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away by now to speak to, but if she could, Elissa would have shouted after him:
It’s not a drama. It’s my life.
She sighed and continued staring at the ships, peering into the distance, trying to spot Aeneas or Ascanius, but there was no sign of them.
    In spite of Hermes’ words, Elissa was still both furious and sad. She sat down on a pile of stones left behind by builders who had recently been improving the houses around the harbour. Aeneas had gone without so much as a word to her and she was left carrying the burden of her love for him and unable to speak of it to anyone. She had hidden this love so well and forso long and from so many people that covering up how she felt had become second nature to her, but today the truth was pressing to come out, to be told to everyone, and still she couldn’t say a word. She was sad about Ascanius. That was the story they all believed.
    As long as Aeneas was still here, she told herself, I could hope for something. How many hours had she dreamed away, imagining the two of them together, like husband and wife, with Ascanius playing at their feet? Even during their brief, rare times together she’d been lost in daydreams of his face, how handsome he was, and she could think of nothing except how he made her feel when he looked at her, and when he touched her. Whenever he spoke to her, she was so taken up with admiring the beauty of his mouth that she hadn’t paid very much attention to what he said, but it was true that he had promised her nothing. Still, she couldn’t help herself. She didn’t know how to stop hoping for something miraculous, something impossible, and she offered prayers to Aphrodite every night.
    And what would become of Dido now? she wondered. Whatever energy had been left over from her own longing for Aeneas was filled with agonies of jealousy, because he loved the queen and she adored him. But I love the queen too, Elissa thought, and would never wish to hurt her, and what I’ve done would hurt her if she ever found out about it. These feelings were like bad stomach ache, but worse than the worst pain she’d ever suffered. If Aeneas left now,would the jealousy disappear simply because Dido had also been abandoned? And could she be in the queen’s presence without flushing red with embarrassment?
    I should have spoken to him earlier, Elissa told herself, while he was still here to speak to. Why didn’t I dare to tell him how much I loved him? Because I’m too young. Every time he was with me I was tongue-tied. Dazzled by love. In awe of him because he was a hero and I am no one. A servant. His son’s nursemaid. And on that night (nearly three moons ago, but Elissa turned it over in her mind all the time, every single day, because it was so extraordinary, like a bright jewel shining in her heart), I could have told him how much I loved him, but I didn’t want to say a word that might have warned him he was making a mistake. I wish, she said to herself, I wish I had that night back again. Wishing, she knew, was useless.
    Now she wondered why Aeneas had said nothing to her, not even a word of farewell. Even as she was thinking this, a truth came to her. His flight had nothing to do with her and he didn’t think of her as someone from whom he ought to take his leave. She was no more than the girl who looked after Ascanius, and even if there was that one night – a night which she’d thought would make it possible for her to be more to him than that – it had been quite clear for some time that Aeneas regretted what had passed between them. She had noticed that he’d been avoiding her, and now he was leaving Carthage for reasons which she was ignorant of and probably wouldn’t understand, butwhich had nothing whatsoever to do with her. Elissa shivered and thought of Aphrodite . . . Aeneas had often spoken of her.
    â€˜She’s my mother, Elissa,’ he’d said once, and