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

And, of course, there was the dream of the stone hall with the sweeping green hills and silver river of Llangarlia beyond, the sense of waiting for a great love to arrive, the daughter I could see playing from the corner of my eye. It came upon me with ever-increasing frequency now, and each night that it came, it was more vivid, more real.

So I daydreamed of him, constantly, through the hustle and bustle of the river camp. In this state of mind I no longer resented Aethylla for her ability to feed Achates where I could not; instead, I was relieved that Achates’ hungry mouth did not prevent the rapid firming of both my breasts and belly back to a gentle roundness.

I could barely wait for my body to heal completely.

So, with my baby in my arms, my body springing back to a much appreciated slenderness, and my eyes occasionally wandering after my husband as he undertook the governance of this bustling camp, I turned my curiosity to this land.

It was so beautiful (just like my vision from the stone hall) that sometimes contemplation of it left me in silent tears. The country was not only unusual in its greenness, and the very exuberance of that green, but also in its soft light and comforting coolness. My own land, my girlhood home, had been clear and bright and harsh, the foliages more gray, the sun bolder. Here, tiny flowers that could never have survived Mesopotama’s hard light thrived in shallow crevices of rock and flowered in great ebullient carpets where the soil was deeper. The trees had the thickest of canopies, stunningly clothed in the reds and golds and russets of their autumn canopies: I spent many an hour while Achates slept in my arms watching their seductive dancing against the sky.

Thus it was that when Brutus announced that I would accompany himself, Corineus, Blangan, Hicetaon, and several others on a journey north to the Veiled Hills, I was filled with excitement. The fact that I was being taken as a virtual hostage against the Trojans’ misbehavior, as Corineus explained to me, did not concern me in the least. There was travel and excitement ahead, a chance to perhaps draw a little closer to Brutus, and Aethylla to look after Achates’ needs.

WE LEFT ON OUR JOURNEY NORTH SOME FOUR DAYS AF ter 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 woolen garment that flattered my coloring. 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 that, 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 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. The opportunity gave him a chance to send me several admiring glances that 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 realized 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 dampened 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 onto 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 realization 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 but 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 impri oning, but liberating. We rode through the most delightful dappled light, ar in glades and among the trees the most lovely of flowers blossomed. Above i warbled birds, the like of which I’d never heard before, and butterflies ar great, brightly colored dragonflies that dashed from plant to plant, and hi^ into the trees. If I half closed my eyes then the dappled light and the bright colored insects darting this way and that combined into a wonderful kaleidi scope that lulled me into a state of such tranquillity that I could almost belies that nothing bad had ever, or would ever, touch me.