Chapter 12The smoke from this morning’s battle hung upon the air, veiling the laurels in grey. To Lavinia, it tasted as bitter as defeat. Dried mud clung to her skin, mingling with the gore and ash.
The Italians trudged through the woods back to their camp, their eyes downcast. This morning they had marched off expecting swift triumph. Yet there would be no victory hymns tonight. Not even funerals, for they had been forced to leave the dead behind.
The cold reached into her ribcage. The mail hauberk, leather jerkin, and triple-disc breastplate did little to ward off the chill. Her sword arm was limp, her muscles spent. The shield of Akhilles weighed heavily upon her now. The strength of Ares had filled her sinews, but it had fled along with the war god himself. No longer did she carry th
