Five days after Cornelia’s shadow had fallen across him, Brutus gave the order to load the fleet for sailing. The ships were already stocked with non-perishables: thousands of amphorae were filled with water, wine, oil, honey, grains, herbs, nuts, preserved eggs, dried vegetables and fruits, and stoppered tight against the sea; spare linen sails and fibre ropes, enough to refit half the fleet if need be; woollen wraps and blankets against the night cold; vials of medicines and unguents; and those useful household items that could not be left behind—utensils, pots, tools, looms, spindles and baskets.
Tucked into the holds of the deepest merchant ships were stacks of gold and silver and baskets of gems; Pandrasus’ wealth, given into the keeping of the Trojan fleet.
Now the rafts floating goods out to the ships were filled with more perishable items: three score of milking goats and ewes, as well as a few billygoats and rams and other animals; cheeses, meats and fresh fruits; broths of beans and pulses; fresh cakes of maza and turon.
Brutus did not know how long they would need to sail, nor what they could garner along the way, and he fretted night and day as to whether or not they would have enough to sustain seven thousand mouths during this unknowable voyage.
At night, when the palace was quiet, he knelt before an altar to Artemis he’d found tucked away in a chamber just off the megaron and prayed to her for guidance and the wisdom to direct his orders. He could barely wait until the fleet had sailed and he could reach the island where Artemis had promised to meet him. He’d included a pure white goat in the cargo of his own ship, meaning to take it to the island and sacrifice it to the goddess in thanks for her aid and blessing.
Then, much later at night, when he had returned to the chamber he shared with Cornelia and lay by her side, he wondered at Membricus’ words. Hades’ daughter, he’d called this girl. Sometimes he rolled over to face her, and placed a gentle hand on her belly, feeling his child move within her.
At those times he would also feel her muscles tense with her hatred, and he would sigh. Again and again he regretted taking her in marriage, and taking her with such pain and violence that first night, but every time he felt the movement of his child his regrets would fade, and he felt only the wonder of the new growing life.
The night before the Trojans would sail, Brutus came to his and Cornelia’s chamber very late. He had spent most of the evening on the beach supervising the loading of the last of the livestock, then the earlier part of the night praying to Artemis. Now, although he was tired, he knew his anxiety about the coming day would keep him wakeful, and when he lay down beside Cornelia, he placed his hand again on her belly, and spoke.
“Have you said your goodbyes to your father, Cornelia? Tomorrow will be a crowded and busy day, and it is possible you will be so hurried on to our ship that you will lose your chance to kiss him farewell.”
For a moment he thought she would continue her pretence at sleep, but then she sighed, and opened her eyes. “My father and I have nothing more to say to each other. All that could be said, has been said.”
“Are you angry, Cornelia, that I drag you away from your childhood home?”
“What do you think? Am I happy that my father was humiliated and destroyed by Trojans? No! Am I joyful that you murdered the man I loved? No! Am I happy that you then seized me and put this child in me? No! Leave me here, I pray you, Brutus, and I swear before the gods that I will remember you kindly.”
He laughed softly, his hand caressing her belly, then her thigh. “Everyone begs me to leave you behind, but I cannot. Perhaps we should put our hatred away, Cornelia, and play at being a true husband and wife together. Make the best of what is.”
“Why? You have destroyed everything I loved.”
Brutus bit down a sudden flare of temper. By the gods, would she never get over her resentment? It was a poor dowry indeed to bring to a marriage. “We go to rebuild Troy, sweet. Does that not excite you? I will make you a queen, and burden you with jewels, and you shall be the envy of every woman and the lust of every man in Troia Nova.”
“I want to stay here. I want to stay with my father, and I want you gone!” One of her small hands had clenched into a fist, and she beat it gently against her taut belly as she spoke.
“I cannot turn back time, Cornelia. For the love of the gods, girl, stop this whining about what once was, and learn to live with what is! You are carrying my child. I am not going to leave you behind!”
“I wanted Melanthus,” she said. “I loved Melanthus. I did not want you. I will never love you!”
Brutus moved closer to her, her mention of Melanthus stirring him to jealousy and resentment as it always did. She might have loved Melanthus, and still love his memory, but Melanthus was not the one whom she lay with at night, nor the one to get her so large with child. Why did she not forget the boy? “I do not want your love. I do not even require it. But I am your husband, and that bond allows me to demand your loyalty and your service, as it binds me to your protection and care.”
He began to make love to her, gently as he always did, and she averted her face and pretended indifference, as she always did. And, as so often, he felt her body respond to his; Cornelia could pretend many things, but she could not hide from him the involuntary responses of her muscles nor the raggedness of her breath.
Much later, when he had done and had felt her body shudder in its own release, he moved back from her, intending to withdraw and lie by her side, holding her until she slept.
But as he moved, she turned her face back to him and opened her deep blue eyes, and said, “Did you know that whenever you lie with me I imagine that you are Melanthus? That the reason I respond as I do to you is by repeating Melanthus’ name as a mantra over and over and over in my mind?”
He froze, shocked and angry, and furious at himself for allowing her words to sting so deeply. She was lying, he knew it…surely? No woman could have one man make love to her and yet keep another man’s face and name at the forefront of her mind…could she?
Cornelia watched him carefully, and as she saw his reaction her mouth curved in a cold smile. “Of course, Melanthus would have had more stamina than you,” she said. “He was so much younger. So much more athletic.”
He pulled away from her, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and sitting, head in hands, trying to bring his temper under control. Witch!
“Far more desirable,” she whispered, and he heard her shift on the bed, as if in an agony of wanting.
It was too much. He swung back to her, grabbing one of her wrists in his hand, and jerked her across the bed to him.
“You wouldn’t dare,” she hissed. “I carry your son. You wouldn’t dare.”
“Then beware of the day you no longer carry that child, Cornelia. Beware the day.”
“On the contrary, beloved,” she said, the word an insult, “I look forward to it greatly.”
Then she rolled away from him, made herself comfortable with some ostentatious fuss, and pretended to fall into sleep.