Dido Page 3

  Elissa said, ‘It was clever trick. Perhaps the chieftains admired your cleverness.’

  ‘Yes,’ Dido said, and went to stand at the window with her back to Elissa. ‘And I had my city. I did everything – I’ve done everything – to make it a fine city, and it is beautiful, isn’t it?’

  ‘Very beautiful,’ Elissa said. ‘Tall, fine buildings. Green gardens – rich farmlands outside the city too.’

  ‘And yet I sometimes long for my country. I can’t help it. The trees there – they aren’t a bit like those we have here. I’ve planted cedars and vines, but they aren’t quite at home in the landscape. A little like me. I still yearn for my childhood. My first husband. And sometimes I wish I didn’t have to be a monarch all the time. You have no notion of how burdensome it is, ruling over a people. Never being able to lay that burden down because you have a duty to them; to your people – do you understand?’

  Elissa nodded, though she didn’t say what was in her mind. If Dido found being a queen so tiresome, why had she not sailed with Aeneas to wherever it was he was bound? Surely he must have asked her . . . No, the truth was, Dido loved being queen more than anything. She loved the power she had over the inhabitants of Carthage. She loved her own fame and reputation. She would never, never give up the pleasure of being a queen; the supreme ruler of her kingdom. How many times, Elissa thought, have I walked behind her as she processed through the city? Dido sometimes travelled on a kind of moving platform carried through the streets by six strong men from the palace guard, with Elissa and the other women walking alongside and behind her. The crowds stood on the edge of the roadway, and waved and cheered as she passed, and some of them even knelt down in the dirt and touched their foreheads to the ground, and Elissa felt a little of the thrill of being adored. Sometimes she could imagine that everyone was worshipping her, but that was just a foolish daydream she indulged in to pass the time and she knew the truth of the matter. It was Dido, dressed in flowing robes of purple and red embroidered with fine gold threads, and with a headdress fashioned from beaten copper studded with opals on her head – she was the one the people loved; the one they admired and revered.

  The queen went to lie on the bed, and Elissa was on the point of asking permission to return to her duties when she noticed a movement in the corner of the small room. She turned round and was startled to see someone standing in the shadows near the door.

  ‘Dido, Queen of Carthage, is unhappy,’ the someone said, and when the visitor began to float towards the bed, not quite touching the floor, with the turquoise, silver-embroidered draperies of her robes shimmering and moving around her like smoke, Elissa wondered if this was a dream.

  ‘Recognize Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love,’ said the vision.

  ‘Aphrodite!’ Elissa gazed at her open-mouthed and couldn’t think of what to say next.

  ‘My poor child,’ the Goddess said. ‘Do not blame me for the queen’s unhappiness. Nor for your own. As you know, all my desire is to foster love. Blame Zeus for Aeneas’ departure. He’s the one who sent Hermes to remind the Trojan of his duty.’

  ‘Was it you who made her love Aeneas?’ Elissa asked.

  ‘Don’t chide me,’ Aphrodite whispered. ‘What’s done is done – nothing comes of mourning the past. And we Gods do not take kindly to being scolded. Everything that has to be will be, and all will become clearer as time passes.’ She put an arm round Elissa, who was aware of the faintest touch, as though someone had wrapped a scarf of finest silk around her shoulders.

  ‘Help her, Aphrodite,’ Elissa said.

  There was no answer. The Goddess had dissolved into the air, leaving behind a lingering fragrance of roses and almond blossom. Elissa opened her mouth to cry out again but her throat was dry. She turned to look at the queen, who had risen from her bed again and was staring out of the window. She stood with her head bowed and her back bent, leaning against the sill like an invalid. Shall I go and comfort her? Elissa wondered. She did that for me when I was sick.

  Her mind returned to a time very soon after she’d arrived in the palace. Anna, the queen’s sister, had arranged for Elissa to be one of the sewing women, and she was grateful because the work was pleasant and she would be spared the harshness of kitchen and laundry work. One day, as she was mending a tear in one of the palace draperies, Elissa’s head began to swim and heat rose up into her face and all her limbs felt heavy and sore. It hurt to swallow. Her throat, it seemed to her, had turned into a thicket of spiky, thorny plants. She had pressed on with her stitching until at last she collapsed with her face on the draperies and Anna jumped up from her place at the top of the table.

  ‘Elissa! Are you sick, my dear?’

  Anna herself accompanied Elissa to the bedchamber, which was empty because Tanith and Nezral were still at work. The queen’s sister helped her undress and made her lie down under the coverlet and said: ‘I’ll send someone to you with a soothing drink, child. You must rest here till you are better.’ She smiled. ‘You are no use to me drooping over the table!’

  Elissa dozed for a while and the dreams that filled her head were of her mother. Every time she woke and realized where she was and how far she was from her home, tears slipped out of the corners of her eyes and slid down on to her pillow. Every part of her hurt and she longed for her mother. I’m stupid, she told herself over and over again. If I was ill at home, I’d be in a crowded room with the little ones shouting and crying, and Ma would be busy and wouldn’t have time to cuddle me or tend me or bring me soothing drinks.

  ‘Elissa?’ It was Dido herself, standing at the foot of her bed, and carrying a folded cloth in one hand and a bottle in the other. She put the bottle on the windowsill and sat down on the bed. ‘I’ve brought you a damp cloth. Look – it’s been wrung out in scented water and will cool your fever.’

  She bent over Elissa and smoothed the wet cloth over her brow. A fragrance of jasmine rose in the air and the chill and the damp were delicious.

  ‘Thank you, lady,’ Elissa murmured. ‘That’s lovely. I feel much better, really. I’ll soon be back at work.’

  ‘No rush to do that,’ said Dido. She ran her fingers over and over Elissa’s brow in a soft, stroking motion and Elissa couldn’t stop herself from crying. ‘You must miss your mother,’ the queen went on. ‘And I wish I could be more motherly. I’ve never had the chance to learn, you see, but I’ll look after you as best I can. Here, you must drink as much cool water as possible. Sit up, my child.’

  Elissa struggled to sip out of the bottle. Dido’s arm was now supporting her, and when Elissa had drunk her fill, she felt the queen lay her down again on the pillows. Before she left the room, she bent down and kissed Elissa’s brow and said: ‘Sleep now. You’ll feel much better soon.’

  And she had felt better the next day. Perhaps Dido had put some kind of healing draught into the water. From that time Elissa had always known that the queen cared for her, and she in turn loved Dido without reserve.

  Surely now, she told herself, shaking the memories from her mind, I ought to be able to offer her some comfort? Elissa patted Dido gently, tentatively, on the shoulder. She knew that any words she could find would be of little help but she spoke nevertheless, trying to hide the trembling in her voice.

  ‘I wish I could say something to make you feel better, lady. It makes me sad to see your sorrow.’

  ‘I know that, Elissa. I know it and you’re right. There’s nothing to be done for me. You should go. You should leave me now.’

  ‘Well . . .’ Elissa hesitated. ‘It’s true that there’s work to be done and I’ll be missed by my companions.’

  ‘Yes, child. Go. Send my sister to me.’

  ‘I will,’ said Elissa. ‘I know she’ll be worrying about you.’

  She opened the door and stepped into the corridor, where bright sunshine striped the marble floor. It would be hot walking down to the harbour, but that couldn’t be helped. She would go to her room and find a scarf to cover her head and tell Nezral
or Tanith to make some excuse for her if Anna or anyone else wanted to know where she had gone.

  Towards midday; the harbour

  ‘Please, I beg you. You have to let me see him. I need to say . . . I need to tell him . . .’ Elissa stared into the eyes of the Trojan barring her way. There were six of them, standing in a row, blocking the path to the shore. The men were lined up shoulder to shoulder, and she could no longer see what she’d glimpsed from the windows of the palace: Aeneas’ men swarming near the moorings of their ships and preparing to leave, loading weapons and other possessions on to the decks. Now that she was here at the harbour, she could see that what she’d feared was true: he was already on board and determined to sail away, and the cries of the sailors sounded to Elissa like the songs of a thousand seabirds prophesying doom.

  ‘Forget about it,’ said one of the men. ‘He’s not allowing anyone through, much less a chit of a girl like you. He’s given strict orders. We’ve got a tide to catch tomorrow, see, and no time to waste. All this gear to load. Go home, missy. You’re not going to see him and that’s that.’

  ‘But you don’t understand. I’m the nursemaid. I look after Ascanius. His son . . . I’ve been taking care of him the whole time he’s been here. Please. I need to see my baby. I need to say goodbye. I implore you.’

  ‘Nursemaid, eh?’ The Trojan laughed and his companions joined in. ‘Bit too young for that, and much too pretty, I’d say. And anyway, Ascanius is too big for a nurse. He’s a boy, not a baby. Mind you’ – the man nudged his elbow into his neighbour’s side and laughed – ‘wouldn’t mind you being my nursemaid. Not a bit. Nice, that would be – right, lads? Nestling in that bosom.’

  ‘You’re disgusting!’ Elissa said, but she muffled her words with her scarf. There was no chance of getting through this human barrier or of seeing Aeneas once more if she made them angry. She noticed something moving at the edge of her vision and turned to see who it was creeping up on her.

  ‘Do you know who I am?’ said the young man.

  ‘You are Hermes, the messenger of the Gods,’ she answered. ‘You were in our room this morning.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Hermes said. ‘Maron had to be brought down to the harbour.’

  Elissa noticed the wings on Hermes’ helmet, which made him seem more than ever like a woodland creature. His eyes, which she could see clearly now that she was close to him, were pale green and translucent. They reminded Elissa of the eyes of the orange-furred cats that came to hunt plump mice around the palace granaries. But Hermes’ eyes had no darkness at their centres, and Elissa shivered and found it impossible to look straight at him. She bent her head and fixed her gaze on his heels, where a second pair of gold-edged wings trembled in the slight breeze blowing in from the sea.

  ‘It’s time for Aeneas to fulfil his destiny. He has to leave at once, or he will stay here for ever. And that is not in the plan the Gods have outlined. Don’t cry, though. It’s really nothing personal.’

  Hermes’ voice sounded high and girlish but it held a thread of menace and Elissa didn’t dare to say what she really wanted to say, which was: It’s personal to me. A god wouldn’t understand mortal grief or pain.

  ‘You’re wrong,’ said Hermes. ‘We know exactly how hard it is to part from a loved one. We know how weak mortals are and how little defence they have against pain. We grieve for you all.’

  ‘I didn’t say anything,’ Elissa cried.

  ‘You didn’t need to. I could read your mind.’ Hermes laughed. ‘It’s not hard, in your case, to work out how you feel. You are a picture of unhappiness – and of course I know why.’

  ‘If you can’t help me to see Aeneas, then I wish you’d go away. It’s upsetting to hear this. I don’t care about his destiny. I just wish—’

  ‘Your wishes are of no consequence to the Gods, Elissa,’ Hermes said, rising a little way off the ground and beginning to move back towards the harbour. ‘You are not part of Aeneas’ story and that’s all there is to it.’

  ‘He could have said goodbye to me,’ Elissa cried. ‘How difficult would that have been?’

  Hermes shook his head and his helmet-wings flapped a little. ‘Take heart, girl,’ he said. ‘You have duties to the queen. She will depend on you, you know. You do have a part to play in this drama. You will find out later . . .’

  He was too far away by now to speak to, but if she could, Elissa would have shouted after him: It’s not a drama. It’s my life. She sighed and continued staring at the ships, peering into the distance, trying to spot Aeneas or Ascanius, but there was no sign of them.

  In spite of Hermes’ words, Elissa was still both furious and sad. She sat down on a pile of stones left behind by builders who had recently been improving the houses around the harbour. Aeneas had gone without so much as a word to her and she was left carrying the burden of her love for him and unable to speak of it to anyone. She had hidden this love so well and for so long and from so many people that covering up how she felt had become second nature to her, but today the truth was pressing to come out, to be told to everyone, and still she couldn’t say a word. She was sad about Ascanius. That was the story they all believed.

  As long as Aeneas was still here, she told herself, I could hope for something. How many hours had she dreamed away, imagining the two of them together, like husband and wife, with Ascanius playing at their feet? Even during their brief, rare times together she’d been lost in daydreams of his face, how handsome he was, and she could think of nothing except how he made her feel when he looked at her, and when he touched her. Whenever he spoke to her, she was so taken up with admiring the beauty of his mouth that she hadn’t paid very much attention to what he said, but it was true that he had promised her nothing. Still, she couldn’t help herself. She didn’t know how to stop hoping for something miraculous, something impossible, and she offered prayers to Aphrodite every night.

  And what would become of Dido now? she wondered. Whatever energy had been left over from her own longing for Aeneas was filled with agonies of jealousy, because he loved the queen and she adored him. But I love the queen too, Elissa thought, and would never wish to hurt her, and what I’ve done would hurt her if she ever found out about it. These feelings were like bad stomach ache, but worse than the worst pain she’d ever suffered. If Aeneas left now, would the jealousy disappear simply because Dido had also been abandoned? And could she be in the queen’s presence without flushing red with embarrassment?

  I should have spoken to him earlier, Elissa told herself, while he was still here to speak to. Why didn’t I dare to tell him how much I loved him? Because I’m too young. Every time he was with me I was tongue-tied. Dazzled by love. In awe of him because he was a hero and I am no one. A servant. His son’s nursemaid. And on that night (nearly three moons ago, but Elissa turned it over in her mind all the time, every single day, because it was so extraordinary, like a bright jewel shining in her heart), I could have told him how much I loved him, but I didn’t want to say a word that might have warned him he was making a mistake. I wish, she said to herself, I wish I had that night back again. Wishing, she knew, was useless.

  Now she wondered why Aeneas had said nothing to her, not even a word of farewell. Even as she was thinking this, a truth came to her. His flight had nothing to do with her and he didn’t think of her as someone from whom he ought to take his leave. She was no more than the girl who looked after Ascanius, and even if there was that one night – a night which she’d thought would make it possible for her to be more to him than that – it had been quite clear for some time that Aeneas regretted what had passed between them. She had noticed that he’d been avoiding her, and now he was leaving Carthage for reasons which she was ignorant of and probably wouldn’t understand, but which had nothing whatsoever to do with her. Elissa shivered and thought of Aphrodite . . . Aeneas had often spoken of her.

  ‘She’s my mother, Elissa,’ he’d said once, and she’d wondered how that could be. How could a mortal be the son of a goddes
s? She was about to ask him when he continued: ‘It’s all been decided by the Gods, you see. There’s little we can do when they’ve made up their minds. My mother and Hera looked with favour on Dido’s love for me and allowed it to flourish but I’ve always . . .’

  ‘Always what?’ Elissa dared to ask. Sometimes when Aeneas came into the nursery and stayed to talk to her, she found it hard to find words, even though she longed for the conversation to continue, but on this occasion her curiosity gave her courage.

  Aeneas had smiled at her. His whole face changed when he smiled and he looked more like his little son and less like a warrior. If something angered him, his eyes, the look that came into them, could make you feel cold all over. He said, ‘I’ve always known that the Gods had something prepared for me. Call it a sense of – what’s the right word? Destiny. Yes, that’s it. D’you know what that means, Elissa?’

  She’d shaken her head. Aeneas continued: ‘It’s hard to explain, only I’ve always known that I was spared during the war in Troy because there was something else I had to do before I died. And now it’s clear. I am to found a new city across the sea.’

  ‘Does that mean you’re leaving us?’ she had asked him. ‘Can you not be a lord here, in Carthage?’

  ‘Oh, Elissa, it’s complicated. Queen Dido would be reluctant to share her power, I think.’

  ‘Have you asked her?’ Even as she spoke, she realized that he might well chide her for her words. As a mere nursemaid, she knew she had no right to ask for details about the affairs of her masters.

  ‘Whatever she says now, she would grow to hate it, as you know. And besides, it’s as I said. No one can escape the fate which the Gods have decreed.’

  Elissa used to love these talks, even though after a while she grew a little bored with discussions of destiny, but it appeared that whatever it was, this destiny was the cause of her sorrow: the one thing that made it impossible for Aeneas to remain in Carthage.