THEY CALLED HER ELISSA, BECAUSE DIDO WAS MUCH TOO POWERFUL OF A NAME FOR A WOMAN, MORESO FOR A WOMAN LIKE HER.
She was slight but tall in a way women of her time weren't, with soft ginger hair flowing halfway down her back. It was tied back in a braided chignon but had since fallen apart, strands of hair whistling around her head, a royal halo illuminated by Diana in the cold night.
She had a great deal of attendants with her, as well as several members of her brother's court and the women they had taken from Cyprus. The women who had gone on their own volition, that is to say. There were not many things in the world Dido understood, but she did understand that where there were men ruling, there would be unhappy women.
They were trekking on unfamiliar terrain, on their way to some promise of unclaimed land far away from Tyre and its tyrannic ruler. Because perhaps Dido was the unhappiest of them all.
The night grew cold, and soon Dido knew they had to rest. "Followers!" She yelled. "We will be stopping here." It was the first time she'd spoken all day. Her voice, raspy and husky, seemed more commanding than it was. She needed it now, more than ever. When Dido was in Tyre, all she would ever be was princess. Here, stateless with a group of raggedy followers, she was a queen.
She climbed from her horse and lowered herself down on the harsh ground. It was cold, unforgiving and barren. A familiar figure soon joined, bringing materials for a makeshift shelter as well as sustenance for the day.
"Sister, you are tired." Anna sat herself down next to Dido. "You must rest; the road is long still."
Dido clasped her sister's hand. It was true. They were somewhere in Egypt now, which was claimed by the barbarians. They would have to travel further, somewhere that didn't feel the gods' presence.
In Tyre she was Elissa, wife to Acerbas. She was Elissa, hollowed cheeks and hollowed lungs, purple blooming prettily on her thighs like the flowers in her courtyard. She was Elissa, daughter to King Belus, from birth an object praised and showed around, an heir to a kingdom she would never inherit but represented nonetheless.
She was Dido now, stone-faced and lion hearted, was Dido when a servant had whispered the supposed truth of what had happened to Acerbas. It wasn't robbers, he had said. It was your brother. Of course, she knew the lie, knew the like like she knew the feeling of power when she washed her hands in her dead husband-uncle's blood.
After all, her brother was used to taking the credit for her achievements.
"Sister?" Anna's voice was hesitant, wary. She was too soft, too young, for the journey and the troubles that lay ahead. Yet she had boldly resisted Pygmalion and risked everything for Dido.
But Dido was also too soft, too young. Fifteen and married off, seventeen and a widow. Eighteen and leading her people to a place they didn't know existed.
She shivered. Too soon the night dipped and gave way to morning and Dido knew they must travel on, lest they be discovered and captured.
"Gather everyone." The desert ground was firm under her feet, a surprisingly comforting form of resistance. The group marched on.
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Hours blurred into days, days into weeks. Dido lost track of time, lost track of what was happening. They slept on the ground, in forests and deserts, or seeked asylum in towns whenever they could.
It was in passing through Capsa that they were approached by a messenger. He was a young boy, with fair hair and large eyes. "Dido of Tyre?" He inquired in a tinny voice.
