"What a bastard!" Achates cried.
"That's what I said," Polydorus con finned.
"That does it," Aeneas said. "You can't ask for a worse omen than this. No city here, by Jupiter. Polydorus, we'll perform all the rites for you and set your shade to rest."
"Much obliged," said the shade.
So the bull was sacrificed to the shade instead of to Venus, a mound was raised over the burial site, and the women were brought ashore for some of their extravagant mourning. When the last libation was poured out, they sailed away.
"Nothing like a good cry to make you feel better," Harmonia said. "Of course, Trojan women have done very little but cry for the last ten years, so I suppose we should be the happiest women in the world. We aren't, for some reason."
The winds took them to the island of Thymbra, where the king received them hospitably but let them know that the island was full up, with no room for new cities. Aeneas went to the local shrine and asked for a sign. There was a minor earthquake and a godly voice, suggesting that Crete might be a nice place to visit. A recent civil war had left plenty of land unoccupied.
So off they went, spreading their sails to whatever breeze the gods decreed. They passed islands that rose dreamlike from the dark sea. Strange creatures came to the shores to gaze on the fleet. Stranger ones glided in the sea beneath their keels.
As it turned out, there was plague in Crete. One night there, as Aeneas slept, his household gods appeared to him and told him that Italy was the place to be. So they packed up, made their sacrifices, and set sail for Italy.
"Italy!" Achates shouted as the mast creaked from an overfilled sail. "Italy! Where in the name of Mercury is bloody Italy? I never heard of the bloody place and that's where we have to head! I mean, why can't the gods just come out and say where they want us to go, instead of sending us all over the bleeding wine-dark sea like a bunch of bloody driftwood?" He began to beat his head against the mast, which did little except put a few new dents in his helmet.
"For once he's making sense," Shea said. "Why don't they just say what they want?"
"It wouldn't be an epic if things were easy," Chalmers assured him.
A few days after Crete they fetched up on an island where herds of cattle and flocks of sheep ran about near the shore unattended. They were out of fresh meat, so the men stormed ashore with bows and spears, whooping after prey. By nightfall, whole carcasses were turning on spits and all were preparing for a feast.
"This is going entirely too well," Shea said. Truer words were never spoken. They were scarcely out of his mouth when something perfectly hideous swooped in from the darkening sky, screeching like souls in purgatory.
"What the hell ..." Shea ducked as scabby claws scraped his scalp.
A whole Hock of winged monsters converged on the roasting meat. They had bodies like vultures but their faces were those of women. Long, forked tongues slashed from their mouths as they tore at the roasting flesh. A horrible smell of decay filled the air.
Achates snatched off his helmet and hurled it to the sand. "Harpies!" he screamed. "We're on the island of the bloody harpies! I give up! I just bloody well give up!"
Equally distraught but even more enraged, the men drew their weapons and flailed wildly at the disgusting creatures. They were unable to inflict a single wound. The harpies were as bulky as large turkeys and looked as ungainly, but they avoided the slashing bronze as easily as if they had been bats. Even the blindingly swift blows of Aeneas were to no avail. The creatures slithered around the blades without nicking a feather, as if they were playing a game. Then they flew away, all but one. The remaining harpy perched on a crag and glared balefully. Shea decided that absolutely nothing in the worlds could glare as balefully as a harpy. This one was even uglier than the others, with the hair and features of an ancient hag.
"Do you know me, mortals?" the thing croaked.
"I know you, Celaeno," Anchises said. "You are wide-famed."
"Know, then, that you have violated our land, slaughtered our beasts, and offered violence to those you have despoiled. For this you have earned my curse."
"Speak on, Celaeno," Aeneas said. As Shea had come to expect, he offered no excuses. A hero would never do such a thing.
"You seek Italy? You shall find that land, but as punishment for your slaughter of our beasts, you shall not raise the walls of your city until you have suffered deadly famine, a famine that shall make you grind your tables with your teeth! Farewell, Aeneas!" With a parting screech, Celaeno flapped away into the shrouding dark.
"Well, isn't that just ducky?" Achates said, as the last ratty feathers drifted to the ground. "Look at that! I mean, just look!" He held out a hand, palm up, to draw everyone's attention to the roasting meat, as if the awful smell had not already done that for him. "It's honking! Pure rotten from the touch of those foul creatures!" The carcasses had turned a livid purple, and their stench was all but palpable.
"Peace, brave Achates," Aeneas said, sounding to Shea's ears just a touch weary for the first time. "We have more to concern us than some prematurely decayed flesh."
"Excuse me, my lord," Chalmers said. "But all may not be lost."
"Say you so, friend Chalmers?" Aeneas said, his eyebrows going up quizically. "Your prince would be most grateful were you able to temper the evils of this ill-starred evening."
"You recall how I mended the soured wine?" Chalmers said.
"Who could forget it?"
"I may be able to do the same for this decayed flesh."
"Truly?" Aeneas frowned. "But decay is a part of the god-decreed consequence of mortality. May you do this without attracting the disfavor of the gods? No feast is worth such a punishment, as I have just found out."
"I think so," Chalmers said. He held up a finger in pedantic fashion. "Natural decay, as my lord so perspicaciously points out, is a part of mortality. These beasts died for our benefit but a few hours ago. Should they be rotten now? Not so!" There were murmurs of agreement from the crowd. "No, they grew rotten with unnatural swiftness from the touch of unclean creatures. I think I can restore them to their natural condition without violating any divine rules."
"Then work your wonders," Aeneas said, "and earn the further gratitude of your prince."
"Ah, Doc," Shea said as Chalmers made his preparations. "Do you think you can really do this? We're talking about an irrevocable biological process here."
"No, Harold. You keep forgetting that we aren't on our own Earth. There, decay is caused by bacterial action. What those harpies just did to this meat would be utterly unnatural there. This world knows two sorts of decay, and perhaps more. This accelerated, not to say instantaneous, sort, is the type of petty magic that can be easily reversed."
"Easily?" Shea said, an eyebrow slightly raised.
"Well, I think so. First of all, we need a virgin."
"Doc! I'm shocked! They're crazy about sacrificing around here, but even they don't go in for human sacrifice. You don't propose to sacrifice a virgin just to salvage the banquet, do you?"
"Harold, sometimes I question your judgment. No, this is a mere application of sympathetic magic. Surely you remember the principle?"
"Voodoo dolls, right?"
"That is the most familiar example. Things that share certain things in common, characteristics or appearance, have a magical affinity. Believe me, Harold, the young lady will not suffer the slightest damage. And we'll need the local equivalent of extra-virgin olive oil, and some wine from the first pressing."
The oil and wine proved to be no problem, but the virgin was. Not because of a shortage, but because every mother seemed determined that her daughter should be the representative virgin. Shea rejected infants and immature girls. That, it seemed, would be cheating. The girl had to be nubile. The winner was a lovely girl of fourteen, with waist-length, black hair and enormous eyes.