No More Learning

To you and to
my father Latinus I Turnus, unexcelled in bravery by any of old,
consecrate my life. _Aeneas calls on him alone_: let him, I implore: let
not Drances rather appease with his [444-480]life this wrath of heaven,
if such it be, or win the renown of valour. '

Thus they one with another strove together in uncertainty; Aeneas moved
from his camp to battle. Lo, a messenger rushes spreading confusion
through the royal house, and fills the town with great alarms: the
Teucrians, ranged in battle-line with the Tyrrhene forces, are marching
down by the Tiber river and filling the plain. Immediately spirits are
stirred and hearts shaken and wrath roused in fierce excitement among
the crowd. Hurrying hands grasp at arms; for arms their young men
clamour; the fathers shed tears and mutter gloomily. With that a great
noise rises aloft in diverse contention, even as when flocks of birds
haply settle on a lofty grove, or swans utter their hoarse cry among the
vocal pools on the fish-filled river of Padusa. 'Yes, citizens! ' cries
Turnus, seizing his time: 'gather in council and sit praising peace,
while they rush on dominion in arms! ' Without more words he sprung up
and issued swiftly from the high halls. 'Thou, Volusus,' he cries, 'bid
the Volscian battalions arm, and lead out the Rutulians. Messapus, and
Coras with thy brother, spread your armed cavalry widely over the plain.
Let a division entrench the city gates and man the towers: the rest of
our array attack with me where I command. ' The whole town goes rushing
to the walls; lord Latinus himself, dismayed by the woeful emergency,
quits the council and puts off his high designs, and chides himself
sorely for not having given Aeneas unasked welcome, and made him son and
bulwark of the city. Some entrench the gates, or bring up supply of
stones and poles. The hoarse clarion utters the ensanguined note of war.
A motley ring of boys and matrons girdle the walls. Therewithal the
queen with a crowd of mothers ascends bearing gifts to Pallas' towered
temple, and by her side goes maiden Lavinia, source of all that woe,
[481-514]her beautiful eyes cast down. The mothers enter in, and while
the temple steams with their incense, pour from the high doorway their
mournful cry: 'Maiden armipotent, Tritonian, sovereign of war, break
with thine hand the spear of the Phrygian plunderer, hurl him prone to
earth and dash him down beneath our lofty gates. ' Turnus arrays himself
in hot haste for battle, and even now hath done on his sparkling
breastplate with its flickering scales of brass, and clasped his golden
greaves, his brows yet bare and his sword buckled to his side; he runs
down from the fortress height glittering in gold, and exultantly
anticipates the foe. Thus when a horse snaps his tether, and, free at
last, rushes from the stalls and gains the open plain, he either darts
towards the pastures of the herded mares, or bathing, as is his wont, in
the familiar river waters, dashes out and neighs with neck stretched
high, glorying, and his mane tosses over collar and shoulder. Camilla
with her Volscian array meets him face to face in the gateway; the
princess leaps from her horse, and all her squadron at her example slide
from horseback to the ground. Then she speaks thus:

'Turnus, if bravery hath any just self-confidence, I dare and promise to
engage Aeneas' cavalry, and advance to meet the Tyrrhene horse. Permit
my hand to try war's first perils: do thou on foot keep by the walls and
guard the city. '

To this Turnus, with eyes fixed on the terrible maiden: 'O maiden flower
of Italy, how may I essay to express, how to prove my gratitude? But
now, since that spirit of thine excels all praise, share thou the toil
with me. Aeneas, as the report of the scouts I sent assures, hath sent
on his light-armed horse to annoy us and scour the plains; himself he
marches on the city across the lonely ridge of the mountain steep. I am
arranging a stratagem of [515-550]war in his pathway on the wooded
slope, to block a gorge on the highroad with armed troops. Do thou
receive and join battle with the Tyrrhene cavalry; with thee shall be
gallant Messapus, the Latin squadrons, and Tiburtus' division: do thou
likewise assume a captain's charge. '

So speaks he, and with like words heartens Messapus and the allied
captains to battle, and advances towards the enemy. There is a sweeping
curve of glen, made for ambushes and devices of arms. Dark thick foliage
hems it in on either hand, and into it a bare footpath leads by a narrow
gorge and difficult entrance. Right above it on the watch-towers of the
hill-top lies an unexpected level, hidden away in shelter, whether one
would charge from right and left or stand on the ridge and roll down
heavy stones. Hither he passes by a line of way he knew, and, seizing
his ground, occupies the treacherous woods.

Meanwhile in the heavenly dwellings Latona's daughter addressed fleet
Opis, one of her maiden fellowship and sacred band, and sadly uttered
these accents: 'Camilla moves to fierce war, O maiden, and vainly girds
on our arms, dear as she is beyond others to me. For her love of Diana
is not newly born, nor her spirit stirred by sudden affection. Driven
from his kingdom through jealousy of his haughty power, Metabus left
ancient Privernum town, and bore his infant with him in his flight
through war and battle, the companion of his exile, and called her by
her mother Casmilla's name, with a little change, Camilla. Carrying her
before him on his breast, he sought a long ridge of lonely woodland; on
all sides angry weapons pressed on him, and Volscian soldiery spread
hurrying round about. Lo, in mid flight swoln Amasenus ran foaming with
banks abrim, so heavily had the clouds burst in rain. He would swim it;
but love of the infant holds him back in alarm for so dear a burden.
Inly revolving [551-586]all, he settled reluctantly on a sudden
resolve: the great spear that the warrior haply carried in his stout
hand, of hard-knotted and seasoned oak, to it he ties his daughter
swathed in cork-tree bark of the woodland, and binds her balanced round
the middle of the spear; poising it in his great right hand he thus
cries aloft: "Gracious one, haunter of the woodland, maiden daughter of
Latona, a father devotes this babe to thy service; thine is this weapon
she holds, thine infant suppliant, flying through the air from her
enemies. Accept her, I implore, O goddess, for thine own, whom now I
entrust to the chance of air. " He spoke, and drawing back his arm, darts
the spinning spear-shaft: the waters roar: over the racing river poor
Camilla shoots on the whistling weapon. But Metabus, as a strong band
now presses nigher, plunges into the river, and triumphantly pulls spear
and girl, his gift to Trivia, from the grassy turf. No cities ever
received him within house or rampart, nor had his savagery submitted to
it; he led his life on the lonely pastoral hills. Here he nursed his
daughter in the underwood among tangled coverts, on the milk of a wild
brood-mare's teats, squeezing the udder into her tender lips. And so
soon as the baby stood and went straight on her feet, he armed her hands
with a sharp javelin, and hung quiver and bow from her little shoulders.
Instead of gold to clasp her tresses, instead of the long skirted gown,
a tiger's spoils hang down her back. Even then her tender hand hurled
childish darts, and whirled about her head the twisted thong of her
sling, and struck down the crane from Strymon or the milk-white swan.
Many a mother among Tyrrhenian towns destined her for their sons in
vain; content with Diana alone, she keeps unsoiled for ever the love of
her darts and maidenhood. Would she had not plunged thus into warfare
and provoked the Trojans by attack! so were she now dear to me and one
of my [587-620]company. But since bitter doom is upon her, up, glide
from heaven, O Nymph, and seek the Latin borders, where under evil omen
they join in baleful battle. Take these, and draw from the quiver an
avenging shaft; by it shall he pay me forfeit of his blood, whoso,
Trojan or Italian alike, shall sully her sacred body with a wound.
Thereafter will I in a sheltering cloud bear body and armour of the
hapless girl unspoiled to the tomb, and lay them in her native land. '
She spoke; but the other sped lightly down the aery sky, girt about with
dark whirlwind on her echoing way.

But meanwhile the Trojan force nears the walls, with the Etruscan
captains and their whole cavalry arrayed in ordered squadrons. Their
horses' trampling hoofs thunder on all the field, as, swerving this way
and that, they chafe at the reins' pressure; the iron field bristles
wide with spears, and the plain is aflame with uplifted arms. Likewise
Messapus and the Latin horse, and Coras and his brother, and maiden
Camilla's squadron, come forth against them on the plain, and draw back
their hands and level the flickering points of their long lances, in a
fire of neighing horses and advancing men. And now each had drawn within
javelin-cast of each, and drew up; with a sudden shout they dart forth,
and urge on their furious horses; from all sides at once weapons shower
thick like snow, and veil the sky with their shadow. In a moment
Tyrrhenus and fiery Aconteus charge violently with crossing spears, and
are the first to fall; they go down with a heavy crash, and their beasts
break and shatter chest upon chest. Aconteus, hurled off like a
thunderbolt or some mass slung from an engine, is dashed away, and
scatters his life in air. Immediately the lines waver, and the Latins
wheeling about throw their shields behind them and turn their horses
towards the town. The Trojans pursue; Asilas heads and leads on
[621-653]their squadrons. And now they drew nigh the gates, and again
the Latins raise a shout and wheel their supple necks about; the
pursuers fly, and gallop right back with loosened rein: as when the sea,
running up in ebb and flow, now rushes shoreward and strikes over the
cliffs in a wave of foam, drenching the edge of the sand in its curving
sweep; now runs swirling back, and the surge sucks the rolling stones
away. Twice the Tuscans turn and drive the Rutulians towards the town;
twice they are repelled, and look back behind them from cover of their
shields. But when now meeting in a third encounter, the lines are locked
together all their length, and man singles out his man; then indeed,
amid groans of the dying, deep in blood roll armour and bodies, and
horses half slain mixed up with slaughtered men. The battle swells
fierce. Orsilochus hurled his spear at the horse of Remulus, whom
himself he shrank to meet, and left the steel in it under the ear; at
the stroke the charger rears madly, and, mastered by the wound, lifts
his chest and flings up his legs: the rider is thrown and rolls over on
the ground. Catillus strikes down Iollas, and Herminius mighty in
courage, mighty in limbs and arms, bareheaded, tawny-haired,
bare-shouldered; undismayed by wounds, he leaves his vast body open
against arms. Through his broad shoulders the quivering spear runs
piercing him through, and doubles him up with pain. Everywhere the dark
blood flows; they deal death with the sword in battle, and seek a noble
death by wounds.

But amid the slaughter Camilla rages, a quivered Amazon, with one side
stripped for battle, and now sends tough javelins showering from her
hand, now snatches the strong battle-axe in her unwearying grasp; the
golden bow, the armour of Diana, clashes on her shoulders; and even when
forced backward in retreat, she turns in flight and [654-691]aims darts
from her bow. But around her are her chosen comrades, maiden Larina,
Tulla, Tarpeia brandishing an axe inlaid with bronze, girls of Italy,
whom Camilla the bright chose for her own escort, good at service in
peace and war: even as Thracian Amazons when the streams of Thermodon
clash beneath them as they go to war in painted arms, whether around
Hippolyte, or while martial Penthesilea returns in her chariot, and the
crescent-shielded columns of women dance with loud confused cry. Whom
first, whom last, fierce maiden, does thy dart strike down? First
Euneus, son of Clytius; for as he meets her the long fir shaft crashes
through his open breast. He falls spouting streams of blood, and bites
the gory ground, and dying writhes himself upon his wound. Then Liris
and Pagasus above him; who fall headlong and together, the one thrown as
he reins up his horse stabbed under him, the other while he runs forward
and stretches his unarmed hand to stay his fall. To these she joins
Amastrus, son of Hippotas, and follows from far with her spear Tereus
and Harpalycus and Demophoon and Chromis: and as many darts as the
maiden sends whirling from her hand, so many Phrygians fall. Ornytus the
hunter rides near in strange arms on his Iapygian horse, his broad
warrior's shoulders swathed in the hide stripped from a bullock, his
head covered by a wolf's wide-grinning mouth and white-tusked jaws; a
rustic pike arms his hand; himself he moves amid the squadrons a full
head over all. Catching him up (for that was easy amid the rout), she
runs him through, and thus cries above her enemy: 'Thou wert hunting
wild beasts in the forest, thoughtest thou, Tyrrhenian? the day is come
for a woman's arms to refute thy words. Yet no light fame shalt thou
carry to thy fathers' ghosts, to have fallen under the weapon of
Camilla. ' Next Orsilochus and Butes, the two mightiest of mould among
the Teucrians; Butes she pierces in the [692-725]back with her
spear-point between corslet and helmet, where the neck shews as he sits,
and the shield hangs from his left shoulder; Orsilochus she flies, and
darting in a wide circle, slips into the inner ring and pursues her
pursuer; then rising her full height, she drives the strong axe deep
through armour and bone, as he pleads and makes much entreaty; warm
brain from the wound splashes his face. One met her thus and hung
startled by the sudden sight, the warrior son of Aunus haunter of the
Apennine, not the meanest in Liguria while fate allowed him to deceive.
And he, when he discerns that no fleetness of foot may now save him from
battle or turn the princess from pursuit, essays to wind a subtle device
of treachery, and thus begins: 'How hast thou glory, if a woman trust in
her horse's strength? Debar retreat; trust thyself to level ground at
close quarters with me, and prepare to fight on foot. Soon wilt thou
know how windy boasting brings one to harm. ' He spoke; but she, furious
and stung with fiery indignation, hands her horse to an attendant, and
takes her stand in equal arms on foot and undismayed, with naked sword
and shield unemblazoned. But he, thinking his craft had won the day,
himself flies off on the instant, and turning his rein, darts off in
flight, pricking his beast to speed with iron-armed heel. 'False
Ligurian, in vain elated in thy pride! for naught hast thou attempted
thy slippery native arts, nor will thy craft bring thee home unhurt to
treacherous Aunus. ' So speaks the maiden, and with running feet swift as
fire crosses his horse, and catching the bridle, meets him in front and
takes her vengeance in her enemy's blood: as lightly as the falcon, bird
of bale, swoops down from aloft on a pigeon high in a cloud, and pounces
on and holds her, and disembowels her with taloned feet, while blood and
torn feathers flutter down the sky.

But the creator of men and gods sits high on Olympus' [726-759]summit
watching this, not with eyes unseeing: he kindles Tyrrhenian Tarchon to
the fierce battle, and sharply goads him on to wrath. So Tarchon gallops
amid the slaughter where his squadrons retreat, and urges his troops in
changing tones, calling man on man by name, and rallies the fliers to
fight. 'What terror, what utter cowardice hath fallen on your spirits, O
never to be stung to shame, O slack alway? a woman drives you in
disorder and routs our ranks! Why wear we steel? for what are these idle
weapons in our hands? Yet not slack in Venus' service and wars by night,
or, when the curving flute proclaims Bacchus' revels, to look forward to
the feast and the cups on the loaded board (this your passion, this your
desire! ) till the soothsayer pronounce the offering favourable, and the
fatted victim invite you to the deep groves. ' So speaking, he spurs his
horse into the midmost, ready himself to die, and bears violently down
full on Venulus; and tearing him from horseback, grasps his enemy and
carries him away with him on the saddle-bow by main force. A cry rises
up, and all the Latins turn their eyes. Tarchon flies like fire over the
plain, carrying the armed man, and breaks off the steel head from his
own spear and searches the uncovered places, trying where he may deal
the mortal blow; the other struggling against him keeps his hand off his
throat, and strongly parries his attack. And, as when a golden eagle
snatches and soars with a serpent in his clutch, and his feet are fast
in it, and his talons cling; but the wounded snake writhes in coiling
spires, and its scales rise and roughen, and its mouth hisses as it
towers upward; the bird none the less attacks his struggling prize with
crooked beak, while his vans beat the air: even so Tarchon carries
Tiburtus out of the ranks, triumphant in his prize. Following their
captain's example and issue the men of Maeonia charge in. Then Arruns,
due to his [760-796]doom, circles in advance of fleet Camilla with
artful javelin, and tries how fortune may be easiest. Where the maiden
darts furious amid the ranks, there Arruns slips up and silently tracks
her footsteps; where she returns victorious and retires from amid the
enemy, there he stealthily bends his rapid reins. Here he approaches,
and here again he approaches, and strays all round and about, and
untiringly shakes his certain spear. Haply Chloreus, sacred to Cybele
and once her priest, glittered afar, splendid in Phrygian armour; a skin
feathered with brazen scales and clasped with gold clothed the horse
that foamed under his spur; himself he shone in foreign blue and
scarlet, with fleet Gortynian shafts and a Lycian horn; a golden bow was
on his shoulder, and the soothsayer's helmet was of gold; red gold
knotted up his yellow scarf with its rustling lawny folds; his tunics
and barbarian trousers were wrought in needlework. Him, whether that she
might nail armour of Troy on her temples, or herself move in captive
gold, the maiden pursued in blind chase alone of all the battle
conflict, and down the whole line, reckless and fired by a woman's
passion for spoils and plunder: when at last out of his ambush Arruns
chooses his time and darts his javelin, praying thus aloud to heaven:
'Apollo, most high of gods, holy Soracte's warder, to whom we beyond all
do worship, for whom the blaze of the pinewood heap is fed, where we thy
worshippers in pious faith print our steps amid the deep embers of the
fire, grant, O Lord omnipotent, that our arms wipe off this disgrace. I
seek not the dress the maiden wore, nor trophy or any spoil of victory;
other deeds shall bring me praise; let but this dread scourge fall
stricken beneath my wound, I will return inglorious to my native towns. '
Phoebus heard, and inly granted half his vow to prosper, half he shred
into the flying breezes. To surprise and strike down Camilla in sudden
death, this he [797-831]yielded to his prayer; that his high home might
see his return he gave not, and a gust swept off his accents on the
gale. So, when the spear sped from his hand hurtled through the air, all
the Volscians marked it well and turned their eyes on the queen; and she
alone knew not wind or sound of the weapon on its aery path, till the
spear passed home and sank where her breast met it, and, driven deep,
drank her maiden blood. Her companions run hastily up and catch their
sinking mistress. Arruns takes to flight more alarmed than all, in
mingled fear and exultation, and no longer dares to trust his spear or
face the maiden's weapons. And as the wolf, some shepherd or great
bullock slain, plunges at once among the trackless mountain heights ere
hostile darts are in pursuit, and knows how reckless he hath been, and
drooping his tail lays it quivering under his belly, and seeks the
woods; even so does Arruns withdraw from sight in dismay, and, satisfied
to escape, mingles in the throng of arms. The dying woman pulls at the
weapon with her hand; but the iron head is fixed deep in the wound up
between the rib-bones. She swoons away with loss of blood; chilling in
death her eyes swoon away; the once lustrous colour leaves her face.
Then gasping, she thus accosts Acca, one of her birthmates, who alone
before all was true to Camilla, with whom her cares were divided; and
even so she speaks: 'Thus far, Acca my sister, have I availed; now the
bitter wound overmasters me, and all about me darkens in haze. Haste
away, and carry to Turnus my last message; to take my place in battle,
and repel the Trojans from the town. And now goodbye. ' Even with the
words she dropped the reins and slid to ground unconscious. Then the
unnerving chill overspread her, her neck slackened, her head sank
overpowered by death, and her arms fell, and with a moan the life fled
indignant into the dark. Then indeed an [832-867]infinite cry rises and
smites the golden stars; the battle grows bloodier now Camilla is down;
at once in serried rants all the Teucrian forces pour in, with the
Tyrrhene captains and Evander's Arcadian squadrons.

But Opis, Trivia's sentinel, long ere now sits high on the hill-tops,
gazing on the battle undismayed. And when afar amid the din of angry men
she espied Camilla done woefully to death, she sighed and uttered forth
a deep cry: 'Ah too, too cruel, O maiden, the forfeit thou hast paid for
daring armed attack on the Teucrians! and nothing hath availed thee thy
lonely following of Diana in the woodlands, nor wearing our quiver on
thy shoulder. Yet thy Queen hath not left thee unhonoured now thy latter
end is come; nor will this thy death be unnamed among the nations, nor
shalt thou bear the fame of one unavenged; for whosoever hath sullied
thy body with a wound shall pay death for due. ' Under the mountain
height was a great earthen mound, tomb of Dercennus, a Laurentine king
of old, shrouded in shadowy ilex. Hither the goddess most beautiful
first swoops down, and marks Arruns from the mounded height. As she saw
him glittering in arms and idly exultant: 'Why,' she cries, 'wanderest
thou away? hitherward direct thy steps; come hither to thy doom, to
receive thy fit reward for Camilla. Shalt thou die, and by Diana's
weapons? ' The Thracian spoke, and slid out a fleet arrow from her gilded
quiver, and stretched it level on the bow, and drew it far, till the
curving tips met one another, and now her hands touched in counterpoise,
the left the steel edge, the string in the right her breast. At once and
in a moment Arruns heard the whistle of the dart and the resounding air,
as the steel sank in his body. His comrades leave him forgotten on the
unknown dust of the plain, moaning his last and gasping his life away;
Opis wings her flight to the skyey heaven.

[868-901]At once the light squadron of Camilla retreat now they have
lost their mistress; the Rutulians retreat in confusion, brave Atinas
retreats. Scattered captains and thinned companies make for safety, and
turn their horses backward to the town. Nor does any avail to make stand
against the swarming death-dealing Teucrians, or bear their shock in
arms; but their unstrung bows droop on their shoulders, and the
four-footed galloping horse-hoof shakes the crumbling plain. The eddying
dust rolls up thick and black towards the walls, and on the watch-towers
mothers beat their breasts and the cries of women rise up to heaven. On
such as first in the rout broke in at the open gates the mingling
hostile throng follows hard; nor do they escape death, alas! but in the
very gateway, within their native city and amid their sheltering homes,
they are pierced through and gasp out their life. Some shut the gates,
and dare not open to their pleading comrades nor receive them in the
town; and a most pitiful slaughter begins between armed men who guard
the entry and others who rush upon their arms. Barred out before their
weeping parents' eyes and faces, some, swept on by the rout, roll
headlong into the trenches; some, blindly rushing with loosened rein,
batter at the gates and stiffly-bolted doorway. The very mothers from
the walls in eager heat (true love of country points the way, when they
see Camilla) dart weapons with shaking hand, and eagerly make hard
stocks of wood and fire-hardened poles serve for steel, and burn to die
among the foremost for their city's sake.

Meanwhile among the forests the terrible news pours in on Turnus, and
Acca brings him news of the mighty invasion; the Volscian lines are
destroyed; Camilla is fallen; the enemy thicken and press on, and have
swept all before them down the tide of battle. Raging he leaves the
hills he had beset--Jove's stern will ordains it [902-915]so--and quits
the rough woodland. Scarcely had he marched out of sight and gained the
plain when lord Aeneas enters the open defiles, surmounts the ridge, and
issues from the dim forest. So both advance swiftly to the town with all
their columns, no long march apart, and at once Aeneas descried afar the
plains all smoking with dust, and saw the Laurentine columns, and Turnus
knew Aeneas terrible in arms, and heard the advancing feet and the
neighing of the horses. And straightway would they join battle and essay
the conflict, but that ruddy Phoebus even now dips his weary coursers in
the Iberian flood, and night draws on over the fading day. They encamp
before the city, and draw their trenches round the walls.




BOOK TWELFTH

THE SLAYING OF TURNUS


When Turnus sees the Latins broken and fainting in the thwart issue of
war, his promise claimed for fulfilment, and men's eyes pointed on him,
his own spirit rises in unappeasable flame. As the lion in Phoenician
fields, his breast heavily wounded by the huntsmen, at last starts into
arms, and shakes out the shaggy masses from his exultant neck, and
undismayed snaps the brigand's planted weapon, roaring with
blood-stained mouth; even so Turnus kindles and swells in passion. Then
he thus addresses the king, and so furiously begins:

'Turnus stops not the way; there is no excuse for the coward Aeneadae to
take back their words or renounce their compact. I join battle; bring
the holy things, my lord, and swear the treaty. Either this hand shall
hurl to hell the Dardanian who skulks from Asia, and the Latins sit and
see my single sword wipe out the nation's reproach; or let him rule his
conquest, and Lavinia pass to his espousal. '

To him Latinus calmly replied: 'O excellent young man! the more thy hot
valour abounds, the more intently must I counsel, and weigh fearfully
what may befall. Thou hast thy father Daunus' realm, hast many towns
taken by [23-55]thine hand, nor is Latinus lacking in gold and
goodwill. There are other maidens unwedded in Latium and Laurentine
fields, and of no mean birth. Let me unfold this hard saying in all
sincerity: and do thou drink it into thy soul. I might not ally my
daughter to any of her old wooers; such was the universal oracle of gods
and men. Overborne by love for thee, overborne by kinship of blood and
my weeping wife's complaint, I broke all fetters, I severed the maiden
from her promised husband, I took up unrighteous arms. Since then,
Turnus, thou seest what calamities, what wars pursue me, what woes
thyself before all dost suffer. Twice vanquished in pitched battle, we
scarce guard in our city walls the hopes of Italy: the streams of Tiber
yet run warm with our blood, and our bones whiten the boundless plain.
Why fall I away again and again? what madness bends my purpose? if I am
ready to take them into alliance after Turnus' destruction, why do I not
rather bar the strife while he lives? What will thy Rutulian kinsmen,
will all Italy say, if thy death--Fortune make void the word! --comes by
my betrayal, while thou suest for our daughter in marriage? Cast a
glance on war's changing fortune; pity thine aged father, who now far
away sits sad in his native Ardea. '

In nowise do the words bend Turnus' passion: he rages the more fiercely,
and sickens of the cure. So soon as he found speech he thus made
utterance:

'The care thou hast for me, most gracious lord, for me lay down, I
implore thee, and let me purchase honour with death. Our hand too rains
weapons, our steel is strong; and our wounds too draw blood. The goddess
his mother will be far from him to cover his flight, woman-like, in a
cloud and an empty phantom's hiding. '

But the queen, dismayed by the new terms of battle, wept, and clung to
her fiery son as one ready to die: [56-89]'Turnus, by these tears, by
Amata's regard, if that touches thee at all--thou art now the one hope,
the repose of mine unhappy age; in thine hand is Latinus' honour and
empire, on thee is the weight of all our sinking house--one thing I
beseech thee; forbear to join battle with the Teucrians. What fate
soever awaits thee in the strife thou seekest, it awaits me, Turnus,
too: with thee will I leave the hateful light, nor shall my captive eyes
see Aeneas my daughter's lord. ' Lavinia tearfully heard her mother's
words with cheeks all aflame, as deep blushes set her face on fire and
ran hotly over it. Even as Indian ivory, if one stain it with sanguine
dye, or where white lilies are red with many a rose amid: such colour
came on the maiden's face. Love throws him into tumult, and stays his
countenance on the girl: he burns fiercer for arms, and briefly answers
Amata:

'Do not, I pray thee, do not weep for me, neither pursue me thus
ominously as I go to the stern shock of war. Turnus is not free to dally
with death. Thou, Idmon, bear my message to the Phrygian monarch in this
harsh wording: So soon as to-morrow's Dawn rises in the sky blushing on
her crimson wheels, let him not loose Teucrian or Rutulian: let Teucrian
and Rutulian arms have rest, and our blood decide the war; on that field
let Lavinia be sought in marriage. '

These words uttered, withdrawing swiftly homeward, he orders out his
horses, and rejoicingly beholds them snorting before his face: those
that Orithyia's self gave to grace Pilumnus, such as would excel the
snows in whiteness and the gales in speed. The eager charioteers stand
round and pat their chests with clapping hollowed hands, and comb their
tressed manes. Himself next he girds on his shoulders the corslet stiff
with gold and pale mountain-bronze, and buckles on the sword and shield
and scarlet-plumed [90-124]helmet-spikes: that sword the divine Lord of
Fire had himself forged for his father Daunus and dipped glowing in the
Stygian wave. Next, where it stood amid his dwelling leaning on a massy
pillar, he strongly seizes his stout spear, the spoil of Actor the
Auruncan, and brandishes it quivering, and cries aloud: 'Now, O spear
that never hast failed at my call, now the time is come; thee princely
Actor once, thee Turnus now wields in his grasp. Grant this strong hand
to strike down the effeminate Phrygian, to rend and shatter the corslet,
and defile in dust the locks curled with hot iron and wet with myrrh. '
Thus madly he runs on: sparkles leap out from all his blazing face, and
his keen eyes flash fire: even as the bull when before his first fight
he bellows awfully, and drives against a tree's trunk to make trial of
his angry horns, and buffets the air with blows or scatters the sand in
prelude of battle.

And therewithal Aeneas, terrible in his mother's armour, kindles for
warfare and awakes into wrath, rejoicing that offer of treaty stays the
war. Comforting his comrades and sorrowing Iulus' fear, he instructs
them of destiny, and bids bear answer of assurance to King Latinus, and
name the laws of peace.

Scarcely did the morrow shed on the mountain-tops the beams of risen
day, as the horses of the sun begin to rise from the deep flood and
breathe light from their lifted nostrils; Rutulian and Teucrian men
measured out and made ready a field of battle under the great city's
ramparts, and midway in it hearth-fires and grassy altars to the gods of
both peoples; while others bore spring water and fire, draped in
priestly dress and their brows bound with grass of the field. The
Ausonian army issue forth, and crowd through the gates in streaming
serried columns. On this side all the Trojan and Tyrrhenian host pour in
diverse armament, girt with iron even as though the harsh battle-strife
[125-158]called them forth. Therewith amid their thousands the captains
dart up and down, splendid in gold and purple, Mnestheus, seed of
Assaracus, and brave Asilas, and Messapus, tamer of horses, brood of
Neptune: then each on signal given retired to his own ground; they plant
their spears in the earth and lean their shields against them. Mothers
in eager abandonment, and the unarmed crowd and feeble elders beset
towers and house-roofs, or stand at the lofty gates.

But Juno, on the summit that is now called the Alban--then the mountain
had neither name nor fame or honour--looked forth from the hill and
surveyed the plain and double lines of Laurentine and Trojan, and
Latinus' town. Straightway spoke she thus to Turnus' sister, goddess to
goddess, lady of pools and noisy rivers: such worship did Jupiter the
high king of air consecrate to her for her stolen virginity:

'Nymph, grace of rivers, best beloved of our soul, thou knowest how out
of all the Latin women that ever rose to high-hearted Jove's thankless
bed, thee only have I preferred and gladly given part and place in
heaven. Learn thy woe, that thou blame not me for it, Juturna.
Where
fortune seemed to allow and the Destinies granted Latinus' estate to
prosper, I shielded Turnus and thy city. Now I see him joining battle
with unequal fates, and the day of doom and deadly force draws nigh.
Mine eyes cannot look on this battle and treaty: thou, if thou darest
aught of more present help for the brother of thy blood, go on; it
befits thee. Haply relief shall follow misery. '

Scarcely thus: when Juturna's eyes overbrimmed with tears, and thrice
and again she smote her hand on her gracious breast. 'This is not time
for tears,' cries Juno, daughter of Saturn: 'hasten and snatch thy
brother, if it may be, from his death; or do thou waken war, and make
[159-191]the treaty abortive. I encourage thee to dare. ' With such
urgence she left her, doubting and dismayed, and grievously wounded in
soul.

Meanwhile the kings go forth; Latinus in mighty pomp rides in his
four-horse chariot; twelve gilded rays go glittering round his brows,
symbol of the Sun his ancestor; Turnus moves behind a white pair,
clenching in his hand two broad-headed spears. On this side lord Aeneas,
fount of the Roman race, ablaze in starlike shield and celestial arms,
and close by Ascanius, second hope of mighty Rome, issue from the camp;
and the priest, in spotless raiment, hath brought the young of a bristly
sow and an unshorn sheep of two years old, and set his beasts by the
blazing altars. They, turning their eyes towards the sunrising, scatter
salted corn from their hands and clip the beasts with steel over the
temples, and pour cups on the altars. Then Aeneas the good, with sword
drawn, thus makes invocation:

'Be the Sun now witness, and this Earth to my call, for whose sake I
have borne to suffer so sore travail, and the Lord omnipotent, and thou
his wife, at last, divine daughter of Saturn, at last I pray more
favourable; and thou, mighty Mavors, who wieldest all warfare in
lordship beneath thy sway; and on the Springs and Rivers I call, and the
Dread of high heaven, and the divinities of the blue seas: if haply
victory fall to Turnus the Ausonian, the vanquished make covenant to
withdraw to Evander's city; Iulus shall quit the soil; nor ever
hereafter shall the Aeneadae return in arms to renew warfare, or attack
this realm with the sword. But if Victory grant battle to us and ours
(as I think the rather, and so the rather may the gods seal their will),
I will not bid Italy obey my Teucrians, nor do I claim the realm for
mine; let both nations, unconquered, join treaty for ever under equal
law. Gods [192-225]and worship shall be of my giving: my father Latinus
shall bear the sword, and have a father's prescribed command. For me my
Teucrians shall establish a city, and Lavinia give the town her name. '

Thus Aeneas first: thereon Latinus thus follows:

'By these same I swear, O Aeneas, by Earth, Sea, Sky, and the twin brood
of Latona and Janus the double-facing, and the might of nether gods and
grim Pluto's shrine; this let our Father hear, who seals treaties with
his thunderbolt. I touch the altars, I take to witness the fires and the
gods between us; no time shall break this peace and truce in Italy,
howsoever fortune fall; nor shall any force turn my will aside, not if
it dissolve land into water in turmoil of deluge, or melt heaven in
hell: so surely as this sceptre' (for haply he bore a sceptre in his
hand) 'shall never burgeon into thin leafage and shady shoot, since once
in the forest cut down right to the stem it lost its mother, and the
steel lopped away its tressed arms: a tree of old: now the craftsman's
hand hath bound it in adornment of brass and given it to our Latin
fathers' bearing. '

With such words they sealed mutual treaty midway in sight of the
princes. Then they duly slay the consecrated beasts over the flames, and
tear out their live entrails, and pile the altars with laden chargers.

But long ere this the Rutulians deemed the battle unequal, and their
hearts are stirred in changeful motion; and now the more, as they
discern nigher that in ill-matched strength . . . . heightened by
Turnus, as advancing with noiseless pace he humbly worships at the altar
with downcast eye, by his wasted cheeks and the pallor on his youthful
frame. Soon as Juturna his sister saw this talk spread, and the people's
mind waver in uncertainty, into the mid ranks, in feigned form of
Camertus--his family was high in long ancestry, and his father's name
[226-260]for valour renowned, and himself most valiant in arms--into
the mid ranks she glides, not ignorant of her task, and scatters diverse
rumours, saying thus: 'Shame, O Rutulians! shall we set one life in the
breach for so many such as these? are we unequal in numbers or bravery?
See, Troy and Arcadia is all they bring, and those fate-bound bands that
Etruria hurls on Turnus. Scarce is there an enemy to meet every other
man of ours. He indeed will ascend to the gods for whose altars he
devotes himself, and move living in the lips of men: we, our country
lost, shall bow to the haughty rigour of our lords, if we now sit
slackly on the field. '

By such words the soldiers' counsel was kindled yet higher and higher,
and a murmur crept through their columns; the very Laurentines, the very
Latins are changed; and they who but now hoped for rest from battle and
rescue of fortune now desire arms and pray the treaty were undone, and
pity Turnus' cruel lot. To this Juturna adds a yet stronger impulse, and
high in heaven shews a sign more potent than any to confuse Italian
souls with delusive augury. For on the crimsoned sky Jove's tawny bird
flew chasing, in a screaming crowd, fowl of the shore that winged their
column; then suddenly stooping to the water, pounces on a noble swan
with merciless crooked talons. The startled Italians watch, while all
the birds together clamorously wheel round from flight, wonderful to
see, and dim the sky with their pinions, and in thickening cloud urge
their foe through air, till, conquered by their attack and his heavy
prey, he yielded and dropped it from his talons into the river, and
winged his way deep into the clouds. Then indeed the Rutulians
clamorously greet the omen, and their hands flash out. And Tolumnius the
augur cries before them all: 'This it was, this, that my vows often have
sought; I welcome and know a deity; [261-294]follow me, follow, snatch
up the sword, O hapless people whom the greedy alien frightens with his
arms like silly birds, and with strong hand ravages your shores. He too
will take to flight, and spread his sails afar over ocean. Do you with
one heart close up your squadrons, and defend in battle your lost king. '
He spoke, and darting forward, hurled a weapon full on the enemy; the
whistling cornel-shaft sings, and unerringly cleaves the air. At once
and with it a vast shout goes up, and all their rows are amazed, and
their hearts hotly stirred. The spear flies on; where haply stood
opposite in ninefold brotherhood all the beautiful sons of one faithful
Tyrrhene wife, borne of her to Gylippus the Arcadian, one of them,
midway where the sewn belt rubs on the flank and the clasp bites the
fastenings of the side, one of them, excellent in beauty and glittering
in arms, it pierces clean through the ribs and stretches on the yellow
sand. But of his banded brethren, their courage fired by grief, some
grasp and draw their swords, some snatch weapons to throw, and rush
blindly forward. The Laurentine columns rush forth against them; again
from the other side Trojans and Agyllines and Arcadians in painted
armour flood thickly in: so hath one passion seized all to make decision
by the sword. They pull the altars to pieces; through all the air goes a
thick storm of weapons, and faster falls the iron rain. Bowls and
hearth-fires are carried off; Latinus himself retreats, bearing the
outraged gods of the broken treaty. The others harness their chariots,
or vault upon their horses and come up with swords drawn. Messapus,
eager to shatter the treaty, rides menacingly down on Aulestes the
Tyrrhenian, a king in a king's array. Retreating hastily, and tripped on
the altars that meet him behind, the hapless man goes down on his head
and shoulders. But Messapus flies up with wrathful spear, and strikes
him, as he pleads sore, a deep downward [295-330]blow from horseback
with his beam-like spear, saying thus: _That for him: the high gods take
this better victim. _ The Italians crowd in and strip his warm limbs.
Corynaeus seizes a charred brand from the altar, and meeting Ebysus as
he advances to strike, darts the flame in his face; his heavy beard
flamed up, and gave out a scorched smell. Following up his enemy's
confusion, the other seizes him with his left hand by the hair, and
bears him to earth with a thrust of his planted knee, and there drives
the unyielding sword into his side. Podalirius pursues and overhangs
with naked sword the shepherd Alsus as he rushes amid the foremost line
of weapons; Alsus swings back his axe, and severs brow and chin full in
front, wetting his armour all over with spattered blood. Grim rest and
iron slumber seal his eyes; his lids close on everlasting night.

But good Aeneas, his head bared, kept stretching his unarmed hand and
calling loudly to his men: 'Whither run you? What is this strife that so
spreads and swells? Ah, restrain your wrath! truce is already stricken,
and all its laws ordained; mine alone is the right of battle. Leave me
alone, and my hand shall confirm the treaty; these rites already make
Turnus mine. ' Amid these accents, amid words like these, lo! a whistling
arrow winged its way to him, sped from what hand or driven by what god,
none knows, or what chance or deity brought such honour to the
Rutulians; the renown of the high deed was buried, nor did any boast to
have dealt Aeneas' wound. Turnus, when he saw Aeneas retreating from the
ranks and his captains in dismay, burns hot with sudden hope. At once he
calls for his horses and armour, and with a bound leaps proudly into his
chariot and handles the reins. He darts on, dealing many a brave man's
body to death; many an one he rolls half-slain, or crushes whole files
under his chariot, or seizes and showers spears on the fugitives. As
[331-364]when by the streams of icy Hebrus Mavors kindles to bloodshed
and clashes on his shield, and stirs war and speeds his furious
coursers; they outwing south winds and west on the open plain; utmost
Thrace groans under their hoof-beats; and around in the god's train rush
the faces of dark Terror, and Wraths and Ambushes; even so amid the
battle Turnus briskly lashes on his reeking horses, trampling on the
foes that lie piteously slain; the galloping hoof scatters bloody dew,
and spurns mingled gore and sand. And now hath he dealt Sthenelus to
death, and Thamyrus and Pholus, him and him at close quarters, the other
from afar; from afar both the sons of Imbrasus, Glaucus and Lades, whom
Imbrasus himself had nurtured in Lycia and equipped in equal arms,
whether to meet hand to hand or to outstrip the winds on horseback.
Elsewhere Eumedes advances amid the fray, ancient Dolon's brood,
illustrious in war, renewing his grandfather's name, his father's
courage and strength of hand, who of old dared to claim Pelides' chariot
as his price if he went to spy out the Grecian camp; to him the son of
Tydeus told out another price for his venture, and he dreams no more of
Achilles' horses. Him Turnus descried far on the open plain, and first
following him with light javelin through long space of air, stops his
double-harnessed horses and leaps from the chariot, and descends on his
fallen half-lifeless foe, and, planting his foot on his neck, wrests the
blade out of his hand and dyes its glitter deep in his throat, adding
these words withal: 'Behold, thou liest, Trojan, meting out those
Hesperian fields thou didst seek in war. Such guerdon is theirs who dare
to tempt my sword; thus do they found their city. ' Then with a
spear-cast he sends Asbutes to follow him, and Chloreus and Sybaris,
Dares and Thersilochus, and Thymoetes fallen flung over his horse's
neck. And as when [365-398]the Edonian North wind's wrath roars on the
deep Aegean, and the wave follows it shoreward; where the blast comes
down, the clouds race over the sky; so, wheresoever Turnus cleaves his
way, columns retreat and lines turn and run; his own speed bears him on,
and his flying plume tosses as his chariot meets the breeze. Phegeus
brooked not his proud approach; he faced the chariot, and caught and
twisted away in his right hand the mouths of his horses, spurred into
speed and foaming on the bit. Dragged along and hanging by the yoke he
is left uncovered; the broad lance-head reaches him, pins and pierces
the double-woven breastplate, and lightly wounds the surface of his
body. Yet turning, he advanced on the enemy behind his shield, and
sought succour in the naked point; when the wheel running forward on its
swift axle struck him headlong and flung him to ground, and Turnus'
sword following it smote off his head between the helmet-rim and the
upper border of the breastplate, and left the body on the sand.

And while Turnus thus victoriously deals death over the plains,
Mnestheus meantime and faithful Achates, and Ascanius by their side, set
down Aeneas in the camp, dabbled with blood and leaning every other step
on his long spear. He storms, and tries hard to pull out the dart where
the reed had broken, and calls for the nearest way of remedy, to cut
open the wound with broad blade, and tear apart the weapon's
lurking-place, and so send him back to battle. And now Iapix son of
Iasus came, beloved beyond others of Phoebus, to whom once of old,
smitten with sharp desire, Apollo gladly offered his own arts and gifts,
augury and the lyre and swift arrows: he, to lengthen out the destiny of
a parent given over to die, chose rather to know the potency of herbs
and the practice of healing, and deal in a silent art unrenowned. Aeneas
stood chafing bitterly, propped on his vast spear, mourning
[399-435]Iulus and a great crowd of men around, unstirred by their
tears. The aged man, with garment drawn back and girt about him in
Paeonian fashion, makes many a hurried effort with healing hand and the
potent herbs of Phoebus, all in vain; in vain his hand solicits the
arrow-head, and his pincers' grasp pulls at the steel. Fortune leads him
forward in nowise; Apollo aids not with counsel; and more and more the
fierce clash swells over the plains, and the havoc draws nigher on.
Already they see the sky a mass of dust, the cavalry approaching, and
shafts falling thickly amid the camp; the dismal cry uprises of warriors
fighting and falling under the War-god's heavy hand. At this, stirred
deep by her son's cruel pain, Venus his mother plucked from Cretan Ida a
stalk of dittamy with downy leaves and bright-tressed flowers, the plant
not unknown to wild goats when winged arrows are fast in their body.
This Venus bore down, her shape girt in a dim halo; this she steeps with
secret healing in the river-water poured out and sparkling abrim, and
sprinkles life-giving juice of ambrosia and scented balm. With that
water aged Iapix washed the wound, unwitting; and suddenly, lo! all the
pain left his body, all the blood in the deep wound was stanched. And
now following his hand the arrow fell out with no force, and strength
returned afresh as of old. 'Hasten! arms for him quickly! why stand
you? ' cries Iapix aloud, and begins to kindle their courage against the
enemy; 'this comes not by human resource or schooling of art, nor does
my hand save thee, Aeneas: a higher god is at work, and sends thee back
to higher deeds. ' He, eager for battle, had already clasped on the
greaves of gold right and left, and scorning delay, brandishes his
spear. When the shield is adjusted by his side and the corslet on his
back, he clasps Ascanius in his armed embrace, and lightly kissing him
through the helmet, cries: 'Learn of me, O boy, valour [436-470]and
toil indeed, fortune of others. Now mine hand shall give thee defence in
war, and lead thee to great reward: do thou, when hereafter thine age
ripens to fulness, keep this in remembrance, and as thou recallest the
pattern of thy kindred, let thy spirit rise to thy father Aeneas, thine
uncle Hector. '

These words uttered, he issued towering from the gates, brandishing his
mighty spear: with him in serried column rush Antheus and Mnestheus, and
all the throng streams forth of the camp. The field drifts with blinding
dust, and the startled earth trembles under the tramp of feet. From his
earthworks opposite Turnus saw and the Ausonians saw them come, and an
icy shudder ran deep through their frame; first and before all the
Latins Juturna heard and knew the sound, and in terror fled away. He
flies on, and hurries his dark column over the open plain. As when in
fierce weather a storm-cloud moves over mid sea to land, with presaging
heart, ah me, the hapless husbandmen shudder from afar; it will deal
havoc to their trees and destruction to their crops, and make a broad
path of ruin; the winds fly before it, and bear its roar to the beach;
so the Rhoetean captain drives his army full on the foe; one and all
they close up in wedges, and mass their serried ranks. Thymbraeus smites
massive Osiris with the sword, Mnestheus slays Arcetius, Achates Epulo,
Gyas Ufens: Tolumnius the augur himself goes down, he who had hurled the
first weapon against the foe. Their cry rises to heaven, and in turn the
routed Rutulians give backward in flight over the dusty fields. Himself
he deigns not to cut down the fugitives, nor pursue such as meet him
fair on foot or approach in arms: Turnus alone he tracks and searches in
the thick haze, alone calls him to conflict. Then panic-stricken the
warrior maiden flings Turnus' charioteer out over his reins, and leaving
him far where he slips from the [471-504]chariot-pole, herself succeeds
and turns the wavy reins, tones and limbs and armour all of Metiscus'
wearing. As when a black swallow flits through some rich lord's spacious
house, and circles in flight the lofty halls, gathering her tiny food
for sustenance to her twittering nestlings, and now swoops down the
spacious colonnades, now round the wet ponds; in like wise dart
Juturna's horses amid the enemy, and her fleet chariot passes flying
over all the field. And now here and now here she displays her
triumphant brother, nor yet allows him to close, but flies far and away.
None the less does Aeneas thread the circling maze to meet him, and
tracks his man, and with loud cry cries on him through the scattered
ranks. Often as he cast eyes on his enemy and essayed to outrun the
speed of the flying-footed horses, so often Juturna wheeled her team
away. Alas, what can he do? Vainly he tosses on the ebb and flow, and in
his spirit diverse cares make conflicting call; when Messapus, who haply
bore in his left hand two tough spear-shafts topped with steel, runs
lightly up and aims and hurls one of them upon him with unerring stroke.
Aeneas stood still, and gathered himself behind his armour, sinking on
bended knee; yet the rushing spear bore off his helmet-spike, and dashed
the helmet-plume from the crest. Then indeed his wrath swells; and
forced to it by their treachery, while chariot and horses disappear, he
calls Jove oft and again to witness, and the altars of the violated
treaty, and now at last plunges amid their lines. Sweeping terrible down
the tide of battle he wakens fierce indiscriminate carnage, and flings
loose all the reins of wrath.

What god may now unfold for me in verse so many woes, so many diverse
slaughters and death of captains whom now Turnus, now again the Trojan
hero, drives over all the field? Was it well, O God, that nations
destined to everlasting peace should clash in so vast a shock? Aeneas
[505-540]meets Sucro the Rutulian; the combat stayed the first rush of
the Teucrians, but delayed them not long; he catches him on the side,
and, when fate comes quickest, drives the harsh sword clean through the
ribs where they fence the breast. Turnus brings down Amycus from
horseback with his brother Diores, and meets them on foot; him he
strikes with his long spear as he comes, him with his sword-point, and
hangs both severed heads on his chariot and carries them off dripping
with blood. The one sends to death Talos and Tanais and brave Cethegus,
three at one meeting, and gloomy Onites, of Echionian name, and Peridia
the mother that bore him; the other those brethren sent from Lycia and
Apollo's fields, and Menoetes the Arcadian, him who loathed warfare in
vain; who once had his art and humble home about the river-fisheries of
Lerna, and knew not the courts of the great, but his father was tenant
of the land he tilled. And as fires kindled dispersedly in a dry forest
and rustling laurel-thickets, or foaming rivers where they leap swift
and loud from high hills, and speed to sea each in his own path of
havoc; as fiercely the two, Aeneas and Turnus, dash amid the battle;
now, now wrath surges within them, and unconquerable hearts are torn;
now in all their might they rush upon wounds. The one dashes Murranus
down and stretches him on the soil with a vast whirling mass of rock, as
he cries the names of his fathers and forefathers of old, a whole line
drawn through Latin kings; under traces and yoke the wheels spurned him,
and the fast-beating hoofs of his rushing horses trample down their
forgotten lord. The other meets Hyllus rushing on in gigantic pride, and
hurls his weapon at his gold-bound temples; the spear pierced through
the helmet and stood fast in the brain. Neither did thy right hand save
thee from Turnus, O Cretheus, bravest of the Greeks; nor did his gods
shield Cupencus when Aeneas came; he gave his [541-575]breast full to
the steel, nor, alas! was the brazen shield's delay aught of avail. Thee
likewise, Aeolus, the Laurentine plains saw sink backward and cover a
wide space of earth; thou fallest, whom Argive battalions could not lay
low, nor Achilles the destroyer of Priam's realm. Here was thy goal of
death; thine high house was under Ida, at Lyrnesus thine high house, on
Laurentine soil thy tomb. The whole battle-lines gather up, all Latium
and all Dardania, Mnestheus and valiant Serestus, with Messapus, tamer
of horses, and brave Asilas, the Tuscan battalion and Evander's Arcadian
squadrons; man by man they struggle with all their might; no rest nor
pause in the vast strain of conflict.

At this Aeneas' mother most beautiful inspired him to advance on the
walls, directing his columns on the town and dismaying the Latins with
sudden and swift disaster. As in search for Turnus he bent his glance
this way and that round the separate ranks, he descries the city free
from all this warfare, unpunished and unstirred. Straightway he kindles
at the view of a greater battle; he summons Mnestheus and Sergestus and
brave Serestus his captains, and mounts a hillock; there the rest of the
Teucrian army gathers thickly, still grasping shield and spear. Standing
on the high mound amid them, he speaks: 'Be there no delay to my words;
Jupiter is with us; neither let any be slower to move that the design is
sudden. This city to-day, the source of war, the royal seat of Latinus,
unless they yield them to receive our yoke and obey their conquerors,
will I raze to ground, and lay her smoking roofs level with the dust.
Must I wait forsooth till Turnus please to stoop to combat, and choose
again to face his conqueror? This, O citizens, is the fountain-head and
crown of the accursed war. Bring brands speedily, and reclaim the treaty
in fire. ' He ended; all with spirit alike emulous form a wedge and
advance in serried masses to the walls. Ladders are run [576-611]up,
and fire leaps sudden to sight. Some rush to the separate gates, and cut
down the guards of the entry, others hurl their steel and darken the sky
with weapons. Aeneas himself among the foremost, upstretching his hand
to the city walls, loudly reproaches Latinus, and takes the gods to
witness that he is again forced into battle, that twice now do the
Italians choose warfare and break a second treaty. Discord rises among
the alarmed citizens: some bid unbar the town and fling wide their gates
to the Dardanians, and pull the king himself towards the ramparts;
others bring arms and hasten to defend the walls: as when a shepherd
tracks bees to their retreat in a recessed rock, and fills it with
stinging smoke, they within run uneasily up and down their waxen
fortress, and hum louder in rising wrath; the smell rolls in darkness
along their dwelling, and a blind murmur echoes within the rock as the
smoke issues to the empty air.

This fortune likewise befell the despairing Latins, this woe shook the
whole city to her base. The queen espies from her roof the enemy's
approach, the walls scaled and firebrands flying on the houses; and
nowhere Rutulian ranks, none of Turnus' columns to meet them; alas! she
deems him destroyed in the shock of battle, and, distracted by sudden
anguish, shrieks that she is the source of guilt, the spring of ill, and
with many a mad utterance of frenzied grief rends her purple attire with
dying hand, and ties from a lofty beam the ghastly noose of death. And
when the unhappy Latin women knew this calamity, first her daughter
Lavinia tears her flower-like tresses and roseate cheeks, and all the
train around her madden in her suit; the wide palace echoes to their
wailing, and from it the sorrowful rumour spreads abroad throughout the
town. All hearts sink; Latinus goes with torn raiment, in dismay at his
wife's doom and his city's downfall, defiling his hoary hair with
soilure of sprinkled dust.

[614-648]Meanwhile on the skirts of the field Turnus chases scattered
stragglers, ever slacker to battle, ever less and less exultant in his
coursers' victorious speed. The confused cry came to him borne in blind
terror down the breeze, and his startled ears caught the echoing tumult
and disastrous murmur of the town. 'Ah me! what agony shakes the city?
or what is this cry that fleets so loud from the distant town? ' So
speaks he, and distractedly checks the reins. And to him his sister, as
changed into his charioteer Metiscus' likeness she swayed horses and
chariot-reins, thus rejoined: 'This way, Turnus, let us pursue the brood
of Troy, where victory opens her nearest way; there are others whose
hands can protect their dwellings. Aeneas falls fiercer on the Italians,
and closes in conflict; let our hand too deal pitiless death on his
Teucrians. Neither in tale of dead nor in glory of battle shalt thou
retire outdone. ' Thereat Turnus: . . .

'Ah my sister, long ere now I knew thee, when first thine arts shattered
the treaty, and thou didst mingle in the strife; and now thy godhead
conceals itself in vain. But who hath bidden thee descend from heaven to
bear this sore travail? was it that thou mightest see thy hapless
brother cruelly slain? for what do I, or what fortune yet gives promise
of safety? Before my very eyes, calling aloud on me, I saw Murranus,
than whom none other is left me more dear, sink huge to earth, borne
down by as huge a wound. Hapless Ufens is fallen, not to see our shame;
corpse and armour are in Teucrian hands. The destruction of their
households, this was the one thing yet lacking; shall I suffer it? Shall
my hand not refute Drances' jeers? shall I turn my back, and this land
see Turnus a fugitive? Is Death all so bitter? Do you, O Shades, be
gracious to me, since the powers of heaven are estranged; to you shall I
go down, a pure spirit and [649-681]ignorant of your blame, never once
unworthy of my mighty fathers of old. '

Scarce had he spoken thus; lo! Saces, borne flying on his foaming horse
through the thickest of the foe, an arrow-wound right in his face,
darts, beseeching Turnus by his name. 'Turnus, in thee is our last
safety; pity thy people. Aeneas thunders in arms, and threatens to
overthrow and hurl to destruction the high Italian fortress; and already
firebrands are flying on our roofs. On thee, on thee the Latins turn
their gazing eyes; King Latinus himself mutters in doubt, whom he is to
call his sons, to whom he shall incline in union. Moreover the queen,
thy surest stay, hath fallen by her own hand and in dismay fled the
light. Alone in front of the gates Messapus and valiant Atinas sustain
the battle-line. Round about them to right and left the armies stand
locked and the iron field shivers with naked points; thou wheelest thy
chariot on the sward alone. ' At the distracting picture of his fortune
Turnus froze in horror and stood in dumb gaze; together in his heart
sweep the vast mingling tides of shame and maddened grief, and love
stung to frenzy and resolved valour. So soon as the darkness cleared and
light returned to his soul, he fiercely turned his blazing eyeballs
towards the ramparts, and gazed back from his wheels on the great city.
And lo! a spire of flame wreathing through the floors wavered up skyward
and held a turret fast, a turret that he himself had reared of mortised
planks and set on rollers and laid with high gangways. 'Now, O my
sister, now fate prevails: cease to hinder; let us follow where deity
and stern fortune call. I am resolved to face Aeneas, resolved to bear
what bitterness there is in death; nor shalt thou longer see me shamed,
sister of mine. Let me be mad, I pray thee, with this madness before the
end. ' He spoke, and leapt swiftly from his chariot to the field, and
darting through weapons [682-718]and through enemies, leaves his
sorrowing sister, and bursts in rapid course amid their columns. And as
when a rock rushes headlong from some mountain peak, torn away by the
blast, or if the rushing rain washes it away, or the stealing years
loosen its ancient hold; the reckless mountain mass goes sheer and
impetuous, and leaps along the ground, hurling with it forests and herds
and men; thus through the scattering columns Turnus rushes to the city
walls, where the earth is wettest with bloodshed and the air sings with
spears; and beckons with his hand, and thus begins aloud: 'Forbear now,
O Rutulians, and you, Latins, stay your weapons. Whatsoever fortune is
left is mine: I singly must expiate the treaty for you all, and make
decision with the sword. ' All drew aside and left him room.

But lord Aeneas, hearing Turnus' name, abandons the walls, abandons the
fortress height, and in exultant joy flings aside all hindrance, breaks
off all work, and clashes his armour terribly, vast as Athos, or as
Eryx, or as the lord of Apennine when he roars with his tossing ilex
woods and rears his snowy crest rejoicing into air. Now indeed Rutulians
and Trojans and all Italy turned in emulous gaze, and they who held the
high city, and they whose ram was battering the foundations of the wall,
and unarmed their shoulders. Latinus himself stands in amaze at the
mighty men, born in distant quarters of the world, met and making
decision with the sword. And they, in the empty level field that cleared
for them, darted swiftly forward, and hurling their spears from far,
close in battle shock with clangour of brazen shields. Earth utters a
moan; the sword-strokes fall thick and fast, chance and valour joining
in one. And as in broad Sila or high on Taburnus, when two bulls rush to
deadly battle forehead to forehead, the herdsmen retire in terror, all
the herd stands dumb in dismay, and the heifers murmur in doubt which
shall be [719-752]lord in the woodland, which all the cattle must
follow; they violently deal many a mutual wound, and gore with their
stubborn horns, bathing their necks and shoulders in abundant blood; all
the woodland moans back their bellowing: even thus Aeneas of Troy and
the Daunian hero rush together shield to shield; the mighty crash fills
the sky. Jupiter himself holds up the two scales in even balance, and
lays in them the different fates of both, trying which shall pay forfeit
of the strife, whose weight shall sink in death. Turnus darts out,
thinking it secure, and rises with his whole reach of body on his
uplifted sword; then strikes; Trojans and Latins cry out in excitement,
and both armies strain their gaze. But the treacherous sword shivers,
and in mid stroke deserts its eager lord. If flight aid him not now! He
flies swifter than the wind, when once he descries a strange hilt in his
weaponless hand. Rumour is that in his headlong hurry, when mounting
behind his yoked horses to begin the battle, he left his father's sword
behind and caught up his charioteer Metiscus' weapon; and that served
him long, while Teucrian stragglers turned their backs; when it met the
divine Vulcanian armour, the mortal blade like brittle ice snapped in
the stroke; the shards lie glittering upon the yellow sand. So in
distracted flight Turnus darts afar over the plain, and now this way and
now that crosses in wavering circles; for on all hands the Teucrians
locked him in crowded ring, and the dreary marsh on this side, on this
the steep city ramparts hem him in.

Therewith Aeneas pursues, though ever and anon his knees, disabled by
the arrow, hinder and stay his speed; and foot hard on foot presses
hotly on his hurrying enemy: as when a hunter courses with a fleet
barking hound some stag caught in a river-loop or girt by the
crimson-feathered toils, and he, in terror of the snares and the high
river-bank, [753-786]darts back and forward in a thousand ways; but the
keen Umbrian clings agape, and just catches at him, and as though he
caught him snaps his jaws while the baffled teeth close on vacancy. Then
indeed a cry goes up, and banks and pools answer round about, and all
the sky echoes the din. He, even as he flies, chides all his Rutulians,
calling each by name, and shrieks for the sword he knew. But Aeneas
denounces death and instant doom if one of them draw nigh, and doubles
their terror with threats of their city's destruction, and though
wounded presses on.