The Princess of Prophecy

by Aria Cunningham

  The woman staring back at her from the hammered sheet of bronze seemed an altogether different person than the one who had left Mycenae. Green malachite, powdered and mixed with water, became the pigment Merit painted over Helen's eyes. Those eyes were sculpted with black kohl into an alluring and tapered form. Red ochre was used to brighten her cheeks and lips, and henna to dye her fingernails. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders, the locks interwoven with strands of gold rosettes that dangled from a diadem along her brow. She felt exotic and beautiful like the little birds of Pharaoh's atrium.

  Even Aethra was impressed by the results. "You have outdone yourself, Your Grace."

  Merit acknowledged the compliment with a nod. Like all the Egyptian royals, she was uncomfortable with a servant speaking informally in her presence.

  "And what do you think?" Helen spun towards Iamus. Over the past two days the Trojan guard had watched over her as assiduously as a falcon defending its chic. His attention was never far from where she stood despite the many temptations the harem provided.

  "You make the dawn envious, Princess," Iamus stuttered, taken off guard as usual when she addressed him directly. "Your light is limitless." He ducked his head respectfully and resumed his alert stance along the wall.

  Helen sighed. His response was terse, but it was far more verbose than when he had first arrived. She had thought a man whose reputation with women was envied by his fellow soldiers would have settled into a post guarding the royal harem like a hound with endless bones. The wives of Pharaoh spent their idle time fawning over the solider, trying to thaw his icy demeanor. But Iamus proved a man made of stone; he was utterly focused on reclaiming his honor. Helen could not help but admire his discipline even as she delighted in testing its resolve.

  "Do you think my future husband would approve?" She spun around in a circle, the strands of beads along her dress fanning around her as she twirled.

  "He would be a fool not to," Iamus grunted.

  "Alexandros chooses his guards wisely." Nefertari shooed her cat away and rose to her full height. "This one watches over your honor more closely than the prince himself."

  Helen cast the queen a nervous smile and gave the dress another twirl, trying to distract Nefertari. She made a concentrated effort not to speak of Paris in front of the Egyptians, making only vague references when necessary. Ever since the queen learned Helen was traveling to Troy for marriage, she had not ceased with her subtle prods.

  "Forgive me, Your Majesty," Aethra interjected. "You seem so familiar with the prince. Do you know Prince Paris well?"

  "I make it my business to know any handsome man who visits our shores." The queen lowered her voice, leaving Helen to only guess at her true meaning. "Regrettably, most are quite forgettable." That earned her a round of giggling agreement from Merit and the other wives. "Alexandros was different. Priam is fortunate to have a son so well versed in international relations. I would have claimed him if the Gods had not tied his loyalty so firmly to Troy."

  "Claim?" The word escaped Helen's lips before she could censor herself.

  Nefertari laughed at the outburst. "Not for myself, silly girl. But one of my daughters, certainly. Egypt would have prospered from a stronger alliance with Troy." A dark shadow crossed her eyes as she sighed. "But it was not to be. Other alliances came first."

  Helen spun in the direction the queen looked. Just over Twosret's shoulder, Shoteraja approached. The pale-skinned princess swayed with a rhythm any dancer would envy, an obvious attempt to overcome the lack of curves in her lanky body.

  "Helen," Shoteraja leaned in to kiss her on each cheek. "The Nile has washed away the grime of the North and revealed a lotus hiding within. You look marvelous."

  "You are too kind." Helen forced a grin and strained to fill it with a genuine grace that escaped the Egyptian princess. She shook out her golden hair, happy to provide a contrast to Shoteraja's shades of black. "To what do I owe the favor of this visit?"

  The princess released her and sauntered over to Iamus, her dark eyes narrowed as though they saw through the soldierly facade the man presented. She ran a finger down his chiseled abs while Iamus did his best not to look directly at her. "I passed the high priest on his way from the temple," she added as an afterthought. "Since this meeting is of such importance to you, I thought to bid you good fortune."

  Helen stifled a terse response. She scarcely believed Shoteraja wished to bid her anything except goodbye. Still, if the princess thought to see her squirm, she had best hold her breath. "How considerate of you."

  "Do you know that Meryatum is a powerful magician as well as prophet?" Shoteraja spun to her, her interest in the Trojan guard vanishing like smoke on a windy day. "They say he can tell when a man speaks falsehoods or truth." Her smile gave away to a malicious grin. "Or a woman. I suppose you will be spending quite a bit of time together."

  Better with him than you. Helen bit her tongue.

  "I best be on my way. Far be it that I distract you..." Shoteraja turned to go. At the last moment, she swung in close to Helen to impart another wisdom in private. "The Gods have a perverse way of granting us the things we seek. Good fortune, Princess. You're going to need it."

  Helen forced her face to reflect none of her rising anger. As she watched Shoteraja's diminutive form disappear down the corridor, she commented to Twosret, "She will be a Great Wife one day, won't she?"

  "Not if I have any say in it," Twosret whispered fiercely. The heat in her voice was startling, and Helen took an unconscious step back. The break in composure was short lived. Twosret's serene smile returned, Shoteraja's disturbance seemingly no more bothersome than a gadfly.

  Nefertari, however, was not content to let the matter lie. "It is possible." She crossed the portico, picking up a bottle of perfume from a tray and pressing a few drops of the fragrance to Helen's lobes. "Should anything happen to Seti after he claims the throne, she could become regent for his heir." The comment was meant for Twosret more than Helen, and the princess spun away from the queen, her face a blank slate as she collected her paints. "But you need not worry about that. You and Alexandros will be long returned to Troy before that could occur."

  Mighty Aphrodite, let it be, Helen whispered the prayer and tried to ease the tension out of her muscles. She inhaled deeply, the perfumed scent of cinnamon and myrrh steeped in sweet wine filling her nostrils. Surprisingly, it helped her to regain a sense of calm.

  "Why do you call him Alexandros?"

  Iamus's comment stunned Helen. First, that he was speaking without being prodded, and second for the deep disapproval in his voice.

  "Because it was given to him, Soldier." Nefertari's amused smile lit up her graceful features. "A man wears many names throughout his life. In Egypt, Pharaoh assumes a new appellation as he assumes the throne, one that reflects the manner of ruler he is destined to be. Alexandros is no different."

  Helen shared a wary glance with her Trojan guard. Alexandros meant "protector". It was a kingly name. Nefertari couldn't possible mean... "The prince is a second son," she began with caution. "In the North that means he will not inherit. Paris is the only name he will know."

  "Is that so?" Nefertari raised a sculpted brow in silent disagreement, her knowing gaze suggesting she didn't consider for a moment that Helen believed it either. "Perhaps it is too early for him to claim his royal titular, but he will. I have a sense of these things. Call it a mother's intuition."

  A wave of realization washed over Helen and she had to stifle a gasp. All of Nefertari's probing questions... they were not to decipher her relationship with Paris, but to seek after Paris himself.

  Nefertari cared for him.

  The doors of the harem swung open behind them and a herald stepped forward, his baritone voice silencing the hum of conversation in the hall.

  "Meryatum, High Priest of Re, First Prophet and Chief of Seers, Pure of Hands in the House of Re, He Who Beholds the Great God."

  A bout of nerves seized hold of Helen and a
ll thought of titles, princes, and crowns fled her.

  The high priest had arrived.

  Meryatum, High Priest of Re was unlike any man Helen had ever met. Everything about the man screamed austere, from the lack of hair on his entire body, to his serene, wide eyes that never blinked. He wore the same archaic white robes as his brethren, made of the finest linen and tied at the waist with a simple cloth belt. His hands were folded into the billowed sleeves, and he stood pillar-straight with a self-control a soldier would envy—a feat for a man well past his second score of years. He was a man etched in stone.

  "Your Holiness." Helen dipped into a curtsey, lowering her eyes from Meryatum's dark inspection.

  "The Gods saw fit to name me Meryatum. Men declared the rest. You may call me Meryatum, Child."

  She righted herself, taken off-guard by the priest's gruff manner. A quick glance to Nefertari helped to set her nerves straight. An almost unnoticeable flutter of the queen's hands encouraging Helen to proceed.

  Disarm your opponent with charm and grace. Nefertari's teachings floated through Helen's mind. With defenses down, they are far easier to persuade to the position you most desire...

  "I am Helen, Daughter of Tyndareus, and Princess of Sparta." She forced a tender smile. "I thank you for coming to see me, Meryatum."

  It did not escape his notice that she did not tout her other superlatives. Beloved of Aphrodite, Chosen of Mnevis... Aethra and the royal wives had drilled those words into her mind for the past two days. If the high priest placed no value on his titles, then neither would she.

  "So, Daughter of Sparta, in you I discover the source that has my pastophoroi up in arms. Many of my priests fear you like a second coming of the ten plagues." He studied her, a hairless brow arched high. "And now I see why. Amun-Re himself would be tempted by your beauty."

  Helen was unsure if Meryatum meant the comment as a compliment. There was no warmth in his pallid skin nor demeanor. She took a deep breath and forced herself to relax.

  "It grieves me to have caused you such troubles. That was never my intention." She looked up at him through dark lashes, pouring distress into that gaze. She hoped it was enough to melt the man's stony defenses. "When I persuaded my Trojan chaperones to bring me to Heliopolis, I only wished to marvel at the splendors of your temple. To be blessed by your Gods would be a great honor."

  The priest rolled his eyes. "Sweet words, Princess. But they will not purchase you entrance into my temple. We have much to discuss."

  Helen pulled back, an unconscious shiver running through her body from the icy aura the man projected. "Yes, sir."

  "Meryatum," Nefertari stepped forward confidently once their introductions concluded. "You bring the light of Re with your welcomed presence. It pains me that I cannot bask in it more often."

  "Lady of Grace." The priest, stiff as a plank, bent at the waist. "Though the pleasure of your company is an elixir of the Gods, I cannot neglect my duties. Forgive my absence."

  "Of course." The queen pulled his arms free from his stance. "Your service to Re is unparalleled, as are the gifts He has bestowed upon you." She stroked the back of his hands with her thumbs, the expression on her face one of pure love. "Few are as fortunate to share in the favors of the Gods, but our guest is one of them. I pray you give her equal consideration you would a lector priest requesting the same ritual." There was a hint of challenge behind Nefertari's words, as though Helen's innocent request had inadvertently aggravated a festering sore between the royal women and their male counterparts.

  "I promise you that I will." Meryatum bowed again, replacing his hands back into his sleeves. He turned to Helen, a hint of thaw in his stoic facade. "Walk with me, child. I tire of being surrounded by stone. We can conduct our business while taking in the bounty of the gardens."

  Nefertari placed a soft kiss on his smooth cheek. "I will send a repast to your favorite pool."

  Meryatum murmured a quick word of gratitude and began a measured pace out the portico. Helen was forced to keep stride. "The queen is quite taken with you," he commented as they stepped onto the rough earth of the garden pathways.

  "Is she?" Helen blinked back her confusion, wondering if the comment was some form of test. "Nefertari is a gracious host. I am fortunate to have her favor."

  They walked further into the gardens until they were quite some distance from the palace. Papyrus reeds lined the path, stretching high into the heavens. Within a few short steps, the sounds of the marshland emerged: cicadas chirped, frogs croaked, and the trilling song of swallows serenaded their walk. The air grew uncomfortably hot, and Helen began to regret her decision to let Merit cover her with paint.

  "If I am to fairly consider your request, I will need to know the reasons why you have requested it." Meryatum began in a hushed whisper, his lips barely moving as he spoke.

  Helen tensed, the priest's apprehension leaking into her as she prepared herself to lie. Typically, Helen scorned those who concealed their intent behind falsehoods. A virtuous person spoke forthright without fear of the repercussions. Unfortunately, that was no longer an option. If lie she must, then her words would be peppered with shades of truth. "A new husband awaits me in Troy. I...I wanted to be cleansed of all that came before and enter this new chapter of my life renewed."

  Meryatum cast her a harsh glare, his dark eyes filled with scorn. "Prattle that nonsense before the court all you like, girl, but not to me. No one comes before the temple for such symbolic gestures. Did you kill a man?"

  "What?" Helen choked. "No, of course not!"

  The priest wove down her anxious cry, placing a finger to his lips to shush her. Only then did Helen realize the towering reeds, while great in providing shade, were as useless as the palace walls from deflecting unwanted ears.

  "Do not look so surprised," Meryatum continued, his small measured steps making the priest seem to glide on a pocket of air. "Murder is the most common reason a man asks to be purified. When the ritual is complete, the crime is no more. That is why I conduct these interviews in private. Now I'll ask again, why do you seek to be purified?"

  Helen suppressed the ball of tension growing in her stomach, unsure how to respond. Nefertari would coach her to act demure, to elicit his sympathy by provoking a man's protective nature. But some nagging fear gave her pause. Meryatum was not a man to manipulate in such a manner.

  Perhaps it was Shoteraja's backhanded warning. If the high priest was as powerful as she declared, then Helen was best served telling the truth. She took a deep breath, gathering courage to follow her instincts.

  "All my life, men have lusted after me, trying to claim me for their own." The words stuck in her throat, but she forced them out regardless. "I have been powerless to stop them. I go now to Troy, to a new life, a chance for a fresh start. I... I just want to be whole. I can't enter that life burdened by the past. I need to erase the stain of the things they did to me."

  Meryatum ceased his steps. "Things?"

  Helen faltered, the courage to speak those atrocities out loud evaporating on her tongue. She looked up at the priest, embarrassed in her helplessness.

  "I see." His eyes widened softly with understanding. "There is no greater sin than a man forcing himself on a woman. It is a heinous crime that disrupts the flow of ma'at. Women are the font of life, and those who seek to profane that altar are doomed to the eternal pits of night." He lifted her hand, patting it gently with his own. "But those predators are the ones who should seek purification for that foul deed, not you."

  Helen shook her head, understanding what Meryatum was trying to impart. "It does not feel that way to me." Laying blame at the feet of those who wronged her did not absolve her of shame. Nor did it absolve her of the atrocities they committed while in pursuit of her. She needed to wash it all away. Perhaps Meryatum believed that to be a symbolic request, but to Helen it was anything but.

  Something odd happened. Like the man himself, Meryatum's touch was icy cool, but, as he tightened his grip on her hand,
a flush of warmth spread through her. His eyes dilated and he gasped. It was a small articulation, but for a man with little expression, it resounded as loudly as a deep-chested cry.

  "You are no ordinary woman, Helen of Sparta." His voice tinged with latent power. "The Mnevis chose you. Amun-Re chose you. The burdens of your past will burn away like tinder in the inferno of your future."

  "I..." she responded lamely. Inferno? How could he know the dreams that plagued her? She pulled her hands away, deeply disturbed by his words.

  Meryatum shook himself, pulling away from the prophetic spirit that gripped him. "You're trembling." He tried to soothe her shaking arms. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he guided her down the path. "Come with me. Rest is not far."

  A sharp bank in the trail led to a clearing where a natural pool sat beneath a grove of palm trees. As promised, two stools and a small repast awaited them, along with a servant carrying a skin of wine. Meryatum set Helen down and immediately dismissed the servant, chastising the poor woman not to dally on her return. After the sounds of wildlife replaced the woman's frantic steps, he finally spoke again.

  "You should eat. It will help."

  "I am fasting," Helen refused him. She could still feel the tremors of shock from his prophetic words coursing through her body.

  "If I conduct the ritual, it will not be the first tradition we ignore." He loaded up her plate with fruit and cuts of dried meat. "The procedure will tax your faculties, both body and spirit. You will need sustenance."

  Helen accepted the plate but did not touch the food, her stubborn pride refusing to relent. "Do the men fast?"

  "Yes."

  "Then I will as well." If the Gods wished to test her, they would not find her lacking. No prophecy or dire warning would send her cowering from the future she desperately sought. She was born of stronger blood than that.

  The priest laughed at her stubborn antics. Though he seemed genuinely amused, his laugh did not spread beyond a smile. He reached over and plucked away the fruit and meat, leaving only a crust of bread.