Hades Daughter (65 page)

Feeling guiltier than ever, Brutus gave her a small smile. “Well,” he said, “I would have shown you before if I’d known of your interest.”

He put a hand on Cornelia’s waist, hesitated, then drew her in close to his body, and began to point out the course of the walls.

Genvissa watched, unbelieving.

“This city will be astounding,” Cornelia said, as Brutus finished.

“Three times the size of Mesopotama,” Brutus said, his voice rich with good humour at Cornelia’s reaction, “but it will not all be built over. There will be gardens and orchards, light and shade.”

“Space enough for me to play with our children,” Cornelia said, smiling again as she looked into Brutus’ eyes. She was glowing at his attention and favour. “Space enough for them to grow.”

Genvissa had endured enough. “Children?” she said, arching one of her eyebrows, and walking close to Brutus herself. “I thought you only had one.” She made that “one” sound like a desperate failing. “Not all women are as blessed as I in their fertility.”

She rested one of her hands on Brutus’ shoulder, and leaned close…too close, if the sudden flush in Cornelia’s cheeks was any indication.

Genvissa smiled.

“Not every woman,” Cornelia said, with a surprising, quiet dignity, “has had the numerous opportunities
you
have taken to catch with child.”

Now it was Genvissa who flushed, and her hand tightened on Brutus’ shoulder.

“Cornelia,” Brutus said with some slight remonstration, but his eyes sparkled, and he moved away from Genvissa.

“Ahem,” Hicetaon put in, almost as red-faced as the two women were. “Perhaps you can show Cornelia where the main buildings will be, Brutus. I confess some curiosity myself, lest this dazzling city of yours is to be all wall and no buildings.”

Genvissa made a dismissive sound, and turned away.

Brutus bit the inside of his lip, trying to keep the grin from his face. “There,” he said, pointing to the White Mount. “I have a great desire to build a palace atop that mound, Cornelia. Will you enjoy the view, do you think?”

“It will be most agreeable,” Cornelia said.

“And there,” he pointed to the top of Mag’s Hill, “a large market, commanded by a civic hall.”

“And on this hill?” said Cornelia. “On Og’s Hill?”

“Here?” Brutus looked at Genvissa. “Here we will play the Game, Genvissa and I. Here we will construct the labyrinth, and there,” he pointed to the western slope of the hill that sloped down towards the Magyl River, “will be the main gate of the city.”

Cornelia’s face had fallen at Brutus’ easy coupling of his name with Genvissa’s. “A labyrinth?” she said. “On this hill? But I thought—”

“A labyrinth—” Brutus began to say, but was interrupted by Genvissa, staring with baleful iciness at Cornelia.

“We will make this city between us,” she said, making no effort to hide the triumph in her voice, “Brutus and
I
.”

They lay in their bed that night, close, their skin filmed with sweat, their breathing slowly returning to calmness. This had been the first time since their arrival in Llanbank that Brutus had lain with Cornelia, and he wished he hadn’t left it so long. She’d pleased him today with her interest in the city he planned, and he also had to admit he’d enjoyed the spat between her and Genvissa.

Brutus ran a hand very slowly down Cornelia’s back, feeling and caressing every nub of her spine. She had been sweet and pliable, eager even, and Brutus was well pleased with her.

She trembled, and he smiled against her forehead, enjoying the manner in which she made him feel so strong, knowing it would be a long time yet before he allowed her to sleep.

“I love you,” she whispered, and Brutus cradled her face in his hands, and wondered if, finally, he should lay his mouth to hers. Kiss her, at last, as he should have done that first night.

He smiled, and his head moved forward, and then, suddenly, his mind was filled with a memory.

Genvissa, standing before him, her hands splayed across her huge belly.

“Only I can give you immortality,” she whispered. “Only I.”

Brutus let Cornelia’s head drop back to the pillow. “Sleep,” he said, “for we are both tired.”

Then he sighed, and rolled away, and Cornelia was left staring at his back.

“
Y
ou lay with her.”

Genvissa’s voice was harsh, her stance stiff and unyielding.

They were walking along the northern line of the walls, inspecting the trenches and foundations.

“She is my wife.”

Genvissa was silent.

“You have no need to be jealous of her,” Brutus said. “She is nothing compared to you.”

You almost kissed her,
thought Genvissa, not knowing
why
that would have been catastrophic, but knowing it nevertheless.

“What is a kiss?” said Brutus, laughing at the thunder of Genvissa’s face. “There are more intimate things between a husband and a wife.”

They walked in silence a few more paces.

“Perhaps you should live with me in my house,” Genvissa said. “There is space enough for you.”

“In your bed?”

Genvissa almost cried in frustration. “You know that cannot be, Brutus. Not yet!”

“Then I shall stay where I am.” He stopped, and took Genvissa’s face in his hands as he had Cornelia’s the previous night. This time he did not hesitate when he leaned forward to lay his mouth to that of the woman he held. “Gods, Genvissa, there is
nothing
for
you to fear. When we start the Game then nothing will undo us. We will be together, bound, tied and conjoined as few men and women ever are. Nothing will separate us. Nothing.”

Genvissa relaxed. Those were words he’d never spoken, nor would ever speak, to Cornelia. They kissed again, deeper, passionately, and eventually Brutus stepped back, laughing shortly.

“Enough!” he said. “I cannot stand more.”

“Imagine it, my love. The Night of the Torches, the Game begun, you and I, together, at last.”

“I am imagining it right
now,
” he said hoarsely, and Genvissa laughed, delighted.

“Good. So tell me, will there be enough warriors and virgins among your Trojans to use as dancers?”

“Yes, warriors certainly, and virgins too, even if I have to sew them back together myself.”

Genvissa’s mood sobered, Brutus’ comment making her think, for no apparent reason, of Asterion growing in the womb of Goffar’s wife in Poiteran. There was nothing to worry about, surely, but…but this
was
something she should tell Brutus. She dare not alienate him when so much was at stake. “Brutus, Asterion has entered rebirth.”

He stilled. “Where?”

“In the womb of the wife of Goffar, King of the Poiterans.”

“So close? And a Poiteran? Genvissa…”

“There is nothing to worry about, my love. He is a bare few weeks old in the womb. He will only be a grizzling, toothless infant when we complete the Game, and then it will be too late for him. The labyrinth shall trap him.”

“But reborn as a Poiteran, Genvissa. I cannot just ignore that.”

“We will be strong enough, Brutus. But…” Her voice drifted off, and she cast down her eyes and bit
her lip, “but just in case, surely, it would be best if Cornelia—”

“Genvissa…”

“If Cornelia were to be sent away, perhaps, my love. It cannot do any harm.”

Brutus hesitated. It would not do any harm, but all he could think of was her sweetness this past night. “I will keep a close watch on her,” he said finally.

Genvissa’s mouth hardened into a thin line, but vanished almost instantly as she laughed, and drew Brutus against her.

“I have waited for you forever,” she said, and kissed him.

And nothing will keep you apart from me. Nothing.

Six weeks later

B
lack-hulled ships, more than a hundred of them, crowded the banks of the Llan. They had arrived a month earlier, bearing within them the joyous faces of the Trojans, their journey of almost one hundred years since the fall of Troy finally done.

Almost a thousand of the Trojans, headed by Assaracus, had elected to remain at the original settlement which Brutus had somewhat jokingly named Totnes, and which was now firmly fixed as the developing town’s name. It was a good site, and in the weeks they’d spent awaiting word from Brutus, many of the Trojans had decided that Totnes would be an excellent place to live and raise their children. They had a comfortable relationship with the small villages dotted along the Dart River, helped in no small degree by the acquaintance, and then friendship, of the three Mothers who had resided within the Trojan camp as “hostages”.

Brutus was not unhappy about the decision of Assaracus and the thousand others to remain in Totnes. It was a pleasant site indeed, and having another Trojan settlement within Llangarlia would certainly be no bad thing.

And it made one thousand less people to have to fit into the area surrounding Llanbank.

An influx of eleven thousand people into any area was bound to cause problems; the fact that these eleven
thousand were foreigners merely deepened those problems. Brutus was keenly aware of the need not to alienate the people of Llanbank in the first instance, and the wider population of Llangarlia in the second instance, and so he took several measures to ensure the influx of Trojans was as painless as possible.

It helped that the majority of the Trojans were acutely aware of the need not to alienate the Llangarlians. Many of the spoils of Mesopotama—the gold and jewels, and the silks and linens that had survived the sea journey—were now exchanged with the Llangarlians in thanks for the tracts of land that stretched east from Llanbank, where the Trojans would make temporary settlement until Troia Nova was built north of the river. None of the Trojans intruded upon Llanbank unless they were asked, and they took care not to trample the meadowlands where grazed Llanbank’s flocks of sheep and goats, and where roamed their pigs and cattle.

If the Trojans needed meat or grain, then they paid for it. If they wanted company and conversation, then they invited families of Llangarlians into their temporary shelters, and were grateful when and if they themselves were invited into one of Llanbank’s houses in order to share warmth, food and companionship. Most of the Trojans had taken the trouble to have, at the very least, a rudimentary understanding of the Llangarlian language, and the people of Llanbank returned the favour by acquiring words of the Greek that the Trojans spoke.

Within weeks the conversations between the Trojans and those of Llanbank were a chattering mixture of Greek and the native language.

Soon, both peoples were exchanging ideas along with tales of adventures and gods. The Trojans, back in Mesopotama, had used a plough that the Llangarlians thought would work well in the soils about the Llan;
on their part, the Llangarlians shared their local knowledge of fishing and hunting to aid the Trojans in their search for meat.

No one, however, hunted in the sacred forests north of the Llan.

Brutus had given the Trojans one week in which to unpack their ships and to erect suitable shelters against the oncoming winter (which were chilly and damp, so the Llangarlians told their new neighbours, but not as frigid as the winters in the north of the island), then he set the men to work on the foundations of the walls of Troia Nova. He needed to work quickly. Genvissa had told him that the best time to work the first Dance of the Game, work the first enchantment, would be the winter solstice, and that was only two months distant.

By then, the foundations needed to be complete and the gate marked out.

Evil needed to know where the entrance to the city was in order for it to be trapped.

So the Trojans set to work. The walls were to be huge—the height of five men, and half as thick at its base. That meant the foundations had to be dug at least the height of a man into the ground, and preferably the height of one and a half men. The ground was generally easy to dig: beneath the soil and loam on the surface lay well-packed gravel whose discovery made Brutus exultant…this land was
made
for the support of walls. In most areas the foundations of flint packed into clay could be laid down directly, but in those few parts where the ground was soft and waterlogged the builders would need to drive in wooden piles for extra support. The Wal would be diverted via stone culverts under the walls in the north, and then under a low stone gateway where it emerged into the Llan.

All in all, to Brutus’ delight, there would be few problems apart from time—and that could be defeated with good planning and willing backs.

By the winter solstice he had every expectation of being ready to begin the Game.

Cornelia stood on the southern bank of the Llan, watching the activity across the river. The site surrounding the three holy mounds swarmed with men—digging, carting, excavating.

She shuddered, and drew her cloak tightly about her.

“Cornelia,” said a voice. “How pleasant to see you here.”

Cornelia jumped, swivelling about, her face pale, her eyes wide, and stared at Genvissa.

Genvissa walked to her side, and looked across the river herself. “All goes well, does it not? Brutus assures me we will be ready for the Game by the night of the winter solstice.” She turned slightly, so she could see Cornelia out of the corner of her eye. “You only have a few weeks, Cornelia.”

“A few weeks?” Cornelia’s voice cracked slightly, and Genvissa had to suppress a smile.

“Surely Brutus has told you about the Game, and his and my role in it?”

Cornelia flushed, the colour moving up her neck to mottle her cheeks. “What do you mean, ‘a few weeks’?”

Genvissa sighed. “The Game requires myself as Mistress of the Labyrinth, and Brutus, as Kingman of the Labyrinth, to unite as one in order to ensure the success of the Game. You
do
know what I mean, don’t you, my dear?”