"Now that's how to build a city!" Aeneas said with awestruck admiration.
"Never be a match for dear Ilium," Achates said, wiping away a nostalgic tear.
They descended the ridgeline and entered the cultivated land. Everywhere, colonists were planting crops and orchards, but no one saw the strangers as they passed. Dogs sniffed the air and barked in bewilderment.
They walked through the wide gateway and into the city, where the sound of chisel on stone and hammer on nail assailed them from every direction. Huge ox-drawn carts rumbled and squealed by on ungreased axles, carrying building materials or hauling away excavated earth. In the center of the city a grove had been planted, and in the middle of the grove was a lofty temple, nearer than the other public buildings to completion. Its doors were of massive bronze. Through the doors they went, and into the vast, echoing interior.
The interior walls were completely carved with scenes in low relief, painted in realistic colors. Most of them appeared to be battle scenes.
"By Jupiter!" Aeneas said. "It's the Trojan War!"
"Word sure does get around," Shea commented. In accordance with the compressed time frame of epic verse, the whole story of the siege of Troy was depicted, from the judgment of Paris to the abduction of Helen, all the battles that followed, culminating with the wooden horse being dragged into the city.
"Here I am!" Aeneas cried. "I'm squaring off with Achilles. I was just about to chuck a rock at him when Father Poseidon of the sea-blue hair yanked me out of the fight."
"Just when you were about to squash him, too, m'lord!" Achates said.
"Yes, it was a pity. The old boy meant well, though." They continued to wander around admiring the decorations, like tourists in a museum.
"I don't see me anyplace," Achates said, disappointed.
From outside came a sound of music. Someone was playing harps and flutes, gently thumping on tambourines and rattling sistrums. Shea looked out through the doors and saw a gaily clad procession making its way up the broad ceremonial avenue through the grove toward the temple.
"Company, boss." Shea called out. Aeneas came to join him by the door.
"I think the queen comes, with her court," Aeneas said. "She may wish to sacrifice, or perhaps she will hold court here, since this stately temple befits royal majesty."
"And has a roof," Shea pointed out.
"Let us retire to yonder corner," Aeneas said, "and all invisible observe this queen, to see if she is wise and just, as well as beautiful."
Shea had not spotted Dido yet, but Aeneas seemed to be in no doubt that she would be beautiful. In the age of heroes, queens were always beautiful.
First up the steps and into the temple were the musicians. These were the sort of youths and maidens who always seemed to liven up the festivities at these affairs. You never saw a paunchy, middle-aged musician. After them came girls scattering flower petals. Then the Queen entered, followed by her court. She was almost as tall as Aeneas, with the sort of regal bearing that made crowns and regalia superfluous. Her hair was midnight black and her flawless complexion was tawny. This, Shea thought, must be how Virgil pictured Tyrian royalty. Behind her came her court, mostly dark men and women in vaguely eastern-looking robes. Chalmers gasped and gripped his arm.
"Yes, she's a looker, all right," murmured Shea.
"Look!" Chalmers strangled out, pointing. Amid the dusky pulchritude of Dido's ladies-in-waiting was a willowy fair brunette, spectacularly beautiful but tiny by comparison with the heroically scaled competition.
"Florimel!" Shea said.
"Be still!" Achates hissed.
"But that's my wife!" Chalmers protested.
"The queen?" Aeneas said.
"No, the pale one!"
"Ssshhhhhh!"
Some of the courtiers were looking around, trying to find out where the odd sounds were coming from. Slaves brought in a portable dais and a carved throne and set them up. The dais they draped with a huge, gold-embroidered purple cloth. The throne was covered with lynx and leopard skins. Dido mounted the dais and seated herself on the throne. Ranged near her were her advisers and courtiers. Just behind the throne stood the ladies of the court. A chamberlain thumped on the floor with his staff.
"The glorious, beauteous, and most sagacious Queen Dido of Carthage holds court! Let all who have business before Queen Dido come forward with humility, and you shall be heard." He thumped the staff three more times and stood aside.
Before any supplicants came forward, Dido reeled off a list of the next day's work assignments, both agricultural and construction-oriented, from mixing the mortar to sweeping up the refuse in the evening.
"She's not even using notes," Shea said. Chalmers was too agitated to care.
Next she dealt with the division of property among her nobles and freemen; then she assigned military duties and training schedules. Then she entertained supplications. First to come forward was a man of expensive clothing and pompous demeanor. Cold and jewels winked all over his hands and arms.
"Most gracious Queen Dido," the man intoned. "I come once more to press the suit of my royal master, King Iarbas, that splendid chieftain who was so smitten with your beauty and majesty that his generous heart was touched and he was more than anxious to part with this land upon which your nascent city now rises in glory.'' He bowed deeply.
"The esteem in which I hold King Iarbas," Dido said, "is so boundless that the immortal gods themselves could never set limits upon it. However, I have consulted closely with my augurs and they assure me that the time has not yet come for me to marry. Assure your royal master and my friend, fabulous King Iarbas, that, when I find that my time to wed has come, his suit shall be among the first to which I give serious consideration."
"Your majesty is too kind," the envoy said, bowing deeply and gritting his teeth. He backed his way out of the temple, bowing all the way.
"I'll cuddle up to a leper before I crawl into that old goat's bed!" Dido said. The court laughed heartily. "Who's next?" An official came forward.
"Your majesty, we have a little problem. Several shiploads of lost mariners have shown up on our coast. We tried to drive them back, but they keep swarming in. If they were raiding we'd just kill them, but they insist they just need a place to stay. Their own home has been destroyed, they claim."
"Refugees?" Dido said, exasperated. "I just get a kingdom off the ground, and now I'm supposed to take in refugees? Do they think I have land for all of them? Where will they find jobs?" She fumed for a few minutes, during which nobody said anything. Then: "Where do they come from?"
"Troy," the official said.
Dido slapped her forehead. "Wonderful! Just great! Not only do I get refugees, but the most gilt-edged wanderers in the whole Mediterranean show up on my doorstep. Now if I send them away, everybody will say that heartless Dido was cruel to poor, homeless Trojans!" She fumed a while longer. "On, well, let's have a look at them."
The crowd parted and a large group of tattered, bedraggled men and women entered the temple. They clearly had not been eating well for some time, but they bore themselves with dignity. In the forefront were several men of the heroid class.
"Antheus!" Achates whispered. "And Sergestus!"
"And there are Cloanthus and brave Ilioneus!" said Aeneas. "Our lost ships are safe!"