air. Seti said something sharply to his advisors in Egyptian, and they answered back with similar bite. The sterile priests studied her with heavy frowns. There was no question of their position on th
is request.

  I tried. She tried to console herself, but all the anxiety and frustration of the past two weeks overwhelmed her. Her shoulders sagged and she dropped her gaze to the floor, cursing herself for her naiveté. From the moment Paris spoke of the ritual, she felt drawn to it, as though the Gods were speaking to her, showing her the way to reclaim her honor, to prove that her rash decision to run away with Paris was right.

  You naive fool, she chided herself. She was too old to cling to such foolish hopes and dreams. Her tenure in Mycenae should have taught her to be wary of that nonsense. She raised her head, determined not to let her hurts show on her face.

  What awaited her was far more upsetting.

  Every person on the dais, in the entire throne room, was staring at her, eyes wide with disbelief. Too late she realized their heated conversations had come to an abrupt halt. In its vacant place, a gasp echoed down the hall. She lifted her head, curious to discover what new drama this foretold.

  A soft touch on her elbow jolted her from her thoughts. The warmth of hot breath tickled her skin and was soon followed by a kiss from a slimy, rough tongue. Helen turned, surprised to see the young calf nuzzling at her side.

  The Mnevis Bull had come to comfort her.

  Chapter 14

  The Foreign Aphrodite

  PARIS COULD SCARCELY breathe. The entire court watched in shocked silence as the Mnevis, the sacred calf imbued with the living ka of Amun-Re, nuzzled at Helen's side. She placed her arm around the small creature, scratching him affectionately beneath his chin.

  No one dared moved. Touching the Mnevis was forbidden; he was a conduit to their Great God. The bull's actions were prophetic and could determine the fortune, for good or for ill, of any who petitioned him. There was no doubt they were witnessing a miracle. And Helen, in her ignorance of Egyptian culture, blasphemed the cult with her profane touch.

  Paris exchanged a worried glance with Glaucus. They were all in danger should the priests decide to take offense.

  "Marvelous!" A melodious voice echoed throughout the silent hall. "Our guest has wooed Amun-Re Himself! There is your answer, Seti. Deny her nothing."

  From the eaves of the hall a graceful and aged queen entered. As one, the gathered nobles dipped their heads in respect as she glided on soundless feet across the tiled floor. Paris flushed with unexpected pleasure, instantly recognizing the beloved wife of the late Rameses the Great.

  Nefertari Merytmut was a beauty without equal in Egypt. Her prominent cheekbones drew sharp lines to a swooping forehead where sat the flat topped, blue crown of Upper and Lower Egypt. The queen wore a sheer, pleated gown with loose sleeves along the elbow. A multi-colored belt ran beneath her bust and trailed down the front in two long tails. Her face was painted to recall the beauty of her youth, a fantastic illusion since the queen was far into her third score of years. On her crown, the cobra-headed uraeus reared over a band of gold. She was an elegant, and intimidating, sight.

  "Alexandros," Nefertari greeted him with a pleasant smile. "Mut has blessed my eyes that I see you again." The queen glided to his side and placed a chaste kiss on his cheeks.

  A flush of warm memories flooded Paris with her kind words. Nefertari, amongst all the royals he had met on his last visit, had impressed him the most with her insight and charm. He dipped into a swooping bow. "It is I who am blessed. Your beauty is eternal, Lady of Grace."

  She smiled sweetly, and a twinkle lit up her eyes, hinting at a mind unsoftened by years, one that comprehended much more than flattery. She turned to Helen next, every member of the court watching her breathlessly. "And who is this young lady who travels in the company of our beloved prince?" She offered her hands to Helen, a firm note in her gentle voice.

  Helen gazed up at the queen, mesmerized by Nefertari's effortless grace. From the moment she walked into the room, it was as though a spell had been woven, commanding every person to pay her the respect a regal queen deserved. No courtier sneered behind her back. No maid whispered in the eaves. In fact, many watched Nefertari with an open expression of awe, as though a legend walked the halls of the palace. Even Seti, the pampered prince, gazed upon the queen in ernest.

  Helen took Nefertari's proffered hands, amazed at the tenacious grip the elderly woman possessed. She brought the queen's hand to her lips, shocked at how natural the gesture of deference felt. "I am Helen, Your Grace, a Princess of Sparta, your friend and neighbor to the north." That last comment drew a cross glare from Nemhet. Fortunately, the vizier held his tongue.

  "Helen," Nefertari repeated, her foreign accent making the name sound exotic. She glanced Helen over, pulling her to and fro to see her from all angles. Strangely, the scrutiny stirred greater nerves in Helen than Seti's lustful stare had.

  "Such beauty," the queen mused. "It is no wonder you charmed the Mnevis with your grace." Though her smile was pleasant, Nefertari's tone gave no indication which direction her favor swayed. "Princess Twosret is right. Surely the light of Hathor flows through your veins."

  "Hathor?" Helen asked as the queen spun her around again, her chiton flowing about her like a banner in the wind.

  "An Egyptian Aphrodite," Paris whispered to her softly.

  Helen almost laughed. Marked by the Goddess... It was as much a blessing as a curse. If the Egyptians were as religious as she suspected, perhaps that association would also provide a small layer of protection. "So I have been told, Your Majesty." She dipped into a curtsy and found herself hoping she met this regal woman's expectations.

  "Grandmare," Seti interrupted, a pinch of irritation on his face for having been ignored for so long. "Have you any counsel to share before I pass my judgement?"

  Nefertari beamed at the young man, love apparent in her dark and heavily painted eyes. "It grieves me that Pharaoh will soon make his journey to the underworld, but you will make a splendid king, Seti." The prince straightened under her praise, adopting a more regal position on the throne. "This princess has been chosen by the Mnevis," the queen continued. "You should accept her petition or risk offending Amun-Re."

  The priests stirred with upset, clearly at odds with the queen's pronouncement. Penanukis finally stepped forward, the priest a cadaverous-looking man with the red flush of too much drink on his cheeks. "We offend them if we conduct this ritual! No woman has set foot in the inner sanctum."

  "Untrue," Nefertari countered, turning sharply on the priest. Her sweet manner evaporated into a harsh tone of command. "I assure you there is precedence. Just as Hatshepsut, a woman, once sat upon the throne as Pharaoh."

  "Yes, but...," Penanukis stuttered. "That's not—"

  "Nefertari is correct." Twosret stepped forward, her presence every bit as mesmerizing as that of the queen. The priest found himself caught between the two imperial women. "Your protests have no merit, Penanukis. You cannot deny the petition based on gender. The Mnevis has spoken. Will you defy the Gods' will?"

  Helen watched the exchange with awe. She had never seen a woman, queen or not, address powerful men with such liberty. There was no illusion about who held the real power in this room. Nefertari and Twosret cowed the temple leaders, standing side by side like the godly images that decorated the walls. They commanded with an ease that would make Clytemnestra envious.

  "Silence!" Seti rose to his feet, forcing his non-royal attendants to adopt a position of deference. "The Mnevis may have spoken, but I have not!" His tone was one demanding respect instead of possessing it. Helen squirmed. She recognized the madness behind Seti's eyes, the madness of a man desperate to prove his worth. It was the same madness Menelaus effused to dangerous effects.

  The priests, however, seemed confident, certain the crown prince was an ally in their debate with the royal women. As Seti turned to Penanukis, the sterile man smiled in anticipation of his pronouncement. "Omens and signs are not my talent to interpret," Seti continued. "Nor are they yours. This is a matter for the High Priest."

  "Yes, My Prince." Penanukis shuffled back amongst his brethren,
his protest dying on his lips.

  Seti slowly turned back to Helen, his eyes drinking in her full form. "Fret not, dear Princess. My Grandmare is correct. The Gods have clearly favored you." His breath thickened with double meaning. "But your request requires due consideration. Only the Pharaoh or the High Priest of Re can decide the matter. In the meanwhile, I insist you accept my welcome to the Two Lands." He gestured imperiously to the other nobles behind the throne. "Show Princess Helen and Prince Paris every courtesy of Pharaoh and the realm, or answer to me."

  Soft assurances followed his command, but Seti ignored them all. Leaping to his feet he descended from the dais, his advisors close on his heels. "I must see to my father." He paused beside Paris. "But we will dine together tonight after you have rested." It was not a request.

  Paris smiled pleasantly. "I would be delighted, Your Highness," he said, hoping the response would help sooth the tense royal.

  "Setnakhte, see they lack for nothing."

  "Yes, My Prince." The general snapped his heels together as the royal entourage passed.

  With Seti gone, a more casual atmosphere filled the hall. The musicians began again, and the steady drone of conversation afforded some minor privacy for Paris and his company. He turned to Helen and shared her stunned look. Navigating the royal court was every bit as harrowing as he remembered, but they had somehow managed to enter it safely.

  "Don't be afraid." He took her hand in his, conscious of the numerous eyes that watched them. "The ritual is steeped in tradition, but they won't hurt you."

  "Enough of that, Alexandros." Nefertari stepped between them, pressing him back with a firm hand on his chest. "She is to be purified and must prepare. Do not soil her with your devilish charms."

  "Prepare?" Helen cast a wary glance toward the priests, the thought of being left alone in their company sending shivers down her spine.

  "You must fast, silly girl," Nefertari studied her. "To enter the temple, you must abstain from appetites of the flesh, both food and... other pleasures." The queen cast Paris a covert wink.