Dido Read online

  She shivered as she sat beside Iopas. To this day it hurt her to remember how brutally Sychaeus had been murdered. Dido didn’t even have time to mourn him properly, because their murdering brother would have killed them too if they’d stayed. We had to flee, she thought, but thanks to Dido’s cleverness we didn’t go empty-handed. She’d always sworn to Anna that the hiding place for Sychaeus’ treasure was revealed to her in a dream, but Anna thought it was much more likely that her sister had known where the gold was hidden even during her husband’s lifetime. She shivered when she recalled how terrified and desperate she’d been when they arrived on this beautiful shore. Dido, Anna thought, had never seemed frightened, but then she’d always been the brave one; I’m the one who jumped at every shadow.

  But Anna was also good at putting painful memories to one side. She turned to Iopas and said: ‘Isn’t it beautiful here? Hasn’t my sister shown herself to be the best of queens?’ Gardeners had only just finished planting palm trees in large white pottery tubs, decorated with dark blue snakes and dragons. Dido had ensured that the courtyards were almost the first things to be completed, once the living quarters and kitchens were ready. ‘She loves flowers and trees and everything growing,’ Anna explained, ‘and these courtyards are like small gardens, aren’t they?’

  ‘Tamed gardens,’ Iopas said. ‘Not wildernesses.’

  Anna looked at him and smiled. ‘Who would want to create a wilderness?’

  Iopas opened his mouth, perhaps to persuade her of how beautiful a desert could be, but at that moment a messenger raced into the courtyard, panting and sweating as though he’d run for a long time.

  ‘Queen Dido. I have to speak to her. The harbour master has seen some ships making for our shores.’

  Anna stood up. ‘Follow me,’ she said, and began to walk swiftly along the corridors leading to the great hall, which was where Dido was generally to be found at this time of day, poring over maps and plans of buildings going up in the city, or talking to her advisers – and sure enough, when she entered the room, she could see her sister sitting at a table with scrolls of parchment piled up around her. Various men Anna didn’t recognize were standing about, waiting to hear what the queen was going to say.

  ‘Dido,’ she cried. ‘A messenger is here. From the harbour master.’

  ‘Madam . . .’ The young man was now so out of breath that it took him a little while to collect himself. During those moments Dido sat very still and stared at him without saying a word.

  ‘Madam, there are ships approaching the harbour. We’ve seen three but there may be others. We cannot see what kind of ship clearly yet, but the harbour master needs your instructions.’

  Dido stood up. ‘I think we should go down to the harbour and see who these strangers are,’ she said, gathering her robes about her and waving a hand to dismiss everyone else in the room. Anna watched as they gathered up the papers that had been spread out over the table and melted away almost before Dido had swept from the room. Anna followed her sister, almost running to keep up with her.

  Outside the palace, the sun was striking the bright, clean stones of the new buildings and making them glitter. It was hot. Not unbearably so, but still Anna put on her headscarf to keep off the worst of the glare. Dido walked bareheaded, even though her skin was pale and burned easily. She could do this because a servant (whose duty it was to sit waiting, all day sometimes, in case the queen took it into her head to walk about the city) kept pace beside her, carrying a kind of awning on a stick which he held over her head so that she remained always in the shade. This arrangement also means that my sister can show off her hair, Anna reflected. Today, it was intricately braided and entwined with silver threads and hung down almost to her waist. Dido intended as many of Carthage’s citizens as possible to see it – and they would, because somehow word had spread, even though this was a private excursion and not an official procession, and people were streaming down from houses on the hills, from shops, marketplaces and the temples built to the Gods, from inns and taverns near the harbour, all eager to see who had set their sails for land and was making for their shore.

  ‘Queen Dido,’ said the harbour master, a sleek, plump, middle-aged man, who had the manner of a host welcoming guests to a private party. ‘What an honour to see you here! Come and sit in my quarters, madam, and stay out of this fierce sun.’

  ‘I carry, as you see, my own shade with me,’ Dido answered him, adding, perhaps conscious that this sounded ungracious: ‘But thank you for your kindness and hospitality. Are we any clearer who’s aboard these ships?’

  ‘No, madam. It’s hard to tell, but soon they’ll be close enough for us to observe them properly.’

  In the event, no one could believe what they were seeing from the harbour master’s window when the three ships weighed anchor in the bay. They looked like vessels from a nightmare, their sails torn and ragged, the paint worn from their sides, and their figureheads broken and disfigured. Everyone was shouting and talking at once and some of what they said floated up like ribbons of words to where Anna and Dido were standing: ‘Look – someone’s coming ashore in a boat . . . haven’t seen a bath in some weeks . . . Are they pirates? . . . No, the pirates’ve chased them here, looks like. How many? Can’t tell . . . One of them’s got a bandage round his arm . . . bleeding . . . Here they are . . . taking them to the harbour master . . . friends or enemies?’

  Anna watched some sailors (sent, no doubt, by the harbour master himself) standing by as the small boat came close to the jetty; they jumped down into it and grabbed hold of the three occupants. She couldn’t hear what they were saying to one another, but the strangers were led up very quickly – bundled up, you could almost say – to where she and Dido were standing. The harbour master huffed and puffed as he approached them.

  ‘Now then, now then . . .’ he said. ‘What do we have here? Who are you and where do you come from?’

  Of the three men who stood before them, one was clearly the leader. Another was an elderly, grizzled sailor and the third was very young. No more than a boy really, with reddish hair and a wide smile, full of energy and seemingly quite undaunted by his adventures on the ocean.

  ‘We’re grateful for your kindness,’ said the leader. ‘We’ve come a very long way and we’ve been travelling for many moons. We’re Trojans who fled the city as it burned. You’ve heard tell of the war?’

  Dido stepped forward then. Anna stared at the man and tried not to appear too astonished. His voice . . . Who in the realm of men had ever had a speaking voice like this? Perhaps he was Apollo in disguise. Didn’t the Gods sometimes visit mortals without revealing their true identity? That was what the stories said, and this voice was beautiful. It was deep and true, and every word came to Anna’s ears like a note of music made by a golden instrument. Although he was dirty, ragged and unkempt after a long sea voyage, he towered over the harbour master and it was hard not to admire his muscled, sun-browned arms. His hair and eyes were dark, and his nose as well-formed as that on a statue.

  ‘You are welcome,’ Dido said. ‘I am Dido, Queen of Carthage.’

  ‘An honour, madam,’ he answered, and bowed very low. ‘I am Aeneas, son of Anchises, of the city of Troy. This is my ship’s captain, and that young scoundrel is Maron, who helps me with the care of my little son, Ascanius.’

  She said, ‘How many are you, on those ships?’

  ‘There are thirty of us, madam. I’ve recently buried my poor father on the island of Sicily, but my son is thankfully still with me. I’m grateful to you for your kindness.’

  ‘It’s my pleasure. Go to your men and tell them they are welcome. We will return to our palace and prepare for your arrival. I am sorry to hear of your father’s death. Harbour master, help Aeneas and his men to disembark in good order. We’ll deal with the ships later. They seem to be in need of some repairs.’

  ‘Pirates from the islands.’ Aeneas smiled for the first time. ‘They didn’t kill us, but the fight was fierce and our
poor ships suffered greatly.’

  Dido returned his smile. ‘We’ll wait to greet you at the palace in due course. Baths and clothes will be prepared for everyone.’

  Anna recalled how they’d left the harbour master’s quarters then. Dido walked swiftly back up the hill, dismissing the awning-carrier with a wave of her hand. ‘Anna,’ she said, over her shoulder, ‘may I leave this to you?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll be happy to organize everything.’

  That was true, Anna thought. I like nothing better than seeing that households run like clockwork. As she struggled up the hill to the palace – the heat was terrible now – she considered what needed to be done. Servants summoned. The bathhouse cleared and fresh water drawn from the wells and brought to the palace and then heated. Clothes prepared – the palace guards would have to donate spare uniforms if there were thirty men to be clothed. For Aeneas himself, a chieftain would have to be asked to contribute some suitable garment, or perhaps she might ask some of the architects, counsellors and hangers-on who always thronged the corridors of the palace. And there was a child. It was important to find the right person to look after this boy, who was probably confused and frightened and missing his mother. That pleasant-looking lad Maron would have done his best, but young children needed women to take care of them. Who had his mother been? Anna wondered – but this wasn’t the moment to become curious about this visitor’s life. There would be time enough to find out such details later.

  Dido turned to Anna as they reached the courtyard. ‘A banquet tomorrow, Anna. It’s much too late today, but we’ll have a splendid banquet tomorrow. Show these Trojans how we live in Carthage. Can that be arranged?’

  ‘Certainly,’ Anna said, thinking: It’ll be hard. I’ll have to send at least a dozen people down to the market at first light. Warn them in the kitchens. Make sure the gold platters are polished, and the goblets too. ‘I’ll discuss food with the cooks. Boar? Lamb?’

  ‘Both of those, but also, I think, peacock, if you can find it. It’s so pretty when the cooks dress the birds with their own feathers. Anna . . . do you see that man? Over there. He’s been following us up from the harbour. How can he wear such a long enveloping cloak in this heat?’

  Anna turned and looked around. The description was exact. Hades was here . . . Where was he? She tried to sound unworried but she could feel dread gripping her, freezing her as it had on the day Sychaeus was murdered.

  ‘Where? I don’t see anyone. What colour cloak? You’re imagining things.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ Dido had stopped in the middle of the path and stood quite still. She spoke slowly, as if she were in a dream-state. ‘Grey. A grey cloak. I’m not in the habit of imagining strange men. He’s so tall, Anna. You must see him. There, just in the shadow of the wall.’

  ‘No, I’m sorry. Perhaps it’s a mirage.’

  What did it mean – that Dido could see Hades and she could not? Could it be that her sister was in danger? She offered up a prayer to Hera, the sister of Zeus.

  ‘Never mind,’ Dido sighed. ‘He’s gone. I don’t know how or why but it’s too hot to worry about him, whoever he was. What were we talking about?’

  ‘The banquet. I said I’d try to find peacock,’ Anna said, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘I can’t promise anything. Not with so little time.’

  ‘Well, if anyone can do it, you can. And do come and consult about my robes for the banquet when you’ve finished dealing with everything else.’

  Not a word of thanks, Anna reflected. Does she realize what she sounds like? She shook her head. I’m used to it. She’s simply like that. She doesn’t mean anything bad by such behaviour. She thinks of me as a sort of extension of herself, and who in the whole universe ever thanked themselves? No one, that’s who.

  Anna went to find Elissa, who, she thought, might be a perfect nursemaid for the little boy. She wasn’t much more than a child herself, but kind and loving, and also sensible and a favourite with Dido. At least Aeneas’ son would have the very best of care.

  Mid afternoon; a small bedchamber

  Anna allowed herself to drift back to the present and leave behind her memories of Aeneas’ arrival. She could see, through the small window, a patch of darkening sky, but still the afternoon light shone gold over the harbour. There wasn’t a sound to be heard, and she wondered briefly where everyone was. They’re hiding, she told herself. Waiting to see how the queen reacts. Perhaps the servants are eating in the kitchen. She was quite sure that everyone in the palace was there somewhere, waiting, because they were all obviously aware of Dido’s anguish and would be eager to see what she needed; what she would do next. But no one, it seemed, had walked down the corridors for a long time and Anna decided that when she left her sister, the first thing she’d do was go and check that the sentries were still in their positions. This would be a good time for enemies to creep in and take over the palace. Iarbas wasn’t exactly an enemy, of course, but jealousy made men act strangely, and he’d certainly had his eye on Dido ever since they came to Carthage. His nose was out of joint and no one likes that. Ever since it had become generally known in the city that Dido was in love with Aeneas, he’d been sulky, but who knew what effect the news of his rival’s departure would have on him? Even though Dido had made it clear to him, long before Aeneas’ arrival, that she had no intention of ever marrying him, men quite often didn’t believe what they didn’t want to believe and it was possible that he still held out some hope, especially now that his rival was leaving Carthage. Much better to make sure that the soldiers knew their duty and were constantly on guard against intruders.

  Anna looked at Dido (who was not asleep, but lying very still on her back with one arm flung over her eyes) and said: ‘Did you fall in love with Aeneas from the very first time we saw him? Looking filthy and ragged and unshaven?’

  ‘Of course not. Why do you keep going on and on about that time? It’s past and won’t return.’

  ‘Well, you refuse to speak to me, so what choice do I have? I must think about something.’

  Dido gave a scornful laugh. ‘And that’s the best you can do? I can’t imagine anything more boring.’

  ‘How can you say that, Dido? The feast we laid on is still talked about. We’ve never had such a magnificent occasion here at the palace, either before or since. Iopas singing all the songs of welcome – how nervous he was beforehand: d’you remember? It was his first public appearance as court singer and his hands were shaking. Then Aeneas’ stories. I know very well you remember those. Which of us had heard such things before? And his voice—’

  ‘Not another word about his voice!’ Dido sobbed. ‘It rings in my ears constantly. I don’t want to be reminded of that night. Keep your thoughts to yourself, I beg of you.’

  Anna knew there was no point in speaking to her sister of what else had happened that night, when most of the guests at the banquet had left for their beds. She opened her mouth to say something and then changed her mind. Better not, she thought. She’ll bite my head off if I so much as mention it. That was the night when I realized that there was something more going on than the mutual attraction of a man and a woman, and that the Gods had made it their business to guide these mortals. Now, she reflected bitterly, they have seen the outcome of their work. They have destroyed my sister. Anna knew the Gods might be aware of her thoughts but she didn’t care. Let them know what I think. They are responsible for everything that’s happened.

  ‘Queen Dido,’ Aeneas said, turning to her, ‘it’s going to be hard for me, speaking about some of these things. But I can see that you and the rest of the company want to hear them, so I’ll begin at the beginning.’

  Everyone in the banqueting hall fell silent as he spoke and leaned forward in their seats. Some filled their goblets with wine from the jars set along the tables; others took another handful of dates or a bunch of grapes from the golden platters laden with fruit. Women gathered their robes around them and settled down for a good story and the men
bent their heads to catch Aeneas’ words. At first Anna was too preoccupied to listen to him. She went over the whole evening in her head, checking that everything had gone according to her plans.

  The feast had been prepared in something of a hurry, but still, as each dish was brought in, the company paused to admire it: first the fish, their silvery, scaly skin stuck with wild herbs, then the roasted fowl – and Anna congratulated both herself and the kitchen staff on the centrepiece of a beautiful peacock, reassembled in the full glory of its plumage. Then four wild boars turned on the spit till their skin glistened brown and crispy, lying on beds of green leaves with their mouths open, as though even in death they were grinning at those who were about to tear into their flesh. Heaped platters of honeyed cakes and fruits came after the meats, and even Aeneas, caught up in his story, stopped in mid-sentence and spent some time picking the translucent ruby seeds from the skin of a pomegranate with the point of a small knife. Yes, Anna thought. This is the best Carthage has to offer and no one can say we have failed in our hospitality. It was only when she was sure that things had been as near to perfect as possible that she relaxed and began to listen to their guest’s tales of the great war in Troy.

  When Aeneas finished speaking, no one moved for a long time. Those sitting at the long table were silent, thinking of the city far away, making pictures in their heads of Troy set aflame and destroyed while the night was at its darkest; weeping into their sleeves at the thought of the Trojans either killed or imprisoned and the Greeks triumphant. Then, slowly, talk began to flow again. Anna, sitting opposite Aeneas and her sister, was uncharacteristically silent and listened to their conversation.