by Jo Graham
“The Rutoli are our neighbors to the north, and they are fierce men. They sent three ships to the great fleet, and only one of them returned. Since then they have made war with us, reckoning us an easier mark than Pharaoh.” His dark eyes flashed as if to say that any who reckoned him an easier mark than the Great King of Egypt thought too little of him. They had their pride, these people.
“They came upon us by treachery, while we were working in the fields. Before we could arm, half our men were slain. More still fell in the battle that followed. We pushed them back and gained the gates, and they did not sit before us in siege. Why should they? They know that we cannot leave, and that they may return in force and finish what they have begun at any time. It is convenient to them to get their own harvest in before they come to claim us.” Latinus looked at me, then back to Neas. “So you see, King Aeneas of Wilusa That Was, you have come at an ill-fated time to a cursed people. We wait for them to come, knowing that we at least will make the price of Latium dear indeed. What use are our forges and our towers when we do not have men to wield our swords or defend our walls?”
Neas nodded slowly. “And yet I am come to you unlooked for with more than a hundred fighting men. How many are your Rutoli?”
“Nearly three hundred,” Latinus said. “And we can put no more than twenty men in the field, all told.”
“Have they chariots?” Neas asked.
“No, they run as skirmishers,” he said. “With spear or sword.”
Neas looked down, and I saw what he was thinking. I saw the shape of it all in that moment, all the twists and turns of the labyrinth, all the paths over land and sea that led to this autumn morning. My heart leaped at the beauty of it.
Then Neas looked up and met the king’s eyes, and a smile was on his lips. “King Latinus, your walls are stout and doubtless your men are stouthearted too. But you are right that they are too few to defend Latium alone. My people are weary, and we have wandered far over the sea seeking a land where we may live in peace and practice the customs of our forefathers, the sacred rites of our gods. A hundred and twenty-six men I have with me, but only twenty-one women and twenty-two children. That is not enough, I think, to preserve the People. But it is more than enough to defend Latium and to harvest all the crops that wait in your fields, enough to fish these seas and mend your roofs. It is enough to plow fields that are fallow, and to plant young olive trees.”
My breath caught and I bit down on my lip.
Latinus looked at him closely. “If you can do these things,” he said. “If you can fend off the Rutoli and get our crops in so that we do not starve in the winter that comes, I will call you brother and give you whatever you may ask. I will call you my son and you will be king in Latium after me. I will give into your keeping the last treasure of my house.”
I heard again the whisper of robes behind me, and she crossed to stand by his chair.
“The hand of my daughter, Lavinia,” he said.
She was small and slender, no more than thirteen years old, with a heart-shaped face and big dark eyes, brown hair falling over her shoulder in a single braid. She put one hand on her father’s shoulder and stood there looking at Neas, and her back was straight. If she was frightened it did not show in her face.
“She is my only living child,” Latinus said. “And her inheritance is the kingdom.”
Neas bent his head in respect. “Princess Lavinia,” he said, “I shall undertake to defeat the Rutoli with goodwill, for your hand is an honor beyond price.” He met her eyes as he straightened, and she did not flinch, child that she was in her white robe.
Neas stepped forward, and Latinus reached out his hand. “I pledge you my word.”
Neas met his hand and joined it wrist to wrist. “And I pledge you mine. May all the gods stand witness to what we have resolved today, and grant us victory.”
“May it be so,” Latinus said.
LATIUM
We set to harvesting the crops of Latium with a will. The season was almost over, and the days left before the damp ruined the grain were numbered. Many of our men were sailors and had never done this work before, so it did not proceed as smoothly or as quickly as we might have wished, even with those women who were not tied down by small babies working too. I watched Markai and Kianna both while Tia worked, and tried to pick grapes as best I could with both of them with me. Markai was slung on my back while I picked. Kianna played around my feet, occasionally stopping to pop a fat ripe grape in her mouth. Then I would have to stop and pick the seeds out of her mouth, lest she choke on them. She was not yet old enough to spit them out properly. Markai dozed in the sun, his plump cheek against the back of my neck.
And always, always we kept watch for the Rutoli. It would not be long before they returned.
On the twelfth night there was a heavy rain, and when morning came the world was wreathed in fog. The river murmured quietly around the docks, swollen from the night’s rain. The barley we had not gotten in was beaten down.
I stood with Neas on the wall just after dawn. Behind us, the smell of bread rose from the ovens of Latium, baking in round hard loaves with a sweet warm center.
“It will be tomorrow,” Neas said with the certainty of an oracle.
I looked at him. “You know this?”
He nodded, still looking out toward the river. “I know war, Sybil. The harvest is ended. Soon the cold will come, and chill wet days little suited to campaigning. But tomorrow will dawn clear and bright, and tonight the moon is full. They will leave their town tonight, and fall upon us in the morning, thinking to catch the people of Latium in the fields, trying to get in whatever is left.”
“This is what you would do?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “Were I a raider in truth.”
I voiced the thing I had been worrying over. “Can we win, Neas? They will outnumber us more than two to one. Latinus said there were nearly three hundred of them, and all told with us and the men of Latium we are less than a hundred and fifty.”
Neas looked at me, and it was the same smile I had seen in Byblos. “We can win. They have not seen close order before. No man here has.” He put his hands on the parapet and leaned out. “This is what we learned it for. This is the weapon, and this is the time. I feel it in every bone of my body.”
“And the place?” I asked.
Neas nodded. “And the place. Here I will live, and the sons of my house, for all the days of my life. Do you not feel it?”
“Yes,” I said. He could have been a priest, were he not a prince.
“It is a beautiful place,” he said.
Latium had no shining white walls, no great library, no temples with fine columns. There were no broad avenues, no high towers. It was a small town with dirt streets, wooden houses with tile roofs, docks, and a navigable river, arable fields.
“You will make it beautiful,” I said.
Neas pointed off away from the river. “Those wooded slopes there face west. Can you not see them terraced for vines? And that overgrown field along there? An olive grove? And next spring we can put that fallow field along the river under the plow.”
“Yes,” I said. “I see that it will be so. You will rule well in this place, when Latinus has crossed the River and you have wed Lavinia.”
He gave me a quick glance, then looked back out toward the river. For a moment he was silent and I thought he would not speak, but then he did. “Will she hate me, do you think?”
“For consummating the marriage?” I put my hands on the parapet as well. “You must consummate it. Otherwise it will not be valid in the eyes of our people or of hers.”
“She is twelve years old,” Neas said. “And I am twice her age. And not accustomed to a gentle young maiden.”
“She is a princess,” I said. “And she has been raised to her duty. She will do what must be done.”
“But will she hate me for it?” he asked. “A queen who hates me will bring us all nothing but sorrow. And I have no desire...”<
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To create another Basetamon, I thought. To harm another that way. I chose my words carefully. “You must consummate it,” I said. “But you must be as gentle as you can. And this is difficult, I know.”
“With two hundred people waiting to see the bloody linens?” Neas grimaced.
“My prince,” I said, “they need to see blood. It is not important where the blood comes from.” I held his eyes until I was sure he understood. “Better that the marriage be consummated privately and later, when there is time to take care and you understand each other better. And as for getting a son, well, there is no hurry between one moon and the next.”
“Surely women will ask her,” Neas said.
I nodded. “And you must see what she will say. But she seems a clever girl. As long as you do this in a way that does not seem that you spurn her, but rather value her so highly that you will risk no mistakes.”
He nodded. “I do value her. Not for herself, but for the future. I must have a queen who is not my enemy.”
“Perhaps in time you will value her for herself as well,” I said.
Neas shrugged, but there was pain in his voice. “I do not look for love, Sybil. I am a king, and I was raised to my duty as well. But there are times when I wish I might be a simple ship’s captain.” He looked at me, and I felt the warmth in his eyes like the veiled sun. “Like Xandros.”
“Neas,” I said, and knew that I answered more than one question. “You are not.”
He looked away, nodded. “I know.” And we spoke of it no more.
THE RUTOLI CAME in the morning. An hour after sunrise they came over the most distant hill. We stood on the parapet and counted them. Latinus was right. Two hundred and sixty was my count.
In the courtyard below our men stood to arms. The men of Latium stood upon the wall. Those who had bows would use them, and the five or so without would handle the gates.
By the time the Rutoli crested the last ridge we were in arms.
I would not wait below. I could not. Markai was with Tia at the palace, but I could not stay there. Instead, I painted my face, put on my newest robes. Whatever happened, there would be many who needed me before the day’s end. And after this long road, I would see the bloodshed that was shed for me and for my child, whether it was proper or not.
I felt no hint of Her displeasure, only Her presence. “Lady of the Underworld,” I whispered. “Lady of Battles, Lion-headed Sekhmet, Lady of War.”
Xandros looked up from the courtyard. Dolphin’s men were forming up around him.
I met his eyes.
He smiled and said nothing. There was nothing to be said. We knew everything there was to say, spoke with our eyes.
Now the Rutoli were before the gates, calling Latium to surrender.
Latinus had climbed the inner steps to the tower beside the gate, and he answered them himself in a strong voice. “We will not!” he cried. “If you want what is ours you must take it!”
I did not understand their answer, but I saw them shake their spears, heard their shouts.
The gate opened.
The Rutoli shouted again, beating their shields with their swords, challenges and curses.
Through the opening marched the first company of our men, Seven Sisters’ crew in full array, a Shardan sword and shield for each man, four files of eight men, each covering the next. The stamping of their feet in perfect unison was like thunder.
Behind them Dolphin’s men followed. Past the gate they swung to the left, Pearl’s company following after. I could see Kos clearly in the front rank, the right front position that men turn on. They swung left of Dolphin’s men. Three companies stood in line, Neas on the right, Xandros in the center, and Kos on the left.
The Rutoli checked. Whatever they had expected of Latium, this was not it.
On the heels of Pearl’s men the gates swung shut. Our men waited before the gates. There was no sound. Our men did not shout or wave their swords, did not sing or cry out the names of their ancestors or gods. They just waited in good order, still and stern as the Nubian archers in Egypt.
The Rutoli shouted.
They were tall, strong men, it was true. Each wore arms of his choosing, and they stood in groups of family and friends, each with a leader of their house or line. Some moved from one group to another. Some had swords, and others short spears. They spread out, calling out threats and boasts. I could hear their princes exhorting them, but at a distance I could not make out the words.
Our men waited.
A breeze off the river lifted my veil. The sky was a perfect autumn blue.
Their princes shouted, raising their spears. And then they charged.
They broke off our lines like the sea off rocks.
In a rush and tumble of blood we met them, and they crashed back. Ten or twelve men lay on the ground. Some were moving and some were not. Our lines held firm. Not one man of ours fell. In the ranks of Pearl’s men there was a shift as two wounded men in the first line stepped back to an inner rank, their shipmates stepping forward, shields locking into place like a wall.
Again the princes cried, and again they surged forward like the waves. Swords flashed, and the sound of men’s screams came on the morning air.
They broke again, and still our lines held firm. Three men of ours were down now, but our ranks closed over them. The shields of their shipmates protected them. I heard Neas’ voice, calm and carrying as though at sea. “Stand fast! Stand fast, sons of Wilusa! Stand fast for our gods and kin!”
A third time they charged.
Thirty or more of their men were down and would not rise, and now they were filled with blood despair.
Not a man of ours moved. Not one broke the line.
This time when they broke I knew it was final. They streamed away in ones and twos, some carrying kindred on their backs, some limping with wounds or dropping their arms on the field. They fled for the tree line, and there was no one to call them to rally.
“Don’t break the line!” Neas yelled. “Do not pursue! Hold the line!” We would not be lured out of formation by victory. A couple of men started forward, but their fellows caught them back. We stood. While the Rutoli fled in disorder from the gates of Latium, we stood. A dozen dead they left on the field, and forty more dead and wounded they bore away with them. As the sun rose up the sky, they left the fields before Latium clear.
When there were no more Rutoli in sight except for the dead, Neas stood down from arms. Men bent to tend the wounded. The gates of Latium opened.
I came down from the walls and went among the wounded.
There were not so many as I had feared. Ten men injured, and only two who seemed likely to die. The others had a variety of sword and spear wounds. One had a broken arm from a blow taken to the shield, and another a broken wrist. One man had a bad spear thrust to his leg, which I thought had injured the knee permanently.
The women of Latium came while I stayed with the worst wounded. I heard the splash of water as I bent over one and looked up to see Lavinia with a water jar in her hand. Her mouth was set against the stench. The water splashed but did not spill.
“Thank you, Princess,” I said, and took the water jar.
She knelt down beside me and helped me lift the man to drink. “You have bled for our city,” she said, speaking clearly that I might understand her.
“No, Princess,” I said. “For what is mutually ours. For a home at last, a free people. It is from our mingled blood that we will endure.”
She looked down at the blood on her hand, where the wounded man had grasped at it. “From our mingled blood,” she said. She knew as I did that our blood might flow together on the field, but where it should mingle was in the womb.
Neas came and stood behind us. He had a long cut on the inside of his right arm where the point of a spear had traced, but already it had ceased to bleed. “Sybil?” He stopped short when he saw Lavinia.
“The princess is helping me,” I said.
“Ah.
” Neas was short of words. “Well. Xandros says he needs you over there. One of the men has died.”
I got up. “I will go,” I said. I crossed the tumbled earth. When I reached Xandros I looked back.
Neas was kneeling beside the wounded man, making some little joke with him, while Lavinia sponged the man’s brow, a wary look on her face.
Xandros touched my shoulder, but did not embrace me. He would not, while I wore the paint. “What do you see?” he asked quietly.
“A boy with a heart-shaped face and skill with the bow,” I said. And then I turned to him. “I see you.” Well and whole, not a scratch on him, just dirt and other men’s blood.
“Well,” Xandros said with a rueful shrug. “I’m lucky.”
“You are,” I said.
“Only the gods know why.” He glanced over his shoulder to where the dead man laid, one of Pearl’s rowers. His brother was kneeling beside him.
“Only the gods do,” I said.
THAT NIGHT we burned the dead beneath the bright stars of autumn. The next night, on a night of rain, we celebrated the marriage of a king.
Outside the rain drummed down, but inside the great hall of Latium there was a warm fire, and our shadows leaped on the walls, ours and the people of Latium alike. I looked round at their faces. There were a few men and youths, all the men of Latium, but it was mostly women, I thought, women who had expected rape and pillage, to be carried away from their lands and kin, their children massacred or taken as slaves. Instead, they celebrated a wedding.
I stood beside Xandros while Latinus put Lavinia’s hand in Neas’. Neas wore a tunic of scarlet wool bound about with a golden belt, and his fair hair was combed and glinted in the light. He towered above Lavinia. She wore her white dress, and a saffron veil covered her face and hair, golden as a cloud.
Her father held their hands together for a moment, then let go. With one hand he gently lifted the veil from his daughter’s eyes. Her face was pale and still, carved from marble. Neas bent and kissed her lips. She did not move, though her eyes closed and then opened again.