Chapter 35Aeneas turned. The lady leaned against a nearby willow. How long had she been standing there? She wore a simple, flowing shift. Golden tresses were unbound around her shoulders—she wasn’t from anywhere near Troy. She was armed with a hunting bow and quiver, both strapped against her back. Aeneas had never seen such ivory skin, except perhaps for Hera’s.
‘Forgive me,’ she said. ‘Have you seen my sisters? We were hunting together and got separated.’
‘Haven’t seen them.’ He tried to cover embarrassment with gruffness. ‘But tell me, where are we?’
‘This hill? It’s called Byrsa, I think. Why, are you lost?’
‘What land is this?’
‘Africa,’ she said, blinking. ‘You truly are lost, aren’t you?’
‘You might say that.’ He pointed toward the settlement, hazy in the distance. ‘And that?’
