Dido Read online

‘Your stories have enthralled everyone, Aeneas. I’m proud to welcome you to Carthage. Take more wine. Your throat must be parched.’

  ‘Thank you, Queen Dido. I’m grateful for your kind words. I’ve not seen such fine rooms for many years. This palace is grander even than King Priam’s.’ The intricate gold leaf painted on every beam; the silver-embroidered hangings on the walls; the gold-plated dishes on which the food had been served: you couldn’t be in the palace more than a moment without realizing that this queen was a rich and prosperous ruler, well-used to all the luxury that gold could buy.

  ‘My late husband, Sychaeus,’ Dido said, ‘saw to it that his wealth remained in my hands.’

  One by one the guests took their leave and soon the room was nearly empty except for a few privileged courtiers and the sleepy servants, still standing ready to fetch anything the queen might require. Anna was aware that her own eyelids were beginning to feel heavy, and no wonder. She’d not stopped working, overseeing the banquet, since the arrival of Aeneas and his men the day before. I should go to my bed, she thought, and offer prayers that I do not see the fires of Troy in my dreams. The terrible solid bulk of that enormous wooden horse . . . She shivered, and then a cry made her turn to the main door of the banqueting hall.

  ‘Father! Father!’ A boy’s high voice rose to the high-beamed ceiling. Ascanius, dressed in his nightshirt, ran across the tiled floor. Such a pretty little boy! Anna looked at him, and as usual when she saw a small child, a sharp pain assailed her, making her heart sore for a moment with longing for a baby of her own. Elissa, who was now the boy’s nursemaid and whom Anna had left in charge of Ascanius, was hovering nervously near the door. Anna rose to her feet and went to speak with her, while the boy climbed on to his father’s lap and clung to his neck.

  ‘Shouldn’t he be asleep?’ Anna whispered.

  ‘He was. I don’t know what happened. He woke up. I was sitting on the stool next to his bed and I think I must have dropped off too, because I’m sure what I saw was a dream.’

  ‘What do you mean? What did you see?’

  ‘Aphrodite – the Goddess of Love. She was floating above the ground . . . Oh, of course I must have been dreaming. She said something to Ascanius. She smelled of roses and her dress . . . It looked . . . well, it didn’t look like plain cloth, but like a garment made of mist.’

  ‘Did she speak to you? Say anything?’

  Elissa shook her head. ‘No, she was whispering to the boy. And then he got up, and she . . . I couldn’t see her any longer, though I could smell her perfume. I suppose that proves she was real, but—’

  ‘Don’t be a silly girl. Of course she was real. Everybody’s real.’

  ‘Maybe it wasn’t the Goddess. She didn’t speak to me. Perhaps she was a ghost.’

  ‘Nonsense. Whose ghost?’

  ‘The boy’s mother.’

  Anna had to concede that the child’s mother was very likely to return to gaze at her child, even speak to him, after death. She said, ‘Well, perhaps, but never mind that. What happened then?’

  ‘He got up and wouldn’t let me put him back to bed again. I thought perhaps he was looking for Maron because he’s used to being put to bed by him, but he ran out of the room and I followed him here, and now his father will be angry with me, won’t he?’ Elissa’s eyes glittered with unshed tears.

  ‘He seems very happy to see his son, my dear,’ Anna said. ‘Don’t worry any more. Go to your room. I’ll attend to the child when he needs to go back to his bed. You’ll be rising quite early with him in the morning, I predict.’

  ‘Thank you, madam,’ Elissa said, and almost ran out of the room, grateful to hear that she wasn’t in trouble.

  The flames in the lanterns were guttering. Black shadows moved in the corners of the room and flickered on the walls, and at the table only Dido and Aeneas were left talking. And me, Anna thought. And now Aeneas’ son, who had climbed down from his father’s lap and run off to explore this new place he found himself in. I’ll keep an eye on him, she thought. My sister and the Trojan seem more interested in one another than in the child. Before Ascanius arrived in the room, Anna had wondered whether she ought to go and leave the two of them alone together but had decided she ought to stay. It would be . . . what was the right word? Unseemly – yes, unseemly without a doubt – for the Queen of Carthage to show such great favour straight away to someone who, for all his good qualities, was a stranger to them. Her attention was caught by Ascanius, who’d collected date stones from the platters and was playing a complicated game on the benches with some wooden spoons he’d taken from the end of the table.

  Then she saw her: the ghost, or Aphrodite, or whatever she was, hovering near Ascanius and bending down to whisper in the boy’s ear. She was just as Elissa had described her: pale, floating garments edged with silver bells that tinkled and chimed as she moved. Anna blinked, stood up and backed away, thinking to call someone – a guard; anyone – and see who this person was, drifting about the palace without announcing her presence, and then she saw that the child was bathed in a blue light and the woman was handing him something – what was it? An arrow? How could that be? Who would do such a thing? Giving a child that age a weapon of any kind! She forgot at once about calling the guard and ran across to where Ascanius was sitting. By the time she’d knelt down beside him, the woman – ghost or goddess or whatever she was – had disappeared. There was a perfume hanging in the air, of roses and almond blossom, but Anna ignored it and said: ‘What’s that, darling? What have you got in your hand?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said the boy, hiding something behind his back.

  ‘Show me now – I saw— Well, never mind, but I do want to see what it is. If I close my eyes, will you put it into my hands?’

  Ascanius nodded, as though this would be a good game. Anna dutifully shut her eyes and held out her hands. Something long and rough, like a stick broken off a tree, was placed on her palms and she closed her fingers around it. The child giggled. Anna opened her eyes.

  ‘Why, it’s nothing but a silly old stick from the courtyard!’ she exclaimed, thinking: I’ve certainly drunk too much wine. Drifting ladies and bells and shining arrows – it was Elissa’s tale that put such things into my mind. ‘Who gave it to you? There are no sticks allowed in here, you know. This is the banqueting hall.’

  ‘My mummy. My mummy did.’

  Anna put down the stick and hugged the little boy to her, breathing in the fragrance of his hair, feeling his small bones against her body. How fragile he was! How thin! And missing his mother, of course he was. Tears began to fill her eyes and she murmured: ‘Come to your bed now, Ascanius. I’ll take you.’

  He wriggled out of her grasp and ran to the table. ‘No!’ he cried. ‘Don’t want bed. Want to stay here.’

  Anna got to her feet, but she was too late. The boy had run up to where his father and Dido were sitting. He’d picked up the stick again and was wielding it above his head like a weapon. Anna saw exactly what happened next, and though she went over and over it in the days that followed, she was certain about what she saw, and even today, after all that had happened, she knew she had not been fuddled by wine, or sleepy, or otherwise not herself. She saw this: Ascanius, messing about on his father’s lap with his stick, began waving it around in a manner that seemed wild and dangerous to Anna. Aeneas tried to get hold of it, and still Ascanius whirled it above his head, and then Dido said, ‘Come to me, Ascanius. Come and sit with me for a while.’

  She leaned forward and picked up the boy, and held him against her. Anna saw her sister’s arms go round the child and hug him to her bosom. That in itself was strange enough. Dido had never, even when they were young girls, been a cuddler of babies and toddlers. Indeed, she could often barely muster a polite coo if someone was showing off their offspring. Now here she was, seemingly besotted by this boy. There was a faint glow about him, Anna thought, and then: I must be mistaken. How can he be glowing? And the stick – that had become an arrow again, made
of some glassy, translucent substance that looked like lightning, solidified into a thin column of radiance with a sharp tip that was piercing her sister just in the place where her necklaces ended, under her left breast.

  Anna ran forward. ‘Dido! Sister, are you wounded? Hurt?’

  ‘Whatever are you talking about, Anna?’ Dido laughed. ‘It’d take more than a boy’s stick to hurt me. Look . . .’ She had grasped the stick (now brown and obviously nothing more than a small branch from some tree) and put it down on the table.

  Anna stared at Dido and also at Ascanius. The child was asleep. How could that be? She said: ‘Is he well? Just a moment ago he was playing and shouting and waving an imaginary weapon about.’

  ‘That’s children for you.’ Aeneas stood up and went to take his son from Dido’s arms. ‘They can fall asleep in the blink of an eye, like candles being snuffed out. It’s time we were both in our beds. I’ll carry him there. I thank you, Queen Dido, for a memorable feast.’

  ‘We’ll speak tomorrow, Aeneas. I’m very happy to be welcoming you to Carthage.’

  As father and son left the hall, Anna noticed the stick again, lying on the table. Was it anything like a shining arrow? No, of course not. She picked it up and held it to her bosom. Perhaps it still held a certain magic within it. Aphrodite, she said silently to herself, visit me. Make Iopas love me. Help me to be beautiful in his eyes.

  She had thought she might mention what she’d seen to Dido but decided not to. Her sister in any case was far away, leaning back against her cushions, with her eyes closed and a smile on her lips as though she were dreaming of something delightful. Around her, the air seemed to glow with a radiance like starlight.

  Just after sunset; a small bedchamber

  ‘You should go now, Anna,’ Dido said, and Anna started up from her thoughts, her memories of the night of the feast suddenly interrupted.

  ‘I’ve been dreaming, but you’re right. I need to see that the bed is being properly guarded in the courtyard, but I think you want to get rid of me. Don’t pretend.’

  ‘I want to be alone, that’s true enough. It’s not you, Anna. I feel – I can’t say how I feel.’

  ‘I’ll come back,’ Anna said. ‘Don’t think you’re getting rid of me for the night. And I almost forgot. I’ve got something for you. I should have given it to you at once. It’s a sleeping draught. I had the healer prepare his special mixture. Poppies and honey and something very secret he prefers not to mention. Here, take the phial.’

  ‘I’m not interested in sleeping. Why can’t you get that into your head? Take it away. I want nothing to do with sleeping draughts. I’ve tried the healer’s potion before and it made me feel as though I was out of my own body. As though I was walking around in a dream. Then, when I slept, I couldn’t wake up for a very long time. I don’t want it.’

  ‘I’ll put it on the windowsill,’ Anna said. ‘Just in case.’

  Dido said nothing, either about the sleeping draught or anything else. She smiled to show that she was in a more normal state now and could therefore be left on her own for a while.

  Elissa

  After the evening meal; the maidservants’ bedchamber

  ‘WHAT’S WRONG, ELISSA? Tell us. You’ve not stopped crying for hours.’ Nezral, who was thin and fair, with a beaky nose that gave her something of the look of a bird of prey, came to where she was sitting on the edge of her bed and put an arm around her shoulders. Elissa, overcome by this display of kindness, began to cry even more noisily, and soon her nose was running and her eyes, sore from the tears she’d shed earlier in the afternoon, stung even more than before. The lamps were still burning because the girls had been unable to fall asleep with so much going on in the corridors of the palace.

  ‘Take a cloth for your nose,’ said Tanith, holding out a square of cotton and sitting down on the other side of Elissa. ‘You were so kind to me this morning, when I was crying about Maron. And though I’m still sad, you know that we’ll listen if you want to tell us why you’re so unhappy.’

  ‘Take no notice of her,’ Nezral was quick to interrupt. ‘We both know exactly why you’re crying. We know you loved him.’

  ‘Who? Who am I supposed to have loved?’

  Tanith blushed. ‘Lord Aeneas,’ she said. ‘We’ve known from the beginning that you loved him.’

  ‘How? I said nothing. Not one word.’ Elissa was indignant.

  ‘You didn’t need to,’ Nezral said. ‘We could hear the way your voice changed when you spoke his name. You were always blushing. And quick to come to his defence if anyone said a single word against him.’

  ‘I was loyal to him, that’s all,’ Elissa said. ‘I was his son’s nursemaid. Oh, how I’ll miss that boy!’ The tears began to flow again and she wiped her face with the damp cotton rag in her hands. Suddenly she jumped up from the bed. ‘Oh, I have to go – I’m sick. I must find . . .’ She fled from the room, running along the corridor to the privy. Once she was there, she began to vomit. Nezral and Tanith had followed her, and when the worst of the spasms were over, the two of them ran to Elissa’s side and led her gently to the jugs of water which stood in the bathing area. Nezral took a scoop of water and held it out to her friend.

  ‘Drink, Elissa. You’re ill. Is it any wonder, with the amount of crying you’ve been doing? Come, come back to our chamber. Lie down. Tanith, go and find the healer and see if he’ll come and see to Elissa.’

  ‘No, no, please,’ Elissa said. ‘I don’t want to see the healer. I’ll be all right in a moment. I must be tired, as you say. And unhappy. I’ve been vomiting on and off for a few days. Perhaps it’s something in the food. It’ll pass, whatever’s caused it.’

  Once the girls were back in their chamber, Tanith and Nezral helped Elissa to undress and she lay under the coverlet on her bed, shivering and wanting nothing more than to sleep and sleep. Tanith sat beside her on a stool and held her hand.

  ‘Elissa,’ she whispered, ‘how long have you been ill? Why have you said nothing?’

  ‘Not very long. A few days, that’s all. I thought it would pass, but it seems to be worse than it was . . .’ Her voice faded away.

  ‘You know, don’t you,’ Nezral said, from where she was sitting on her own bed, ‘what this might mean?’

  ‘What? What are you talking about?’ Elissa made as if to sit up and sank back weakly on to her pillows, nearly overwhelmed with nausea.

  ‘Don’t be angry,’ Tanith said, ‘but vomiting at unexpected times can mean that you are pregnant.’

  Elissa sat up then and shouted, ‘No! No, I can’t be. How can I be?’

  Both Nezral and Tanith giggled. ‘You know how you can be, Elissa! Don’t be stupid. You have to lie with a man. Have you done that? Who is it? How can it be that you have a sweetheart and haven’t told us? What about Iopas? He’s always gazing after you and visiting the sewing room for one reason or another when you’re in there. And I saw you talking together on the bench earlier this afternoon. He’s got a crush on you, I’m quite sure of it.’

  ‘He was just being polite. And whatever he might feel, I haven’t got a crush on him. I like him well enough, but the very idea of . . . well, of what you’re suggesting. I’d never do that with him.’ Elissa suddenly covered her face with her hands and cried. ‘But what shall I do now? How can it be true? I can’t—’

  ‘Calm yourself!’ Nezral tried to sound firm and soothing at the same time. ‘We all know how it can be true. Have you been with a man? Answer truthfully now. Is it possible at least?’

  Elissa nodded and began to cry again. ‘Yes – but only once. I didn’t think if you did it just once . . . I didn’t realize. I thought . . . It was just one night.’

  ‘Don’t get too upset yet. It’s not the only sign. When was the last time you bled?’

  ‘I don’t remember. Some moons ago, I think.’

  A silence fell in the room. No one knew what to say. At last Elissa spoke, but so quietly that her companions had to lean forward to hear
what she was saying. ‘It’s my doing. I’m shouting and weeping now, but I longed for this. I didn’t dare to hope, after only one night. I prayed for a child. I thought that if he knew I was having a baby, that would hold him to me, keep him at my side. I didn’t know. The night we were together I thought he loved me, but he didn’t. Not really. He has – he had – eyes for no one but the queen. I’m a fool. And now I’ve been punished.’

  ‘Are you speaking of Lord Aeneas?’ Nezral asked. She and Tanith sat with their mouths gaping open in astonishment. ‘How did it happen? When? We knew you were besotted with him, but we never thought for a moment that he was interested in you. All his attention has been on the queen. You said so yourself. Why didn’t you tell us?’

  ‘I was frightened,’ Elissa answered. ‘I didn’t want anyone to know, but especially not Dido. She must never find out about this. Never ever. Do you both promise? If she does, she’ll send me back to my parents’ house. And if she doesn’t discover that Aeneas is the father, she might look for a husband for me, and I can’t love anyone but Aeneas. What am I going to do?’

  ‘You’ll have to get rid of the baby.’ Nezral spoke impassively and Elissa burst into tears once more.

  ‘How can you even say such a thing? It makes me ill to think of it. I’ve seen what happens when you go to those crones whose business it is to perform abortions. Sometimes they don’t get rid of the child, but take you away – imprison you and wait for the birth and then help themselves to your son or daughter and you never see your baby again. I’ve heard such horrible stories. I’m not going to them. I couldn’t.’

  ‘If you like, I can find out if there’s a plant extract or potion you could take that would lead to you bleeding again,’ said Nezral. ‘Naturally, I mean. It’s true – imagining the ways those old women rid the body of a baby is too dreadful to think about. But my aunt is a midwife, and she’d know. If I told her what had happened to you, I’m sure she’d help us.’

  ‘No,’ Elissa said. ‘No, I must have this baby. I want it. I want to love it for as long as it lives, because it will remind me of him. Of Aeneas.’