Written by Kateri Hoy.
Every great story comes with great side characters. They help drive the plot and teach the main protagonist lessons along the way. In my Thrice Told Tales class, we’ve read many such stories – my favorite being Vergil’s The Aeneid. This story tells of the epic origins of the Roman Empire through the adventures and hardships of the Trojan-born son of Venus, Aeneas. Aeneas and other Trojan refugees end up on the northern coast of Africa after fleeing from the Greeks during the Trojan War. There, Aeneas enters his heart-throb era, where he meets and falls in love with Dido, the queen (and founder) of a city called Carthage. After a series of unfortunate (and heavily god-influenced) events, Aeneas leaves Carthage, and Dido commits suicide because of it. Having her die a painful death by her own hand made the Phoenician Queen seem like just another pawn in Aeneas’ story. If Aeneas had died, he would have found a way back to life. Dido is supposed to be strong-willed like a man (that’s what Dido means, “man-like”), so why is it any different for her?
From the moment I read Dido’s fate, I knew that I wanted to write a story bringing her back to life. I wanted redemption! My story highlights her cleverness and grit, and incorporates Dido’s intelligence back into her character. I’ve added details and taken inspiration from tales that either mention Dido and/or the underworld, such as Ovid’s Orpheus and Eurydice, Ovid’s Heroides, Christine de Pizan’s The Book of the City of Ladies, Geoffrey Chaucer’s The House of Fame, and, of course, Vergil’s The Aeneid.
Whether you are knowledgeable in the ancient stories or you know more Beyoncé songs than ancient tales, I hope you are able to enjoy my story nonetheless.
Dido’s Return
As a doe runs from a hunter’s arrow, so too did Phoenician Dido run from the Trojan son of Venus. Dashing along a winding path that led deep into the Field of Mourning, burning with such passionate hatred, Dido ran. Trampling over rocks and fallen branches, through mud puddles and leaf piles, she ran as fast as she could, fueled by her anger and blinded by her pain. She did not know where she was going, and did not care where she went. Every thought fled her mind as she pushed faster and faster. With each step she became further consumed by her emotions. Dido crossed the entire Field of Mourning, bolting from one end of the wood to the other. She followed the path until there was no more path to follow. The Field of Mourning was at the top of the Underworld, and from the edge of the field, the entire realm was visible. Dido looked out over all the shades and sections of Dis. She saw the ferryman and his boat full of shades that were eager to get across the river Styx; she saw the mountain that Sisyphus eternally rolled his giant boulder up, only to watch it roll back down; she saw the palace of the great King and Queen of the underworld; and she saw two figures walking along a dirt path that led away from the Field of Warriors and towards the Elysian Fields. Dido immediately recognized that magnificent, bold-red cape that rippled down from his shoulders and just barely brushed the ground as he walked, the muscles in his legs as they contracted and relaxed with each stride, his brown curls as they bounced to the rhythm of his movements, his hazel eyes as they took in the new sights around him, his perfect lips as they moved with a hypnotizing…tempting… captivating…Dido stood there, at the edge of the woods, and watched the Trojan move with divine perfection and intention, she watched him until he faded into the distance. That was the second time she watched him fade from her view.
Dido’s rage seized her, gripping the strings of her mind and her heart, pulling and tugging and fraying the cords that connected her thoughts and senses until they were no more. Her hands balled into fists at her sides. Her eyes swelled with tears, and in the heat of her burning anger, Dido screamed. She screamed with the ferocity of a Fury and sent it echoing across the realm. With all her being she screamed. With all her pain and her passion and her rage and her regret, Dido screamed. Her scream turned into a shout, and then to a cry. When she could no longer bear the weight of her sorrow, Dido fell to her knees and began pounding the ground with her fists, mercilessly beating upon the dirt beneath her as if it were the face of her Trojan enemy. Her pounding fists shook the ground, stirring the wandering shades and sending chills up through the roots of every tree in the wood. She began to fall into a melody, like a skilled harper lost in his own hypnotic tune. Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, clank. Clank?
Dido paused, stopping herself. Her body halted where it was, jolted from her rhythm by the strange sound. She opened her eyes and saw two of her golden bracelets, bent and misshapen from her relentless battering, lying in the divot she created. She reached for them, feeling their smooth finish and their new jagged curves and funky shapes. Another golden piece caught her eye a few feet away. Dido looked around and saw that pieces of her jewelry were scattered across the ground, some far away, some underneath leaves and bushes, some thrust beneath exposed tree roots by the sheer force of her rage. Dido saw her golden arm cuff, that she and her sister had a matching pair of, hanging from a tree branch. She saw her silver bracelet adorned with crystals and precious stones from her home country resting amongst some leaves. She saw her wedding ring from her dear husband sitting dangerously close to the edge of the field, a few mere inches from falling over the drop-off. Dido rose to her feet and picked it up. She rubbed her dirt-covered fingers over its engraving – two holding hands, symbolic of their union.
“Elissa?”
Dido turned to see the worried face of the only person who still called her by her true name – her beloved Sychaeus. His eyes were wide and glossy with tears as he saw his wife stand over a cliff’s edge, in her tattered clothing, holding their wedding ring in her dirt-covered hands.
“What is the matter?” His voice shook with concern as he inspected his wife for harm, and, other than her wound by which she died, freshly open in her chest, she appeared to be fine. “I saw you running. I heard you screaming and crying.”
With each worried word, he moved closer to her, until there was no more space
between them.
“I felt the ground pounding. I saw the trees shaking.” He brought his hand to her
cheek and gently brushed away a tear. His hand continued in motion to the back of her
neck, and with a single movement, he endearingly drew her forehead to his lips, where
he deposited a long kiss.
“I was worried,” his voice cracked with concern, his lips pressed against her
forehead still.
Dido exhaled, “I am sorry,” the only words she could bear to speak, her voice barely a whisper. Dido leaned into her husband and rested her head on his chest. Sychaeus wrapped his arms around her and set his chin atop her head. They rocked back and forth in the silence of their embrace, breathing in sync, moving in sync. He could feel the tension in her body release the longer he held her, and soon, she felt calm in his arms.
Taking advantage of the moment, he asked her, “Tell me, what was the matter?” his voice a soft break from the silence.
Dido, however, remained silent, not knowing what to say to him, and not wanting to say anything at all. She held him tighter, burying her face deeper into his chest. He chuckled, amused by her reaction.
“Elissa,” he smiled to encourage her confession, and gently moved her back from him so he could look into her eyes, his hands rested on her shoulders, “Come now, tell me what was the matter.”
Dido did not lift her eyes to meet his. She looked down at her hands, avoiding his gaze. Her eyes went to the ring in her hand as she turned it over in her fingers, inspecting every inch of its golden magnificence. She remembered when it had been given to her by her wonderful husband. She also remembered when she had lost it once…
Before the Trojans polluted Africa’s shores, and when Dido’s palace was newly completed, Dido was overcome with great grief. She had woken up in the morning to find that her wedding ring was not where she had set it the night before. Dido searched her whole room, then her whole palace, but could not find the ring. Her sadness grew as the day went on, and as the sun sank beyond the horizon, she stood at her balcony looking out upon her people as they raised their new city from the ground to the sky. Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock from behind her, and she turned to see her young sister Anna standing in the doorway to her chambers.
“Oh Anna,” Dido started, tears streaming down her face. “I am afraid I have lost my wedding ring. My beloved’s ring. I have searched for it everywhere, and I cannot think of anywhere else it could be.”
Anna shyly stepped forward, her hands clasped in front of her, and her body slouched forward, tears in her own eyes. “You did not lose it, dear sister. I…I took it from you.” Anna opened her hand to reveal Dido’s ring.
Dido stared at her sister, observing her ashamed body posture and sunken head. Anna was in her best silk dress, wearing all of her best jewelry, and with her hair neatly done. Dido walked to her and asked her simply, “Why would you do this?”
“I wanted to see if it would bring me a lover’s luck. But his heart was not mine, and the gods were not in my favor.”
Anna handed her sister the ring back. Dido took it and placed it back on her finger where it belonged. She examined it there, looking at it next to the other rings on her fingers. She took a ring from her pointer finger, a silver ring adorned with a magnificent ruby, and held it up to Anna.
“You do not need luck, my dearest sister, nor do you need another’s love,” Dido took Anna’s hands and placed the ring on her palm, “I love you enough for the world, and I will always be here when you need me.”
Anna smiled and cried sweet tears of sentiment, and she and Dido embraced. Now, in the underworld, far away from Anna, looking at this ring, Dido was reminded of the promise she made to her sister, reminded of all the promises she made; the promise she made to her people when she built them a new kingdom, and the promise she made to her kingdom when she became queen.
She had left them, all of them, she did not even think about them in her final moments. She was so overcome with her grief that she neglected her responsibilities as a queen, and as a sister.
Dido looked up at Sychaeus, who had been watching her with intent and patience, and she said, “I left them.”
Sychaeus allowed a moment’s pause before asking, “Who?”
“My people,” Dido replied, “I left all of my people.”
“Is that what is bothering you, my love?” He asked, and Dido’s silence answered his question, “My sweet girl, there is nothing we can do for them here. It is out of our hands.”
“But they trusted me,” Dido remarked, “They trusted me – my people and my sister – to guide them and protect them. I abandoned them and left them all without a leader. I left them defenseless and vulnerable. What if my brother has invaded and burnt Carthage to the ground? Or what if King Iarbas has seized the city and taken it as his own? What have I done to my poor sister, Anna, by leaving her to fill my place as ruler, a position she is not prepared to take on? What kind of a leader am I that I have abandoned everyone I swore to protect?”
Sychaeus listened, taking in every word she said. He slid his hands down from Dido’s shoulders to her hands, taking them in his.
“That is simply outside of our control,” he counseled his wife as he lovingly brushed his fingers across the backs of her hands, “What has been done cannot be undone, my love. Besides, aren’t you happy here, with me?”
Dido looked down at their hands together and brought his hands to her lips, kissing them gently.
“Of course I am.”
Dido paused. Sychaeus was not convinced.
“Are you?” he queried.
Dido exhaled a shaky breath, and meeting the eyes of her loving husband, she replied, “I did this to myself, Sychaeus. I would not be here now in this moment if I had not given in to my grief and turned my back on my people and my responsibilities as their queen. I love you more than life itself, but my life was not over. I did not fulfill my purpose nor my promises. I forced the hand of the gods and begged them for the release of death, but I have not found my death releasing. I have enjoyed seeing you again, and I would not wish to return if I could spend my time here with you without the thoughts of my past. Truth be told, I am not supposed to be here, Sychaeus. Fate did not have it written, I wrote it myself. I went against the will of the gods, and let my people down.” She paused. “I have to go back to them, Sychaeus.”
“Go back to them?” Sychaeus repeated, “My dearest Elissa, I want you to have a second chance as well, but that is not possible. Death is not a deed that can be undone.” “That’s just it, my love,” Dido continued, “my whole situation is not possible. Who is to say that I cannot do what has never been done and return to life from the realm of death? I have already done the impossible! I changed the will of the gods once before, what is keeping me from doing it again? I must try, Sychaeus. For what kind of queen am I truly if I let my people leaderless without any remorse, or without making an attempt to return to them? I am their Dido – their leader with the will power of a man – I must take action, or else I have truly been defeated.”
Sychaeus was silent. He looked at the ground in concentrated thought. Then he turned his head to look out over the realm of Dis, looking in particular at the palace of the king and queen, Pluto and Proserpina. After a moment, he looked back at Dido, his eyes were glossy with tears. He bore an expression of sadness, but also of love, support, and understanding.
“You must go then,” he told her, “to the palace, and plead yourself to the gods. And you must go alone, without me, for I fear I have nothing to contribute to your cause.”
Dido nodded, her own eyes filled with tears. She pulled Sychaeus close to her and grasped his head in her hands, his arms wrapped around her waist, and connected their bodies. Their noses brushed against each other, and Dido closed the gap between them, pressing her lips to his in one final, passionate kiss. They shared this moment together, holding each other for as long as they could.
Sychaeus walked with Dido as far as he was able, which brought her to the front of the Field of Mourning. “I will be here when you return,” was the last thing Sychaeus spoke to Dido. She could hear his voice still as she followed the path away from the Field of Mourning, until she could no longer see him waving to her when she looked back.
It took Dido a while to walk past the vast expanse that contained the Field of Mourning, but after she passed the Field of Heroes, the horrific fortress of Tartarus loomed over her. Dido could hear the pained moans and the chains of the imprisoned rattle from within its walls. She saw the incredible gate that surrounded the fortress and kept all creatures, alive and dead, from seeing the torments that lie inside. As she walked, she caught the watchful eye of Tisiphone perched atop her lookout tower, dressed in her bloody robe, endlessly surveying the land with her soulless black eyes, and guarding the gate with her formidable presence. Dido hurried her pace and was quickly on the path towards the Palace of Pluto.
When Dido arrived at the palace gates, she was greeted by a series of stone steps that led up to the entrance, which was wide open. The gates themselves were black and wrapped with twisting vines covered in thorns. Dido began to ascend the steps, cautious of the lack of security, and when she reached the top, she saw what seemed to be a golden tree branch propped against the archway of the entrance. “Would you mind retrieving that for me, please?”
Dido looked up. She saw a tall, beautiful woman walking towards her. Her pale skin was glowing, vibrant, and lovely, delicately draped in a long, flowing, deep blue dress. Her long golden hair trickled down her back, half of it was pinned up high behind her head, and the rest brushed against the backs of her knees as she walked. Her face was perfection, beautiful in every way. This was Proserpina, Queen of the Underworld.
Dido reached down, picked up the golden branch, and bent forward in a respectful bow. She held out the golden branch and watched as Proserpina delicately plucked it out of her hands. The queen observed it, then shifted her focus to Dido. “What brings you to my palace, dear Dido?”
Dido looked into Proserpina’s eyes and spoke from her heart, pouring all of her emotions into her speech.
“Divine goddess of seasons and Queen of the Underworld, I am not here to defy you, nor am I here to test you in any way. I am here to request my return to the living world. As you know, I was not damned to death, I chose it. My demise was not fated, but nonetheless, the gods granted me death as I wished. Now, I wish for life. Grant me back my life, allow me to live the rest of the days that are saved for me. I want nothing more than to return to the life that I cut short, to the people that I left behind. I cannot go another minute without knowing the safety of my people is secure, and without knowing if I have truly damned Carthage to destruction. I owe it to them as their queen, as their entrusted ruler, to do all that I can to return to them. I turned my back on them because my mind was poisoned by a toxic love that brought me to my undoing. My poor sister is alone without my guidance, she does not know how to lead. My people cannot lead themselves. I am not the kind of woman who breaks promises and abandons those who rely on me. I was manipulated by man, otherwise I would have never done this. You, oh queen, know what it is like for your life to be derailed by the actions of a man. Our lives as we knew them were ruined, and man was our downfall. You were able to fix what had been broken and create a new life for yourself. If I have a chance to fix what has been broken, would you not grant me that chance?”
Proserpina listened earnestly to Dido as she spoke. She was moved by Dido’s passion, she felt connected to the young queen, whose life had been stolen from her by a man, just like hers had been.
“Dido, Queen of Carthage,” Proserpina started, “If to live again is what you desire, then life again shall be yours.”
The goddess extended the golden branch to Dido, and it began to glow. “Touch this, and you will be given your life back. If I were my husband, I would add a condition on your return, but I am not my husband. I know your life will already be full of challenges. Return to your life, and rule your Carthage. Fulfill the promises that you have left behind.”
The light emanating from the goddess’s golden branch grew brighter and brighter. Dido shielded her eyes and reached out for the golden branch. Its light danced around her, its rays blinded her vision, its radiating heat kissed her skin. She reached blindly before her until she grasped the warm metal in her hand, and her whole world filled with a bright light.
The light gradually dimmed into a gentle orange hue, and the metal in her hand became cold and hard. Dido lowered her shielding hand as her eyes adjusted to the light – the light of the rising sun stretching its rays across the horizon, waking from its nightly slumber. Dido looked around and found herself in her Carthaginian chambers. She was clothed in a fine, purple satin dress, adorned in her golden jewelry restored to their original forms. Dido looked around her room – it was tidy, and her bed was neatly made. An untouched tray of bread and fruits sat at the edge of her mattress. Dido looked down at her chest, where the wound that killed her…was no longer there. She touched the now warm flesh of her chest, not even a scar remained there. In her hand, where she had held the golden branch, she now held a sword – the Trojan’s sword. Dido stood in the same clothes, in the same spot, in the same room where she had conspired to end her life, but Dido was not the same. She was not the heartsick queen who had neglected her people. Dido would not make the same mistakes again. She would use her second chance to be a queen whose reign would rival that of the best king, to regain her people’s trust and raise her great nation to the heavens, to make Carthage a prosperous kingdom – more so than Troy could ever be. She would raise Carthage to rival Troy in everything, and defy the fate that the gods assigned to the Trojan race. She had done it twice before, why could she not do it once again?
Kateri Hoy is a freshman at Ohio Wesleyan University. She is on the Track and Field team for OWU, and is planning to study Business Administration with a concentration in Marketing. For her first semester, she decided to take unrelated classes to help her figure out what she wanted to study. One of those classes is AMRS 110, or Thrice Told Tales. Over the course of the semester, Kateri has found great enjoyment in reading and writing about the stories of the past, and she hopes that she can continue writing pieces like this one during her time at OWU and beyond.
Featured Image: Death of Dido by Guercino, 1631. This work is in the public domain.
Images: The Meeting of Dido and Aeneas by Sir Nathaniel Dance-Holland, 1766. This work is in the public domain.