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Back The Arrow of Apollo Save as PDF
Chapters (52)
  1. Cover
  2. Title
  3. About the Author
  4. Dedication
  5. By the Same Author
  6. Author’s Note
  7. Map
  8. Domus Libris
  9. House of the Wolf
  10. The House of the Wolf
  11. One
  12. Two
  13. Three
  14. Four
  15. Five
  16. Six
  17. Seven
  18. Eight
  19. Nine
  20. Ten
  21. Eleven
  22. Twelve
  23. Thirteen
  24. Fourteen
  25. Fifteen
  26. Sixteen
  27. Seventeen
  28. Eighteen
  29. Nineteen
  30. Twenty
  31. Twenty-One
  32. Twenty-Two
  33. Twenty-Three
  34. Twenty-Four
  35. Twenty-Five
  36. Twenty-Six
  37. Twenty-Seven
  38. Twenty-Eight
  39. Twenty-Nine
  40. Thirty
  41. Thirty-One
  42. Thirty-Two
  43. Thirty-Three
  44. Thirty-Four
  45. Thirty-Five
  46. Thirty-Six
  47. Thirty-Seven
  48. Thirty-Eight
  49. Timeline of the Trojan Cycle
  50. Further Reading
  51. Acknowledgements
  52. Supporters

Then he realised that something strange was happening to him. He was holding the shield but he could not move his middle finger.

He managed to wrench his gaze away from her eyes and focus on his hand.

The Last Gorgon laughed, and her voice filled the cave. ‘They did not tell you that, did they? The Last Gorgon is the most powerful of all. A mirror does not stop me. My gaze pierces all.’

There was a tickling sensation in his finger.

He gasped with horror. He was in a damp cave with only one exit, the Last Gorgon approaching him, and his middle finger was turning to stone.

Nine

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Night Mission

LAVINIUM, ITALIA: HOUSE OF THE WOLF

Brutus was snuffling in his sleep, tangled up in a coarse woollen blanket. Silvius’s little brother was lying on his front, as if he’d fallen asleep as soon as he hit the bed, arms spreadeagled, one leg poking over the edge. Moonlight shone brightly through the window, and every outline in the room was sharply sketched out.

As Silvius reached the door, he stopped. Brutus did not move.

It was a huge thing, to leave this place, this new city built by his father. This symbol of new hope for his father’s people.

He knew what he symbolised for Aeneas. He was the living embodiment of the alliance between the Trojans and the Latins, the promise of the future.

If he disobeyed Aeneas and left the city, what would await him when he returned? He knew that it would be worse than a whipping.

But he had to do it. And as he reminded himself, he was half-Latin, and knew only the woods and the rivers and hills of Italia.

Troy was just a story, something that grew fainter and fainter with every retelling. He didn’t have to hate the Achaeans. If his father had built something new, and Iulus was making his city in Alba Longa, then why couldn’t Silvius strike out on his own?

What had Aeneas said? Remember. Remember what they did to us.

Silvius, growing up in the forest with Lavinia, had not really understood what the old Trojans were talking about. Lavinia was a local Italian princess, and she simply taught him all the things that she knew about the ways of the wood.

Troy seemed a distant place, somewhere that people sang songs about.

Deep in his heart he felt no hatred towards the Achaeans. In fact, he even felt a curiosity about them. Who were these bloodthirsty barbarians? Why had they torn down a city over a woman? All these things he might be able to see, to understand.