The Princess of Prophecy

by Aria Cunningham

  "The prince was cruel, mocking Helen's bravery, taunting her with claims of all the horrible things he would do to her once they left Mycenae." Tears overwhelmed his queen and she hid her face in her kerchief, one of her noble women rushing to her side to stroke her back.

  Feminine foibles. His wife cried when she should let fury reign. Her tears had the desired affect on their guest, however, and Agapenor paled with disgust.

  A slight movement drew his eye to the far alcoves of his megaron where Diomedes walked the hall with that upstart prince, Achilles. What are they conspiring about? Agamemnon watched them intently, his eyes narrowing.

  "This cannot stand!" Menelaus stepped forward on cue, his wild eyes the picture of outrage. Whether it was real or feigned, Agamemnon did not care.

  Unleashing Menelaus on his enemies was a tactic he often enjoyed. The fact that his brother had terms for the deployment, however, was shocking. Menelaus ruling over Sparta? He would control the fearsome warriors of Lacedaemonia, a key component in Agamemnon's plans to rule over Greece. Would he be handing his brother a powerful army only to face that host one day on the field himself?

  Agamemnon sneered at the thought. Menelaus was no leader. The warrior kings of the Hellas would never follow him. He was too unstable to earn their loyalty. Only a king could command the Hellas.

  It was fortunate Clytemnestra's clever lie worked towards that purpose. He had confirmed with his Master of Purse that not a copper was missing from his treasury. But the other kings did not need to know that. That small fabrication ensured that the Trojan offense was one the other kings could relate with. It ensured Agamemnon could claim redress as much as Menelaus. Support would rally around Mycenae. The Grecian kings would place their trust in Agamemnon, and once they saw him in his true might, they would recognize his right to rule on high.

  It all began with Troy. Against that golden empire, command of their allied forces would fall to him.

  And so would all the glory.

  "You must rally your banner men, ready your infantry," Menelaus pressed.

  "For certain," Agapenor agreed. "I can lend you my fastest ships. Do we know where the scoundrel fled?"

  Agamemnon growled. This again? "They went to Troy, of course." He slammed his fist on the armrest of his throne, leaping to his feet. "As we should do. With a thousand ships, not just your fastest!"

  The king of Arcadia stepped back from the outburst. As did Clytemnestra, his queen sharing a panicked look with her handmaiden. Why were they all staring at him as though he were mad? He was the only one who spoke sense.

  The Trojan's insult was not meant for Agamemnon alone. The perfumed lords dwelt in their marble palaces, believing themselves superior to the hardy men of the West. They scoffed at Mycenae's achievements as though proximity to barbarians made the Helladic peoples barbarian themselves.

  They think us so weak that they can do with us as they please. Snatch our women in the night. Deny us a seat at their lofty table...

  Agamemnon would show the Men of the Troad the strength of Grecian rage. The gates of Troy would crumbled before that force... Troy and any other nation fool enough to slander his realm.

  Blessedly, Agapenor did not chose this time to question Agamemnon's ill mood. "Of course, Your Grace." The minor king swallowed his misgivings with a nervous cough. "I look forward to greeting my fellow rulers on your council."

  Agamemnon leaned back on his throne, willing his tense muscles to relax. Building an alliance was more difficult than he had anticipated. Placating nobles and neighboring royals was exhausting. He scratched his beard, wondering if the time had come to make a statement that did not require ink and scroll.

  "Your Majesty!" Nextus hailed him from the corridor. His steward scurried across the megaron, a folded scrap of papyrus in his hand. "A raven has arrived."

  "Give it here." Agamemnon leapt to his feet, practically tearing the missive from his hand. He scanned the document quickly, his face pinched tight from the effort.

  The talent of scripting words and reading them back was not a skill Agamemnon took to naturally. Long hours of study and bloodied knuckles from the cane of his tutor had painstakingly hammered in the ability. He scanned the opening, the standard formalities of one king addressing another. Odysseus was a verbose man, and his letters were the same. He delighted in twisting meaning in a phrase, making the effort of deciphering his true intentions a chore. Unfortunately, what his crafty words hid also made Agamemnon's blood run cold.

  "That damned Ithakian!" Agamemnon kicked over a brazier beside his throne, scattering the burning coals across the hall. "He's not coming!"

  A stunned silence permeated the room. Diomedes immediately stepped forward, his face pale with shock. "Odysseus would not break his oath."

  "Read for yourself." He shoved the missive into Diomedes' hands.

  "'I am bound between my oath as king to my people and to Tyndareus' child.'" The Argolian king read out loud, his words carrying across the megaron and echoing off the empty space between pillars. It leant his retelling an ominous pall.

  "'Had last season's harvest not been so poor, I would come in due haste. Surely this matter of state can wait until the fields are sown? Any army that marches must also be fed, so one endeavor relates to another. Who knows? Perhaps this misunderstanding with the Trojan crown can be settled before a single soldier sheds blood.'"

  "What does he mean, 'this misunderstanding can be settled'?" Menelaus growled. "Is Odysseus so craven he would have us treat with a thief?" His other counselors chimed in, their outrage drowning out any chance for true conversation. For once, Agamemnon had no wish to silence them.

  "I'll have his head for this!" he shouted above the din.

  Achilles watched Agamemnon call for Ithakian' blood with stoic restraint. How quickly the beast showed his fangs... He turned to Diomedes, catching the Argolian king's eye across the megaron. He was not taking the turn of favor well. Diomedes had long been friends with Odysseus.

  I warned you, Achilles shook his head.

  "He'll be branded an Oath-breaker," Agamemnon raged, "a stain his children will bear long after him." His toadies quickly showered the king with their agreement.

  The charge of cowardice sat like acid in Achilles' gut. Odysseus dared to defy Agamemnon. It was not outright rebellion, but a display of power, showing the Mycenaean crown that Agamemnon did not command him. For Achilles, who had rankled under that yolk for more years than he cared to admit, Odysseus' actions were as brave as they were wise.

  "He is no Oath-breaker," Achilles interjected, glowering at the gathered nay-sayers. "He has not said he will not come. He merely stated he will not come now. Your quest is not a priority to him, Agamemnon. I expect you will hear similar tales of delay from more of our brother kings and princes of the Hellas."

  That prediction sat as well as an influx of gout on the king. He grimaced, his lip pulled sharp, exposing the teeth of a predator. "If I have to go kingdom by kingdom, so be it. I will make such an example of this island king that no others will dare mimic his offense!"

  "Put a knife to your liege men and watch them do the same to you." Achilles renewed his pacing, frustrated he must act as foil to another of the king's witless suggestions. It was becoming tiresome, this role he adopted.

  "Achilles speaks reason, Husband." Clytemnestra placed a calming hand on Agamemnon's arm, which he shoved off immediately. "You should send a diplomat, not an executioner. Give the honor to one of your new generals. Make the others fear that you favor him more than them. That will bring the other kings willingly to our shores."

  The queen was wise, Achilles admitted to himself reluctantly. The right messenger could dig Odysseus from his rocky shores, and then this tedious wait would be over.

  "I will go!" Palamedes stepped forward, an eager expression lighting up his face. "It would be an honor to act in your stead, Your Grace." His offer was met with applause from the court, a palpable air of relief spreading amongst those gathered.
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  Achilles rolled his eyes. The Mycenaean king played his role perfectly, reseating himself on this throne as he 'let' himself be appeased. "I accept your offer, Noble Palamedes. Go, and remind King Odysseus that his oath was not to Mycenae, but to all his brother kings of Greece."

  Achilles stalked over to Diomedes, the Argolian king as pale as a corpse. He stood locked in place as though rigor mortis had set into his legs. "Odysseus will hardly be the last. How many other kings will need Agamemnon's' reminding'?" he whispered harshly into Diomedes' ear. "Are you still confident about handing this man an army without knowing if his cause is just?"

  Something shifted in Diomedes' eyes. His jaw clenched tight, and he pressed Achilles behind him. "Let me handle this, Myrmidones. And do me the favor of keeping your mouth shut."

  Agamemnon twisted on his throne. Why were his brother kings so headstrong? Visiting each kingdom one by one could take months... years if they were uncooperative! The time to strike Troy was now, before they could think better of their folly and prepare for the onslaught.

  Menelaus bounced on his feet beside him, as eager to redress this wrong as he. It was odd to have his little brother as his ally in this venture. He had thought Menelaus a curse, the God's sick jest meant to thwart Agamemnon's great destiny, but of late, the two sons of Atreus had seen eye to eye on matters.

  "You should press my suit with Tyndareus," he hissed into Agamemnon's ear. "With Spartan hoplites, we won't need the other realms. We could set out immediately."

  Agamemnon grimaced. Such an act was rash and misguided, but at least Menelaus was predictable. He waved his brother off with a stern glare and turned his focus back to the assemblage. Now was not the time to speak of those plans. Agamemnon's first goal was to unite the Hellas. Burning Troy in the process was but sweet cream after that feast.

  "Agamemnon?" Diomedes stepped forward.

  "Yes." He settled back into his throne, picking up his scepter as he eyed his petitioner with curiosity. The Argolian king was a lithe man, fair of complexion and clean of hair, his brown eyes matching the color of his perfectly trimmed beard. He had been young when he'd come to the throne, but what he had lacked in experience he made up for in temperament. There were none who could draw him to ire if Diomedes did not wish it.

  "Palamedes might be successful in his voyage to Ithaka, but I see a bigger problem than just collecting our Brothers." Diomedes paced before the throne, setting a stately stride. "One and all, they will ask the same question that noble Agapenor just pondered. Was this theft an act of war, or did the Trojan prince act alone?"

  "He's an ambassador! Everything he does is sanctioned by his king!" Agamemnon clenched his teeth, his hand turning purple from the death grip he put on his scepter.

  "I am sure you are right," Diomedes nodded with respect, "but it's best you answer that question outright. Send an envoy to Troy. Secure proof of Priam's involvement. No man of the Hellas would dare dally once that evidence is procured. They will rally to your banners, and any who don't will face the wrath of all the rest, not Mycenae alone."

  Agamemnon froze.

  "It will not delay our preparations, Your Grace," Diomedes added quickly, misreading Agamemnon's deep shock at the brilliance of that plan as reluctance.

  "Yes, an envoy." Clytemnestra pushed her handmaiden away, stepping forward with a wild look emblazoned on her face. "Under the white flag of treaty. Golden Troy would not turn aside a formal request. Their precious pride would not allow it."

  Even Agapenor brightened at the suggestion. "And if the prince acted alone, give Troy a chance to answer for the theft, to return the princess and pay recompense."

  "You could set our terms," Diomedes added.

  "The prince must die," Clytemnestra hissed. "We'll accept nothing less for this insult. Hera demands his blood."

  "And by my hands!" Menelaus' rage could not be outdone by the queen. His cheeks flushed an angry red.

  A smile tugged at Agamemnon's lips. How quickly they united behind the righteous quest, blinded to its futility. Proud Troy would never meet their demands. Yet, at the end of their failed negotiations, the Hellas would stand united, and if Diomedes spoke true, the other kings would legitimize Agamemnon's leadership without a drop of Grecian blood staining his hands.

  But whom to send? Diomedes certainly looked eager. The king was a skilled diplomat, precisely the wrong sort of character to start a war. He needed a firebrand, a hornet's nest that would sting the Trojan king into action. The answer was so simple that he almost laughed.

  "Menelaus," he called to his little brother. "Your loss was the greatest. You should be the one to present our demands to King Priam."

  Menelaus crossed over to the throne, a flash of irritation across his ever suspicious face. "You promised me an army." His heated words did not pass the dais, but his behavior raised more than a few brows. Zeus-help-him, but his brother showed not an ounce of cunning.

  "Unless you wish to wait until Tyndareus is dead, we will have to convince the Spartan you are his worthy successor. What better way than to personally 'see' to Helen's safety?"

  His sarcasm was not lost on his brother. Menelaus' eyes hardened with the threat of violence. "I will go to Troy," he addressed the assemblage. "Priam will return my wife to me unspoiled. If that loathsome prince has harmed so much as a hair on her golden head, there will be hell to pay." He simmered with that vow.

  Agamemnon grinned. What better man to pick a fight than his best fighting dog?

  Others were not as pleased with the assignment as he. Diomedes stepped forward again, a concerned frown on his noble face. "You have earned the right to face the man who wronged you, Menelaus, but we should show care not to honor him with the opportunity to insult you directly." Many nobles nodded in agreement with the wisdom of his words.

  "He speaks true," Achilles finally joined the discussion, folding his arms across his chest. Even the way the man stood spoke of an insubordinate nature. "Greece is not a powerless child demanding our due. If they deny you, it will stain all our honor."

  Agamemnon grimaced. Was Phthia ever to be a thorn in his side?

  "I will go." Clytemnestra declared, the foolish woman speaking without his leave again. "Helen is my sister. The king of Troy will not deny my right to her, and if he double-crosses our truce, no sword will be lost in the effort."

  "My Queen," Nextus gasped, the royal steward reflecting the same emotion mirrored on his fellow soft-bellied courtiers. "Your bravery is an inspiration to all Mycenae."

  Agamemnon rose to his feet and their murmurs came to a halt. He joined his queen's side, lifting her hand to his lips. There was an edge of steel in Clytemnestra that would cow the bravest of men. It was fitting she accompanied Menelaus on this task.

  "Keep her safe, Brother." He laced his words with false concern. "My queen is a treasure I am sure the Trojans will be tempted to collect."

  As the hall broke out into preparation for the envoy, Agamemnon settled back on his throne, contemplating the turn of events. The threat to his queen was quite real, but should Clytemnestra fall, perhaps Tyndareus would be more easily persuaded to join their ranks.

  Helen, unfortunately, was doomed. Menelaus would ensure she did not come back alive, even if he had to kill the woman himself. There was no saving her now, but she was a necessary sacrifice in the honorable quest to unite the Hellas. Helen would fall... as many others would fall.

  Still, he rued the loss of his Spartan beauty. He had hoped to put a child into Helen's belly long before she outlived her purpose. It was not to be, however. His rise to power required a sacrifice, and Helen was the spark that would ignite the mighty flame of his rule. Perhaps, if the Gods were kind, history would remember her name.

  One name, though, would stand above all others, of that he was certain. Before the last throat was slit, before Troy's ashes scattered in the wind, he would carve his mark into the annals of History. When peoples of Ages yet to come spoke of Troy, they would remember the wrath of Aga
memnon of Mycenae.

  Chapter 34

  A Prince's Fate

  A WAXING MOON hung low on the horizon when Meryatum finally approached the palace grounds. As the desert sands gave way to the lush landscaping of the royal gardens, his feet veered off course. He wandered beneath the canopy of palm trees, listening to the chorus of cicadas and night wings. Here, surrounded by the teeming life of the Nile, he found a small measure of peace.

  The coming of Helen and Paris to the Two Lands was significant. With Pharaoh on death's door and the rising tide of dissension in the masses, the Gods warned of impending catastrophe at every turn. Was the pair refugees from that storm or the first stone that preceded the avalanche?

  He knelt beside a reflection pool, studying his careworn face. Did the answer truly matter? Be they the messenger or the source it did not stop the reckoning that would follow. He splashed the water, the ripples scattering his reflection until it was no more than a chaotic mess of color and form. He continued on to the palace at a faster pace.

  One thing was clear to him. A dark fate overshadowed the Trojan prince. Meryatum almost felt sorry for the man. He could not fathom what sin would draw the attention of the evil eye as soundly as Prince Paris had done. For one trained to see the Mysteries, his future was set in stone.

  Meryatum faltered, a sliver of doubt in that final thought halting his step. There was a moment when he saw a different future for the prince, and it was when he reunited with Helen.

  When he had first met the princess, Meryatum had been touched in a way he hadn't experienced since he'd been raised to office. She shone with the light of Re, a dazzling jewel men could not help but adore. In her was beauty, justice... ma'at incarnate. She could not help but inspire a path to good. There was only one other woman he knew who possessed that power, and subconsciously, his wandering feet had sought her out.