Dido (24 page)

‘I can't say anything because you haven't let me utter a single word since you came bursting into my room. Did I give you permission to come in? I don't remember you even asking. You just barged in.'

‘I'm entitled to barge in. How do
you
feel, Iopas?' Elissa sat down heavily on the stool beside Iopas' work table. ‘Are you sorry for what you did? What you told the queen? Of course you aren't. Those who tell the truth are always praised, even though their truth is a body blow to the person hearing it. I don't know what
to say now. I'm powerless. I can't do anything. I'm . . . I feel sick all the time. I'm frightened of what's going to happen to me – and to my baby. What's Dido going to say when she comes out of that room? She'll get rid of me, I know. She's sad now, and weeping for Aeneas, but one day she'll be herself again and then she won't be able to watch me . . . the child growing inside me. She'll banish me. I will be nothing but a reminder of Aeneas and she won't be able to bear it. That's what I think, and I blame you, Iopas.'

‘I accept the blame, Elissa. And you're right. It was . . . I wasn't thinking. It was an unkind thing to do. If I had the time over again, I wouldn't tell Dido. What you say is true. I've made it impossible for you to stay here and so I'm punishing myself as well, Elissa. That's my excuse, if you want one. I did it because – well, you can guess.'

‘You think you're in love with me, or some nonsense like that.'

‘It's a funny thing . . .' Iopas smiled at her. ‘When you're in love with Aeneas (which, in my opinion, takes the laurels for the most unsuitable falling in love ever), then it's real and beautiful and can't be criticized because it's true love. The same for our beloved queen. Her love is sanctified and blessed and everyone has to tiptoe around her because she's been deserted by her husband. Who never even
was
her husband, not properly, from what I heard. The whole thing's in her head, but because she's the queen, the rest of us have to gather round and comfort her. I
don't
mind
comforting her, you understand, because I'm a believer in love. A follower of Aphrodite. Her servant for ever. And I'm also devoted to Dido. Then there's Anna. I have to be polite to her even though what I want to do is tell her never to talk to me again, but she loves me, and because she's the queen's sister and I can't afford to upset her, I have to be . . . well, understanding. I'm sick to death of it. But if I'm supposed to be sympathetic to you and to her, and to her sister too, then I demand some sympathy from you.' Iopas stood up and went to kneel in front of Elissa. ‘You must believe me. I want to hear from your lips that you believe me when I tell you how much I love you.'

‘I'm not discussing your love. I don't give a fig for it. I'll never love you and you might as well know that. I can't trust you. I don't even like you very much. I'm going. Don't try and follow me. I want to be by myself. You're nothing but a sneaky, wretched, horrible person and I'd be happy not to see you ever again.'

‘You're tired, Elissa,' Iopas said. ‘You're not yourself. I don't blame you for being angry. You'll see things differently when you're more rested.'

Elissa couldn't find any words that would be suitably withering, so she said nothing and left the room. Gods, the conceit of him! He was nothing but a worm. A snake. A monster. How did he dare to address her as though she were a stupid child who didn't know what she was saying? Oh, if only she were a boy! She'd soon show him what being bruised and battered meant!

First light; the small bedchamber

ANNA SAT BESIDE
her sister, wringing her hands and trying hard not to cry. She had not slept all night and she felt bruised in every part of her body, as though someone had been pummelling her flesh for hours. What Iopas had told her was like a brand on her skin. Thinking of him and Elissa together was like taking a dagger and piercing herself with it, over and over again. She said, ‘I know about Elissa. Iopas told me. Oh, Dido, I can't bear it.' She began weeping and used the corner of her scarf to wipe her eyes. ‘I'm sorry . . . I know you're not interested in my feelings at this moment and I can understand, but oh, the pain is unbearable. Iopas and Elissa . . . together. And a child . . .' Anna's body shook with sobs.

‘Iopas?' Dido spoke angrily. ‘He told me about Elissa's pregnancy, it's true, and I suppose he's now told you, because you clearly know, but he's not the father.'

‘He must be . . .' Anna murmured. ‘Who else could it be? I know that Iopas loves her. It's been . . . I'd given up real hope that Iopas and I—'

‘It's not Iopas.'

‘Who then?'

‘Fool! Aeneas. My Aeneas. That's who it is.'

Anna's eyes widened and she sat up very straight. Dido shouted: ‘You look like a goldfish with your mouth gaping open . . . You're a fool, but now at least you can be happy. Your precious Iopas is innocent and you can continue trying to lure him into your bed. Much good may it do you.
You
should be comforting
me
, Anna. Can you imagine the agony I feel? If someone with a knife were to come in now and slice off pieces of my skin, it would be a welcome distraction from the pain I feel. Do you understand my pain? How could you? Everything I taste and breathe is bitter. I can't bear it. I could've lived with anything –
anything
– but Aeneas' child – the child he refused to give me – in Elissa's womb. How will I be able to look at it? How can I watch her, growing and swelling and reminding me with every day more and more of what the two of them did? And where did they do it, Anna? I can't stop asking myself. Wondering. In her bed? No, impossible. She shares her quarters with other girls. Where then? In the garden? In the bathhouse? I can't stop seeing the two of them naked together – they pass in front of my eyes and I rub and rub at them to rid myself of the sight, but oh, Gods, Anna, it goes on and on, and what I see in my imagination is more and more vivid till I
can see them writhing. I can hear—
No!
' Dido screamed and fell forward on to the cushions, burying her head in them. ‘I can't . . . take these pictures away. Take out my eyes. I don't know how . . . I want to die. Let me die. Oh, Gods, let me stop
seeing
—'

‘Dido! Beloved sister . . . don't. Don't do this. You'll fall ill. Take a sip of this sleeping draught. Let me bring you some more wine. Rest. Don't cry. Please, please, stop, my lovely sister. Look at you . . . Stop . . .'

Anna fell silent, not knowing what else to say. She had been relieved at first to learn that Iopas had not . . . was not . . . what she'd thought he was. But the truth was even worse, she realized. He must hate me, to trick me like that. He let me think he was the father of Elissa's child only to hurt me. He did it on purpose. He hates me, she thought. I will never speak to him again. Never. It was as though a weight of darkness had settled on her shoulders. She sat near Dido, stroking her back, muttering soothing sounds and almost weeping herself. I don't know what I can do for either of us, she thought. I don't know how to make everything that's tormenting her go away. Fade. Disappear. I can't help her and I can't help myself.

Then, just as suddenly as she'd dissolved in misery on the cushions, Dido sat up again. She took the corner of her robe and wiped her eyes with it. She turned to Anna and said, ‘I've decided what must be done. I want you to go down to the harbour. Now. I want you to stay there, where Aeneas can see you, until he has sailed, and then you can come back here
and tell me about his departure. Will you do that?'

‘Now? You want me to go now?' Anna put an arm around her sister and hugged her, relieved that at last the storm of weeping was over. Perhaps Dido had lived through the worst of her pain and would feel less sorrowful from this moment. She said, ‘Can't I wait till the sun is a little higher in the sky?'

‘No. I want you to go now.'

‘But why? What makes you think Aeneas'll be looking at the shore anyway? He'll be busy setting sail. I could try and speak to him if you like, but he wouldn't want to speak to me, would he? Let him go and let his fate be as the Gods decree. It's nothing to do with us any longer. If I'm honest, I think you've taken leave of your senses.'

‘I haven't, Sister.' Dido smiled. ‘I believe I'm seeing clearly for the very first time. I will order up a small detachment of soldiers to accompany you and I want you to go and stand in the harbour master's house – just where we stood when we saw him come ashore, d'you remember that day? – and watch the ships leaving. Then you can come back and tell me about it.'

‘Why don't you go? If you're so anxious to see Aeneas drifting away, then
you
go down there.'

‘You're a fool, Anna. How can I go? You have to be my eyes. It would be undignified for me to run down to the harbour as if I were a . . . serving wench or—' Dido suddenly stiffened. Covering her mouth with the fingers of one hand, she began to moan and rock backwards and forwards.

‘Oh, Dido, stop.' Anna put her arms around her sister. ‘Don't make such sounds, my dearest sister. It hurts me to hear them. I'll go. I will. Straight away. Anything I can do to make you happier, I'll do. You know that. You must, I suppose, have reasons I know nothing about . . . I'll go. I will watch him leaving our shores and come back to tell you about it.'

‘You don't know how grateful I am,' Dido said. ‘You are the one person in the world whom I can trust. You've been – you are – the best sister. The very best. I love you, Anna.'

Anna brushed tears from her eyes as she stood up. ‘You've never said that, Dido. Not ever. Though of course I've always known that you love me. Sisters don't have to say the words to one another. Who doubts a sister's devotion? I love you too, Dido. You know that.'

‘I wish . . .'

‘What? What do you wish, Dido?'

‘It doesn't matter, Anna. Go now. I want you to go.'

Anna hurried away to do her sister's bidding. Everything she saw had the glow of early dawn about it. How beautiful the city was in the pearly light! Well, she would go and find the guards and get down to the harbour. How I long to see him sail out of our waters, she told herself. Perhaps Dido will be peaceful and happy once he's gone. And Iopas? He was nothing but a pretty young man who wanted to hurt her. But Elissa didn't love him and that was good. Perhaps this was a punishment from Aphrodite, and if it was, then it was precisely what he deserved.

The sky streaked with light; the courtyard

‘
BOY! WAKE UP,
boy!'

Cubby opened his eyes and was so amazed to see Dido standing over him that he mumbled and muttered as he struggled to his feet.

‘I'm sorry . . . not s'posed to go to sleep. Sorry.'

‘Don't apologize, boy. What's your name?'

‘Cubby. Everyone calls me Cubby.'

‘But you must have a real name. Will you not tell me what it is? You deserve to be known by it for the care you've taken, standing guard all night.'

‘It's Akbar, lady.'

The queen smiled. ‘Well, Akbar, I'm sorry to wake you. But I want you to do something for me. Something most important. Can you do it?'

Cubby thought about this for some moments, then said, ‘I suppose it depends. What it is, I mean. There's some stuff I couldn't do for you. But I'd try.' No, you fool, he told himself. That's not how you're supposed
to talk to the queen. He added, ‘I'd be honoured, my lady,' and hoped that was a bit better. More respectful and polite. Dido didn't seem angry so he reckoned it was.

She said, ‘You must go to the guards standing at the main entrance and tell them to go back to their quarters and sleep. They must be exhausted. As you are, I can see. When you've told them my wishes, you too can go to your room.'

‘But . . .'

‘But what?' Dido was frowning and Cubby worried that he'd said something
really
wrong.

‘Why would the guards listen to anything I tell them? Maybe I should find the master of the guard?'

‘No, don't do that, Akbar. I want you to go. Here' – she pulled a ring off her finger and gave it to Cubby, who nearly dropped it – ‘show them that. It's the royal seal – can you see? Tell them I've given it to you – you are carrying a part of my power. D'you understand?'

Cubby nodded, too overcome to speak.
Akbar
. . . He'd never get used to being called that. He was Cubby, and that was all there was to it. He clutched the ring tight so as not to lose it. The circle of gold was heavy in his hand and he found himself for some reason he couldn't quite understand with tears in his eyes. That was bad. That wasn't brave. He stood up straighter and hoped that no girlish drops were about to fall from his eyes.

‘I'll bring it back to you here, right?' he said, his voice only slightly wobbly.

‘Keep it, Akbar. Keep it and remember me.'

‘Yes, my lady.' What did she mean? Why would he forget her when she lived here and he saw her quite often? He knew he found it hard to hang on to some stuff in his head but no one could forget the queen. She was too beautiful. Too kind. And now she'd made him important. More important than the master of the guard.

‘You should go now,' she said. ‘Don't delay. I want those guards fast asleep as soon as possible.'

‘Yes, my lady.' He bowed deeply from the waist and turned and began to walk away as quickly as he could. When he got to the doorway, he was surprised to find the two guards leaning against the columns with their eyes closed. He coughed and their eyes immediately flew open and they stood to attention.

‘Bloody hell, Cubby! Whatcha creeping around like that for?' said one of them. ‘Aren't you s'posed to be guarding the bed in the courtyard?'