The eldest one, Liana, touched Brutus particularly. She had an air of sadness and loss about her eyes, and she was far less a child than the other two. Keeping his voice low, Brutus asked Genvissa about her.
‘She still grieves for the child she lost a year ago,” Genvissa said, very low.
G
‘She conceived him when she was thirteen, bore him when she was fourteen, and lost him the same year.”
‘How did he die?”
‘A fever.” Genvissa shrugged. “Poor Liana. Still, she will no doubt bear more children.”
‘I had thought your own daughters would be protected against this blight.”
Genvissa looked at him strangely. “My family must be seen to suffer, as does every other,” she said.
Poor Liana, indeed , thought Brutus and then, before he could follow that thought through with anything close to a judgment, Genvissa leaned more firmly against him, and he felt the heaviness of her breast against his arm.
His breath caught in his throat… and then he leaned back a little from her. “And you are sure about Asterion?”
‘There is no need to talk of Asterion,” Genvissa said and, taking one of his hands in hers, put it to her breast.
He glanced toward Genvissa’s daughters, and as he saw that they still had their heads bent low about their spinning, ran his hand softly over her breast.
‘We can’t do this,” he said, very low. “If we lie together now it will ruin the order of the dances.”
Genvissa’s mouth twisted ruefully as Brutus dropped his hand from her.
‘When I sailed toward this land,” Brutus continued in his low voice, “I dreamed of you all night, thought of you all day. Now you are so close, this close, the waiting is torture.”
‘And yet,” Genvissa breathed, moving close to him again, and putting her mouth to his ear, then to the back of his neck, then to his throat, “the Kingman and the Mistress of the Labyrinth may come together for the first time only on the night of the Dance of the Torches. And that night must wait until the foundations are ready. Months and months.”
He pulled her face about to his, and kissed her. “You don’t need to remind me.” Then he pulled away completely. “Don’t do this to me now, Genvissa, You’re teasing me, for no purpose, for I am yours.”
‘And yet you took a wife.”
‘I did not know of you then. Do not worry about Cornelia. She is nothing to me.”
‘Then put her aside. Renounce her. Give her to… to Corineus, perhaps.”
Brutus’ face hardened the moment she spoke, and something severe and uncompromising came into his eyes. “I will not give her to Corineus!”
Genvissa fought down a moment of panic. “Brutus—”
‘If you are denied me for months to come,” said Brutus, “then I have need of a wife.”
‘You cannot truly mean to lie with her.”
‘Why does she upset you so much, Genvissa?”
‘You know why! How many times has she betrayed you? Kept things from you? And Asterion… you have said yourself how she mentioned his name as if she expected him, and you saw her lying with him in vision—”
‘But Asterion is no threat. This you keep saying. Should I think different?”
‘Asterion is no threat.” Inwardly seething, Genvissa forced a pleasant look to her face. “I am jealous, Brutus. That is all. If I sought to alleviate my desire for you in some other man’s bed, would you not also be dismayed?”
‘Aerne…”
‘He is an old man. I have not shared his bed for years.”
Brutus smiled, and the gesture was so gentle and so beautiful it brought tears to Genvissa’s eyes. “I can wait for you,” he said. “Cornelia does not tempt me.”
‘If you find the waiting hard,” she said, touching his cheek with soft fingers, “and you need relief, then you may take one of my girls—”
Brutus rose, suddenly, leaving Genvissa sitting awkwardly with her hand extended into empty air.
‘You are surely the woman toward whom I have been moving all my life,” Brutus said, his voice flat,
“but you must know that I am not a man who enjoys violating children.”
Before she could respond, Brutus was gone, and Genvissa was left staring incredulously after him.
Then where -were your principles when you bore Cornelia down to bed? Genvissa thought. She was no older than my Liana !
‘Mother?”
It was Liana, come to see what ailed Genvissa.
‘It is nothing, Liana. Be a good girl, now, and see your sisters to bed.”
As her daughters moved softly about the house, Genvissa went to stand outside, staring into the blackness toward the distant Llanbank.
‘Who are you, girl?” Genvissa whispered, unconsciously echoing what Coel had once said. “What are you? And what danger are you?”
Why had she been at Mag’s Dance when Blangan had died?
Why did she mention Asterion’s name, and feature in visions beneath his body?
Why, in the name of all that was honest, did Brutus demur about putting her away?
Why had he not killed her when he’d learned she’d deceived him about Blangan’s death? Or even after Cornelia’s treacherous instigation of the Mesopotamian rebellion?
Why, why; why?
‘Cornelia?” Genvissa said, narrowing her eyes. Don’t touch her , Brutus had said.
Ah! He was bewitched only by her youth. If she died, then he would not really miss her…
But best not to move until she had Brutus completely. The night of the Dance of the Torches.
Cornelia, she thought, her mouth twisting viciously. Cornelia is as good as dead.
Cb&PGGR GIDGCVG (
VERY YEAR AS MANY PEOPLE AS POSSIBLE FROM THEtribes and houses of Llangarlia traveled to the Veiled Hills for ‘Him* ” the Slaughter Festival. They brought with them those goods they had made at their hearths over the past year to sell in the markets, they herded before them their spare livestock that they might barter them at the livestock fairs (as well as one fat beast upon which they would feast), and they carried wrapped in cloth their finest bronze pieces—swords, knives, arrow heads, pins, or brooches—that they might offer them to their gods in thanks for their lives and for the food and children that had graced their households over the past year.
If perhaps the food had not been so plentiful this past year, or their children not so hearty, then the family would bring more than perhaps they could afford to offer Og and Mag, desperate for a turn in their fortunes.
The sudden influx of people on Llanbank and the surrounding area created mayhem—but it was a happy, genial mayhem, for the Slaughter Festival was the most eagerly anticipated social occasion as well as religious rite of the year. All the homes within Llanbank took in as many people as they could; the overflow encamped in the areas to the south and east of the town, their children running about, laughing and playing, their beasts baying and bleating in confusion at the throngs of people and their own crowded kind packed into pens and runs.
Of all homes within Llanbank, Cornelia’s house was the only one that was not overflowing with guests, its internal quiet a strange counterpoint to the bustle and noise everywhere else.
On the evening of the Slaughter Festival, Cornelia took herself off to the northern bank of the Llan.
Aethylla remained within the house: her own son was slightly ill with a fever—probably caused by his teething—and of necessity she had to remain behind to tend him. That meant Cornelia could safely leave Achates behind as well, and although she adored her son, she thought that perhaps this was one night where he would be better off left behind in the warmth and security of the house and Aethylla’s care.
Hicetaon escorted her; Brutus was long gone—off somewhere with Gen-vissa probably—and Corineus had headed south in the morning, armed with the news that the Gathering of Mothers had agreed to Genvissa’s plan to settle the Trojans in the Veiled Hills. He would bring the Trojans north by ship, and no one expected them for several weeks.
It would take at least that long to arrange space and accommodation for them, and Hicetaon, who was in charge of arranging such space, knew he would have his work cut out.
The crowds pressed uncomfortably, and Hicetaon moved close to Cornelia, trying to keep her free of the press. She was dressed very beautifully, in the Llangarlian manner rather than the Trojan, and Hicetaon wondered from where she had found her sleeveless robe. Its full skirt hung to only just below her knees, leaving her strong brown calves and ankles bare above her fine leather shoes. The material was a finely woven wool and patterned about its low-scalloped neck and hem with a twisted design that Hicetaon realized only after several minutes of surreptitious observation was of entwined antlers. Cornelia wore a matching cloak on her back, its weave slightly denser than that of the robe but even then light enough to flow back from her body with every movement she made.