Hades’ Daughter. Book One of the Troy Game by Sara Douglass

‘Who was that woman, Brutus?”

Confused by the sudden change of subject, Brutus could only say, “Who?”

‘The woman.” Cornelia’s voice was sharp. “She who appeared before us on the deck and whom you called Artemis.” She paused. “Although that I cannot believe. I think she is the one you have dreamed and moaned for ever since you returned from that island. Tell me, Brutus. Who is she?”

Brutus stiffened. How had she known of his dreams? Had she lain awake each night watching him, marking each movement? Planning her next treachery? Or (and Brutus would not admit even to himself that this was worse) had she lain awake dreaming of that damned piss-dampened Melanthus?

Brutus lifted his hand from Cornelia’s arm, and drew away from her. The last thing he wanted after enduring that terrible storm, and witnessing the deaths of so many of his people, was to have Cornelia set on him like a harpy.

‘Who is she, Brutus?” Cornelia’s voice now had a hard note to it, and Brutus mentally threw up his hands and told her what she apparently wanted to know so badly. In the name of the gods, he had no reason to hide it from her! If Membricus’ vision was right, then Cornelia had more things to fear than visionary women, and if Membricus was by some mischance incorrect, then Cornelia would eventually discover the truth anyway. There was no reason he should not tell her now.

‘When I went to the island to sacrifice to Artemis,” he said, “the goddess showed me a vision of the land toward which we sail.”

‘What has this to do with the woman of whom you dream?”

Brutus forced his jaws to relax. “The woman appeared in the vision of the land, walking out of the mist. She appeared as if she were a powerful priestess, greatly favored by the gods. If that was she on

the deck, and it was her who stopped the storm, then now I know the truth of how much the gods do favor her.”

‘And she makes you long for her, is that not so? God-favored yourself, you look on others similarly marked with longing. On this woman, with lust. What am I to you but a trophy of war, and a breeding vessel for your sons, Brutus? Answer me, what else will I ever be to you?”

‘What in all the gods’ names do you want to be, Cornelia?” He’d had enough. All the frustration and emotion of the past day suddenly threatened to bubble to the surface in a vicious, hurtful flood.

She did not reply, save for a slight stiffening of her features as she turned her face partly away from him.

Her chin tilted up, as if she thought him beneath her notice.

The bubble broke, and the viciousness poured forth from Brutus’ mouth.

‘And why berate me for some dream-woman when you mewl constantly about that pathetic boy whose member was used for little more than spraying fear-driven piss about? Look at you! A foolish self-obsessed young girl, filled with resentment and arrogancies that deal death every time you open your spoiled, prating mouth. You’re no use even as a trophy wife, Cornelia. By the gods! Who would want to display you about!”

She’d shrunk as far away from him as she could now, her face pale, her dark blue eyes wide and staring and brimming with tears.

All about them people had their faces carefully averted.

Those wide tear-filled eyes were too much for Brutus. Damn her!

‘And if you do not bear me a healthy living son from that great belly, my dear, then I may have absolutely no use for you at all!”

And with that he rose to his feet, and picked his way over the legs and bodies of the people in the belly of the ship until he reached Membricus’ side.

As Brutus sat down, Membricus shot Cornelia a look of sheer triumph.

CbAPGGR coRnelia speaksATE, HATE, HATE. HOW SICK I AM BOTH OF WORD and of emotion. All I have done in these past months is hate, and look what I have accomplished with it: the death of my father, of Tavia, of all my people.

Everything gone, sacrificed to hate.

Even my relationship with Brutus. I had bound our marriage with parameters of hatred, and if now I had come to regret it, then I could blame no one but myself.

As Brutus stalked off I sat back, closed my eyes against the contempt of all the Trojans about me, and succumbed to a fit of shivering that I could not control. I could not despise Brutus for what he had said. I suppose it was the sum of all I had said to him, and all I had done to him, over the past months.

All the viciousness I had flung at him reflected back to me. Tavia would have tut-tutted and reminded me

that all our words and actions will return to haunt us eventually.

The thought of Tavia threatened to make my tears flow again, but I stilled them as best I could. Ah, Hera, no wonder Brutus thought me a sniveling child! All I seemed to have done about him was weep. I had tried so hard in the past weeks to be what Brutus expected in a wife, but obviously what I had said and done in Mesopotama was as yet too great a sin for him to forgive completely.

Or even slightly, come to that. I shouldn’t have asked Brutus about the woman, but I couldn’t help myself. I’d wanted to know. I needed to know who my rival was.

I opened my eyes, daring to search out Brutus.

He sat with Membricus, and both men were laughing and chatting lightly with two young women.

A nasty little knot of jealousy in my chest tightened so painfully I could barely breathe. The two women smiled and laughed at Brutus, and tossed their hair, and pulled back their shoulders so that their breasts strained against their sea-dampened robes. Although they talked with Membricus, their attention was all on Brutus.

And why not? I was patently no threat to them, and Brutus was… well, Brutus was a highly desirable man. He had an aura of maturity and strength and command about him that was almost magnetic in its pull. The sun had finally crested the horizon now, its light catching his body, and I saw the muscles in his chest and upper arms ripple as he stretched out in the welcome warmth of the sun.

And what was that gibe I had once thrown at Brutus? That Melanthus was so much more athletic, so much more desirable than he?

Gods, what overweening arrogance to have said such a thing!

Poor dead Melanthus. He hadn’t deserved to die in the manner that he had, but his death in no way made him the virile, athletic lover with which I’d taunted Brutus. He’d been but a boy, naive, artless, inexperienced… and I’d been a stupid, conceited girl who had imagined herself in love with him.

I shifted uncomfortably, the baby heavy and burdensome within me.

The two women were still laughing, their attention solely on Brutus now. He reached out, and touched one of them on the cheek, then ran his hand back through her hair as he leaned forward and whispered something in her ear that made her eyes widen and the breath catch in her throat.

I closed my eyes, trying to forget what I had just witnessed. It was too painful. I tried to turn my mind to other things… to concentrate on the dream of the stone hall and the daughter who waited within.

But it didn’t work. Even the peace and happiness of the stone hall could not distract me from the idea that Brutus was now no doubt kissing the woman, gracing her with what he would never give me.

Perhaps he was pretending she was this woman of whom he dreamed. Perhaps she was the woman of whom he dreamed.

Alarmed, my eyes flew open and for an instant I could see neither Brutus nor the two women.

Then, my heart thudding in my chest, I saw that the women were stepping slowly over legs and bodies

toward the back of the ship while Brutus had turned to lean over the deck railing and look out to the ocean.

My heartbeat slowly returned to normal as I confronted the startling knowledge that I was not so much concerned at losing my life when this child was born, but at losing Brutus.

CbAPGGR Gejsl cA-‘ OR TWO DAYS THEY DRIFTED AT ANCHOR, SPREADing clothes to dry in the sun, doing what repairs they could, casting fearful eyes back to where the Pillars of Hercules lay some five thousand paces behind them lest another storm blew out of nowhere.

Brutus spent most of his time leaping between the close-anchored ships, speaking encouragement and warm words, keeping a smile on his face and the worry from his eyes. He’d hoped that the three ships he’d sent up the coast would have returned by now with news of some shallow, mild bay with natural springs and game and tall straight trees for their succor.