Trojan Dawn

The Book of Holy Kings (I)

The story of Britain begins on the night Troy fell. But it begins with the gods as well. Even in that blood-spattered Hell, the Divine was present, as Venus – visible only to her son Aeneas – dissuaded him from fruitless revenge and bolstered him with a vision of his destiny: father of the Roman State and Empire. She showed him the towering figures of Neptune and Minerva – imperceptible to the combatants below – waging war on Troy from Heaven, Jupiter giving them a free hand as they tore down the walls and made the city’s collapse certain.

No human agency, she told him, could turn this tide. The future lay elsewhere for the Trojan race – in Italy and beyond. She led him to his house, through the rubble and the flames, then vanished, leaving him to urge his father Anchises and his wife Creusa to take his infant son Ascanius and leave the city – all four of them – and pass on into exile.

But Anchises had seen Troy fall before. ‘I did not abandon my station then and I will not abandon it now.’ And as he spoke tongues of fire began to dance around Ascanius’s head. They did not singe or harm the boy. They were a delight to him, in fact. Anchises took this as a sign and prayed to Venus, who had once been his lover, to send another token, that he might know for sure that his son’s words came from her and not the delirium of battle.

A comet, in response, scorched across the midnight sky from East to West. Anchises bowed to Aeneas, then picked up the statuettes of Apollo, Diana and Venus from the household shrine. Aeneas took Ascanius’s hand and bore his father on his back as they made their way to a secret city gate. Then Aeneas turned and saw that Creusa was missing. He ran back into Troy, heedless of the risk of capture, but the living Creusa he failed to find, just her bodiless shade. ‘I tripped upon a fallen slab,’ she said, ‘then gashed my head against the stone. Your mother was with me when I died. Everything she told you is true. The dawn, when it comes, will be radiant beyond measure.’

A cock crew, and the ghost disappeared. Back at the gate, Aeneas found that many more Trojans had joined his father and son. This gave him heart as he led them through the woods and up the mountain slope, mourning for fallen Troy but preparing already for future greatness.

The journey to Italy was simultaneously arduous, hellish and blessed. Yet Aeneas prevailed and reigned as King over his new city – Alba Longa. He was succeeded by Ascanius, then by his grandson Sylvius. Now Sylvius had a son named Brutus, and when the babe was born the elders of Alba Longa marvelled, for a golden nimbus hovered around him which told them he was destined for great things. ‘He will be another Aeneas,’ said the eldest. ‘As Aeneas founded a second Troy in Italy, so Brutus will found a third in an island to the West and North.’

The people rejoiced and Brutus was loved by all. But when he was twenty he killed his father accidentally with an arrow while out hunting, and by the laws of the city he had to die or go into instant exile. So Brutus set sail with a handful of companions, but before he left he stole into the temple and prayed before the statues that Anchises had brought from Troy.

‘Take my icon,’ called out a wild, ringing female voice.

Brutus looked around, but no-one was there. Then he heard the temple guards approaching. He took the statue of Diana the Huntress – he knew it was her who had spoken – and vaulted out the window and down onto the harbour.

Brutus had countless adventures as he circled the Mare Nostrum, bringing strength and expertise to the Trojan colonies that had sprung up among the islands. Yet never did he have a goal or final end in view, and for nine years this went on, sailing around aimlessly until he began to despair of the ancient prophecy.

One summer’s night on the coast of southern Gaul in a burnt-out shrine to Saturn, Brutus lay down to sleep. Just before dawn he awoke and Diana herself was standing before him. ‘Arise,’ she said, ‘for the island you reach next will be the realm marked out for you by destiny. Emblazon your sail with the ensign of my brother Apollo, and when you step ashore hold my icon aloft and your enemies shall recoil before you.’

So Brutus and his men drew the Sun God on their mainsail in blue, gold and purple chalk. They left that afternoon. After three days they came to Britain and disembarked at Totnes. Brutus stood upon a rock – the Brutus Stone – and raised up high the image of Diana. The race of giants who lived there turned and fled and the Trojans were victorious, sweeping through the country like wildfire.

Brutus gave a feast at the new city he had built on the banks of the Tamesis – Troia Nova. But the giants came by stealth at night and waged war upon their conquerors. Ancestral memories of the sack of Troy surged within each man but this time the gods were with them, Jupiter giving Diana and Apollo a free hand as they drove Brutus and his men to victory.

Nine nights later, Brutus fashioned a horse of bronze and hid within it Apollo’s sail and Diana’s statue. He rode South in the third watch of the night to the White Cliffs and buried the horse deep inside a shoreline cave. From there the gods would guard the island.

The sun arose, as he rode back home, over the spires of Troia Nova. Brutus stopped, saw, and knew. The prophecy had been fulfilled, and the sacred story of Britain was well and truly underway.