Free Hades Daughter by Sara Douglass

dwelling—not where it could catch the cooling breezes and offer its occupants a fine view.
    “Aye, my lord.”
    “This is a trap,” said Idaeus, whose manner was always one of caution when others advised action. Brutus sometimes wondered if his innate caution extended to his eating habits as well, for Idaeus was an unnaturally thin man for his height, but for all thatBrutus valued such circumspection in a world where so often men thought that wisdom equated with action.
    “Too obvious,” said Hicetaon, who was a man more disposed to think of prohibitive caution as a greater risk than unthinking daring. His face, chest and flanks had the scars to attest to his philosophy.
    Brutus had many years’ association with both men, and understood the extent of the arguments that lay behind their terse statements. He nodded once, slowly, acknowledging their advice, then looked back to the soldier who had returned with the response. “Tell me in what manner you received this message.”
    “We found our way to a man called Deimas in the slave quarter,” the soldier said. “He speaks for all the Trojans. This man Deimas considered your message, and then asked us to return in the evening. When we did so, he asked us to relay to you the request to go to the house of Assaracus tonight after dusk, just before the gates close.”
    Idaeus hissed softly at this last.
    “What do you know of this Assaracus?” Brutus said to the soldier.
    “Deimas said only that he was allied with the Trojan cause. However, he said further to his request, that only you attend Assaracus; that too many strange faces within the city walls would cause comment. One man will attract no comment, especially should you dress as a lowly labourer, or farmer. He has given us words for you to say, so that Assaracus’ doorkeeper may know you.”
    “And Deimas’ manner? How would you describe it?”
    “He was not overly impressed at your message, my lord,” said the soldier. “He merely grunted, then laughed shortly.”
    “I still say ‘trap’,” said Idaeus. “Enter the city ‘just before the gates close’? You will be trapped!”
    “Deimas is being prudent,” observed Hicetaon, folding his arms and staring at Idaeus.
    “I agree,” Brutus said. “Deimas must be asking himself who is this man who arrives unannounced and says, ‘I am here to lead you into Troy’? I also would first make certain of my own safety.” He paused, dismissed the soldier, then studied each of his advisers’ faces in turn. “Membricus? Tell me your thoughts. Does this response cast a shadow over your soul? Do the gods whisper ‘Caution!’ in your heart?”
    “No, Brutus. This message causes me no disquiet. Do what you will.”
    Idaeus’ mouth folded in a tight line, and Brutus had to suppress a smile.
    “Then I will go,” he said. “It can do our cause no harm that I should study the defences of both wall and gates from inside the city…and perhaps that was Deimas’ part intention.”
    In mid-afternoon Brutus dressed himself in the garb of a simple farmer: a well-worn tunic of coarse weave belted at the waist with a leather strap, a woollen half-cloak against the evening coolness, and leather sandals on his feet. He removed the gold and bronze rings from his fingers and ears, but left the golden bands of kingship on his limbs, blackening them with a paste made of oil and ash so that they appeared as if they were made of worthless, stiffened leather. He rubbed a little dust into the otherwise clean and well-oiled black curls of his head, and some more over his hands and arms. He shaved, but only roughly, as would any farmer who had little time for the niceties of ablutions; his shadowy beard also helped to disguise his Trojan features (and for the first time in his life Brutus thanked the gods for his Latin mother, whose blood had diluted his Trojan appearance). At his belt he hung a pouch into which he placed some small vials of herbed oils, to present as gifts