“Don’t patronise me. Besides, you have no time. See? Goffar of the Poiterans is already arranging your rebirth.”
King Goffar of Poiteran, furious that his men had been driven back, stormed into his long house. He threw to one side his sword, and tore the cloak from his shoulders.
Beneath the cloak his body was naked, although glistening with sweat and the blue clay carefully daubed into intricate blue designs across his belly and thighs.
His wife came to meet him, concern in her eyes.
He hit her, his rage finding an acceptable outlet in the person of his long-suffering mate.
She fell to the floor, a shocked gasp escaping her lips.
Goffar leaned down, seized her by the hair, and, as she shrieked, dragged her to the bed pile by the fire.
In her bed Genvissa woke, wide-eyed and staring, her heart thudding.
She sat up, staring about her, but could not discern the reason for her fear.
Then, just as she’d convinced herself that it had been a mere nightmare, and she lay down to sleep once more, she realised what it was.
Asterion was no more. He was dead.
Genvissa drew a deep breath and held it. What did this mean? Should she fear?
What if Asterion was about to reincarnate again?
Then Genvissa smiled, and laughed softly.
And what if he did? Brutus would be here soon, and they would build the Game into its full power within six months, a year at the outside.
There was nothing a mewling babe could do about that. Nothing at all.
Genvissa slept.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Narrow Seas
In the event, the crossing of the sea between the land of Poiteran, where Cornelia had given birth, and the island of Albion took two days. A stiff north-north-westerly wind had sprung up as they turned west, and, combined with a strong tide, the fleet was pushed a little further south and west than Brutus had originally wanted. Nevertheless, when one of Hicetaon’s men woke Brutus at dawn, Brutus knew why.
The fore-looker had sighted land.
Leaving Cornelia sleeping, the baby safely wrapped and held tight in her arms, Brutus threw on a tunic against the cool wind and hurried forward.
Hicetaon, a blood-stained bandage wrapped about his head where once his left ear had been, was standing by the stem post of the ship.
Before them, just visible in the dawn’s faint lightening, rose a line of green-swathed cliffs. In several places the face of the cliffs had crumbled, sending the trees and under-vegetation tumbling into the sea, and in these gashes white chalk glowed eerily.
Hicetaon nodded to the line of cliffs. “Is this it, Brutus? Is this what we’ve been sailing and fighting towards all these past months?”
Brutus stared at the coastline before them, a tight knot of excitement in his gut. “Aye. This is the island of Albion, and here the realm of Llangarlia. I know it. I feel it.”
Hicetaon nodded, and Brutus suddenly noticed the shadows under his eyes, and the lines etched into his face. “You have not slept.”
“No. My head aches abominably, and the wound still drains.”
“The physician—”
“Has seen it, and mutters darkly about the blade that sliced into me.” Hicetaon stood straight, and shrugged. “It is a wound, no more, Brutus. I am fit enough to continue.”
“Have you sent a man to rouse Corineus?”
“Aye, and Deimas as well,” Hicetaon replied. He hesitated, his gaze returning to the cliffs. “I pray to all gods that be, Brutus, that this land finally brings the Trojans luck. That here, at last, we can rest in the favour of the gods.” He paused. “Surely…surely there can be no more ill luck left in this world that we have not already endured?”
Brutus shifted uneasily, his mind filled with the image of the Minotaur, Asterion, atop Cornelia’s body.
“We have left ill luck well behind us,” he said finally. “Of this I am certain.”
Within half an hour, just as the ships were turning into the wind to tack north along the coast, Corineus, Blangan, Deimas and Cornelia, who had insisted on joining them, stood with Brutus and Hicetaon on the small deck by the stem post. Cornelia walked carefully, her post-birth discomfort still obvious, but she looked healthy and her colour was good (and her eyes unusually bright as she stared at the distant coast); Aethylla had privately remarked to Brutus as she’d taken the infant Achates away for his morning feed that Cornelia was recovering well from the birth.
Blangan had caused a platter of fruits, bowls of maza and some well-watered wine to be brought to the group, and they sat cross-legged on the deck, sharing food, and watching the cliffs to the port bow of the ship. The ships were close enough to the cliffs that they could hear the sound of the surf breaking at their base, and see the shape of the trees and the richness and variety of the undergrowth.
“It is a good land,” Deimas noted, and none present could mistake the relief in his voice.
“It is so…green,” Cornelia said, and Brutus found himself agreeing with her. He’d rarely seen a land with such abundant vegetation—and the mere fact of that abundance augured well for their future life here. Game would abound, and the soil was obviously fertile beyond anything he could have imagined.
It would be a fine place in which to raise both flocks and children.
“Blangan,” Brutus said, laying aside his empty bowl and taking a fig from the platter, “is this Llangarlia? Is this your home?”
Blangan had hardly eaten since she’d joined the group at the stem post. Her eyes were weary, the grey shadows underneath suggesting she’d slept even less than Hicetaon, and her thin fingers toyed ceaselessly with the dangling tassel of her waistband.
She’d scarcely taken her eyes off the cliffs rising to their port.
“Blangan?” Brutus said again, after she’d failed to answer.
Corineus, sitting beside his wife, looked at her worriedly, and took one of her hands in his.
Her other hand jerked, suddenly bereft of its companion in fidgeting.
“Yes,” she said, very low, finally looking away from the cliffs and back to Brutus, “this is Llangarlia. But do not call this my home. My true home I have left far behind me.”
Irritated, Brutus ignored the second part of her answer. “Do you know this coastline? How far does it stretch? How many people live along here? And is there a place where we may safely land, and continue in safety once we are on land?”
“So many questions,” Blangan said. Then she sighed. “The coastline of the south-eastern portion of Llangarlia is much like this for its entire length. It has many entrances to bays and rivers where you might land…but where we are exactly I cannot tell you. It has been so very many years since I was last here.”
“There is a great river to which we must travel,” said Brutus. “It is surrounded by marshland and is grouped about by low rounded hills—the Veiled Hills. It is there that we are bound. Are we close?”
“To the Veiled Hills?” Blangan responded. “No. We are far to the south. The wind,” Genvissa, she thought, wondering why Genvissa wanted them this far south, “has pushed us well away from the Veiled Hills.”
“How far?” Brutus said.
“The River Llan is much further to the north. Perhaps two or three days’ sail, or more if you must tack against this wind.”
“Thank you.” Brutus leaned back, suddenly realised he still held the fig in his hand, and took a bite out of it as he looked at the others. He thought for a moment, then spoke to Blangan again.
“Where is the main population of Llangarlia grouped? In these hills to our west, or in the lands about the Llan and the Veiled Hills?”
“In the lands about the Veiled Hills to the north,” Blangan said. “The land is far richer there—”
Richer than this? thought every Trojan, as well as Cornelia. Richer than this sweet land of rolling wooded hills?
“—and the climate milder. Also most people like to live not too f
ar distant from the Veiled Hills, which is a place of great mystery and sacredness and…power.” She smiled a little, but it was sad. “We are a lazy people, and do not like to walk longer than two or three days to reach the site where most of our festivals are held.”
“Your advice,” Brutus said, now looking to the others. “Should we sail straight north for the Llan and the Veiled Hills, or look for a landing spot along this coastline?”
“We seek a landing spot as soon as possible,” said Hicetaon. “For two reasons. One, we need to replenish our fresh water and meat and, secondly, we are truly unsure of our reception among the Llangarlians. I, for one, do not fancy sailing directly into their lair around these Veiled Hills, even if we do number twelve thousand. But our numbers will serve us well this far south where the population is less, and likely to be scattered. An isolated village of thirty or forty people will give this fleet no problems. The larger and stronger communities to the north may.”
At that moment Aethylla returned with Achates and she handed him to Cornelia, who smiled and took her son eagerly.
“I admit myself intrigued by these Veiled Hills,” said Cornelia, cuddling her son close to her breast, “but I should be grateful to sleep on dry and firm land as soon as I might.” Then she added, “I want to see this land, my new home. Can we land now? Today?”
“There are many who would add their plea to that of Cornelia,” Deimas said. “Cornelia is not the only woman among us who has recently given birth, nor the only one who feels tired, dispirited or ill. The ships are crowded, the people are tired, and I think I speak for most when I say my desire is to land as soon as possible, and as safely as possible. If the risk to us is less in these southern regions of Llangarlia, then I say we land here. Soon.”
Brutus grinned at the eagerness in Deimas’ voice. “If we find a suitable landing spot today then we will eventually have to reboard to move further north—if negotiations with the Gormagog and MagaLlan go well. If we land today, then how ready will people be to reboard in some weeks’ time?”
“For a few more days sailing only?” Deimas said. “They will not be unwilling. And if it brings us rest and comparative safety, then I say that we land now.”
Blangan lowered her head at Deimas’ “comparative safety”, but she made no comment.
Brutus laughed, and held up his hand to stop Deimas. “I submit. And I agree, too. It is best that we find a congenial landing spot as soon as we can, and rest our people.”
He rose. “Hicetaon, where did you put that fore-looker? We will need him, as all other fore-lookers in the fleet, to keep their eyes wide for possible bays or river mouths. I do not want this fleet trying to offload in ocean swells.”
CHAPTER FIVE
CORNELIA SPEAKS
I think that had I not the distraction of my love for my new son, I would have thrown myself overboard if I thought I might reach this land the faster.
It was the land of my dream, the land beyond the stone hall. If I had thought it when Brutus had first mentioned the name Llangarlia during his speech at the Altars of the Philistines, then I knew it now. I caught sight of those cliffs and the thick green woods atop them, and such a burst of emotion boiled up from my belly I thought I would cry.
It was the most extraordinary sensation of relief, and of homecoming, and it was so beautiful, so comforting, that I did not even think to question it.
All I know is that when I emerged from the cabin, and walked (slowly and stiffly, for my lower parts felt heavy and bruised and more sore than I had thought possible) to the deck rail, and stood there with my hands upon it, and saw that line of cliffs, I knew I had come home.
Home.
I drew in a very deep, very emotional breath. This new land of Llangarlia represented so much. I looked at the cliffs and the green swathe that topped them and I saw a new life and a new beginning. It had appeared—very literally—on the horizon at the same time as two other discoveries: the totally unexpected love for my son, and the realisation that Brutus and I might have a future together that was defined not by hate and mistrust, but by liking and respect.
Since that night when Brutus had talked to me and taken on his own shoulders a part of the blame for the debacle surrounding Achates’ birth, we had managed a respectful and an almost friendly dialogue (although that very friendliness created difficulties, for we had no understanding of how to be friends to each other). We had a shared love—Achates—and a new understanding. It was as he’d said: we were doomed each to the other, so perhaps we ought to make the best of it.
Thinking of that stone hall, remembering how I had turned from the laughter of my daughter towards a man I loved beyond life, I wondered if I might dare to hope that the “best” I could hope for Brutus and myself might also, one day, include love.
I shook myself, a wry grin on my face. A few days ago I had been sure he was about to kill me; now I was daydreaming about him as a lover. Perhaps that was the sight of the distant cliffs talking, perhaps all the unresolved emotion of birth, perhaps just the foolish thoughts of the young girl I was desperate to leave well behind.
Respect was enough to hope for now, and even that might be asking for too much.
Blangan eventually joined me at the deck railing. She put her arm about me, and we leaned in close to each other, and I knew, somehow, that she was indescribably sad. Over the past weeks we had talked of many things, but apart from that first night when she’d offered me so much comfort, she had rarely mentioned her homeland, or the child she had lost.
“Blangan?” I said, and she somehow knew what I asked.
“I will not be welcomed here,” she said, and then her arm squeezed my (newly refound!) waist, “but I think that somehow you will find yourself a true home. But beware, Cornelia. There will be those who will seek to harm you.”
That man Hera warned me against? I thought. Gods! I hadn’t thought about Hera’s warning for months!
And what was his name? Birth must truly have muddled my wits to have forgotten that…there was something she’d said…some description…
“The Horned One?” I said, relieved that something had finally come to me, but Blangan frowned.
“Loth?” she said. “I would not have thought so. I admit, he was only a baby when I held him, but surely I would have felt any malevolence—”
“No. Not Loth. Another name…I’m sorry. It was so long ago. I can’t recall. I was warned against him. A long time ago. Ah, do not worry about it, Blangan. I am sure it is nothing.”
“Well…” Blangan faced me fully, and pulled me yet closer, and kissed my cheek and then my mouth, almost as a lover would. “Whatever happens to me,” she said, very low, “keep safe, Cornelia. Keep safe.”
I opened my mouth to ask her why she should think she was in danger, but she had turned and was gone. I was left staring foolishly after her with a profound sense of loss and sorrow that was as unknown and as unsettling as my strange reaction to this new land.
CHAPTER SIX
Within the hour Brutus heard the combined shouts of several of the fore-lookers. Already standing close to the stem of the ship, he raced forwards, Hicetaon and Corineus at his side, to see at what they shouted.
On their port bow the cliffs had drawn back into what appeared to be a wide bay, or perhaps the mouth of a river, flanked on both sides by high headlands. As they drew close to the opening, Brutus could see that the bay stretched back as far as his eye could see. It was so big it could easily hold five hundred vessels; his fleet would almost be lost within its vastness.
He turned to Hicetaon and Corineus. “Well?”
“We take five ships and sail in,” said Hicetaon without hesitation. “If this is as good as it appears, then the rest can follow at our signal.”
Brutus looked at Deimas who had joined them. He nodded his agreement.
“Good,” Brutus said. “We take this ship, and those of Assaracus, Aganus, Meleus, and Serses. Signal them, Corineus.”
Brutus stepp
ed up to the stem post, the fore-looker moving aside for him.
“I can hardly believe such a land exists,” the fore-looker said with the reverence of a man who had hitherto been used to the thinner soils and harder climate of western Greece.
“Aye,” said Brutus. He leaned over the stem post, hanging on with one arm, and shaded his eyes against the now bright sun. “I see no smoke, nor sign of habitation. You?”
The fore-looker strained his eyes, then shook his head. “It is a paradise, waiting for us.”
“Aye,” said Brutus. “Waiting for us.”
Oarsmen ran to their benches and slipped their oars on the five ships Brutus had selected. Their captains ordered the sails lowered and stowed.
Within minutes the ships had come to, navigating through the wide opening between the headlands.
“Order the men to keep close lookout,” Brutus said softly although there seemed no signs of danger, or of other watching eyes, in the wide bay. Formed by the mouth of a river estuary, the bay was flanked on either side by steep wooded hills that rolled away into the distance.
There were no smoke trails, no sign of habitation, no tracks that led from the woods to the foreshore, no fishing boats drawn up on the occasional sandy beach.
On the other hand, there were numerous water birds, the flash of fish schools within the water, and the mouths of several creeks that emptied into the bay.
The river estuary itself stretched wide and deep, and wound into the hills in a general north-westerly direction.
“Even if there are archers hiding in those hills,” Hicetaon said, “the estuary is wide enough to allow the entire fleet entry without danger.”
Brutus took a deep breath, considering. The five ships were now deep into the bay, the river stretching invitingly before them, and they could see nothing, nor had their presence elicited any reaction from the close woods.