Meryatum studied the couple he had just joined. The night's activities had left the pair disheveled, their robes soiled and hair matted. Such trifles were beneath their notice. They held each other close as though the binding had been physical as well as spiritual. He had never seen two people more in love.
"Do you regret your decision, my son?" Nefertari stepped quietly beside him. He held out his arm for her which she readily accepted.
"No," he answered truthfully. "They belong together." Even an acolyte in his first year of learning could see that. "It's just a feeling I can't dislodge. They are children of prophecy. A moment like this should create ripples in the world. I... I didn't expect for it to feel so ordinary."
Your love will rock the foundations of this earth, that was the foretelling surrounding the princess, and there was no doubt in Meryatum's mind that the Trojan was her match.
Nefertari laughed, the musical note chiding his somber mood. "Oh, my son. There is nothing ordinary about true love. It defies all obstacles, refusing to die even when the whole world battles against it." Her dark eyes sparkled with distant memory, and he knew she thought of his father. "You are the first to acknowledge their union. It is a blessing you have given, something pure they can cling to in their journey ahead." She reached up and stroked his cheek. "The path for your father and I was difficult. There were many who wished to keep us apart, but our love prevailed, and it gave the world you. Who knows the far-reaches this marriage will effect? Your ripples will come... in time."
He patted her hand, grateful for the long years Re had bestowed upon her and for her steady presence in his life. Nefertari was right. He dwelt too long in riddles and omens that he saw their shadows in the waking world. The joining of houses was a natural event, an expression of the continuity of life. It did not require great fanfare.
He studied Helen from afar, the joy beaming from her sun-kissed face. Surely he had set her on the right path. What harm could result from such love?
A gong rang out across the desert, a ceaseless chain of reverberant peels that were both deep and foreboding. The pastophoroi froze, many turning to him for answers. He released Nefertari and strode to the temple gates, a cold dread forming in his chest.
Like black dots on the horizon, a team of horses galloped across the desert. As they neared, Meryatum could just make out the standard of the military guard and General Setnakhte at the head of the charge. They carried the black flag.
He turned back to the courtyard, a quiet pall awaiting his words.
"Pharaoh is dead."
Chapter 36
The Claiming of a Crown
SETNAKHTE'S HORSEMEN GALLOPED into the temple courtyard, the animals heaving from their efforts. Paris held Helen close as the guards surrounded them. Each man was armed to the teeth.
"When did it happen?" Meryatum stepped forward, grabbing the reigns of the general's horse.
Setnakhte dismounted, his eyes scouting every corner of the courtyard for hidden dangers. Those eyes widened when they fell on Paris as though he did not expect to find him there. "Some time before the morning staff came in to change his bedding," came his terse reply. "Only the crown prince was with him." His chiseled features furrowed, and he appeared reluctant to continue. "There is more. Amenmesse has accused Seti of treason, and the nobles are picking sides. I need you Meryatum. You are the only one who can speak sense to them."
Paris groaned. Brother fighting brother, a civil war for succession... It was just his damnable luck.
"Paris?" Helen whispered nervously to him.
A surge of protectiveness gripped him. He was not going to risk her in this mess, not again. "It's okay. We're leaving Egypt. Now."
Their movement drew the attention of the general and he stalked over to them, one hand on his holstered sword. Paris stepped in front of Helen, keenly feeling his lack of weapon.
"Trojan." His stony face was an unforgiving blank wall. "Can you account for your whereabouts last night? I know you were not in your chambers." The man bristled with suppressed energy, the muscles of his neck taut. For the first time, Paris appreciated the power this man possessed. If he wanted, Setnakhte could easily cleave a man in two.
"I was here in the temple at the high priest's invitation. There are any number of men who can attest."
"He speaks true." Meryatum stepped between them, his austere presence tempering the general's angst. "What is troubling you, Setnakhte? What aren't you saying?"
The general fidgeted, the sporadic movement turning into a pace. "I smell treason, but not from our crown prince." He spun again to Paris. "Have you aligned yourself with Amenmesse? Are you aiding this effort to put him on the throne?"
"What?" he choked on the word. "No. Of course not. Troy has no interest in who rules Egypt. We profit nothing."
It took long, teeth-clenching minutes for that fact to settle into the general. Paris breathed a sigh of relief when Setnakhte finally turned away and resumed his pacing. This was not a man to cross.
"Someone is aiding him. And I aim to discover who. Come, Meryatum. Time is running thin." He moved back to his horse.
"We're coming with you," Paris interjected, following after him.
The general exchanged a wary glance with the priest, both men in agreement of the folly of that decision. "You should stay in the temple," Meryatum advised. "At least until we have secured the palace. It will be safer here."
"We should leave." Paris shook his head, insistent. "I want no part of your troubles, but if you leave me here, Troy will be embroiled in this mess, whether we want it or not. I need to go. Now."
The general was not a stupid man, and he slowly came to the same conclusion. "Give him a horse." Setnakhte waved over one of his guards. "We ride at once."
They returned to the palace in due haste, leaving their mounts at the royal stables as Setnakhte's men spread out in front of them. Before they could enter the palace, Meryatum pulled Paris and Helen aside, earning the priest an impatient grunt as the general waited.
"I do not think our paths will cross again." His hands twisted nervously inside his robes. "I have no more to say to you save this. The world is what we make of it. Let Re's light guide you and be a force for good."
Helen pulled free from Paris. Goodbyes were never easy for her, and in the few short days she had known him, this stoic odd man had found a way to worm into her heart. "Thank you, Meryatum. I will never forget you or what you've done for us." Rising up on her tip-toes she placed a gentle kiss on his lips.
He pushed her down, a firm but gentle reminder that one should not touch a priest in such a familiar manner. Only his eyes told tale of his affection for her, and their glint of pride made her smile. Turning to Paris, that brief vulnerability vanished from the priest. "Remember your promise." Then he was gone, Meryatum speeding down the palace corridor on soundless slippers.
"Time to go," Setnakhte hailed them from the door.
Paris took Helen by the hand and joined him. "You aren't going with the priest?"
"Meryatum can handle himself, for the time being. I'll see you safely out, then put an end to this nonsense."
Paris gave the man a short nod of appreciation. He supposed this overture was as much of an apology as he could expect from the rigid soldier. "I just need to collect my men and we'll be off to the harbor. I promise it won't take long."
Setnakhte sent three scouts ahead, and they headed out into the palace at a quick pace. In a matter of minutes, they neared the guest wing. The halls were strangely devoid of people. Whenever a servant dared to peak their head out a door, they quickly ducked back in on sight of the military guard. It was quiet, too quiet for Paris' nerves.
"This will all blow over, won't it?" He eyed every corner for hidden blades, his nerves so taut he almost asked the general for one of his.
"With time," the older man grunted. "Amenmesse can curry favor with the nobles all he likes. They will not lift a finger against Seti while my guards patrol the halls." From the bat
tle-ready hardness of the men surrounding them, Paris believed that to be true.
He could not shake an unsettling feeling that something deeper was afoot. It was unlike Amenmesse to declare openly against his brother. Seti would have his head when all the posturing settled down. Paris had thought the prince more intelligent than that. Like Setnakhte beside him, something about this squabble did not sit right with him.
"General!" A guard entered the corridor on the far end, sliding across the tiled floor as he tried to correct his course. Sweat dripped from his brow and his chest heaved as though he had ran some great distance. He collapsed at Setnakhte's feet.
"Hotep?" The general lifted the soldier up by his breastplate, shaking the man roughly. "What are you doing here? Your squadron had orders to secure the city gates."
The guard held to Setnakhte's forearms, scrambling to regain his feet. "We are... I was. General, a great host has been spotted. Several thousand strong. They march from the south."
The other officers instantly surrounded the general and they erupted in hushed whispers.
"Nubians?"
"It can't be. We're too far from the cataracts. They would have been spotted long before now."
"Then what? Rebels? They march from Upper Egypt!"
Helen clung to Paris' arm. Though she could not follow their Egyptian, she knew something terrible was happening. She found herself battling the urge to run. Where didn't matter, only that they no longer remained still. She felt like a deer in a meadow, surround by a dozen hidden bows.
"Setnakhte," Paris grabbed the general by his elbow. "Go. You're needed with your men." He made to protest, but Paris cut him off. "My rooms are just around the bend. My Trojan guard will see to our defense." He pushed Setnakhte onward. "Go. See to Egypt. She has need of you."
The general backed away, a short nod of appreciation as he went. "Fare you well, Trojan. May the Gods speed your journey and the wind be ever at your back." He lifted a hand in salute and left, the sharp bark of his commands lingering in the hall long after he was gone.
"Paris?" Helen tugged at his sleeve, her face lined with concern. "Shouldn't we leave as well?"
"We will." He cupped his hand over hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "It's not far. We just have to get Iamus, Ariston and Brygos." And a few others. He was not going to leave Jason and the other Greek slaves to the cruelty of their Egyptian masters. They had been presented to Paris as gifts, and he meant to call in that ownership and all the privileges it provided. Including setting the men free, a change of status he was sure would not be honored inside the city.
The corridors leading to his rooms were empty, and he sprinted the last few feet to the doors. Flinging them open, his cry to gather died on his lips.
The chamber was packed full of guards, and none of them Trojan. The last thing he saw was the butt of an Egyptian spear as it slammed into his head.
Chapter 37
A Twist of Fate
IT HAPPENED TOO quickly for Helen to react. Paris dropped to the stone floor, and before he hit the ground, four pairs of hands grabbed hold of her, yanking her into the chamber.
"Let go of me!" She writhed in their grips, kicking and jabbing at her captors with all the strength she possessed. It wasn't enough. These were elite Egyptian guards, and they pinned her hands behind her back, shoving her to her knees. She gasped in pain and tried to clear her mind of the specks that danced across her vision.
"Princess..."
Helen strained against her bonds and turned towards the strangled voice. Iamus lay beside her, his hands tied behind his back and blood from a deep gash on his scalp trickling down his grizzled face. Brygos, in no better condition, was also restrained, his face so swollen, his nose must have been broken in two places. Beside them Ariston lay unmoving—dead or unconscious, she could not tell.
"No." She groaned heavily, panic gripping at her chest. Her eyes darted across the room, searching for help, for anything that could be used against her captors. What she saw stilled her blood.
The apartment was completely turned over. Half a dozen Egyptian guards, heavily armed with sword and staff, surrounded them. Chancellor Bay lounged against the far wall, away from danger, and beside him stood an Egyptian princess.
"You?" Helen hissed as Twosret crossed into the room. The sway to her hips were no longer graceful, but the sinuous stroke of a serpent ready to strike.
"Yes, me." Twosret's hazel eyes narrowed to dark little slits. "Tribute bride? What a convenient little fiction," she scoffed. "Lies on top of lies. You didn't think you were going to get away with it, did you?"
The change in the Egyptian princess was startling, and Helen had difficulty forming her thoughts. Gone was the beguiling charm, the friendly demeanor that had lulled Helen into confidence. Before her was the shadow-side of beauty, the fierce lioness that Nefertari had warned her about. This woman was the real danger in Egypt, the hidden danger.
"I trusted you!" She spat as she lurched to her feet. Her guard had to painfully pinch her arms to keep her from the princess.
Twosret did not flinch. She batted her eyelashes, unfazed. "And who told you to do that?" She moved in close to Helen, uncomfortably close, and dropped her voice to a husky whisper. "I once thought your presence here a danger. How foolish of me. You really are just an insipid, little girl."
A burning urgency filled Helen, washing away any fear she had of her captor. She had brought this evil upon them. Jealousy and misplaced trust had come again to haunt her, this time in the form of an Egyptian harpy. She glared at Twosret, filling her gaze with all the hate she reserved for those who preyed on others and claimed it as strength. "You will never be a Great Wife. Poison runs in your veins, and your people will know it."
Twosret stiffed, her eyes hardening. "Is that so?" The coldness of her tone cooled Helen's blood. "I am King's Daughter and King's Wife. Daughter of Re, Lady of Ta-merit, Twosret of Mut! I am EGYPT!" She hissed the word through clenched teeth. "And Egypt does not forgive those who conspire against Her or Her allies." Twosret spun to the guards behind her.
"Bring the traitor in."
"PARIS!"
Somewhere in the aching reaches of his mind, Paris heard Helen scream. Slowly, his eyes took on focus and the dark shapes before him merged into men.
Where am I? He tried to get up, only to discover his arms were bound behind him. A guard shoved him back to the floor, and several more laughed at his feeble effort.
"Paris!" Helen called to him again, and he fought to keep his eyes open. She was held, the same as he, by an Egyptian guard.
"Paris, Paris!" Twosret stepped before him, her mocking tone followed by a terse laugh. "Would someone please muzzle that bitch?"
A guard pulled Helen up roughly, attempting to gag her. She attacked, her teeth sinking into his hand as he pulled her head back by her hair. The dark man cursed, slapping her hard across the cheek, and she dropped to the floor.
"No." Paris struggled to get to her, but his guard shoved a spear beneath his throat and hauled him to his feet, forcing him to face the Egyptian princess.
"Don't damage her too badly, Chigaru. Her Grecian husband might take it personally when we return her to him." Twosret's lip curled in a vicious smile.
That pronouncement froze Paris in place. How did she know?
"Oh, yes. I know all about you, Prince Paris," the princess sauntered over to his side, an evil glint to her eye like that of a cat toying with a mouse, "and all of your dirty little secrets."
Twosret thought to intimidate him, but he had been taunted his entire life. He knew how to ignore an instigator. When she pressed into his ear to whisper that last, he looked past her, scouting the room. There were seven guards in total, two at the back near his private quarters, four surrounding them in the antechamber, and the one behind him holding him in place. Twosret stood before him, and on her right was Chancellor Bay, the sick man watching their encounter with open glee. There was no sign of his meshwesh servants. There was no sign
of any help at all.
A terrible emptiness filled him. They were too many. If he was armed and free, maybe he could take down enough for Helen to escape before he was fatally injured. But he was not, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Defiance burned inside of him, nonetheless, and he glared at the cruel woman before him, pouring out all the injustice he'd suffered from a lifetime of being manipulated by people like her. She felt that force like a heat wave, and her eyes widened in shock. She took an unconscious step away from him.
"You stupid bitch." He spat at her feet. "I don't care what you think you know. I'm an ambassador. Injury to me is an act of war."
She rubbed at her throat, her flash of weakness no more than a fleeting moment. "Spare me. You are no more a diplomat than I am a doe-eyed milkmaid. You're a thief. I've recovered one of the items you stole from your host." She kicked Helen in the ribs. "Now where is the rest? Where's the gold?"
He bucked at his guard, trying again to get to Helen, but the man pressed the spear tighter, constricting his esophagus. "What are you talking about?" he had to gasp out between painful breaths. "I took nothing from Mycenae that did not belong to me."
"Don't think me a fool. Your man confessed to it all." She nodded to the guard at his back. "Tell him, Scylax."
Paris looked up and saw the face of his captor for the first time. He was wholly unprepared for what awaited him.
"Jason?"
Gone was the thoughtful slave, the pensive and conflicted Greek who was so eager to help. The man before him had the eyes of a killer. I am a fool. Paris cursed himself. I should have known...
"You were welcomed into Agamemnon's home," this... Scylax... grimaced down at him. "Given guest-right and the full hospitality of the court. In return, you offered nothing but insult. You seduced his brother's wife and made free with the treasury while he was away." He spun his spear, flipping it around faster than any man Paris had ever seen in action. The haft slapped against his back, sending Paris back to his knees. "Admit it!"
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