Hades Daughter (34 page)

Corineus sat with us, and to my delight I found myself seated on the cushion next to him. The food he caused to have spread before us was mouth-watering: fine maza and turon made of the best flour, honey and cheese; sweet fresh figs; almonds and plump olives; sweet roasted game, both partridge and venison; salads sprinkled with mint and oregano; honeyed cakes and fresh apples and pears.

Corineus served me himself, taking the best and sweetest from every platter and lifting it to my mouth on a golden prong. I smiled agreeably, but no more than was respectful or due, and tried not to allow our eyes to meet.

Brutus watched with an unreadable expression, and from time to time I had to bury my hands in the skirt of my robe to conceal their shaking. I was both angry and fearful. All I would have liked was to enjoy the company of Corineus, but Brutus had effectively managed to ruin that simple joy with his cruel barbs.

Fortunately, Corineus made no attempt to make me the entire centre of his universe during the meal. Once our group had eaten sufficiently, Corineus put down the prong with which he had fed both himself and me, and leaned towards Brutus.

“Tell me what you do with such a grand fleet, and so many Trojans, Brutus,” Corineus said. “By the gods, I had thought that my city held the only sizeable population of Trojans left alive.”

“I am here as the instrument of the gods,” Brutus said, and at my side I heard Corineus breathe deeply in awe.

Brutus continued to talk, much of it new even to me (why had I never asked him this myself? I’d been dragged across oceans…and I had never talked to him about it). Some of the others, Membricus, Idaeus and Hicetaon, put in their words as well, as did Deimas and Assaracus when it came to the means by which Brutus had so horribly tricked my father and destroyed Mesopotama.

This was uncomfortable for me, and I kept very still, my head bowed, my concentration all on the empty plate before me. I did not want to live this through again.

But I was forced to. Every word that was said cut through to my heart.

Then Brutus began to talk of how he had forced Antigonus to trick the guards into opening the gates.

He described his murder of Melanthus and how he had used that murder to force Antigonus to his will. He described Melanthus’ death in detail—although he never mentioned his name—and I knew that detail was meant for me, although as a warning or as a punishment I was not sure.

“The instant I had torn out the boy’s throat, Antigonus capitulated,” Brutus said, leaning towards Corineus and stabbing in the air with an eating prong to underscore his words, “and I had my entry unopposed into Mesopotama.”

I think Corineus was about to say something but I, stupidly, opened my mouth first.

“The ‘boy’s’ name was Melanthus,” I said, “and he was my intended husband. I loved him dearly.”

“But I slit his throat and took her instead,” Brutus said and, I could hardly believe it, laughed.

Corineus glanced at Brutus, then took one of my hands from my lap and held it. “I am sorry for you,” he said, and, indeed, I could hear the sympathy in his voice, and it almost undid me. “We men rush to war, and we never think of the sorrow and heartache we cause in the homes of the dead.”

“But Cornelia had her revenge,” Brutus said in a hard, hateful voice.

My heart almost stopped. Oh! Why had I given him this chance? He would tell Corineus all of my shame, how my arrogance had murdered my father and all my people, and Corineus would now regard me with the same contempt that all the other Trojans about me did…and I suppose I could not blame him for that.

I tried to pull my hand from his, but Corineus held it tight.

Brutus began to speak, relating in vivid detail what I had planned, what I had done, what I had, in the end, accomplished. Genocide.

I closed my eyes, waiting for Corineus to drop my hand.

Brutus finished. There was silence.

Then…

“Can you blame her, Brutus?” Corineus said softly. “Would you have done any different in her place?”

And he gave my hand the tiniest of squeezes.

A vast silence this time. I could not believe what Corineus had said. That he had offered me a little understanding. My heart was thudding so heavily I felt sure that it was audible to everyone around me.

I could not imagine what Brutus would make of it.

“You do not know the half of it,” Brutus said, his voice tight.

“I am sure that I do not,” Corineus said, “and I apologise if I have offended, Brutus. I am only saying that we can all do foolish things in our youth and you are…what? How old, Cornelia?”

“Fifteen,” I whispered.

“Fifteen,” Corineus said, giving my hand another brief squeeze. “We all did foolish things when we were that age. I know I did, and—”

“Gods, Corineus, she murdered—”

“And I am sure,” Corineus continued through Brutus’ interruption, “that you also did things you may have regretted at fifteen. Yes?”

Yet more silence, this time one of deep-drawn breaths and averted eyes, and suddenly, suddenly I remembered what my father had said of Brutus that first day he’d mentioned him in the megaron.
He tore his mother apart in childbirth and then, when he was a youth of fifteen, slew his father with a “misplaced” arrow.

And Corineus, as most of the civilised world, it seemed, had heard of it also.

I removed my hand from Corineus’—he made no attempt to hang on to it this time—and raised my head to look at Brutus.

“You cannot compare an accident with what I did, Corineus,” I said. “You cannot use my youth to excuse my foolishness.”

Brutus was staring at me with such flinty eyes that I knew he was furious.

“I am weary,” I said, despair making every one of my bones ache. Oh, what a day this had been. Anger to joy to despair. What else would it offer? “And I think my presence is troubling. Will you excuse me, Corineus? I will retire, I think.”

Corineus rose and helped me to my feet and, as he gently kissed my cheek, whispered, “I will talk with him, Cornelia.
I
have made him angry, not you.”

Not daring to look at Brutus, nor any of the other Trojans present, I nodded, turned, and made my way to the cabin.

“
T
hat needed to be spoken, Brutus,” Corineus said, sitting down as Cornelia vanished into the gloom, “and it were easier said by a man who is a stranger to you than someone close. I meant no disrespect by it, not to you nor to any of yours. Cornelia has been a fool, but all of us here,
all
of us, have been fools at one time or another.”

“Cornelia is a murderess!” Membricus snapped.

“She had just discovered that her lover had been murdered, and she had just been forced into a marriage with the man she could think of only as his murderer. She repaid violence with violence, and I am not excusing that, I am simply
understanding
it.”

Membricus made as if to speak again, but Brutus laid a hand on his arm, and Membricus subsided.

“It was not welcome, what you said,” Brutus said, looking steadily at Corineus, “but I will respect your reason for saying it.”

Corineus nodded. “If my words have caused ill will and ill-feeling, then do remember that they were my words, and not those of Cornelia. And remember also that what
she
said following were the words of a wise woman, not those of a silly girl.”

“She has a fine champion in you,” Brutus said.

“She would be better,” Corineus said very softly, “in having a fine champion in
you.
”

“
I
think,” Hicetaon put in, “that we have spoken enough of guilt and youth and misdemeanours for this night. Troia Nova awaits us. Can we not discuss that?”

He finished on such a plaintive note that everyone laughed, the sound breaking the tension even if the merriment was a little forced.

“Well said,” Brutus remarked. “Troia Nova does await us, and all our mistakes and follies lie well behind us.”

“You actually intend to rebuild Troy in this land of Llangarlia?” Corineus said.

“Aye,” said Brutus. “I do.”

Corineus smiled, warm and friendly. “Then hate me or not for what I said earlier, Brutus, but I am much afraid that I am your man.”

“You want to join with me?”

“Oh, aye, I do!”

Brutus was not sure how to regard this. Earlier he would have greeted it with enthusiasm. Now…

“But surely,” said Brutus, “you are established and happy and free already, and from what you have said of your city I cannot think that any would want to leave it—”

“Ah, Brutus,” Corineus said, “I have not told you all. Some weeks ago a great earth tremor struck Locrinia during the night. Some buildings collapsed, and some people died, but the true horror was not realised until the next morning. Every building within the city,
every single one,
has been cracked so badly that none will stand for much longer. Within weeks, a month or so at the most, Locrinia will crumble into the bay, and it will be as if the city never existed.”

“You cannot rebuild?” Membricus said.

“Rebuild?” said Corineus. “No. The city is too badly damaged. Besides, who could want to rebuild when Brutus offers me Troy?”

He turned his attention back to Brutus. “Pray, do not allow your doubts make you refuse me,” he said. “I can be of great aid to you. Not only can I contribute ships, wealth, supplies and yet more Trojans to make your new Troy great, I have knowledge. Brutus, I
know
this land of which you speak.”

“Tell me,” Brutus said, now leaning forward himself.

“Blangan is a Llangarlian! A native. She may well be able to tell you all you need to know.”

“And Blangan is…?” Brutus said.

“Blangan is my wife,” Corineus said, and his voice was composed of such pride and love and tenderness that all of Brutus’ doubts dropped away.

“Blangan is Llangarlian,” Corineus continued. “She left when she was but fourteen, married to a merchant who died within six months, leaving her stranded in Locrinia.” Corineus gave an embarrassed half shrug. “What could I do but wed her myself? Someone had to save her from destitution.”

“And why am I thinking,” said Brutus with a grin, his humour now fully restored, “that this poor widowed woman was probably the most desirable creature you had ever set eyes on?”

Corineus shrugged, and smiled slightly. “That
may
have had something to do with it. But to the matter at hand. While you rest in Locrinia, repairing your ships and healing your people, Blangan can teach you the ways of the Llangarlians.” He laughed. “The gods drove you to me, Brutus! If the storm had not stopped you, and ripped masts from their beds in their keels, then you would have sailed past Locrinia in the dead of night, not knowing what aid awaited you within.”

Brutus looked about at his officers and friends. “Well, what say you? Should we welcome this Corineus into our midst, and take what aid and fellow Trojans he offers us?”

“Oh, we accept him,” Hicetaon said, glad that Brutus had not allowed Corineus’ earlier remarks to turn him against the man. “We welcome him gladly.”

“You have made quite the conquest,” Brutus said to Cornelia when he joined her on the bed within the cabin much later that night.

He waited for an answer, but there was silence. She lay with her back to him, only the rapidity of her breathing betraying her wakefulness.

Brutus propped himself on to an elbow and, with his free hand, toyed with a strand of her long, dark hair. It had become much softer with pregnancy, as slippery and fluid as honey, and with a seductive, natural scent.

“He has a wife,” he said softly. “A woman called Blangan. He loves her dearly.”

“And she him, I would think,” Cornelia said. She rolled over. “Brutus, I had no idea that Corineus would say what he—”

He slipped his hand over her mouth, stopping her words. “Why do we hate each other so much, my little wife? Why?”

She gently pushed his hand away from her mouth. “I do not—”

“Don’t dare to say to me that you do not hate me, Cornelia,” he said harshly, “for I would not believe that!”

Her mouth trembled, but she said nothing.

His eyes moved from her face to her body, and his hand he lifted and rested gently on her breast.

“If only,” he said. “If only…”

Then: “Go to sleep, Cornelia. We have all had a tiring two days.”

He rolled over and, his back to Cornelia, pulled the blankets over his shoulders.

She drew in a deep breath, keeping it steady with only the most strenuous of efforts, then closed her eyes as well.

It was a long time before she slept.

Because many of the fleet’s ships were so badly damaged, and the oarsmen needed longer breaks than they usually would after their ordeal during the storm, it took an extra half day longer than expected to reach Locrinia.

When they eventually approached at dusk of the fifth day after the storm, Brutus realised why Corineus had thought they would sail straight past if it had been night—as it probably would have been if they’d sailed untouched through the Pillars of Hercules. The city was visible from the ocean, but only barely. It was tucked into the southern shore of a bay whose only opening was a narrow, rocky strait. If a fleet had sailed north along the coast late at night when the citizens of Locrinia were asleep and all lights doused, then those aboard the fleet would never have known what they passed.

And, Brutus admitted to himself, he may not even have cared very much
had
he known. He had a destination, he was eager to reach it, and he would have ignored all distractions to achieve his goal. Only injury to his people and his ships had brought him Corineus and Blangan, both of whom might well be worth their weight in gold in aid and knowledge.

Locrinia was a medium-sized city of low buildings constructed in pale shades of sandstone and limestone and tiled in bright red and turquoise. It stretched from the southern shore of the bay halfway up the slopes of a massive mountain. At the edge of the city, neat fields ran up the mountain to the border of a close, dark forest that covered the greater part of the peak.