Chapter 31The journey across the Styx passed in silence, broken only by the dire calls of the Nightmare and the rhythm of Kharon’s movements. Deiphobe had spoken just once to warn Aeneas not to touch the water. Then she had settled into brooding meditation at the fore of the boat.
The moon hung low against the horizon, swollen and angry. Its red light cast long shadows and dyed the waves the colour of wine. Aeneas’s lip twitched at the notion. How often did the poets sing of the wine-dark sea? He glanced over his shoulder at Kharon working behind him. Aeneas had tried to ask the boatman what he did with the money he collected, but the words had died in his throat as soon as those fiery eyes locked on him. Loneliness struck at Aeneas’s core. He would have given much to have somebody with w
