Hades' Daughter

by Sara Douglass

  Then the man said, smiling as Coel continued answerless, “I, as you see,” he held his arms out, “have come unarmed.”

  “Save for your knowledge,” said Coel, and stepped forward, holding out both his hands. “I am Coel, son of Erith. I am not the Gormagog, although I am here at the behest of both him and the MagaLlan, and with their authority.”

  Brutus took Coel’s hands in his and gripped them tightly. “I am Brutus, son of Silvius, son of Ascanius, son of Aeneas, son of Aphrodite.”

  They dropped their hands, the ritual greeting done, and it was apparent that Coel was clearly unimpressed with Brutus’ lineage. “You come from a line of men?” He patently did not know—or was under-awed—that Brutus had dropped in the name of a powerful goddess as the founder of his line.

  Brutus tried not to smile. No doubt this man, who let his House Mother nag him at his hearth, found the idea of a house of men astounding. He nodded. “In my heritage,” he said, “a family’s name and honour is handed from father to son.”

  Coel shook his head, then said, “My companions are Bladud and Jago,” adding their House affiliations, “and we have brought with us flasks of our honey wine, that we might greet you properly. Is there—?”

  “Somewhere to rest, and to sit and talk among all this crowd?” said Brutus. “Aye, I think I can find somewhere.” He turned to his men, and continued to speak in Llangarlian, telling Coel that not only he but all his warriors spoke the language. “Hand back to our visitors their swords. Take their horses and water and feed them well.”

  The men nodded and, after Coel, Jago and Bladud had retrieved their swords and the flasks of wine that had hung behind their saddles, Brutus led them towards the hill.

  After they had reached its rocky summit, Coel and his companions spent a long moment studying the crowds below them, and the seeming infinity of black ships that were either moored in the shallows of the river or drawn up on the foreshore.

  When he finally turned to Brutus, Coel’s eyes were bleak. “What do you here, with so many women and children and flocks of animals?” he said. He knew very well why the Trojans were here, but he wondered if Brutus would prevaricate.

  “I will not lie to you,” Brutus said, standing easy with one foot resting on a small rock before him. “We come here to make a home. We are Trojans, vagabonds for these past ninety-eight years. Now we will make our home.”

  “Why here?” Coel’s voice had a hard edge to it, and Brutus could not blame him for that.

  “The great Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt, has directed us here.”

  “This is the land of Og and Mag,” Coel said, both voice and eyes now flat. “Your ‘huntress’ will have no place within our forests and fens.”

  “Is that what your MagaLlan and Gormagog told you to tell me?” Brutus said softly, holding Coel’s stare.

  Coel held Brutus’ gaze for a few more heartbeats, then dropped his eyes to the flask he held in his hand, and managed a small, and not altogether unnatural, smile. “We have brought the welcoming wine,” he said. “Will you sit and share it with us, while I pass on the message I have for you?”

  Slowly, very slowly, he raised his dark, deep eyes back to Brutus.

  For no reason at all, Coel’s movement and expression made Brutus recall Blangan’s words about her undoubted death.

  There was something here, a power, that was unknown to him, and Brutus knew that wariness and temperance would do more for his cause than any untoward display of arrogance and incaution. There was something behind Coel, something powerful, and Brutus knew better than to tempt it forth now.

  He needed to win for himself a kingdom among these people, and he would do it the more easily by listening than by shouting.

  He nodded. “The sun is warm here, and I fancy that your wine will be more than welcome.” He glanced to his left as footsteps sounded, and Hicetaon and Corineus joined the group of four men atop the hill.

  Coel instinctively tensed, then relaxed as he saw that the two older men wore no weapons apart from small eating knives. The older man, bald and muscular and with a deep wound scabbed on one side of his head, was clearly a warrior, while the thinner-faced man looked more the intellectual than soldier.

  Brutus introduced them to Coel, Bladud and Jago, and motioned everyone to sit down.

  Coel unstoppered his flask of wine and took a long draught himself (See, this wine is not poisoned) before passing it to Brutus.

  “Drink,” Coel said, “of the welcoming wine, and as you do, I will speak the words I have carried so far south with me.”

  Brutus drank, managing to swallow without grimacing. The flask contained a rich, honeyed liquid, far sweeter than the wines Brutus was used to, and he gave Corineus a warning glance as he handed it to him.

  Brutus hoped this land was warm enough to grow vines, because he didn’t think he wanted to get too used to this syrupy draught.

  Coel cleared his throat, and when he began to speak, it was with the melodious rhythmic voice of a poet, so beautiful that Brutus had no doubt he could win any woman he wanted to into his bed.

  “Greetings, Brutus, heir of Troy,” he said. “We wish you health and life. We also wish you to know that we understand why you are here, and for what purpose—to rebuild Troy, on these our meadows and forests.”

  Brutus’ face remained impassive, but those words confirmed what he had suspected for weeks: Artemis had never once come to him. Only Genvissa, in a guise he would trust.

  By the gods, he thought, she has so much power!

  “We know your longing for a home,” Coel continued, “and for Troy so long dead, but we also need you to understand that your purpose causes our people and our gods great dismay. But rather than dismiss you, and ask you to leave—”

  Despite himself, Brutus couldn’t resist a smile at that. “Dismiss him” indeed. Genvissa had a fine sense of humour to complement her power.

  “—we ask instead that you and a small band of your companions travel to the heartland of Llangarlia there to meet with us, and to see if our mutual fears and needs can be accommodated.” Coel’s voice slipped back to normal. “These are the words of the MagaLlan and the Gormagog combined, united as the living representatives of the gods, and the unified voice of the people.”

  “They want me to travel to the Veiled Hills?” Brutus said, and saw Coel’s composure slip at the mention of Llangarlia’s sacred heartland.

  “Yes,” said Coel, reasoning that most of Brutus’ knowledge must have come from Blangan, the traitorous bitch. He looked weary now, as if his delivery of the message had come at the expense of his own strength.

  “Just myself and a small band of my companions? What reassurance do I have that we will not be killed?”

  Coel, in his turn, managed a wry smile. “What guarantee do we have that you will not set your tens of thousands against us?”

  All humour dropped from Brutus’ face. “We have a mere few thousand warriors,” he said. “The rest of my people are wives and children, the elderly, and untrained youth. As an ‘invading force’ we are severely hampered by those we need to protect. We defend, we do not attack. And we are not ‘tens of thousands’.”

  “You are more than we could ever hope to assemble in one place,” said Coel softly.

  There was a cold silence as both groups of men stared at each other.

  “Perhaps I may suggest a compromise?” Corineus said eventually.

  Eyes swivelled in his direction.

  “If Brutus and his companions travel into Llangarlia’s heartland, not knowing what they may find, or how they will be received,” Corineus said, “then perhaps a small band of Llangarlians of similar standing should enjoy our Trojan hospitality here within Totnes camp.”

  “Reciprocal hostages,” said Hicetaon, always blunt and to the point.

  Brutus raised his eyebrows at Coel. “Your younger companion, Jago, can surely escort us to the Veiled Hills. Will you stay here, with Bladud?”

  “You will need
me to escort you through the territories between here and the Veiled Hills,” Coel responded. “Only my name and word can get you through. But your companion Corineus has suggested a good compromise. Although I cannot offer my family to dwell among you—they dwell close to the Veiled Hills, and it would take weeks to send word and then for them to travel down to the Dart River—may I suggest asking the three Mothers of the three villages close to this location? As Mothers of their Houses and villages, they are greatly revered. No one would ever risk their lives, most certainly not either the Gormagog or the MagaLlan. If these three Mothers agree, then, Brutus, will you and your immediate companions, as well as your wives and children, accompany me back to the Veiled Hills? If we both risk our most valued and honoured, then both surely will rest assured that peace will be maintained.”

  Brutus exchanged glances with Corineus and Hicetaon, then nodded. “I agree.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  CORNELIA SPEAKS

  I continued to be enthralled by this new land. I, who once had never thought to be enthralled by anything save a new jacket or a bauble thrown my way by my father. Yet here I was, with an infant in my arms I had thought to loathe, a husband I had thought was little more than a brutish goat, not a single remaining remnant of my Mesopotaman finery, living in an overcrowded camp that was growing muddier by the day, and I was so enjoying myself anyone would have thought me born in a meadow.

  Achates was a great joy, but I must admit that lying next to Brutus at night made me wonder when I would heal enough to make love with him again. Once the thought of bedding with my husband had caused me physical revulsion and mental torture; now I found myself daydreaming about it as I had once daydreamed about Melanthus. Over the past few weeks I had become more and more aware of his…well, of his desirability. It had begun that night at the Altars of the Philistines where I had run my hands through his hair, felt his tongue graze mine, and had continued ever since. I had noticed how other women watched him as well, had noticed his magnetism, had realised that they looked at me with envy underlining their contempt.

  And, of course, there was the dream of the stone hall with the sweeping green hills and silver river of Llangarlia beyond; the sense of waiting for a great love to arrive; the daughter I could see playing from the corner of my eye. It came upon me with ever-increasing frequency now, and each night that it came, it was more vivid, more real.

  So I daydreamed of Brutus constantly through the hustle and bustle of the river camp. In this state of mind I no longer resented Aethylla for her ability to feed Achates where I could not; instead, I was relieved that Achates’ hungry mouth did not prevent the rapid firming of both my breasts and belly back to a gentle roundness.

  I could barely wait for my body to heal completely.

  So, with my baby in my arms, my body springing back to a much appreciated slenderness, and my eyes occasionally wandering after my husband as he undertook the governance of this bustling camp, I turned my curiosity to this land.

  It was so beautiful (just like my vision from the stone hall) that sometimes contemplation of it left me in silent tears. The country was not only unusual in its greenness, and the very exuberance of that green, but also in its soft light and comforting coolness. My own land, my girlhood home, had been clear and bright and harsh, the foliage more grey, the sun bolder. Here, tiny flowers that could never have survived Mesopotama’s hard light thrived in shallow crevices of rock and flowered in great ebullient carpets where the soil was deeper. The trees had the thickest of canopies, stunningly clothed in the reds and golds and russets of their autumn finery. I spent many an hour while Achates slept in my arms watching their seductive dancing against the sky.

  Thus it was that when Brutus announced that I would accompany himself, Corineus, Blangan, Hicetaon and several others on a journey north to the Veiled Hills, I was filled with excitement. The fact that I was being taken as a virtual hostage against the Trojans’ misbehaviour, as Corineus explained to me, did not concern me in the least. There was travel and excitement ahead, a chance to draw a little closer to Brutus, and Aethylla to look after Achates’ needs.

  We left on our journey north some four days after the Llangarlian Coel and his companions had arrived to speak with Brutus. As we stood about, waiting for the small, shaggy Llangarlian horses to be brought forward, I felt my spirits rise even higher than they had been. The sun was shining, partly negating the cool touch of the southerly breeze, and I was wearing a becoming robe that Blangan had given me, a pale blue and black patterned woollen garment that flattered my colouring. I had managed to belt this robe quite tightly, which success made my mind wander to the coming night, our first away from the Trojan camp…and the first where I would be allowed to cuddle up close to Brutus without the overwhelming companionship of twelve thousand people snoring and breaking wind within my immediate vicinity.

  Our party, with Coel and his two companions, Brutus, myself, Corineus and Blangan, Aethylla (looking grumpy with both Achates and her own son slung across her back), Hicetaon and two other Trojan warriors, numbered only eleven, which seemed positively diminutive by comparison.

  So I was happy. Not only would I have a chance to explore further this wondrous land, but the journey ahead promised to further cement the growing bond between Brutus and myself.

  Only one thing bothered me: the Llangarlians’ reaction to Blangan.

  They completely ignored her, almost as if she didn’t exist. I thought it rude, and went to comfort Blangan, but she waved me away, and said it was of no concern to her. I said I would speak to Coel or the other two, but then her voice grew sharp, and she told me to leave well enough alone, and, somewhat hurt, I wandered away.

  Our party was finally ready to depart at mid-morning, and Coel aided me to mount my horse, a little dun mare with a thick black mane and tail from one of the local villages. The opportunity gave him a chance to send me several admiring glances which I found faintly disturbing. I worried that he might take advantage of me as he lifted me to the mare’s back, but he was most respectful, and his hands lingered no more than was fitting for the task.

  “You are unused to riding on a horse’s back?” he asked me as I shifted uncomfortably.

  “Yes. In my country women of my status did not ride. If I needed to go somewhere in style, then my father would order a chariot and charioteer to see to my needs.”

  I realised that sounded a little pompous, so I added, “The chariots were bumpy, and dusty, so I rarely used them.”

  He was taking his time fiddling with my horse’s halter, and eight or nine paces away I saw Brutus glance at us impatiently.

  “You came from a large city, I have heard. All stone ramparts and walls.”

  “Yes.” I regretted the shortness of my answer, but Brutus’ regard made me think that perhaps I shouldn’t extend this conversation any more than I could help.

  Something on the halter suddenly clipped into place, and Coel gave my mare’s neck a pat to reward her for her patience. “You miss your home,” he said, “your stone ramparts and encircling walls.”

  “I used to miss my home greatly,” I said, Brutus forgotten, “but now,” I looked about at the nearby forest and the hills rising away into the distance, “not at all. This land is too beautiful for me to linger over memories of the city where I was bred.” I smiled, and was going to say something more to compliment Coel on his homeland, but then Brutus rode up, and I suppressed my smile.

  “Is there a delay?” Brutus said, looking between Coel and myself.

  “Only in my clumsiness,” I said. “Coel was reassuring me that this fine mare will not toss me the moment we set off.”

  “Perhaps,” Coel said, “I could lead your wife’s mare? She is not experienced in the ways of riding, and—”

  “Yes, yes,” Brutus said, losing interest. “Whatever is best.”

  He turned his horse, and began shouting at the rest of the group to move out.

  I thought this a little inappropriate, as it w
as Coel who was supposed to be our guide and leader on this ride north, but when I looked back to Coel in some embarrassment, he merely lowered one of his eyelids in what might actually have been a wink, then took the halter rope of my mare, vaulted gracefully on to his own horse, and led me forward to join up with Brutus’ well-herded group.

  I gasped as the horse moved under me—it felt as if the earth itself was tilting this way and that—and despite being not far from the ground, every one of the little mare’s strides seemed to take an aeon to stretch itself out.

  Worse, as discomfort flared through my lower body, was the sudden realisation that I was going to end this day’s ride very sore indeed.

  “Everyone takes time to get used to a horse’s stride,” Coel said to me, having turned to make sure I was still on my horse. “In a few days your body will have settled to your mare’s pace and rhythm, and your joints will have loosened, and riding will become a greater comfort,” he paused, and I could see the tip of his tongue glistening behind his very white, strong teeth, “than you could have thought possible.”

  I nodded a thanks to him, concentrating mainly on burying my hands deep in my mare’s coarse black mane, when my face flamed.

  Something, I have no idea what, made me wonder if in fact Coel had been talking about two things: the riding of a horse, and the riding of a woman by a man.

  I glanced back to him, to see what was on his face, but he had turned about, and kicked his horse forward to the front of the column, my own mare following obediently. For many hours after that he did not speak to me except for the occasional passing comment, but merely led me into wonder.

  Although for this first part of our ride we passed through forest, the trees were not so close that I couldn’t see through them, nor so dense that they blocked out the sun. This forest was not imprisoning, but liberating. We rode through the most delightful dappled light, and in glades and among the trees the most lovely of flowers blossomed. Above us warbled birds, the like of which I’d never heard before, and butterflies and large, brightly coloured dragonflies dashed from plant to plant, and high into the trees. If I half closed my eyes the dappled light and the brightly coloured insects darting this way and that combined into a wonderful kaleidoscope that lulled me into a state of such tranquillity that I could almost believe that nothing bad had ever, or would ever, touch me.