Chapter 8Julos held his breath. The silver bowstring trembled, his hand was shaking so much. He remained standing on the rampart, staring at the horror unfolding beneath him.
Down in the courtyard, King Turnus was still crouching behind that strange shield of his, blood dripping onto his greaves. The Italian warrior was encircled by Trojan spears. If not for the three phantasms protecting him, this fight would already be over. Turnus should have just given up and gone home, but he had summoned the gods’ help.
All his life, Julos had heard tales of the gods. His father had spoken of the terror they brought. In the temple, he had held Aeneas’s hand and laid sacrifices before the cult statues, looking up at their imperious bronze faces. Yet staring at them on the battlefield was something e
