![]() ![]() But the light was peculiar: a fat yellow colour which caught the dark red walls and painted them an ugly, bloody shade. It must be early morning, because she could see across the room. The pitter-patter of rain was growing louder. She wrapped the coverlet over her shoulders, and tried to guess what hour of the night it was. Too brave to cry out at a lightning bolt, even if it was hurled by Zeus himself. But the cry did not come: he was brave, her little boy. Her breathing slowed, and she waited to hear him cry out for his mother, terrified by the thunderstorm. ![]() He was in his own room, of course he was. ![]() She looked around for the baby, before remembering that he was no longer a baby, but had seen five summers come and go while the war raged outside the city walls. She lives in London.Ī deafening crack awoke her, and she caught her breath. Haynes is the author of six books and has written for the Times, the Independent, the Guardian, and the Observer. The following is excerpted from Natalie Haynes' latest novel, A Thousand Ships, a retelling of the Trojan War from the perspectives of the many women involved in its causes and consequences. ![]()
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