“You look exhausted, and I am sure both your husband and child have need of you. Let me do that.”
Aethylla handed the comb over with some relief; the silence between her and Cornelia had grown so uncomfortable that Aethylla’s shoulders and neck were tense and tight. Her husband was exactly what she needed right now.
Blangan waited until Aethylla had left the room, then she took the woman’s place behind Cornelia and began gently to run the comb through the younger woman’s beautiful brown hair.
‘Your husband will be hours yet,” she said. “I have left him talking and drinking with his companions.”
Cornelia gave a small shrug of her shoulders, as if she cared not one way or the other.
‘Corineus has told me a little of you,” Blangan said. As she spoke, she continued combing Cornelia’s hair with long, slow strokes, more caresses than acts of grooming. “Of how Brutus forced you into marriage, and forced that child into your belly. Of how your home was destroyed, and your father killed under it.”
Cornelia did not respond verbally, but Blangan could see how she’d stiffened.
‘I, too,” Blangan continued, very softly, “had a child forced into me when I was but a young girl, perhaps a year or two younger than you are now. I, too, was forced to leave my home. The difference between you and I, my love, was all that misery culminated in a husband who loves me dearly. I have no idea what future awaits you, Cornelia, but I do hope that joy and love will be a part of it.”
There was a long silence, during which Blangan continued her long, slow combing of Cornelia’s hair, then, finally, Cornelia whispered, “I do not deserve that, Blangan.”
‘Deserve what, my love?”
‘Love and joy.”
‘And how is it you do not deserve such love and joy?”
‘Because if my home lies in ruins, and my father under it, then that is nothing but my fault.”
‘Cornelia? How so?”
Hesitatingly, Cornelia told Blangan of how she’d plotted with her father to kill the Trojans as they left Mesopotama, and how it had all failed, and her city, her people, and her father had been horribly killed as a result.
‘And yet if I’d left well enough alone, they would all have lived. Blangan, it was my fault!”
Blangan put down the comb and went to kneel before Cornelia, who was now crying, her face in her hands.
‘Wait, Cornelia,” Blangan said, pulling the girl’s hands away from her face. “What of this goddess who came to you and proposed the plan. Is she not to blame?”
‘Perhaps she was no goddess,” Cornelia said. “Perhaps she was just my own hopes and hates assuming dream form.”
Blangan frowned. “Which goddess was she? What did she look like?”
Cornelia spoke, describing the woman who had appeared before her, and as she spoke, Blangan felt a chill sweep through her body.
That was no goddess, that was Genvissa !
‘Cornelia,” she said urgently, “I cannot now tell you why I know this, but know it I do. That was no goddess appearing to you, but the greatest of Dark-witches! You were pushed into doing her own will, Cornelia. If was not your fault ! Blame lies elsewhere.”
‘You try to comfort me, Blangan, and for that I thank you.” Cornelia’s tear-streaked face twisted ruefully. “Apart from you and your husband, not many people have tried to comfort me recently. But I must take the blame for what happened to my people. If I was a tool, then I was a willing tool.”
Blangan lifted a hand and stroked the girl’s cheek. Brutus, she knew, thought of Cornelia as a wayward child, untrustworthy and self-obsessed, but that was not the woman who sat weeping before her now. Most people would either have blamed others, or if they initially took the blame themselves, would then have willingly grasped an excuse to blame someone else.
‘I think,” said Blangan slowly, “that you will grow to be a very great woman indeed, one day.”
‘I cannot think my husband could ever agree with you.” “Ah, Brutus!” Blangan grinned and waved a hand dismissively. “He is but a man.” She rose and, taking Cornelia’s hand, led her to the bed. “This will be more comfortable for my aging bones, my love. Here, sit with me.”
She cuddled Cornelia close as they sat, pulling the girl’s head onto her shoulder and stroking her hair.
‘In the land toward which you journey,” she said softly, “Brutus will be but a man in a world where women are revered more than men.”
‘Women? Revered ?” Cornelia sat up straight, her face amazed. “How can this be?”
Blangan laughed and, apologizing for her intrusion, rested her hand on Cornelia’s swollen belly. “For this reason, my love. Women hold the mystical ability to grow children within their bodies. We call it the Mag within our womb, for Mag is our mother goddess, and most revered, and it is her influence within our wombs that grants to us the ability to bear children. Men are respected, and loved and adored, as the case may be, and it is their feet which tread the forests, but within the home, family, and village society, it is the women’s voices which are listened to first.
‘Women in Llangarlia,” she added, grinning, “do not even take husbands!” “What? Then how do they breed their children?”
‘Women take whomever they want into their beds, but never make formal unions with such lovers.
Children born to women always stay within their mother’s house, whether daughter or son. If a woman decides to take a man as her lover and to breed from him, she lays with him either in the blessed groves of the forests or the meadows of the sun, or she allows him into her bed for a few hours at night… but he must be gone back to his own mother’s house by morning, lest he irritate the woman’s own mother with
his presence.” Cornelia had her hands to her mouth as Blangan said all this, her eyes wide. “You mean, that were I Llangarlian, I could take men as it pleased me , and not them?” “Aye.”
Cornelia was visibly shocked. “And a woman desires daughters more than sons?”
‘Always.”
Cornelia fell into silence, staring incredulously at Blangan who eventually laughed, and pulled Cornelia into an embrace.
‘Who knows,” Blangan said softly. “Llangarlia may be the haven you seek.” “Membricus says I am carrying a son, but I hope for a daughter. Can you tell?”
Siangan hesitated. If Cornelia had been Llangarlian born then, yes, it would have been easy, for she would have carried the Mag within her womb, and that would have spoken to any Llangarlian woman.
But she was foreign to everything connected with Llangarlia, and there would be no possible way she could…
‘Please,” Cornelia said, looking at Siangan with yearning eyes and placing Siangan’s hands on her belly. “Try. I dream of a girl… I am sure I am carrying a daughter. Membricus must be wrong.”
Blangan sighed, then closed her eyes and made the effort, even though she knew it would be—
She jerked back, her eyes almost starting from her head. “By the gods, Cornelia!”
“What?”
Blangan swallowed. Mag was strong within Cornelia’s womb . Stronger than Blangan had ever felt it.
‘I am but surprised,” Blangan said, composing herself, “for as it happens I could feel your child easily.”
She paused. “You carry a son, Cornelia. I am sorry.”
Cornelia’s face fell. “Brutus will be pleased, at least.”
‘But you will love him, too. You will, surely. Remember that I, too, bore a child that was forced into me. I thought to hate him when he was born, but when I held him to my breast, it was as if all my doubts and hate had never been. I adored him.”
‘I cannot think so,” Cornelia said, grimacing as she placed a hand on her belly. “I cannot think I could ever adore this .”
‘You will be a good mother, Cornelia,” Blangan said… and she said it in her native tongue of Llangarlian.
‘Maybe one day, perhaps,” Cornelia replied, and she also spoke in Llangarlian as if she, too, had been born to it. “But not with this child, I think.”
She stopped, and frowned. “What did I just say? Oh, Blangan, I must be overtired if I babble nonsense! I am sorry.”
Blangan had been stunned by Cornelia’s easy response in a tongue she should not have known, but hid her surprise well. “I will leave you to your rest in a moment, my love, but tell me, who was your mother? A stranger to Me sopotama’s shores?”
‘No. She was a Dorian Greek, as was my father.”
‘And her mother before her?”
‘Also Greek. Blangan? Why?”
‘Mag’s mysteries are deeper than I thought,” Blangan said. “Here, let me help you off with this robe.”