Free For the Most Beautiful by Emily Hauser Page A

Briseis
,
Lyrnessus
The Hour of Evening
The Eighth Day of the Month of Threshing Wheat, 1250 BC
    Those first weeks passed in peaceful bliss: the warm wedded delight of a young couple newly married, and the joy that flooded my veins every time I looked at my young, strong husband, and knew that I would no longer be alone, or feel the blame of my brothers’ impending death and the wrath of the gods hanging over my head. The prophecy had vanished, and with it my doubts and fears.
    And, of course, I was in love.
    It seems improbable, and yet, from almost the first moment that Mynes’ hand had touched mine, I had loved him. He was not the king I had imagined, true, but he had believed in me when no other man had. He had taken me and promised to care for me and, to a girl who had been shunned by her family and suitors for five long years, this was worth the promise of the world. More than anything, I had learnt to thrill with joy at his touch and the sound of his voice. I felt complete, whole, finished. For the first time in my life, I felt that I was loved, and it was like the touch of sun on my skin after a long imprisonment.
    A few weeks after the first joy of our wedding night, I was going into the evening feast when Mynes came out from the men’s quarters. He had just taken a bath, and his skin was scrubbed and scented with cedar-wood oil imported from the mountains in the south, his face glowing from a day spent in the sun. He came up to me and caught me from behind in his arms, nuzzling into the nape of my neck.
    I wriggled free and gave him my most dignified, regal look. ‘And what do you think you are doing, accosting the Princess of Lyrnessus?’ I asked, in mock outrage.
    His brown eyes danced as he leant towards me, the heat of his skin deliciously close to mine. My whole body yearned to fall into his arms.
    â€˜I simply cannot help myself,’ he whispered into my ear, ‘when she is so beautiful.’
    I let out a deep, shivering sigh of excitement and desire, then looked around to see if anyone was nearby. They were not.
    â€˜Well,’ I said, lowering my voice, ‘if that is the case, then I suppose the princess may consent to being accosted again.’
    He laughed, then took me by the hand. ‘Come, Briseis,’ he said. He pulled me away and down the corridor towards the south gate. ‘There is something I wish to show you.’
    â€˜Wait!’ I called. ‘Where are you taking me? What about the feast?’
    He did not look back but kept pulling me by the hand, laughing and saying, ‘You’ll see.’
    We ran around the palace to where the slaves’ quarters and kitchens were. Hot air was billowing from the bread-ovens, and the warm, delicious smell of roasting meat on the kitchen spits floated from the windows. I could see the slaves through the large, open windows, their faces shining with sweat as they turned the meat above the fire.
    Mynes led me to the kitchen door. Set in front of it was a large wicker basket, neatly covered with a snow-white cloth. He lifted it and handed it to me.
    I drew back the cloth and saw a small feast packed inside: a jug of red wine, slices of cold boar, a loaf of warm bread, a flask of olive oil and a handful of figs surrounding a honey-walnut cake. I reached for a slice of bread, but he caught my hand.
    â€˜Not now,’ he said. ‘Just wait – you’ll see.’ He took the basket and pulled me on again.
    We were running away from the palace now, through the grape-laden vineyards and down towards the steep cliffs and the sea. A storm seemed to be gathering on the horizon. Thick, dark, rolling clouds were massing up from the sea, dragging a veil of rain behind them across the lowering sky. We came to the gate at the top of the steps cut into the stone of the cliff, and Mynes pushed it open, lifting me through and on to the steps. And then, gloriously, without warning, the summer rain burst over our