Chapter 16The wind blowing along the River Tiber carried the iciness of night. Aeneas stood at the prow of an Arkadian warship. He crossed his arms over his breastplate and narrowed his eyes to pierce the gloom. Off to the port side lay the crags of the Italian landscape, though he could hardly glimpse them in this light. The sun might have risen, but it had not yet pierced the clouds. He cursed the weakness of the rowers, willing them to greater speed.
By all rights, they should not have been sailing in the darkness, and certainly not in winter. They had already lost three ships, but he had not allowed the fleet to slow down. Even at this pace, they might not be fast enough. The war in the south might be over by the time they reached the Trojan camp. He hadn’t come back from the world be
