Hades' Daughter

by Sara Douglass

  Genvissa relaxed. Those were words he’d never spoken, nor would ever speak, to Cornelia. They kissed again, deeper, passionately, and eventually Brutus stepped back, laughing shortly.

  “Enough!” he said. “I cannot stand more.”

  “Imagine it, my love. The Night of the Torches, the Game begun, you and I, together, at last.”

  “I am imagining it right now,” he said hoarsely, and Genvissa laughed, delighted.

  “Good. So tell me, will there be enough warriors and virgins among your Trojans to use as dancers?”

  “Yes, warriors certainly, and virgins too, even if I have to sew them back together myself.”

  Genvissa’s mood sobered, Brutus’ comment making her think, for no apparent reason, of Asterion growing in the womb of Goffar’s wife in Poiteran. There was nothing to worry about, surely, but…but this was something she should tell Brutus. She dare not alienate him when so much was at stake. “Brutus, Asterion has entered rebirth.”

  He stilled. “Where?”

  “In the womb of the wife of Goffar, King of the Poiterans.”

  “So close? And a Poiteran? Genvissa…”

  “There is nothing to worry about, my love. He is a bare few weeks old in the womb. He will only be a grizzling, toothless infant when we complete the Game, and then it will be too late for him. The labyrinth shall trap him.”

  “But reborn as a Poiteran, Genvissa. I cannot just ignore that.”

  “We will be strong enough, Brutus. But…” Her voice drifted off, and she cast down her eyes and bit her lip, “but just in case, surely, it would be best if Cornelia—”

  “Genvissa…”

  “If Cornelia were to be sent away, perhaps, my love. It cannot do any harm.”

  Brutus hesitated. It would not do any harm, but all he could think of was her sweetness this past night. “I will keep a close watch on her,” he said finally.

  Genvissa’s mouth hardened into a thin line, but vanished almost instantly as she laughed, and drew Brutus against her.

  “I have waited for you forever,” she said, and kissed him.

  And nothing will keep you apart from me. Nothing.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Six weeks later

  Black-hulled ships, more than a hundred of them, crowded the banks of the Llan. They had arrived a month earlier, bearing within them the joyous faces of the Trojans, their journey of almost one hundred years since the fall of Troy finally done.

  Almost a thousand of the Trojans, headed by Assaracus, had elected to remain at the original settlement which Brutus had somewhat jokingly named Totnes, and which was now firmly fixed as the developing town’s name. It was a good site, and in the weeks they’d spent awaiting word from Brutus, many of the Trojans had decided that Totnes would be an excellent place to live and raise their children. They had a comfortable relationship with the small villages dotted along the Dart River, helped in no small degree by the acquaintance, and then friendship, of the three Mothers who had resided within the Trojan camp as “hostages”.

  Brutus was not unhappy about the decision of Assaracus and the thousand others to remain in Totnes. It was a pleasant site indeed, and having another Trojan settlement within Llangarlia would certainly be no bad thing.

  And it made one thousand less people to have to fit into the area surrounding Llanbank.

  An influx of eleven thousand people into any area was bound to cause problems; the fact that these eleven thousand were foreigners merely deepened those problems. Brutus was keenly aware of the need not to alienate the people of Llanbank in the first instance, and the wider population of Llangarlia in the second instance, and so he took several measures to ensure the influx of Trojans was as painless as possible.

  It helped that the majority of the Trojans were acutely aware of the need not to alienate the Llangarlians. Many of the spoils of Mesopotama—the gold and jewels, and the silks and linens that had survived the sea journey—were now exchanged with the Llangarlians in thanks for the tracts of land that stretched east from Llanbank, where the Trojans would make temporary settlement until Troia Nova was built north of the river. None of the Trojans intruded upon Llanbank unless they were asked, and they took care not to trample the meadowlands where grazed Llanbank’s flocks of sheep and goats, and where roamed their pigs and cattle.

  If the Trojans needed meat or grain, then they paid for it. If they wanted company and conversation, then they invited families of Llangarlians into their temporary shelters, and were grateful when and if they themselves were invited into one of Llanbank’s houses in order to share warmth, food and companionship. Most of the Trojans had taken the trouble to have, at the very least, a rudimentary understanding of the Llangarlian language, and the people of Llanbank returned the favour by acquiring words of the Greek that the Trojans spoke.

  Within weeks the conversations between the Trojans and those of Llanbank were a chattering mixture of Greek and the native language.

  Soon, both peoples were exchanging ideas along with tales of adventures and gods. The Trojans, back in Mesopotama, had used a plough that the Llangarlians thought would work well in the soils about the Llan; on their part, the Llangarlians shared their local knowledge of fishing and hunting to aid the Trojans in their search for meat.

  No one, however, hunted in the sacred forests north of the Llan.

  Brutus had given the Trojans one week in which to unpack their ships and to erect suitable shelters against the oncoming winter (which were chilly and damp, so the Llangarlians told their new neighbours, but not as frigid as the winters in the north of the island), then he set the men to work on the foundations of the walls of Troia Nova. He needed to work quickly. Genvissa had told him that the best time to work the first Dance of the Game, work the first enchantment, would be the winter solstice, and that was only two months distant.

  By then, the foundations needed to be complete and the gate marked out.

  Evil needed to know where the entrance to the city was in order for it to be trapped.

  So the Trojans set to work. The walls were to be huge—the height of five men, and half as thick at its base. That meant the foundations had to be dug at least the height of a man into the ground, and preferably the height of one and a half men. The ground was generally easy to dig: beneath the soil and loam on the surface lay well-packed gravel whose discovery made Brutus exultant…this land was made for the support of walls. In most areas the foundations of flint packed into clay could be laid down directly, but in those few parts where the ground was soft and waterlogged the builders would need to drive in wooden piles for extra support. The Wal would be diverted via stone culverts under the walls in the north, and then under a low stone gateway where it emerged into the Llan.

  All in all, to Brutus’ delight, there would be few problems apart from time—and that could be defeated with good planning and willing backs.

  By the winter solstice he had every expectation of being ready to begin the Game.

  Cornelia stood on the southern bank of the Llan, watching the activity across the river. The site surrounding the three holy mounds swarmed with men—digging, carting, excavating.

  She shuddered, and drew her cloak tightly about her.

  “Cornelia,” said a voice. “How pleasant to see you here.”

  Cornelia jumped, swivelling about, her face pale, her eyes wide, and stared at Genvissa.

  Genvissa walked to her side, and looked across the river herself. “All goes well, does it not? Brutus assures me we will be ready for the Game by the night of the winter solstice.” She turned slightly, so she could see Cornelia out of the corner of her eye. “You only have a few weeks, Cornelia.”

  “A few weeks?” Cornelia’s voice cracked slightly, and Genvissa had to suppress a smile.

  “Surely Brutus has told you about the Game, and his and my role in it?”

  Cornelia flushed, the colour moving up her neck to mottle her cheeks. “What do you mean, ‘a few weeks’?”

&nb
sp; Genvissa sighed. “The Game requires myself as Mistress of the Labyrinth, and Brutus, as Kingman of the Labyrinth, to unite as one in order to ensure the success of the Game. You do know what I mean, don’t you, my dear?”

  Cornelia stared at her, her face white now, her eyes unblinking.

  “I’m sure you’ve been worried that Brutus and I have become lovers,” Genvissa said, “but we haven’t. Not yet.”

  She glanced slyly at Cornelia before continuing. “We’re waiting only for the first Dance in the Game, little girl, then Brutus and I will be far more ‘married’ than you and he ever were. Wedded together in such power you will become nothing more than an irritating insignificance. If I were you, Cornelia, I’d allow Brutus as much use of your body as he can tolerate between now and the winter solstice.”

  She paused. “I doubt he’ll make much use of you after it.”

  Then she reached out a hand and put her palm against Cornelia’s cold cheek. “Poor girl. You’ve always been too much the simpleton to keep Brutus occupied in any meaningful way. You’ve had a pair of legs that can be parted, you’ve a body that can be penetrated, but you’re not much else, are you?”

  Cornelia drew in one deep, shocked breath, then, with all the strength she could muster, she hit Genvissa across the cheek.

  Genvissa’s eyes flared, but she made no move to retaliate…at least, not physically.

  “You’ve nothing to make Brutus love you,” she said, her voice now as cold as the frosty air about them. “Nothing.”

  Erith looked up, startled by Cornelia’s sudden entrance into her house. She had been expecting the girl, but not this early…and not in this state.

  “Cornelia?” she said, rising from her bench by the hearth. “What is wrong?”

  “Forgive me my entrance,” Cornelia said, paused, then began to cry.

  Erith shot a significant look at Loth, who sat deep in the shadows of the far side of the house, then put her arm around Cornelia and drew her close to the fire.

  “Genvissa,” Loth said, his voice deep with anger.

  “Undoubtedly,” Erith agreed, “for she has been as cocksure as the sun these past weeks. Cornelia?”

  Cornelia sniffed, wiped her hand across her eyes, and made an effort to compose herself. “I apologise, Erith. And yes, Loth,” she nodded at him in greeting, “is right. I have just been bested by Genvissa…again. She told me that the Game will begin on the night of the winter solstice—”

  Loth rose very quietly and came to sit at Cornelia’s other side.

  “—and that…that it will cement her and Brutus in a partnership closer than he and I could ever share. Wedded together in such power, she said, that I would become an insignificance in his life.”

  “And still you do not wish to aid us, aid Mag against Genvissa?” Several times in the past weeks Loth had approached Cornelia, and asked her if she would aid him and Erith and their allies against Genvissa, but every time she had refused.

  To do so would only be to alienate Brutus, and that she would not risk. Cornelia had even taken to avoiding Coel, as if that would keep her determination intact.

  Cornelia turned aside her face, as she had every time Loth approached her to aid him, and there was a long silence.

  Finally, Erith sighed, and took Cornelia’s hand. “Girl, we wish you to help us, for we think you are the only one who can help us, but we will not force you.”

  “Would it help,” Cornelia said very softly, “if Brutus were to renounce Genvissa?”

  Erith and Loth exchanged glances.

  “What do you mean?” Erith said.

  “If Brutus renounces Genvissa for me, completely, then he will not begin this Game with her, will he?”

  “Perhaps,” said Loth, wondering what manner of plan Cornelia had dreamed up to make Brutus turn completely from Genvissa. It would have to involve the counter-turning of both the sun and moon, for he did not think anything less would manage it.

  “If I were pregnant again,” Cornelia said, “surely he would renounce Genvissa?”

  Loth fought the impulse to roll his eyes, contenting himself with yet another glance at Erith. “Cornelia…”

  “Erith,” Cornelia turned to the House Mother, turning her back to Loth and speaking rapidly before he had a chance to interrupt her, “you once told me about the spring at the foot of the Llandin where a woman can go to beg Mag’s mercy in conceiving, and to win for her child a soul most worthy. Is it true? Will you show me?”

  “But we don’t think Mag’s power is there any more—” Erith started to say, but Cornelia hurried on, her hope so desperate it would brook no argument.

  “It is my only hope, Erith. If I caught with child again…I just know Brutus would stay with me! When I was carrying Achates he kept me with him even though he hated me.”

  “I don’t think this would be the same—”

  “If Mag aided me to conceive, if she helped me to choose a bright soul for my daughter, then…then…”

  “I don’t see why we shouldn’t aid you,” Loth said smoothly, ignoring Erith’s startled glance. “It just might work.”

  Later, when Cornelia had gone, Erith turned to Loth with wide, questioning eyes.

  “She is naive, yes,” Loth said. “A bellyful of six squirming children is going to do nothing to break Genvissa’s hold over Brutus. But taking her to Mag’s spring…maybe we can learn more about how she can aid Mag. Whether Mag is there or not, Erith, those are magical waters. They might show us the truth of Cornelia.”

  Erith shrugged. “It won’t do any harm, I suppose,” she said.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CORNELIA SPEAKS

  I was desperate for Brutus, and desperate for a child, a daughter. This desire was not only because I was sure that should I have a belly on me again then Brutus would abandon his questing after Genvissa, but because of my continuing dreams of the stone hall. Always, it seemed, my daughter was there, playing just beyond the field of my vision, her laughter like music. Always, I was happy there.

  I knew that this daughter was fated. When Coel told me that Llangarlia had no great stone hall I had been bewildered. Perhaps it had been but a dream, after all. But then, on that day I’d climbed Og’s Hill, and Brutus had put his arm about my waist and explained his plans, I’d known it to be no dream, but a truth.

  The view from the top of Og’s Hill was exactly the view from the stone hall in my vision. It might not be built yet, but it would be soon, and then Brutus and I would reign from there, and watch our daughter play among the great hall’s shadowy aisles. Brutus had dreamed of this stone hall, too. He must have seen what I had. Once he knew I was with child, and with a daughter, then he would forget Genvissa and whatever hold she had over him.

  Then he would love me.

  I also would have a baby to mother. Aethylla was increasingly becoming Achates’ mother. He cried whenever I lifted him from Aethylla’s arms, he yearned for Aethylla’s breast, he played in her lap, he slept in her bed.

  This time, I was going to have a child that loved me, not Aethylla and her damned milk-engorged breasts. This time, my breasts would feed my child.

  No one would take this child from me.

  I think that, in a tiny part of me somewhere, I thought that if I did lose Brutus, if he did leave me for that witch, then I would always have his daughter, I would always have a bond with him.

  But, oh…Genvissa.

  You’ve had a pair of legs that can be parted, you’ve a body that can be penetrated, but you’re not much else, are you?

  Had she fed that particular bit of nastiness to Brutus as well? Had they laughed about it, laughed at me?

  That evening, while Brutus was still occupied at the building site (and no doubt laughing with Genvissa over yet another of my failings), and Achates suckled contentedly at Aethylla’s breast, Erith took me to the Llandin spring.

  It was so cold my nose felt as though it had frozen and would drop away from my face at any moment, and I partly
wished that I had not asked Erith to bring me.

  But I was determined to conceive a child that would bind Brutus to me; if this did not win him back to my side then nothing would.

  I’d been here several weeks previously when Coel (careful never to touch me, not to push me) had taken me on a tour of the Veiled Hills. The hills made me feel much as I had at the first sight of Llangarlia: breathless, excited, overwhelmed and, strangely, loved. This land, and these sacred hills particularly, made me feel as I imagined it would feel to be held safe and warm in a mother’s arms.

  The spring with its delightful charm had made me laugh—and Coel had then laughed to see my joy—and now I was happy to be coming back. To beg of its waters, and of this Mag, a daughter that I would love and who would love me and who would bind Brutus to me for ever and ever and ever.

  When we arrived at the huge gnarled oak that guarded the approaches to the Llandin, I was annoyed to find Loth waiting for us. I shot him a dark look. No matter what he pleaded, I would not aid him, nor Erith either, if it meant antagonising Brutus.

  “Cornelia,” said Erith’s gentle voice as we stopped at the edge of the steaming pool of water under the rocks from where the spring bubbled, “you will need to disrobe.”

  I dropped my cloak and slid the robe over my shoulders. “What now?” I said, shivering in the cold air.

  “When you enter the pool,” Loth said, “you will experience a vision. This will be your vision alone. Neither Erith nor I will see what you do. Whatever happens, Cornelia, you must endure by yourself. Are you prepared for that?”

  “Yes. Please, what do I do?”

  “I have told you of the Mag that Llangarlian women feel in their wombs,” Erith said to me.

  “Yes, and Blangan spoke of it.”

  “If you want Mag’s aid,” Erith said, “then you will need to feel the Mag within your womb. Do you feel Mag within your womb, Cornelia of Mesopotama?”