Chapter 4Dido stared down at Aeneas’s face as he slept. Even in slumber he looked gaunt and haggard. A little drool was pooling at the corner of his mouth. His hair was longer than hers now, grey streaks just catching the pre-dawn light. Having a goddess for a mother did nothing to slow ageing, it seemed. The amount he drank these days made it worse. Plenty of men older than Aeneas looked healthier, but they did not drink their meals. Aeneas still had wine on his breath—Italian wine, if she was not mistaken. The smell made her belly shudder. So he’d been to practise his Latin again. Dido scowled. He’d crawled into bed a few hours ago. If she hadn’t come to wake him, Aeneas would have overslept. She took the remembrance ceremony seriously, even if he did not.
And he hadn’t bothered to say
