Dido Read online

  Some time before dawn; the small bedchamber

  ‘Oh Gods, yes,’ Dido said. ‘That is a day I remember. Or rather the night of that day.’

  So she wasn’t asleep after all. Elissa said: ‘Can I get you something, lady? Some food? I know they’re still awake in the kitchen, waiting to see whether you want something to eat.’

  ‘To eat? No, nothing to eat. Thank you, Elissa. Shouldn’t you be asleep? Although of course now you don’t have to get up early in the morning for Ascanius. That should console you a little.’

  ‘It doesn’t though. I’d much rather feel tired and have Ascanius still here.’

  Dido flung herself back on to the bed. ‘And I, Elissa. And I. That night, after Ascanius fell into the fish pond – that was the first time Aeneas showed me his love. Told me of his feelings, I mean. It was then that I realized he could love me. I, of course, had made up my mind to marry him on his first night in Carthage, when I heard his stories and found myself enchanted by his voice, by him. I think it’s possible, don’t you? To be enchanted?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ Elissa’s mind was trying to grasp what Dido had just said. If Aeneas had kissed her that night . . . What did it mean? Perhaps – this thought came to her like a bird flying into a room; and like a trapped bird bumping into windows and corners and desperate to find a way out, it whirled around in her mind – he might have been thinking of me; of how he wanted to kiss me and maybe more than kiss me, even as he was kissing Dido for the first time.

  Elissa knew she was young and inexperienced, but since Aeneas came to Carthage, she had grown up very quickly. She smiled to herself. The queen was much older, but who was going to be the mother of Aeneas’ child? Men (and she had known this for a long time: she had been observing them all her life and especially since starting to work at the palace) could be attracted to more than one person at a time. Very often love didn’t come into it. Once, in the sewing room, one of the more vulgar of the sewing women had said: For men, it’s no more than a kind of itch. Anyone’ll do to scratch it. They’re not much different from dogs, when you come right down to it.

  ‘We had an argument that evening,’ the queen continued. ‘After the meal had been served. Iopas had sung some new songs and one of them was a love song that moved me deeply. When you’re in love, Elissa, everything takes on an extra meaning. I can’t remember how often I’ve listened to love songs and they’ve reached my ears and not my heart. But that night Iopas’ words struck me and made me think.’

  She reached for her lyre and began to pluck it again. ‘Listen. I remember it. The whole song.

  ‘Your eyes have made a flower bloom in my heart.

  Your voice has brought sweet music to my ears.

  Your mouth has spoken words that stir my blood.

  Your eyes are full of fire that lights my dreams.

  Your arms are empty. Take me in your arms

  and hold my beating heart close, close to yours.

  Kiss my red lips and waves of sweetest love

  will drown us both and cover us with bliss.’

  Dido’s voice trembled. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she sang, and sobbing overcame her as she stumbled through the last line of the verse. Elissa said, ‘It’s a very pretty tune. I’m not sure about the words.’

  Was that rude? Was she allowed to offer criticism of Iopas’ verse? To her it always seemed to be too much, too florid, too worked on. She sometimes wondered whether Iopas really felt the things he wrote about, or whether he simply had a gift for finding words that would fit deep feelings if he did ever happen to have them. It seemed very strange to her that he could turn words this way and that and make them do whatever he wanted them to do when he was writing songs and yet not really know how to talk to a person when she was in front of him.

  ‘The words become miraculous if they describe what you’re feeling. That was what I wanted: for Aeneas to take me in his arms and crush me against him. I could hardly eat. And we started a silly argument. About Troy and the war and whether the Greeks were justified in using a trick to get into the city, and I said that many things went on during wars which were wrong, but which you could perhaps justify because you wanted to win the battle, and this went on and on and trailed off into other things, and in the end I found myself begging him to stay in Carthage. Begging him not to leave me. What a fool I was!’

  ‘No, lady, never a fool.’

  ‘You’re kind to me. And perhaps I will drink something, if you bring it to me.’

  ‘With pleasure!’ Elissa jumped up from the bed and went to the door. ‘I’ll fetch water.’

  ‘And wine too. Some red wine with my water.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Elissa left the room and Dido lay down on the bed.

  Anna

  Some time before dawn; the small bedchamber

  ‘YOU?’ DIDO SAID. ‘I thought it was Elissa who was bringing me some water and wine.’

  ‘I met her in the kitchen and took the jug and goblet from her. Here . . .’ Anna decided to ignore the fact that her sister sounded irritated at this change. Dido would probably have been happier without me here, she told herself, but I don’t care. She’s my sister and I’m the one who should be looking after her. She said, ‘Here, take a drink. The night is so hot.’

  ‘Thank you. I didn’t mean to sound— Oh, Anna, you know how I am. I can’t sleep. I want to do nothing but think about him. Talk to someone about him. Remember words he said to me.’

  Anna sat down beside her sister on the bed. ‘I’m happy to talk to you about whatever you like. If that’s Aeneas, then so be it. I’d rather not talk about him because I get angry all over again when I think of how he’s just disappeared without so much as a word of thanks, and after everything we did for him. You did for him.’

  ‘D’you remember the night we discussed the war in Troy?’ Dido said, and Anna looked at her helplessly. She’s speaking as though I’ve said nothing. She hasn’t heard a word I’ve said. She’s in her own head, and if I want to communicate with her, I have to go into her head too.

  She sighed and said: ‘Yes, I remember. You were being obstinate. I was there, but couldn’t hear exactly what you were talking about, of course.’

  I’m lying, she thought. Never mind. I heard every word they said to one another that night.

  Anna sat with a piece of embroidery on her lap, wondering how it was that Dido and Aeneas could be in a public room (in this case, the smaller room off the banqueting hall where the queen liked to eat when she was not entertaining visitors) and behave as though no one else was there with them. But I’m here, she thought as she stabbed a needle threaded with twisted silver into the dark cloth. She had suggested to Dido that perhaps the two of them, she and Aeneas, would like to be alone, but Dido wanted her to stay. Anna withdrew to a seat some distance away from them, and Dido then behaved as though she wasn’t even in the room. She certainly doesn’t notice, Anna reflected, that her sister is unhappy. Lovers are selfish, she thought. Why should she see? I’ve not spoken to her lately about my feelings for Iopas, and how my whole being is churned into misery and jealousy when I look at her and Aeneas and notice how happy they are. She sighed. It was unworthy to be jealous of her own beloved sister but she couldn’t help it. She tried to imagine how she and Iopas would look, nuzzling into one another’s necks, twining their fingers together and sipping from one another’s lips as though they were bees seeking nourishment from the flowers.

  ‘I can let you hear what they’re saying,’ said a voice in her ear. Anna sprang up, nearly dropping her embroidery. A woman with white hair piled up on top of her head and wearing a cloak edged with peacock feathers was standing beside her. ‘Don’t look so astonished. I’m Hera, wife to Zeus, and I’m anxious to foster this love between your sister and Aeneas. Can you see how they adore one another? Aphrodite and I have had to do very little to encourage it. The love has sprung up strongly, and almost spontaneously. Just listen.’

  ‘I’m sitting too
far away,’ Anna murmured. ‘And besides, they’re whispering. It’s hard to make out the words.’

  ‘Take this,’ said Hera, and handed Anna a small peacock feather, which glowed blue-green in the torchlight. ‘Hold it and you’ll be able to hear everything.’

  ‘It’s unseemly,’ Anna objected. ‘Lovers should be alone together.’

  ‘Then throw the feather away,’ said Hera, blending into the hangings on the wall until Anna could no longer see her.

  She was on the point of doing exactly that, when curiosity overcame her. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so wrong, she told herself. Dido is my sister. We’re of the same blood. Also, no one will know. She put her embroidery down on the floor and held the feather tightly, surprised by how suddenly thrilling it was: to listen without anyone knowing you were listening. It was like being invisible: a little like being one of the Gods. Aeneas was speaking.

  ‘You’re stubborn as a mule,’ he said, but he was smiling. ‘You won’t admit when you’re wrong. And you are wrong about many things. Not least the war in Troy. I was there. I saw the results of that trick of Odysseus’.’

  ‘A hero! That’s what you are, Aeneas, and anyone who doesn’t agree with you is naïve and ignorant.’ Dido laughed. Anna could tell that her sister was more than a little drunk. Her head, she thought, is probably swimming as much as mine. She, Anna, had been with Dido and Aeneas for most of the day, and it had been full of small incidents that she had observed carefully. He’d held Dido’s hand for a moment as we all walked in the garden, she thought. He twice put an arm out to guide her, once when we were near the temple and then again when they were approaching the harbour. And each time he touched her, Anna thought, I could imagine what she was feeling, even though it’s a long time since anyone put his hands on me in such a way. I can remember how the blood begins to sparkle and ripple through the body.

  ‘I’ve had enough of arguing,’ Dido said. ‘I’m more interested in persuading you to stay in Carthage, Aeneas. Stay with me, I beg you.’

  As she spoke, Anna thought: What is she saying? She’s a queen. How can she beg a man to stay as if she were just any woman? What’s become of her dignity?

  ‘Oh, my dearest Dido, how beautiful you are!’

  Aeneas reached out then, and folded her into his arms. Anna nearly dropped the feather as she watched Dido trembling in every limb. Aeneas had pulled her close to him and his chin seemed to be resting on her hair. Her mouth was on the skin of his neck . . . Oh Gods, she was – she was putting out her tongue and licking the skin of his neck and pushing her chin up and moving her head so that she was higher, higher, and her mouth was on a level with his, and she fastened her lips on his like someone famished, dying of thirst, dying of longing.

  ‘Dido!’ He breathed her sister’s name and his mouth pressed down and her lips opened and Anna heard her groan and saw her twisting in his arms as if she wanted to press herself entirely into his flesh.

  When the kiss ended, Aeneas began to apologize, but Dido put her fingers on his lips and said: ‘No, don’t say a word. I wanted you to kiss me. You must know that I’ve been wanting it for a long time.’

  ‘I didn’t dare to think . . .’

  Anna watched Dido pull away from him and sit up straight. She looked steadily at him, her mouth on the very edge of a smile. Her left hand was still holding his, the fingers intertwined.

  ‘Does this mean you’ve changed your mind about setting sail for wherever it is you have to set sail for?’

  Aeneas frowned and pulled his hand away. ‘It’s nothing to laugh about.’

  ‘I wasn’t laughing.’

  ‘You were mocking me, Dido. Mocking what I told you of my destiny. I have to go – don’t you understand? Hermes himself came to me in dreams. He was quite clear about what I had to do. About my duty.’

  ‘I understand, I do, truly, but I also think you could be more . . . more distressed about it. Speak to your mother. Offer sacrifices to her and to Hermes. Tell them . . . Tell them how much you want to stay in Carthage with me. You do want to, don’t you? Isn’t it comfortable here? You surely have everything you want. If you are lacking anything, you only have to tell me and I will arrange for it to be brought to you, Aeneas.’

  ‘You see?’ Aeneas was smiling now. ‘That proves you don’t understand.’

  He’s looking at her as though she’s his child, Anna thought. Indulgently.

  Dido answered: ‘I understand that you’re proud and stubborn and the fact that I’m the ruler here is something you can’t quite get used to. Am I right?’

  ‘Yes and no, Dido. Yes and no. Of course I understand that you’re the queen. You rule the land well. You have power and you deserve it. I’m also grateful to you, as you know, for everything. But why don’t you understand that being grateful is hard for me? It would be hard for any man, but particularly for one who has known for a long time that it’s his destiny to found a great city across the sea from Carthage. We cannot escape our destiny.’

  ‘But if you married me, Aeneas, I would share the throne with you. We could reign over Carthage together.’

  Anna was so surprised that she almost sprang up at that moment. As though her sister would ever share power with anyone! That proves how far Dido has travelled from her normal self, she thought. What will he say? Will he agree to such a thing? No, he was shaking his head.

  ‘I don’t want to share power,’ he said. ‘And neither do you, Dido. For which I admire you. I could turn your offer upside down. Why do you not leave Carthage and come with me to found a new dynasty?’

  ‘I would never do such a thing,’ Dido answered. ‘Why should I? Why is my kingdom somehow not as important as yours, Aeneas? Quite apart from the fact that Carthage is thriving and your future realm is nothing but a dream. I have subjects who rely on me for their welfare, their employment. Their livelihoods. And how do you know the Gods will do as they promised?’

  ‘Because Aphrodite is my mother. She would never lie to me.’

  For a while neither of them spoke. A silence had fallen between them and grew and grew until Anna wondered whether she ought to get up from her seat and say something to break it. Then Dido said, ‘I’m going to my bedchamber now, Aeneas. I hope . . . I hope that what I’ve said to you tonight will work on you as you sleep and change your mind. Remember that I’ve asked you to stay.’

  ‘Kiss me once more before you go,’ Aeneas said.

  Dido was shaking her head. She seemed to Anna suddenly different, no longer feeling the effects of the wine, all at once a queen and not a woman in the throes of passion. ‘No, Aeneas. I will not kiss you again till you agree to marry me. I have my pride. I don’t want to be . . .’ She hesitated. ‘A pastime for you. A plaything.’

  ‘Never, Dido. You would never be that. You know my feelings for you.’

  ‘I thought I knew. Perhaps I was mistaken. We’ll see. Tomorrow we go hunting in the mountains. The expedition has been planned for some days and we cannot postpone it without putting many people to great inconvenience. Will you be ready to leave at first light?’

  ‘I will. And I thank you. We’ll have good sport, I’m sure. Goodnight, dearest Dido.’

  ‘Sleep well, Aeneas.’

  She left the room, and a short while later, Anna followed her. She was so eager to reach her sister that she let the peacock feather drop to the floor. She bent down to pick it up again and it had vanished. That can’t be, Anna thought. It was there, on the tiled floor, blue-green and glowing. Where could it have gone? I’ll look for it tomorrow, she thought. Dido needs me now.

  She reached her sister’s room and saw the queen lying face down on the enormous bed, beating her fists against the pillows.

  ‘Anna? Is that you? Oh, Anna, will this night never end? I want the morning to come. I want . . . Oh, I’m mad with love for him. And he loves me. Did you see? Did you notice how he looked at me? How he kissed me? Oh, Gods, let this night pass quickly. I want to see him again. I want to be with him. Do you think I
’ve lost my mind, Anna?’

  ‘I think you’re tired and have had too much wine. Go to sleep now.’

  ‘Stay with me, Anna. Till I’m asleep. Like you used to do when we were girls.’

  Dido fell asleep almost at once, but Anna sat at the end of her sister’s bed for a long time, staring into the darkness, worrying about the future and offering silent prayers to both Aphrodite and Hera on her sister’s behalf. She thought about Iopas. Much good her prayers were. Aphrodite and Hera hadn’t listened to her pleas about Iopas. He wasn’t interested in her and there seemed to be nothing she could do about it. There were times when he was kind. On one or two occasions he’d sat next to her at feasts, and once he’d recited to her some poems he’d written and she cherished the memory of how close together they’d been sitting then: on a pile of cushions in a sunny corner of the courtyard, with the palm trees making a latticework of fronds above their heads, and the air warm and caressing on their faces. I listened to them all, Anna thought, and I praised every one, but really I wasn’t listening at all. I was relishing being so close to him. But at the end of the reading he went back to his chamber. He kissed my hand before he went, but oh, how much more I wanted from him! How much more I always want.

  She stood up. I must leave Dido to sleep, she thought. I must go back to my own chamber. My lonely chamber. She walked through the darkened corridors of the palace and sent up yet another prayer to Aphrodite. Please, Goddess, let me not sleep alone for ever. Please, I implore you.

  The next morning Anna came into Dido’s room to help her dress.

  ‘The white and silver,’ Dido said. ‘I want to be cool.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Anna said. ‘Are you wearing a cloak over this dress? Or an overdress? You can see everything through this fabric, you know.’

  ‘Perhaps. Yes, perhaps I will.’

  It occurred to Anna that a cloak could easily be removed if Aeneas decided that was what he wanted.