Dido (14 page)

‘Oh, you lovely creature!' she whispered. ‘Where did you come from?' She pushed back the sheet, went to kneel beside the animal and began to stroke him. ‘You're beautiful. Where is your owner? What are you doing by my bed?'

‘He's my dog. And I've come to speak to you, Elissa.'

‘Who are you?' As Elissa peered into the darkness, a silvery shape stepped away from the shadow of the wall. ‘How did you get past the guards?'

‘I am Artemis, the Goddess who protects young girls. Also the Goddess of the Hunt. And of Childbirth. He is one of my hunting dogs. Guards mean nothing to me. They never see me.'

A goddess! Elissa stared at the woman and noticed that her tunic was shimmering as though it were made of beaten silver; that her hair was the colour of moonlight; that she was crying. The tears falling on to her cheeks were silver too.

‘Why are you weeping?'

‘I'm weeping for you. You're no longer a maiden. You are going to bear a child. This is the end of your youth. You have thrown away the gift of your love. Aeneas did not deserve what you gave him.'

‘But I loved him! I still love him, and that's not going to change, ever. I don't regret what happened. I don't
regret this child that is growing inside me. How can I be sad about that?'

‘You will find out,' Artemis said, ‘that the pain of bearing the child is only the beginning. Do you know what it means to be a mother? You are tied for ever to another person. You can never be free. The child you bear is bound to you for ever.'

‘No, it's not,' Elissa said, struggling to keep from crying herself. She got up from the hard floor and sat down on her bed. How did this Goddess dare to come and tell her such sad things! Wasn't Aeneas fleeing Carthage enough to make her miserable? In any case, it wasn't true. Elissa frowned and wondered if she dared to contradict an inhabitant of Olympus. She said, ‘Mothers and children are not always bound together. I've left my own mother. I hardly ever think of her now.' Was that true? Well, maybe not, but Elissa didn't care.

‘She thinks of you.'

‘No she doesn't. She has the other children to worry about, and my father too. She has no time to fret about me.'

‘You know nothing. You are always in her mind.'

‘That's not true! You're lying. You're just . . . You're put out because I'm no longer a virgin. That's something you don't like and you're taking your anger out on me.'

Artemis shook her head. ‘No, child. I'm not angry with you. I am regretful. I foresee much anguish, but it does no good to be angry. And you will find out the
truth of what I've told you when you're a mother yourself. The ties of the flesh bind you for ever. You'll see.'

‘Did you come to warn me? To scold me? To comfort me? I don't understand.'

‘You don't need to understand. You're a mortal. I have seen you. I have spoken to you. You now know what to expect.'

‘I don't. I don't know what to expect. Tell me. If you've come to warn me, then warn me properly.'

‘Dido . . . Take care, Elissa, in your dealings with the queen.'

Elissa stared at Artemis as she spoke. She was on the point of asking what that meant; how was she supposed to take care? Should she leave the palace? And then someone else was speaking in the room. She turned her head and saw that the dark sleeping shapes of Nezral and Tanith hadn't moved. Amber light filled the chamber and Elissa caught sight of Aphrodite, standing in the doorway.

‘Don't disturb yourself, child,' said the Goddess of Love. ‘I've come to speak with Artemis. She and I are in disagreement about something. Be silent.'

Artemis said, ‘I'm angry, Aphrodite, and I won't deny it. You've been unkind to this child. Not only did you make her fall in love with someone who could never return her devotion; you also knew that her mistress was in love with Aeneas and yet you couldn't stop yourself. You meddled. You're forever meddling.'

‘You call it that,' said Aphrodite, ‘but you don't understand love, Artemis. Why should you, being the
Goddess of all maidens? The pain of love is a price worth paying for the glory that comes with it. That's my opinion.'

‘And mine is that the misery love brings is enough to keep anyone a maiden for ever. Look at this child. She's going to be a mother and you are as much to blame for that as the man who lay with her.'

‘What can you possibly know about the pleasures of being a mother?' said Aphrodite. ‘You are a maiden. But I have a child: Aeneas, my beloved son. That love, of a mother for her child, is worth any amount of pain. Any amount.'

‘You say I am a maiden and don't understand such matters,' said Artemis, ‘but I am also the Goddess of those who attend births, so I know what I'm talking about far better than you. The agonies of childbirth, if the baby survives, are simply the beginning. For the rest of the mother's life she shares her offspring's every sorrow, every bruise and cut and illness, every disappointment, every dark mood. And how many die in infancy? Very many. Too many. That pain is with the mother till she goes down to the kingdom of Hades.'

‘Pah!' Aphrodite's exasperation was plain. ‘What about the joys? The pleasure in every success? The unending love that a mother and child feel for one another, the pride in your child's achievements?'

‘Nothing compared to the pain. Nothing. The pleasure is soon forgotten. The sorrow is not. That remains. And there are mothers and children whose love is more like hatred – do you consider that?'

‘Ask her,' Aphrodite said. ‘Ask this girl. Would she rather be pregnant or not? I know her answer.'

‘I won't ask, because it's happened and it's the will of the Gods – well,
your
will, Aphrodite – and all I can do is comfort her. That's why I came.'

‘Oh, really? I thought it was to pick a fight with me. Then you can spare yourself the trouble, Artemis. I am the one who is here to comfort her.'

‘Nonsense. It's you who's picking a quarrel with me, but I know why you're really here. It's for Dido. To see what a pass she has come to – as a result of your wishes.'

Aphrodite sank down on to the chair just inside the doorway. ‘I cannot deny it. Perhaps I do
somewhat
regret what has happened to Dido. I could see that my son was attracted and it's hard to deny a child something you can easily give him. And it was difficult to resist Hera, who encouraged the love between them even while she knew very well that his destiny was to leave Carthage for ever.'

‘You spoil Aeneas. That's another danger of motherhood, isn't it? Anything he fancied, you tried to give him. Isn't that right?'

‘I don't regret it. I never regret anything. Regret is for weaklings. Mortals must submit to their fate, that's all.'

‘Yes,' said Artemis, and turning to Elissa, she said, ‘Be comforted. When your time comes to give birth, I'll attend you. Don't be frightened.'

‘I'm not,' Elissa whispered, but she was lying. She
had seen what her mother went through giving birth to her brothers and sisters, and dreaded that pain, but if the Goddess would help her, then surely her child would come quickly and easily into the world? She resolved to pray to Artemis in future, for a swift delivery. Now the Goddess laid a cool silver hand on her brow and said: ‘Sleep now. We will leave you.'

Elissa climbed into her bed and lay back on her pillows, and the fragrance of almond blossom and roses filled the room as Aphrodite left the bedchamber. The dog's paws clicked as he trotted away, and the silver light that surrounded Artemis faded to a darkness broken only by the flickering of a torch a long way down the corridor.

The night edging nearer to the dawn; the courtyard

CUBBY WASN'T SURE
if he'd been asleep or not. He'd just had a dream and it wasn't like any other dream he could remember. The more he thought about it, the less he could bring it back to his mind, but there was a dog in it, and a kind of silver person, and they were running along the dark corridor. Oh well, Cubby thought. I don't suppose it meant anything in particular. He was a bit disappointed to find himself dropping off every now and then. The master of the guard didn't say in so many words, but surely he meant Cubby to stay awake so that he could deal with anyone who wanted to interfere in any way with the stuff that belonged to the queen.

He'd got quite used to the size of the bed. At first it seemed to take up more space than any piece of furniture he'd ever seen before, but now it looked normal: the right size for Queen Dido at any rate. She'd been here a while ago, and had sent him to
stand further away while she chatted to that long-haired chap who had a bit of a girlish look. Iopas, they called him. Cubby had never spoken to him before tonight, but had seen him wandering around the palace. Seemed like a bit of a weed, with skinny arms and legs. Maron liked him though, so he couldn't be all bad. It was true that Cubby was hurt sometimes that Maron chose to spend more time with Iopas than with him. Still, he told himself, I'm nothing but a kitchen boy and I'm lucky that Maron spoke to me at all.

It was very quiet now and that made Cubby feel nervous. He didn't really like silence. The thing about it was, you kept thinking you heard something in the nothing that you were actually hearing. He shook his head. This was complicated and it made his head hurt just to think such things. Up until a while ago, the courtyard had been quite noisy, even though it was night time. The servants who brought the stuff to put on the bed didn't exactly keep their voices down. Cubby didn't try to keep track of the weapons and clothes and bedclothes and odds and ends they'd piled up on the mattress, but after they'd gone he went and had a bit of a nose around and found something that he really liked. It was a toy crocodile on wheels.

Cubby looked around to make sure no one was looking and then picked up the toy. I remember this, he thought. That kid – what was his name? Ascanius, that's right – this is his toy. Why's he left it here? Can't be that he doesn't want it any longer. He really loved it. He came racing into the kitchen with it, and I was
there and not working for a change. Cubby held the little crocodile in his hands and suddenly felt sad. Well, the kid must have gone now and left this behind. It was a shame. When he'd burst into the kitchen (it wasn't so long ago, either), he had the crocodile tucked under one arm and he was waving a wooden sword about with his other hand. Cubby sat down with his back against the bedstead and thought himself back to that day.

For once the kitchen was quiet and there was no one about. Cubby wondered whether he ought to make a start on preparing the vegetables for the evening meal when suddenly he heard a high-pitched yelling sound and a small boy ran into the room at high speed, almost bumping into Cubby as he went.

‘Hello, little boy,' Cubby said. ‘What's the rush?'

‘I'm not little. I'm big. I'm Ascanius,' the boy said, coming to a halt just by the table. Then, ‘What's your name?'

‘They call me Cubby.'

‘That's a funny name,' said Ascanius. ‘Why do they call you that?'

‘I used to live in a cupboard when I was small.'

‘People don't live in cupboards,' said the little boy, sounding very definite about it. Then he looked a little worried and added, ‘Do they?'

‘Not a lot of people,' said Cubby, ‘but I did.'

The boy started laughing. He said, ‘Cubby – that's funny. My crocodile's name is Croccy.'

‘Right.' Cubby nodded in agreement. ‘That makes sense.'

‘D'you want to pull him? You can pull him.'

‘Yeah, all right.' Cubby took the string from the little boy's hand and walked around the kitchen with the wooden creature rattling along on the hard floor behind him. He felt a fool, and a bit sad too. He'd never had a family, or none that he could remember, and he wasn't very good at playing because no one had ever played any kind of game with him. His first memory was of this very kitchen. He must have been brought here – dumped here – when he was tiny. His mother. His father. He must have had one of each, even if he never knew them, and he might also have had some brothers and sisters but they'd obviously decided that they didn't want him in their house. The kitchen workers had been kind to him for the most part, and Cubby could remember being allowed to bang on lids with wooden spoons and splash in basins of dirty water after the dishes had been washed. It hadn't been such a bad childhood and at least he'd always had enough to eat. Still, he could never join in with any conversations about home, like the other kitchen lads. He couldn't tell any stories about where he'd come from.

This used to worry and upset him when he first came here, but he'd been young. Now that he was older and bigger he'd stopped thinking about home altogether, most of the time. It was only seeing this toy and this little boy when he wasn't really expecting it – that
made him a bit sad, gave him a kind of sore feeling just above his stomach. It was so strange to him, the pain, that he stood there staring at the crocodile and Ascanius, wondering whether he'd eaten something that didn't agree with him, but no. The pain left him gradually, and Cubby went back to playing with the child.

‘Oi, Cubby, whatcha think you're doing?' That was Cook, who'd come back into the kitchen. ‘Time you were putting those lambs on the spit or no one will get any food tonight. Jump to it, boy! Who's this? Don't want kids in here, thank you very much. And what's this bloody toy doing under my feet? This is a kitchen, not a bleeding nursery.'

Then Cook bent down, picked up the crocodile and thrust it into Ascanius' arms. ‘Scat!' he yelled, putting his huge red face very near the boy's. ‘And also scram. Don't want to see you in here ever again, d'you hear?'