The Way Home

Chapter 4

Chapter 3Hot ash blew across the balcony.

The fire roared, just a few houses down. It crept toward Kreusa’s home like an angry beast. She had pitched in to fight enough blazes to recognise this one wouldn’t be quenched without divine intervention, and it didn’t look like that was forthcoming. Panic rose within her, and she swallowed it.

Enough time remained to grab a few things and flee, but no more than that.

Julos tugged on her skirt. ‘Mama? Where’s Daddy?’

‘Come on.’ She hoisted Julos into her arms and together they clattered down to his bedchamber. ‘We’re going on a big journey. And if you’re a very, very good boy, I’ll give you a fig.’

‘I don’t want a fig.’

‘What? Arms up.’ She pulled off the tunic he’d worn to bed. Julos’s skin was still soft from the bath she’d given him earlier.

‘Not a fig. I want a plum.’

‘Fine, plum. Arms up, I say.’ Kreusa tugged a warmer tunic over his head, and a shock of downy curls emerged from the folds. Soon she had Julos in his soft boots and little cloak. ‘Now we need to wake up Papa.’

Julos fidgeted. ‘Papa always gets mad.’

Kreusa tried to hide her frown. The old man had a temper, all right. ‘I have a very important job for you, Julos. We need to bring the household gods. Can you fetch the figurines out of the shrine?’ The idols weren’t powerful like the Twelve gods of Olympus, but right now they needed all the help they could get.

Julos brightened. ‘Me? All right.’ He toddled off to drag a chair over to the shrine, his chest puffed out with pride. While Julos was busy at the shrine, she would take the brunt of Ankhises’s anger. She tiptoed into Ankhises’s bedchamber, stood over him.

When Kreusa was Julos’s age, she’d thought Ankhises was a satyr, he was so wizened and bowlegged. Aeneas must have inherited his smooth skin and laughing eyes from his mother, gods rest her soul.

Ankhises coughed as she shook him by the shoulder.

‘Old Father,’ she urged.

‘Hmph. Go ‘way. Sleeping.’ He snored on.

‘Wake up.’ She tapped his cheek.

Ankhises cursed and grabbed her by the wrist. His grip was hard, too hard. In her belly lurked the fear that he would hit her again. But no, she would not let it show—she was nineteen now, not a frightened little girl. Kreusa forced herself to meet the old man’s hawkish stare. Then he blinked, and he dropped her wrist.

Her sigh of relief was imperceptible, or so she hoped.

‘What’s …?’ He sniffed, caught the whiff of smoke on the air. ‘It’s begun, then. Said this would happen, didn’t I? Aye, I did.’ Ankhises rolled out of bed and she helped him to his feet. ‘Damnable hip.’ He looked around. ‘What’s Aeneas doing?’

‘His duty.’ Kreusa fastened a traveller’s cloak over his crooked shoulders. ‘As for us, we’re getting out of here. Julos, where are you?’

Julos scooted in from the atrium with a lead figurine tucked under each arm. ‘Look, Papa! I’ve got the household gods.’

‘Give me those!’ snapped Ankhises. He hobbled across the hall and snatched them. His eyes flashed. Julos cowered, stricken. ‘These have been in my family for generations. They belonged to the first kings. And you let the boy—’ His next words dissolved into a choking cough.

Smoke flooded through the window to claw at the back of Kreusa’s throat. The wax death masks mounted in the atrium were weeping, heat radiating from the wall. Outside, people were shouting. The hiss of flames was nearer.

‘Yell at me later,’ she spluttered. ‘Come on!’ She threw the door open, put an arm around Ankhises’s shoulder. Julos clutched at her other hand, and she steered them out into the night.

People surged through the streets, scrambling to get away from the flames. A few were dousing their houses with water. Others were piling their furniture up in the middle of the road. A dog was howling. The reek of smoke and charred meat filled the air. Across the street, Kreusa spotted one of the neighbours’ slaves hovering against the wall.

‘Kaieta!’ cried Kreusa. ‘Get out of here, there’s nothing more we can do.’

The girl didn’t move.

‘Stay here,’ she said to Ankhises. ‘Watch Julos.’

‘Huh?’

Kreusa pressed Julos’s hand into his papa’s. ‘I’ll just be a moment.’

She plunged into the crowd before either could protest, fought her way across the street.

Left and right she dodged. It was like swimming through flood waters. An elbow knocked her aside. Kreusa lost her balance, tripped on something soft. She sprawled face-down, tasted copper. What was she lying on? It must once have been a corpse, but the face was mashed, trampled. Kreusa retched and tried to stand. A sandal came down upon her fingertips, and she cried out. Something slammed into her temple, and the world darkened.

Somebody was calling her name, but it sounded like they were talking underwater.

Her feet. She had to get on her feet, otherwise she’d end up like the corpse.

A hand reached from the crowd, and she grabbed it. The hand was hard, callused.

She blinked, trying to get her eyes to adjust. ‘Kaieta?’

The girl shielded Kreusa long enough for her to regain her footing. Dazed, Kreusa let Kaieta pull her by the wrist over to the side of the road.

‘Forgive me, my lady.’

‘There’s nothing to—’

Searing wind blasted from the opposite side of the street. The fire had seized her house, held it in a violent embrace. Fingers of flame caressed the pillars. Dark smoke curled from the windows. A groan came from within the walls before the roof collapsed. Embers exploded into the sky, scattered across the heavens.

Her house had fallen.

‘My family—’ Kreusa peered through the crowd. She’d left Julos and the old man at the foot of the steps, but they were nowhere to be seen. There was only fire and darkness, the snatch of a Greek victory hymn echoing on the wind.

Hers is vengeance; the pyre

Which burns through the night shall

Rise for the queen of gods.

Men bow to her and weep.