Dido

by Ad

  ‘Come and sit beside me, Elissa. I want to ask you something. Do you promise to answer me truthfully?’

  Elissa nodded and sat down on the bed, pleating the fabric of her skirt and looking down at her knees. She licked her lips, then started biting the bottom one. Dido was silent and a feeling of dread came over Elissa. She waited and waited and at last the queen began to speak.

  ‘Iopas came to see me,’ she said. ‘He told me something.’

  Elissa felt rage like a mist blinding her. Iopas . . . He’d betrayed her and she thought for a moment that she would scream with fury and misery, but she said nothing. Her fingers went on twisting the material of her skirt and she stared down at them as though they weren’t a part of her at all. Dido said, ‘D’you want to know what he told me?’

  ‘No, I know what he told you. I mean, I can guess, I think.’ It was hard to speak when she was holding herself together, trying not to weep, trying not to scream.

  Dido went on: ‘He said you’re pregnant. Is it true, Elissa?’

  Elissa nodded. Dido sighed and went on: ‘How long have you known?’

  ‘Not long. A few days really.’

  ‘And you didn’t tell me? Or anyone?’

  ‘No. I wasn’t . . . I wasn’t sure.’

  ‘And now you are.’ Dido stood up and went to the window. She’d turned her back on Elissa, who was blinking to stop herself from crying. I’m not going to cry. I can’t cry. I won’t. But what’ll happen now? How can I breathe?

  When Dido spoke, it sounded to Elissa as though she too was near to tears. She couldn’t even speak aloud, but whispered, ‘Who is it? Who is the father?’

  ‘I’d rather not tell you, lady. It’s not important. Really, it’s better that you don’t know.’

  Dido whirled round and started screaming at Elissa, hysterical: ‘Better! Better for whom, I’d like to know? It’s not better for me. You randy little bitch! Iopas told me who you’d been with, and I curse the bones and blood and breath and skin of your child. I curse his father, who could lie with my servant when he was married to me. To the Queen of Carthage, who would have given him everything. Everything . . . And in my palace. You lay with him in my palace. What were you thinking of? How could you? You were like my child, Elissa, but now I can’t even look at you. Go. I want you to go and never come near me again. I don’t want to see you in the palace. Leave. Go to your family in the hills and have your damned baby and I wish you nothing but anguish and sorrow for ever. Go, go.’

  Elissa sat stunned, and the tears poured from her eyes and she said nothing. Every bit of her – skin, eyes, nose, hair – everything felt scorched, as though Dido’s words were fire, burning her. She sobbed and then put a hand over her mouth, and then gasped for air because suddenly she couldn’t breathe properly. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t stand up. Couldn’t do anything but sit uselessly on the bed and wish she might die.

  For a long time the two women sat in silence. Elissa wanted to go, to leave this small prison of a room and flee to her own bedchamber. But she didn’t dare to move till Dido spoke, and the queen showed no sign of wanting to speak.

  ‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’ Dido asked suddenly. Her voice sounded stronger. Elissa tried to compose herself.

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Of course you don’t! There are no excuses. How did you dare? After all that I’ve done for you. I’ve looked after you and tried to be good to you and even’ – Dido’s voice wavered a little as she continued – ‘thought tenderly of you, as though you were much more to me than a handmaiden. And you do this. Oh, Elissa, if I were stronger I would beat you with my own hands. I’d throw you out of the palace if I had any sense. How could you? I thought you were devoted to me. I thought I could trust you, Elissa. How could you add so much pain to the torments I was feeling already?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Elissa said. ‘I was . . . I couldn’t help it. I knew it was wrong. I knew it would hurt you if you found out about us – me and Aeneas.’

  ‘How dare you speak his name and yours in the same breath?’ Dido was shrieking now. ‘Are you trying to torture me with every single thing you say? Because that’s what you’re doing. Go. I don’t want to see you ever again. Leave now.’

  ‘Leave the palace? Go back to my parents’ home? Oh, please, no, lady. I’d do anything. Anything at all if you’d forgive me. If you’d only let me stay here, in Carthage, I promise you I’d never do anything else to displease you. Please. Tell me what I can do to make matters right between us.’

  Dido went to the window and stood with her back to Elissa. ‘You’d do anything?’ she whispered. ‘Would you rid yourself of his child? There are ways.’

  Elissa could feel the blood drain away from her face and thought for a moment she was going to faint. She wanted to speak but couldn’t. The air seemed to ripple and move in front of her eyes. She had promised the queen. Anything, she’d said. If there were words in the world which she might have uttered, Elissa didn’t know what they might be. She sank on to the bed and began to weep.

  Then, suddenly, Dido was there, sitting next to her; she put an arm around Elissa and began to sob herself. ‘Oh, Elissa, listen to me. Listen to my cruelty and cursings – I take them back. I do. I truly do. I’m sorry, sorry, sorry. Forget what I said. What I just said, most of all. I wish you a good life and a good birth and your child nothing but good things. It’s not your fault. I understand how it must have been. It was him. The bastard Aeneas, who loves nothing and no one but himself and helps himself to any young woman who crosses his path and doesn’t care. Doesn’t care about anything. I know you love me. You do, don’t you? Love me? Stay with me, Elissa. Don’t go. I didn’t mean it. None of it. I’m crazed. He’s made me lose my reason, and I’ll never forgive him. It’s him I curse. May he never know a moment’s peace and may the nation he founds be blighted and doomed and never thrive. Carthage will be its enemy for ever. If Aeneas is the beginning of a dynasty, then my people will be the enemies of his people. I vow that on my life, Elissa. You can go. Go to your room. Rest. I’m sorry for what I said. Forgive me.’

  Elissa tried to get up but the queen’s arms were tight around her neck and she was weeping. ‘I forgive you, Elissa. I do. I forgive you everything. I’ll miss you so much.’

  ‘But you said I could stay in the palace. Why will you miss me? You said—’

  ‘Of course you can stay. I don’t know what I’m saying. Weariness has made me mad. Don’t listen to me.’

  Elissa put her arms up to embrace the queen and they clung together, weeping. At last Dido pulled away and sat up, drying her eyes with the edge of her robe.

  ‘You can see how much I am not myself,’ she said, and Elissa understood the effort it cost her to sound normal. ‘It’s strange, you know. I’ve never been interested in babies. I’ve never had any desire to be pregnant. I’ve seen what it does to a woman’s body – how it makes your stomach swell and how lumbering and clumsy you become when you’re carrying another human being inside you. The very thought is disgusting. As for birth itself, I’ve not seen many babies being born, but two or three’s quite enough. What’s clear is, it’s agonizing. The women bellow like cows being slaughtered. There’s so much blood and bodily fluids everywhere . . . It’s revolting.’ She looked at Elissa and smiled. ‘I shouldn’t be speaking like this about it to you, of course, but I expect you’ve seen birth and know just as well as I do what’s involved.’

  Elissa nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said, and was wondering whether she ought to tell Dido about the visit of Artemis and her promise of help with the birth when the queen went on: ‘Until quite recently, when I imagined myself in that posture, with my legs apart and screaming like a stuck boar, I told myself that I’d never, never submit to such torture. But then, after my marriage, those feelings just vanished.’

  Dido glanced at Elissa. ‘Since that day, I’ve wanted Aeneas’ child to fill my body; to grow within me. Isn’t that odd? I don’t fear giving birt
h any longer. I was ready to go through any pain. I would have been brave. And you do hear stories of easy deliveries. Some women find the process completely painless and untroubling. I collected countless tales of peasants who gave birth in the fields and then picked themselves up and went on gathering in the crops.’

  Elissa stood up. ‘If you give me permission, lady, I’ll leave you now.’

  Dido said nothing, but waved her hand in a gesture of dismissal and Elissa fled.

  She ran down the corridors till she came to Iopas’ chamber. Without knocking, she flung open the door, and seeing him sitting at his table writing away on a parchment as though he’d done nothing inflamed her to such an extent that she began to shout as soon as she was in the room.

  ‘Iopas, how could you do such a thing? Don’t speak. I don’t want to hear your excuses. I wish I had the strength to hit you, to fight you. If I were a man, I’d beat you with my fists and bite you and kick you and spit on you when I’d finished. How did you dare to betray my secret? I thought you were my friend. I thought . . . Oh, what does it matter what I thought? It’s not true, any of it. What matters is what’s happened. You . . . you, Iopas, have ruined everything. My life, Dido’s life, everything. She’s so hurt. Did you know that she wanted a baby with Aeneas? How do you think knowing about me makes her feel? And me – how do you think I feel? Why do you sit there and say nothing?’

  ‘I can’t say anything because you haven’t let me utter a single word since you came bursting into my room. Did I give you permission to come in? I don’t remember you even asking. You just barged in.’

  ‘I’m entitled to barge in. How do you feel, Iopas?’ Elissa sat down heavily on the stool beside Iopas’ work table. ‘Are you sorry for what you did? What you told the queen? Of course you aren’t. Those who tell the truth are always praised, even though their truth is a body blow to the person hearing it. I don’t know what to say now. I’m powerless. I can’t do anything. I’m . . . I feel sick all the time. I’m frightened of what’s going to happen to me – and to my baby. What’s Dido going to say when she comes out of that room? She’ll get rid of me, I know. She’s sad now, and weeping for Aeneas, but one day she’ll be herself again and then she won’t be able to watch me . . . the child growing inside me. She’ll banish me. I will be nothing but a reminder of Aeneas and she won’t be able to bear it. That’s what I think, and I blame you, Iopas.’

  ‘I accept the blame, Elissa. And you’re right. It was . . . I wasn’t thinking. It was an unkind thing to do. If I had the time over again, I wouldn’t tell Dido. What you say is true. I’ve made it impossible for you to stay here and so I’m punishing myself as well, Elissa. That’s my excuse, if you want one. I did it because – well, you can guess.’

  ‘You think you’re in love with me, or some nonsense like that.’

  ‘It’s a funny thing . . .’ Iopas smiled at her. ‘When you’re in love with Aeneas (which, in my opinion, takes the laurels for the most unsuitable falling in love ever), then it’s real and beautiful and can’t be criticized because it’s true love. The same for our beloved queen. Her love is sanctified and blessed and everyone has to tiptoe around her because she’s been deserted by her husband. Who never even was her husband, not properly, from what I heard. The whole thing’s in her head, but because she’s the queen, the rest of us have to gather round and comfort her. I don’t mind comforting her, you understand, because I’m a believer in love. A follower of Aphrodite. Her servant for ever. And I’m also devoted to Dido. Then there’s Anna. I have to be polite to her even though what I want to do is tell her never to talk to me again, but she loves me, and because she’s the queen’s sister and I can’t afford to upset her, I have to be . . . well, understanding. I’m sick to death of it. But if I’m supposed to be sympathetic to you and to her, and to her sister too, then I demand some sympathy from you.’ Iopas stood up and went to kneel in front of Elissa. ‘You must believe me. I want to hear from your lips that you believe me when I tell you how much I love you.’

  ‘I’m not discussing your love. I don’t give a fig for it. I’ll never love you and you might as well know that. I can’t trust you. I don’t even like you very much. I’m going. Don’t try and follow me. I want to be by myself. You’re nothing but a sneaky, wretched, horrible person and I’d be happy not to see you ever again.’

  ‘You’re tired, Elissa,’ Iopas said. ‘You’re not yourself. I don’t blame you for being angry. You’ll see things differently when you’re more rested.’

  Elissa couldn’t find any words that would be suitably withering, so she said nothing and left the room. Gods, the conceit of him! He was nothing but a worm. A snake. A monster. How did he dare to address her as though she were a stupid child who didn’t know what she was saying? Oh, if only she were a boy! She’d soon show him what being bruised and battered meant!

  Anna

  First light; the small bedchamber

  ANNA SAT BESIDE her sister, wringing her hands and trying hard not to cry. She had not slept all night and she felt bruised in every part of her body, as though someone had been pummelling her flesh for hours. What Iopas had told her was like a brand on her skin. Thinking of him and Elissa together was like taking a dagger and piercing herself with it, over and over again. She said, ‘I know about Elissa. Iopas told me. Oh, Dido, I can’t bear it.’ She began weeping and used the corner of her scarf to wipe her eyes. ‘I’m sorry . . . I know you’re not interested in my feelings at this moment and I can understand, but oh, the pain is unbearable. Iopas and Elissa . . . together. And a child . . .’ Anna’s body shook with sobs.

  ‘Iopas?’ Dido spoke angrily. ‘He told me about Elissa’s pregnancy, it’s true, and I suppose he’s now told you, because you clearly know, but he’s not the father.’

  ‘He must be . . .’ Anna murmured. ‘Who else could it be? I know that Iopas loves her. It’s been . . . I’d given up real hope that Iopas and I—’

  ‘It’s not Iopas.’

  ‘Who then?’

  ‘Fool! Aeneas. My Aeneas. That’s who it is.’

  Anna’s eyes widened and she sat up very straight. Dido shouted: ‘You look like a goldfish with your mouth gaping open . . . You’re a fool, but now at least you can be happy. Your precious Iopas is innocent and you can continue trying to lure him into your bed. Much good may it do you. You should be comforting me, Anna. Can you imagine the agony I feel? If someone with a knife were to come in now and slice off pieces of my skin, it would be a welcome distraction from the pain I feel. Do you understand my pain? How could you? Everything I taste and breathe is bitter. I can’t bear it. I could’ve lived with anything – anything – but Aeneas’ child – the child he refused to give me – in Elissa’s womb. How will I be able to look at it? How can I watch her, growing and swelling and reminding me with every day more and more of what the two of them did? And where did they do it, Anna? I can’t stop asking myself. Wondering. In her bed? No, impossible. She shares her quarters with other girls. Where then? In the garden? In the bathhouse? I can’t stop seeing the two of them naked together – they pass in front of my eyes and I rub and rub at them to rid myself of the sight, but oh, Gods, Anna, it goes on and on, and what I see in my imagination is more and more vivid till I can see them writhing. I can hear— No!’ Dido screamed and fell forward on to the cushions, burying her head in them. ‘I can’t . . . take these pictures away. Take out my eyes. I don’t know how . . . I want to die. Let me die. Oh, Gods, let me stop seeing—’

  ‘Dido! Beloved sister . . . don’t. Don’t do this. You’ll fall ill. Take a sip of this sleeping draught. Let me bring you some more wine. Rest. Don’t cry. Please, please, stop, my lovely sister. Look at you . . . Stop . . .’

  Anna fell silent, not knowing what else to say. She had been relieved at first to learn that Iopas had not . . . was not . . . what she’d thought he was. But the truth was even worse, she realized. He must hate me, to trick me like that. He let me think he was the father of Elissa’s child only to
hurt me. He did it on purpose. He hates me, she thought. I will never speak to him again. Never. It was as though a weight of darkness had settled on her shoulders. She sat near Dido, stroking her back, muttering soothing sounds and almost weeping herself. I don’t know what I can do for either of us, she thought. I don’t know how to make everything that’s tormenting her go away. Fade. Disappear. I can’t help her and I can’t help myself.

  Then, just as suddenly as she’d dissolved in misery on the cushions, Dido sat up again. She took the corner of her robe and wiped her eyes with it. She turned to Anna and said, ‘I’ve decided what must be done. I want you to go down to the harbour. Now. I want you to stay there, where Aeneas can see you, until he has sailed, and then you can come back here and tell me about his departure. Will you do that?’

  ‘Now? You want me to go now?’ Anna put an arm around her sister and hugged her, relieved that at last the storm of weeping was over. Perhaps Dido had lived through the worst of her pain and would feel less sorrowful from this moment. She said, ‘Can’t I wait till the sun is a little higher in the sky?’

  ‘No. I want you to go now.’

  ‘But why? What makes you think Aeneas’ll be looking at the shore anyway? He’ll be busy setting sail. I could try and speak to him if you like, but he wouldn’t want to speak to me, would he? Let him go and let his fate be as the Gods decree. It’s nothing to do with us any longer. If I’m honest, I think you’ve taken leave of your senses.’

  ‘I haven’t, Sister.’ Dido smiled. ‘I believe I’m seeing clearly for the very first time. I will order up a small detachment of soldiers to accompany you and I want you to go and stand in the harbour master’s house – just where we stood when we saw him come ashore, d’you remember that day? – and watch the ships leaving. Then you can come back and tell me about it.’