Chapter 36The crickets did not sing in winter.
Aeneas breathed deeply, the resinous scent of pine trees filling his nostrils. He stood alone in the woods, craving solitude before the final duel.
The sky was lightening to blue, the mist of the night starting to lift. But warmth could not pierce the armour of the gods. Aeneas could not bring himself to take it off. Not until the last possible moment. Every time he thought of it, the armour seemed to tighten. But he could do it. Gods were never afraid, never doubted.
Up ahead, at the edge of the woods, the survivors of Troy and Laurentum had clustered around the stump of an olive tree to witness the duel. The prayers were a steady burble in his mind. Soon they would roar like a tidal wave. The Latins prayed because they were terrified of h
