Hades Daughter (47 page)

We left on our journey north some four days after the Llangarlian Coel and his companions had arrived to speak with Brutus. As we stood about, waiting for the small, shaggy Llangarlian horses to be brought forward, I felt my spirits rise even higher than they had been. The sun was shining, partly negating the cool touch of the southerly breeze, and I was wearing a becoming robe that Blangan had given me, a pale blue and black patterned woollen garment that flattered my colouring. I had managed to belt this robe quite tightly, which success made my mind wander to the coming night, our first away from the Trojan camp…and the first where I would be allowed to cuddle up close to Brutus without the overwhelming companionship of twelve thousand people snoring and breaking wind within my immediate vicinity.

Our party, with Coel and his two companions, Brutus, myself, Corineus and Blangan, Aethylla (looking grumpy with both Achates and her own son slung across her back), Hicetaon and two other Trojan warriors, numbered only eleven, which seemed positively diminutive by comparison.

So I was happy. Not only would I have a chance to explore further this wondrous land, but the journey ahead promised to further cement the growing bond between Brutus and myself.

Only one thing bothered me: the Llangarlians’ reaction to Blangan.

They completely ignored her, almost as if she didn’t exist. I thought it rude, and went to comfort Blangan, but she waved me away, and said it was of no concern
to her. I said I would speak to Coel or the other two, but then her voice grew sharp, and she told me to leave well enough alone, and, somewhat hurt, I wandered away.

Our party was finally ready to depart at mid-morning, and Coel aided me to mount my horse, a little dun mare with a thick black mane and tail from one of the local villages. The opportunity gave him a chance to send me several admiring glances which I found faintly disturbing. I worried that he might take advantage of me as he lifted me to the mare’s back, but he was most respectful, and his hands lingered no more than was fitting for the task.

“You are unused to riding on a horse’s back?” he asked me as I shifted uncomfortably.

“Yes. In my country women of my status did not ride. If I needed to go somewhere in style, then my father would order a chariot and charioteer to see to my needs.”

I realised that sounded a little pompous, so I added, “The chariots were bumpy, and dusty, so I rarely used them.”

He was taking his time fiddling with my horse’s halter, and eight or nine paces away I saw Brutus glance at us impatiently.

“You came from a large city, I have heard. All stone ramparts and walls.”

“Yes.” I regretted the shortness of my answer, but Brutus’ regard made me think that perhaps I shouldn’t extend this conversation any more than I could help.

Something on the halter suddenly clipped into place, and Coel gave my mare’s neck a pat to reward her for her patience. “You miss your home,” he said, “your stone ramparts and encircling walls.”

“I used to miss my home greatly,” I said, Brutus forgotten, “but now,” I looked about at the nearby
forest and the hills rising away into the distance, “not at all. This land is too beautiful for me to linger over memories of the city where I was bred.” I smiled, and was going to say something more to compliment Coel on his homeland, but then Brutus rode up, and I suppressed my smile.

“Is there a delay?” Brutus said, looking between Coel and myself.

“Only in my clumsiness,” I said. “Coel was reassuring me that this fine mare will not toss me the moment we set off.”

“Perhaps,” Coel said, “I could lead your wife’s mare? She is not experienced in the ways of riding, and—”

“Yes, yes,” Brutus said, losing interest. “Whatever is best.”

He turned his horse, and began shouting at the rest of the group to move out.

I thought this a little inappropriate, as it was Coel who was supposed to be our guide and leader on this ride north, but when I looked back to Coel in some embarrassment, he merely lowered one of his eyelids in what might actually have been a wink, then took the halter rope of my mare, vaulted gracefully on to his own horse, and led me forward to join up with Brutus’ well-herded group.

I gasped as the horse moved under me—it felt as if the earth itself was tilting this way and that—and despite being not far from the ground, every one of the little mare’s strides seemed to take an aeon to stretch itself out.

Worse, as discomfort flared through my lower body, was the sudden realisation that I was going to end this day’s ride very sore indeed.

“Everyone takes time to get used to a horse’s stride,” Coel said to me, having turned to make sure I was still on my horse. “In a few days your body will have
settled to your mare’s pace and rhythm, and your joints will have loosened, and riding will become a greater comfort,” he paused, and I could see the tip of his tongue glistening behind his very white, strong teeth, “than you could have thought possible.”

I nodded a thanks to him, concentrating mainly on burying my hands deep in my mare’s coarse black mane, when my face flamed.

Something, I have no idea what, made me wonder if in fact Coel had been talking about two things: the riding of a horse, and the riding of a woman by a man.

I glanced back to him, to see what was on his face, but he had turned about, and kicked his horse forward to the front of the column, my own mare following obediently. For many hours after that he did not speak to me except for the occasional passing comment, but merely led me into wonder.

Although for this first part of our ride we passed through forest, the trees were not so close that I couldn’t see through them, nor so dense that they blocked out the sun. This forest was not imprisoning, but liberating. We rode through the most delightful dappled light, and in glades and among the trees the most lovely of flowers blossomed. Above us warbled birds, the like of which I’d never heard before, and butterflies and large, brightly coloured dragonflies dashed from plant to plant, and high into the trees. If I half closed my eyes the dappled light and the brightly coloured insects darting this way and that combined into a wonderful kaleidoscope that lulled me into a state of such tranquillity that I could almost believe that nothing bad had ever, or would ever, touch me.

Then the lurching of the horse would disturb my dreams, and my body would complain loudly, and I would grit my teeth and study Coel’s straight, graceful back to distract myself from the discomfort. He always
seemed to sense whenever I felt my muscles ache, for he would always pull his horse back until we rode side by side, and engage me in pleasant conversation until my aches were forgotten.

So we continued.

For several days we journeyed through wooded country in a north-easterly direction. It was not always as beautiful as that first day’s ride, for sometimes we rode through patches of woodland where the trees had died, and the grasses turned to mildewed mush. On these occasions, if I happened to see Coel’s face, I noticed that it was grim, and his usually laughing mouth closed in a thin line.

Often, as we rode through these dark patches, he would swivel about on his horse, his eyes seeking out Blangan, and send her a glance of such malevolence that it left me breathless.

It was the only time that Coel ever acknowledged Blangan’s presence.

The weather continued amenable, although it was cold at night, and I was glad for Brutus’ warmth against my back and the roaring fires that either Jago or Bladud or one of the Trojan warriors tended throughout the night.

The horse’s rocking gait and its slip-sliding spine continued to be very painful for the first two days, but after that I grew more used to my conveyance, and my muscles slowly ceased their grumbling.

Like a virgin who grows used to a man’s intrusions…as Coel had intimated.

For this period of travelling, Achates continued mostly in Aethylla’s care. After all, it was her breasts he fed from. Besides, she had a broader back than mine, and it was better he travelled bound tight against her than against my teetering form. But at night when we dismounted, and in the morning, I was
glad to hold him and caress him, and sing to him the songs that my nurse Tavia had sung above my own cradle.

After three days the landscape changed. The woods fell back until we travelled over gently undulating meadowland, filled with flowers and birds and the most heady, sweet scent that rolled down from the highlands to our west. Now we rode into the land of people, for every day we encountered at least one collection of round houses atop a small hill or mound, often surrounded by a palisade of wood, and always with a patchwork of fields encircling the village compound.

The villagers were unsettled by us, and whenever we approached, Coel would hand my mare’s halter rope over to either Bladud or Jago and ride into the village. There he would reassure the villagers—I could always see their shoulders relax and their faces lighten as Coel spoke to them—and he would request from them some provisions, which they always seemed to provide willingly.

As we waited for Coel to return to our party, I would glance about at the village. All the houses were circular, their walls made either of stone or, more usually, wood or mud-packed wickerwork, with a single low door. They had no windows, and I thought that inside they must be smoky indeed, as the houses’ thatched conical roofs had no opening for their occupants’ cooking fires.

There were always flocks of sheep and goats and pens of massive, blotched and ill-tempered tusked pigs. Often some of the beasts looked sickly, and I wondered what ailed them.

One day, I saw a sheep attempting to suckle a lamb with five legs, and I felt sick to my stomach, and grateful that Achates was such a beautiful and healthy child.

Two days into the meadowlands, we camped for the night a little distance from a clutch of tumbled rocks which held within their midst a hot spring.

I could hardly believe my luck. After five days of riding, even though the pace had been easy and we rarely moved the horses out of a walk, I felt filthy with sweat—not only mine, but my mare’s as well, for she was much given to lathering and foaming. Brutus took one look at my face as I stared at the steaming pool some twenty or thirty paces distant, and laughed, and told me that I had time enough for a good soaking before our meal was ready.

It was bliss. I swear I almost tore off my robe in my haste to jump into the water—which jumping I instantly regretted as the overly hot water bit into my flesh. But within minutes I relaxed and closed my eyes, sighing with delight as I heard the distant sounds of people talking and working to set up our night’s camp.

When I opened my eyes again, I saw that Coel—completely naked—was sitting at the edge of the pool, about to slip in himself.

His nakedness—or mine, for that matter—did not perturb me in itself. Nakedness was never frowned upon in Mesopotama, and most of the court had spent their time in a state of near, and even complete, nakedness.

And on the voyage to this land, there had been little opportunity for privacy on board those crowded vessels. Every time I moved about the ship I stepped over naked men and women trying to wash themselves, or changing their garments, or simply enjoying the feel of the sea air on their exposed flesh.

Neither was it unusual to have to move over or about men and women coupling: every part of life had to be lived amid the crowd.

A naked body, whether a man’s or woman’s, simply did not bother me.

But Coel’s unclothed body made me very, very uneasy.

“Am I intruding?” he said.

“No,” I said, meaning “Yes!”, and then stared at him as he ignored my unspoken discomfort and slid slowly down into the water, closing his eyes in exquisite discomfort as the hot water crawled up his body.

I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was like this land, almost an extension of it: powerful, mysterious, beautiful, haunting.

He slid under the water completely, his black hair floating momentarily over the spot where he had disappeared, then it vanished as well.

I felt a tingle of apprehension, and glanced about, hoping Brutus was close, and yet, at the same time, hoping he was far away.

His voice sounded, and I jumped, but it was indeed very far away.

And then I jumped again, even more so, for Coel surfaced in a foam of bubbles directly before me.

I slipped on the rock on which I had sat myself, and Coel grabbed at me, steadying me in the water.

His hands were about my waist, and we were suddenly very, very close.

“Do you know,” he said, “that in Llangarlia women do not take husbands? That there is no one to guard a woman’s bed in sustained and outraged jealousy?”

“I had heard that,” I stuttered.

“Instead, women take men as men appeal to them. There is no jealousy, no bad feeling. Merely,” his hands moved, running up my body to my breasts, “the seduction of freedom.”

“Coel,” I said. “Don’t.”

“You want to,” he replied, his dark eyes reading mine with a disconcerting accuracy.

“I—” I began.

“Your mind has barely strayed from the pleasures of the bed since we set out,” he said, my ever deepening flush all the confirmation he needed.

“I was thinking of Brutus.”

“Really?” he said. “And now?”

I hoped to every god I could think of that Coel could not read the images that filled my mind at this moment.

He smiled, very slightly, and I knew that he could.

Something clenched, deep within my belly; a tightness that I could hardly bear.

“The water is freedom,” he said, running his thumbs over my nipples. “Can you feel it?”

“Yes,” I whispered, closing my eyes.
Damn him!
I wanted to resist—it would be my death (or at least the death of my hopes) if Brutus found us together like this—but there was something in him that called to me as powerfully, as irresistibly, as did this land.

Was
he
the man I waited for in the stone hall?

No…no. That was Brutus. I was sure of it.

“Can you feel the power of the water?” he whispered.