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

. Brutus shuddered.

HEY SAILED ON A BRIGHT, LATE SUMMER MORN-

ing three days after Brutus had spoken with Cornelia.

The citizens of Locrinia, grateful (if sad) to be leaving their condemned city, had stowed both their belongings and themselves aboard whatever vessels they could find; those several hundred who could not be fitted aboard the Locrinian fishing, merchant, and warships Brutus managed to find space for on his own vessels. It would be a crowd, but from what Corineus and other Locrinian captains told him, with luck it would only be a short voyage of under ten days to reach the island of Albion where lay Llangarlia.

It would need to be under that space of time, Brutus thought the morning of their final departure, as the autumn storms were very close upon them.

But this day was fine. The waters of the bay, thronged with black-hulled vessels of every shape and size, glittered under the warm sun. Every ship had jewel-colored pennants fluttering from their masts and

stem posts, and along every side of every hull oars lifted, waiting for the cries of the orderers. On their decks, and packed into their hulls, brightly clothed men, women, and children shouted and waved to friends and relatives in neighboring ships.

Autumn storms notwithstanding, Brutus knew they were leaving only just in time. In the past several weeks more and more of Locrinia had been collapsing: this past week alone had witnessed the final destruction of over fifty homes. They had not even needed the rains to arrive to come down. The cracks had spread farther and farther every day so that by the time the Locrinians had boarded, there remained only about half of the city habitable.

And even that, Brutus thought, would crumble into the sea within weeks of their departure.

He’d managed to put into the back of his mind the resemblance of the cracks here to those that had swept through Mesopotama. Coincidence only.

O

Every town or city occasionally suffered the depravations of earth surges; Lo-crinia had just been unlucky in the strength of the one that had struck her.

‘When we have gone the city will vanish,” Corineus said softly at Brutus’ side, and Brutus turned to stare at him.

Corineus was staring at the city, tears in his eyes. “It has been my beloved home,” he said. “No matter toward what glory we might sail, Brutus, this has been my home. When it is gone the forests and grasses will creep in, and within two or three generations no one will ever know what pride and happiness existed here.”

‘All things must pass,” Brutus said, hating the lameness of his reply.

‘Aye,” said Corineus, turning away. “All things must pass.”

Brutus put his back to the all-but-ruined city himself, and looked at the fleet.

For the first time, Brutus truly felt the weight of responsibility settle upon his shoulders. He now commanded a fleet containing some twelve thousand souls, all of whom had placed their trust in Brutus to lead them to a better life. Not only would he need to command them through uncertain waters to their destination, but he would then need to negotiate with the Llangarlians for land on which to build Troia Nova.

None of it would be easy…

Cornelia’s voice, murmuring to Aethylla about the ache in her back, broke across his thoughts, and Brutus sighed ruefully.

Not easy at all.

He sailed this time on Corineus’ warship rather than his own. It was more commodious than his warship, fully decked above the oar benches, and had enough cabin accommodation for Corineus, Blangan, Brutus, Cornelia, and Aethylla and her husband and child, and Membricus, Hicetaon, and Deimas, who would share the smallest of the cabins.

Brutus drew in a deep breath, and nodded to Corineus, who raised his arm in a prearranged signal.

Instantly trumpets sounded from a score of ships, and a great shout rose from those who were crowded into the ships’ hulls.

The orderers raised their voices and as one sang the beat, and at the sound of the beat all the oars of the one hundred and eighteen vessels in the fleet dipped into the sea.

They were on their way.

THE FLEET SAILED NORTH FOR FIVE DAYS, FOLLOWING the line of the coast to their starboard.

The weather favored them, and every dawn and dusk Brutus gave thanks to Artemis for her favor.

The ships made good headway, people stayed cheer ful—indeed, often the day was filled with the sound of singing as voices passed ballads and choruses between ships—and it seemed as if Poseidon himself had sent the great companies of dolphins that danced and dipped in the surging waters under the fleet’s stem posts.

The peace and fair sailing lasted only a few short days. At dawn on the sixth day out from Locrinia Cornelia went into labor.

HE’D BEEN IN A DEEP SLEEP, LULLED BY THE CARESSING motion of the ship into dreams of a white city rising on the banks of a noble river, when Cornelia had suddenly cried out.

Brutus leapt to his feet, clutching at his sword, before he realized he was not under attack at all, and that the cry had come from Cornelia, now sitting amid their blankets clutching at her belly.

Aethylla, who had been sleeping a few paces away, her own baby nestled safely in a cot by her side, groaned and rolled over, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

‘Aethylla?” Brutus said, hoping the woman might have some magical words to utter that might restrict Cornelia to a more dignified moaning.

Aethylla made a face and slowly rose, tugging a gown about her as she did so. She squatted down by Cornelia, and put her hands on Cornelia’s belly.

She grunted. “It is the baby.”

‘It hurts!” Cornelia whispered, then howled as another contraction gripped her.

‘It is nothing more than all women bear!” Aethylla snapped. “If you think this hurts, then wait until this evening!”

Brutus decided he’d heard enough, and snatching at the tunic and cloak he’d taken to wearing in these cooler northern climes, beat a hasty retreat to the deck.

Aethylla could cope with Cornelia.

AETHYLLA DID NOT HAVE TO BEAR THE BURDEN ALONE.

Blangan joined her within moments of Brutus vacating the cabin, and two other women, experienced midwives, joined them shortly thereafter.

Altogether Cornelia had the care of four women who had knowledge of childbirth both personally and through aiding scores of other women give birth.

But their aid was of little use to Cornelia. She was a young girl, still growing herself, and as Blangan had realized, the baby had not moved about in the womb as it should so that it could be born headfirst.

Instead, it was a breech presentation, and no matter how much Cornelia labored, the child would not shift. Caught in the terror of the unknown, gripped by horrific pain, Cornelia descended into panic. Even Siangan, who had by now long earned Cornelia’s trust and regard, could do nothing to calm her. One of the midwives could have turned the baby within the womb, but Cornelia was too far lost in her panic and terror to allow any of them to touch her.

Brutus, standing as far away from the cabin as possibly he could, nevertheless heard every shriek, every groan. It tore on his nerves, driving him to distraction.

Membricus and Deimas stood with him, offering as much sympathy and support as they could; Corineus paced up and down the deck of the ship, looking alternatively between the cabin and Brutus, his expression worried.

Worried for what? Brutus thought. That he might lose Cornelia? She should be nothing but just a woman to him, there was no reason for him to evidence such concern.

‘All women scream during labor,” Deimas offered hopefully as Brutus continued to watch Corineus pace up and down. “It helps them to expel the baby. Cornelia will be well, have no doubt.”

Brutus caught Membricus’ eye, and did not answer.

‘Did you not say this would be a son?” Deimas said, trying frantically to find something cheerful to say.

Cornelia’s wails were echoing down the entire ship, setting children to crying, and the adults to much muttering and rolling of eyes.

Soon queries were being shouted from other ships, concerned at the racket emanating from Corineus’

vessel, and Brutus grew heartily tired of having to shout back that it was just his wife, giving birth.

In the midafternoon, when not only Brutus’ nerves, but those of everyone else on board, had been frayed to the breaking point, Aethylla emerged from the cabin.

She caught sight of Brutus at the stem post of the ship, and marched resolutely toward him.

‘Is the child born?” asked Brutus.

‘I wish to the gods it were!” Aethylla said. “But it lays wrong in the womb… and Cornelia will not let any of us try to turn it. By the gods! I have never seen such a performance! Is this how all Dorian princesses give birth?”