Dido (7 page)

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.

‘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.