The Siege of the Trojan Camp

And while thus things pass far in the distance, Juno daughter of Saturn sent Iris down the sky to gallant Turnus, then haply seated in his forefather Pilumnus' holy forest dell. To him the child of Thaumas spoke thus with roseate lips:

While these events were taking place far away, Juno, daughter of Saturn, sent Iris down from the sky to brave Turnus. He happened to be sitting in the sacred forest grove of his ancestor Pilumnus. The daughter of Thaumas spoke to him with rosy lips:

'Turnus, what no god had dared promise to thy prayer, behold, is brought unasked by the circling day. Aeneas hath quitted town and comrades and fleet to seek Evander's throne and Palatine dwelling-place. Nor is it enough; he hath pierced to Corythus' utmost cities, and is mustering in arms a troop of Lydian rustics. Why hesitate? now, now is the time to call for chariot and horses. Break through all hindrance and seize the bewildered camp.'

'Turnus, no god dared promise you what you prayed for, but the passing day has brought it unasked. Aeneas has left the town, his comrades, and his fleet to seek Evander's throne and his home on the Palatine. And that is not all. He has reached the farthest cities of Corythus and is gathering a troop of Lydian rustics for battle. Why hesitate? Now, now is the time to call for your chariot and horses. Break through every obstacle and seize the bewildered camp.'

She spoke, and rose into the sky on poised wings, and flashed under the clouds in a long flying bow. He knew her, and lifting either hand to heaven, with this cry pursued her flight: 'Iris, grace of the sky, who hath driven thee down the clouds to me and borne thee to earth? Whence is this sudden sheen of weather? I see the sky parting asunder, and the wandering stars in the firmament. I follow the high omen, whoso thou art that callest me to arms.' And with these words he drew nigh the wave, and caught up water from its brimming eddy, making many prayers to the gods and burdening the air with vows.

She spoke and rose into the sky on poised wings, flashing beneath the clouds in a long arc. He recognized her and raised both hands to heaven. As she flew away, he cried: 'Iris, beauty of the sky, who sent you down through the clouds to me? Who brought you to earth? Where does this sudden brightness in the sky come from? I see the sky opening and the wandering stars in the heavens. Whoever you are that calls me to arms, I follow this great omen.' With these words, he went to the water and scooped some from its brimming swirl. He offered many prayers to the gods, filling the air with vows.

And now all the army was advancing on the open plain, rich in horses, rich in raiment of broidered gold. Messapus rules the foremost ranks, the sons of Tyrrheus the rear. Turnus commands the centre: even as Ganges rising high in silence when his seven streams are still, or the rich flood of Nile when he ebbs from the plains, and is now sunk into his channel. On this the Teucrians descry a sudden cloud of dark dust gathering, and the blackness rising on the plain. Caïcus raises a cry from the mound in front: 'What mass of misty gloom, O citizens, is rolling hitherward? to arms in haste! serve out weapons, climb the walls. The enemy approaches, ho!' With mighty clamour the Teucrians pour in through all the gates and fill the works. For so at his departure Aeneas the great captain had enjoined; were aught to chance meanwhile, they should not venture to range their line or trust the plain, but keep their camp and the safety of the entrenched walls. So, though shame and wrath beckon them on to battle, they yet bar the gates and do his bidding, and await the foe armed and in shelter of the towers. Turnus, who had flown forward in advance of his tardy column, comes up suddenly to the town with a train of twenty chosen cavalry, borne on a Thracian horse dappled with white, and covered by a golden helmet with scarlet plume. 'Who will be with me, my men, to be first on the foe? See!' he cries; and sends a javelin spinning into the air to open battle, and advances towering on the plain. His comrades take up the cry, and follow with dreadful din, wondering at the Teucrians' coward hearts, that they issue not on even field nor face them in arms, but keep in shelter of the camp. Hither and thither he rides furiously, tracing the walls, and seeking entrance where way is none. And as a wolf prowling about some crowded sheepfold, when, beaten sore of winds and rains, he howls at the pens by midnight; safe beneath their mothers the lambs keep bleating on; he, savage and insatiate, rages in anger against the flock he cannot reach, tired by the long-gathering madness for food, and the throat unslaked with blood: even so the Rutulian, as he gazes on the walled camp, kindles in anger, and indignation is hot in his iron frame. By what means may he essay entrance? by what passage hurl the imprisoned Trojans from the rampart and fling them on the plain? Close under the flanking camp lay the fleet, fenced about with mounds and the waters of the river; it he attacks, and calls for fire to his exultant comrades, and eagerly catches a blazing pine-torch in his hand. Then indeed they press on, quickened by Turnus' presence, and all the band arm them with black faggots. The hearth-fires are plundered; the smoky brand trails a resinous glare, and the Fire-god sends clouds of glowing ashes upward.

Now the whole army advanced across the open plain, splendid with horses and clothing embroidered with gold. Messapus led the front ranks, and the sons of Tyrrheus led the rear. Turnus commanded the center. He was like the Ganges rising high and silent when its seven streams are still, or the fertile Nile sinking back into its channel after flooding the plains. Then the Teucrians saw a dark cloud of dust suddenly gathering and rising over the plain. Caïcus shouted from the mound in front: 'Citizens, what dark mass is rolling toward us? To arms, quickly! Hand out weapons and climb the walls. The enemy is coming!' With a great clamor, the Teucrians poured in through every gate and filled the defenses. For Aeneas, their great commander, had given them orders before he left. If anything happened in his absence, they were not to form a battle line or risk fighting on the plain. They were to stay in their camp, safe behind its fortified walls. So, though shame and anger urged them to fight, they barred the gates and obeyed him. Armed and sheltered by the towers, they waited for the enemy. Turnus had raced ahead of his slow-moving column. He suddenly arrived at the town with twenty chosen horsemen. He rode a Thracian horse dappled with white and wore a golden helmet with a scarlet plume. 'Who will join me, my men, and be first against the enemy? Look!' he cried. He sent a javelin spinning through the air to open the battle, then advanced, towering over the plain. His comrades took up the cry and followed with a terrible din. They marveled at the cowardly hearts of the Teucrians, who would not come out onto level ground and face them in arms. Instead, the Teucrians stayed sheltered in their camp. Turnus rode furiously back and forth along the walls, looking for a way in where none existed. He was like a wolf prowling around a crowded sheepfold. Battered by wind and rain, the wolf howls outside the pens at midnight. Safe beneath their mothers, the lambs keep bleating. Savage and insatiable, he rages at the flock he cannot reach. He is worn out by his long-growing hunger and his throat's unsatisfied thirst for blood. Just so, the Rutulian grew angry as he stared at the walled camp. Indignation burned in his iron frame. How could he get inside? How could he drive the trapped Trojans from the rampart and force them onto the plain? The fleet lay close beside the camp, protected by mounds and the river's waters. Turnus attacked it and called to his exultant comrades for fire. Eagerly, he seized a blazing pine torch. Then, spurred on by his presence, they pressed forward, and the whole band armed themselves with black bundles of sticks. They seized fire from the hearths. The smoky torches trailed a resinous blaze, and the Fire-god sent clouds of glowing ashes into the air.

What god, O Muses, guarded the Trojans from the rage of the fire? who repelled the fierce flame from their ships? Tell it; ancient is the assurance thereof, but the fame everlasting. What time Aeneas began to shape his fleet on Phrygian Ida, and prepared to seek the high seas, the Berecyntian, they say, the very Mother of gods, spoke to high Jove in these words: 'Grant, O son, to my prayer, what her dearness claims who bore thee and laid Olympus under thy feet. My pine forest beloved of me these many years, my grove was on the mountain's crown, whither men bore my holy things, dim with dusky pine and pillared maples. These, when he required a fleet, I gave gladly to the Dardanian; now fear wrings me with sharp distress. Relieve my terrors, and grant a mother's prayers such power that they may yield to no stress of voyaging or of stormy gust: be birth on our hills their avail.'

What god, O Muses, protected the Trojans from the raging fire? Who drove the fierce flames away from their ships? Tell us. The story comes from ancient times, but its fame will last forever. When Aeneas began to build his fleet on Phrygian Ida, he prepared to seek the open sea. Then, they say, the Berecyntian, the Mother of the gods herself, spoke to high Jove: 'Grant my prayer, son, for the sake of your mother, who placed Olympus under your feet. For many years, I loved my pine forest and grove on the mountain peak. There, among dark pines and tall maples, people brought my sacred objects. When the Dardanian needed a fleet, I gladly gave him those trees. Now fear fills me with sharp distress. Ease my fears and grant a mother's prayers enough power to protect the ships from the hardships of travel and stormy winds. Let the fact that they were born on our hills protect them.'

Thus her son in answer, who wheels the starry worlds: 'O mother, whither callest thou fate? or what dost thou seek for these of thine? May hulls have the right of immortality that were fashioned by mortal hand? and may Aeneas traverse perils secure in insecurity? To what god is power so great given? Nay, but when, their duty done, they shall lie at last in their Ausonian haven, from all that have outgone the waves and borne their Dardanian captain to the fields of Laurentum, will I take their mortal body, and bid them be goddesses of the mighty deep, even as Doto the Nereïd and Galatea, when they cut the sea that falls away from their breasts in foam.' He ended; and by his brother's Stygian streams, by the banks of the pitchy black-boiling chasm he nodded confirmation, and shook all Olympus with his nod.

Her son, who turns the starry worlds, answered: 'Mother, where are you asking fate to go? What do you seek for your ships? Can ships made by mortal hands have the right to immortality? Can Aeneas pass safely through dangers that cannot be made safe? What god has been given such great power? No, but the ships will finish their duty and come to rest in their Ausonian harbor. Some will have survived the waves and carried their Dardanian captain to the fields of Laurentum. I will take away their mortal bodies and make them goddesses of the mighty deep. They will be like Doto the Nereïd and Galatea, who cut through the sea as it foams away from their breasts.' He finished and nodded to confirm his promise. He swore by his brother's Stygian streams and by the banks of the pitch-black, boiling chasm. His nod shook all Olympus.

So the promised day was come, and the destinies had fulfilled their due time, when Turnus' injury stirred the Mother to ward the brands from her holy ships. First then a strange light flashed on all eyes, and a great glory from the Dawn seemed to dart over the sky, with the choirs of Ida; then an awful voice fell through air, filling the Trojan and Rutulian ranks: 'Disquiet not yourselves, O Teucrians, to guard ships of mine, neither arm your hands: sooner shall Turnus burn the seas than these holy pines. You, go free; go, goddesses of the sea; the Mother bids it.' And immediately each ship breaks the bond that held it, as with dipping prows they plunge like dolphins deep into the water: from it again (O wonderful and strange!) they rise with maidens' faces in like number, and bear out to sea.

So the promised day had come, and the time set by the destinies had run its course. Turnus' attack stirred the Mother to protect her sacred ships from the flames. First, a strange light flashed before everyone's eyes. A great glow seemed to sweep across the sky from the Dawn, along with the choirs of Ida. Then a dreadful voice rang through the air, filling the Trojan and Rutulian ranks: 'Do not trouble yourselves to guard my ships, O Teucrians, and do not take up arms. Turnus will burn the seas before he burns these sacred pines. Go free, goddesses of the sea. The Mother commands it.' At once, each ship broke the bond that held it. They plunged deep into the water, prows first, like dolphins. Then, in a wonderful and strange sight, they rose from the water with maidens' faces, as many as the ships had been, and headed out to sea.

The Rutulians stood dumb: Messapus himself is terror-stricken among his disordered cavalry; even the stream of Tiber pauses with hoarse murmur, and recoils from sea. But bold Turnus fails not a whit in confidence; nay, he raises their courage with words, nay, he chides them: 'On the Trojans are these portents aimed; Jupiter himself hath bereft them of their wonted succour; nor do they abide Rutulian sword and fire. So are the seas pathless for the Teucrians, nor is there any hope in flight; they have lost half their world. And we hold the land: in all their thousands the nations of Italy are under arms. In no wise am I dismayed by those divine oracles of doom the Phrygians insolently advance. Fate and Venus are satisfied, in that the Trojans have touched our fruitful Ausonian fields. I too have my fate in reply to theirs, to put utterly to the sword the guilty nation who have robbed me of my bride; not the sons of Atreus alone are touched by that pain, nor may Mycenae only rise in arms. But to have perished once is enough! To have sinned once should have been enough, in all but utter hatred of the whole of womankind. Trust in the sundering rampart, and the hindrance of their trenches, so little between them and death, gives these their courage: yet have they not seen Troy town, the work of Neptune's hand, sink into fire? But you, my chosen, who of you makes ready to breach their palisade at the sword's point, and join my attack on their fluttered camp? I have no need of Vulcanian arms, of a thousand ships, to meet the Teucrians. All Etruria may join on with them in alliance: nor let them fear the darkness, and the cowardly theft of their Palladium, and the guards cut down on the fortress height. Nor will we hide ourselves unseen in a horse's belly; in daylight and unconcealed are we resolved to girdle their walls with flame. Not with Grecians will I make them think they have to do, nor a Pelasgic force kept off till the tenth year by Hector. Now, since the better part of day is spent, for what remains refresh your bodies, glad that we have done so well, and expect the order of battle.'

The Rutulians stood speechless. Messapus himself was terrified among his scattered cavalry. Even the Tiber paused with a hoarse murmur and turned back from the sea. But bold Turnus lost none of his confidence. Instead, he encouraged his men and even scolded them: 'These signs are aimed at the Trojans. Jupiter himself has taken away their usual help, and their ships no longer face Rutulian swords and fire. So the Teucrians have no path across the sea and no hope of escape. They have lost half their world. And we hold the land. The nations of Italy are armed, thousands upon thousands of them. 'The Phrygians boast of divine prophecies of doom, but I am not frightened by them. Fate and Venus are satisfied now that the Trojans have reached our fertile Ausonian fields. I have a fate of my own to set against theirs. I am destined to put to the sword the guilty nation that robbed me of my bride. The sons of Atreus are not the only ones to feel that pain. Mycenae is not the only land that may take up arms. But it is enough for the Trojans to have perished once! One offense should have been enough, unless they utterly hated all womankind. 'They take courage from the wall and trenches that keep us apart, though these stand between them and death. But have they not seen Troy, built by Neptune himself, go up in flames? You are my chosen men. Which of you is ready to break through their palisade with sword in hand and join my attack on their frightened camp? I need no Vulcanian arms or thousand ships to face the Teucrians. All Etruria may join them as allies. Let them have no fear of darkness, or of the cowardly theft of their Palladium, or of guards being cut down on the fortress heights. Nor will we hide unseen inside a horse. We are determined to surround their walls with fire, openly and in daylight. I will make them see that they are not dealing with Grecians, or a Pelasgic force Hector held off until the tenth year. 'Most of the day is now gone. For the time that remains, refresh yourselves. Be glad that we have done so well, and wait for the order to battle.'

Meanwhile charge is given to Messapus to blockade the gates with pickets of sentries, and encircle the works with watchfires. Twice seven are chosen to guard the walls with Rutulian soldiery; but each leads an hundred men, crimson-plumed and sparkling in gold. They spread themselves about and keep alternate watch, and, lying along the grass, drink deep and set brazen bowls atilt. The fires glow, and the sentinels spend the night awake in games. . . .

Meanwhile, Messapus is ordered to blockade the gates with sentries and surround the fortifications with watchfires. Fourteen men are chosen to guard the walls with Rutulian soldiers. Each leads a hundred men wearing crimson plumes and glittering gold. They spread out and take turns on watch. Lying on the grass, they drink deeply and tip up bronze bowls. The fires glow, and the sentries stay awake through the night, playing games. . . .

Down on this the Trojans look forth from the rampart, as they hold the height in arms; withal in fearful haste they try the gates and lay gangways from bastion to bastion, and bring up missiles. Mnestheus and valiant Serestus speed the work, whom lord Aeneas appointed, should misfortune call, to be rulers of the people and governors of the state. All their battalions, sharing the lot of peril, keep watch along the walls, and take alternate charge of all that requires defence.

The Trojans look down on this from the rampart, holding the high ground with their weapons ready. In fearful haste, they check the gates, lay walkways between the bastions, and bring up weapons to throw. Mnestheus and brave Serestus hurry the work along. Lord Aeneas appointed them to rule the people and govern the state if disaster struck. All the battalions share the danger, keeping watch along the walls and taking turns defending every place that needs protection.

On guard at the gate was Nisus son of Hyrtacus, most valiant in arms, whom Ida the huntress had sent in Aeneas' company with fleet javelin and light arrows; and by his side Euryalus, fairest of all the Aeneadae and the wearers of Trojan arms, showing on his unshaven boy's face the first bloom of youth. These two were one in affection, and charged in battle together; now likewise their common guard kept the gate. Nisus cries: 'Lend the gods this fervour to the soul, Euryalus? or does fatal passion become a proper god to each? Long ere now my soul is restless to begin some great deed of arms, and quiet peace delights it not. Thou seest how confident in fortune the Rutulians stand. Their lights glimmer far apart; buried in drunken sleep they have sunk to rest; silence stretches all about. Learn then what doubt, what purpose, now rises in my spirit. People and senate, they all cry that Aeneas be summoned, and men be sent to carry him tidings. If they promise what I ask in thy name—for to me the glory of the deed is enough—methinks I can find beneath yonder hillock a path to the walls of Pallanteum town.'

Nisus, son of Hyrtacus, stood guard at the gate. He was the bravest of warriors. Ida the huntress had sent him to accompany Aeneas, armed with a swift javelin and light arrows. Beside him stood Euryalus, the most beautiful of all the Aeneadae and all who wore Trojan armor. His unshaven boy's face showed the first bloom of youth. The two were devoted to each other and charged into battle together. Now they stood guard at the gate together. Nisus cried: 'Do the gods give our souls this passion, Euryalus? Or does each person's consuming desire become a god to him? For a long time now, my soul has longed to undertake some great deed in battle. Quiet peace gives me no pleasure. You see how confident the Rutulians are in their good fortune. Their fires glimmer far apart. They have sunk into a drunken sleep, and silence stretches all around. Now hear the question and the plan rising in my mind. The people and the senate all cry that Aeneas must be summoned and men sent to bring him news. If they promise you what I ask, I think I can find a path beneath that hillock to the walls of Pallanteum. The glory of the deed is enough for me.'

Euryalus stood fixed, struck through with high ambition, and therewith speaks thus to his fervid friend: 'Dost thou shun me then, Nisus, to share thy company in highest deeds? shall I send thee alone into so great perils? Not thus did my warrior father Opheltes rear and nurture me amid the Argive terror and the agony of Troy, nor thus have I borne myself by thy side while following noble Aeneas to his utmost fate. Here is a spirit, yes here, that scorns the light of day, that deems lightly bought at a life's price that honour to which thou dost aspire.'

Euryalus stood still, filled with great ambition, and spoke to his passionate friend: 'Nisus, would you leave me behind when you undertake such great deeds? Should I send you alone into such great danger? My warrior father Opheltes did not raise me to do that, amid the terror of the Argives and the agony of Troy. Nor have I acted that way at your side, as we followed noble Aeneas toward whatever fate awaited him. Here is a spirit, yes, here, that cares nothing for life. I believe the honor you seek is well worth the price of a life.'

To this Nisus: 'Assuredly I had no such fear of thee; no, nor could I; so may great Jupiter, or whoso looks on earth with equal eyes, restore me to thee triumphant. But if haply—as thou seest often and often in so forlorn a hope—if haply chance or deity sweep me to adverse doom, I would have thee survive; thine age is worthier to live. Be there one to commit me duly to earth, rescued or ransomed from the battlefield: or, if fortune deny that, to pay me far away the rites of funeral and the grace of a tomb. Neither would I bring such pain on thy poor mother, she who singly of many matrons hath dared to follow her boy to the end, and slights great Acestes' city.'

Nisus replied: 'Of course I had no such fear of you. I could not. May great Jupiter, or whoever watches over the earth with equal care, bring me back to you victorious. But if chance or a god should bring me to disaster, I want you to survive. As you know, such things often happen on a mission as desperate as this. You are younger, and your life is more worth saving. Someone should give me a proper burial, if my body is recovered or ransomed from the battlefield. Or, if fortune denies that, someone should give me funeral rites and a tomb far away. I would not bring such pain on your poor mother, either. Of all the mothers, she alone dared to follow her son to the end, leaving great Acestes' city behind.'

And he: 'In vain dost thou string idle reasons; nor does my purpose yield or change its place so soon. Let us make haste.' He speaks, and rouses the watch; they come up, and relieve the guard; quitting their post, he and Nisus stride on to seek the prince.

He replied: 'Your pointless arguments are useless. My resolve will not weaken or change so quickly. Let us hurry.' He rouses the watch. They come and take over guard duty. He and Nisus leave their post and stride off to find the prince.

The rest of living things over all lands were soothing their cares in sleep, and their hearts forgot their pain; the foremost Trojan captains, a chosen band, held council of state upon the kingdom; what should they do, or who would now be their messenger to Aeneas? They stand, leaning on their long spears and grasping their shields, in mid level of the camp. Then Nisus and Euryalus together pray with quick urgency to be given audience; their matter is weighty and will be worth the delay. Iülus at once heard their hurried plea, and bade Nisus speak. Thereon the son of Hyrtacus: 'Hear, O people of Aeneas, with favourable mind, nor regard our years in what we offer. Sunk in sleep and wine, the Rutulians are silent; we have stealthily spied the open ground that lies in the path through the gate next the sea. The line of fires is broken, and their smoke rises darkly upwards. If you allow us to use the chance towards seeking Aeneas in Pallanteum town, you will soon descry us here at hand with the spoils of the great slaughter we have dealt. Nor shall we miss the way we go; up the dim valleys we have seen the skirts of the town, and learned all the river in continual hunting.'

All other living creatures across the land were soothing their cares in sleep, their hearts forgetting their pain. But the leading Trojan captains, a chosen band, held a council on the fate of the kingdom. What should they do? Who would now carry their message to Aeneas? They stood on the level ground in the middle of the camp, leaning on their long spears and gripping their shields. Then Nisus and Euryalus urgently asked to be heard. Their news was important and would be worth the delay. Iülus immediately heard their hurried plea and told Nisus to speak. The son of Hyrtacus then said: 'People of Aeneas, hear us with open minds. Do not judge our offer by our age. The Rutulians lie silent, overcome by sleep and wine. We have secretly surveyed the open ground along the route through the gate nearest the sea. There are gaps in their line of fires, and dark smoke rises from them. If you let us take this chance to seek Aeneas in Pallanteum, you will soon see us back here. We will bring the spoils of the great slaughter we have carried out. And we will not lose our way. We have seen the outskirts of the town from the dim valleys. We have also learned the whole course of the river through our constant hunting.'

Thereon aged Aletes, sage in counsel: 'Gods of our fathers, under whose deity Troy ever stands, not wholly yet do you purpose to blot out the Trojan race, when you have brought us young honour and hearts so sure as this.' So speaking, he caught both by shoulder and hand, with tears showering down over face and feature. 'What guerdon shall I deem may be given you, O men, what recompense for these noble deeds? First and fairest shall be your reward from the gods and your own conduct; and Aeneas the good shall speedily repay the rest, and Ascanius' fresh youth never forget so great a service.'—'Nay,' breaks in Ascanius, 'I whose sole safety is in my father's return, I adjure thee and him, O Nisus, by our great household gods, by the tutelar spirit of Assaracus and hoar Vesta's sanctuary—on your knees I lay all my fortune and trust—recall my father; give him back to sight; all sorrow disappears in his recovery. I will give a pair of cups my father took in vanquished Arisba, wrought in silver and rough with tracery, twin tripods, and two large talents of gold, and an ancient bowl of Sidonian Dido's giving. If it be indeed our lot to possess Italy and grasp a conquering sceptre, and to assign the spoil; thou sawest the horse and armour of Turnus as he went all in gold; that same horse, the shield and the ruddy plume, will I reserve from partition, thy reward, O Nisus, even from now. My father will give besides twelve mothers of the choicest beauty, and men captives, all in their due array; above these, the space of meadow-land that is now King Latinus' own domain. Thee, O noble boy, whom mine age follows at a nearer interval, even now I welcome to all my heart, and embrace as my companion in every fortune. No glory shall be sought for my state without thee; whether peace or war be in conduct, my chiefest trust for deed and word shall be in thee.'

Then aged Aletes, wise in counsel, said: 'Gods of our fathers, under whose protection Troy still stands, you do not yet intend to wipe out the Trojan race entirely. You have given us young men with such honor and such steadfast hearts.' As he spoke, he took both young men by the shoulders and hands, tears streaming down his face. 'What reward can I offer you, men? What repayment can I give for these noble deeds? Your first and finest reward will come from the gods and from your own conduct. Good Aeneas will soon repay the rest, and young Ascanius will never forget so great a service.' 'No,' Ascanius broke in. 'My only hope of safety lies in my father's return. I appeal to you both, Nisus and your companion, by our great household gods, by the guardian spirit of Assaracus, and by ancient Vesta's sanctuary. I place all my hopes and fortunes in your hands. Bring my father back. Let me see him again. All sorrow will vanish when he returns. I will give you two silver cups, worked with raised patterns, which my father took when Arisba was conquered. I will also give you two matching tripods, two large talents of gold, and an ancient bowl given by Sidonian Dido. 'If it is indeed our fate to possess Italy, rule it as conquerors, and divide the spoils, you will have more. You saw Turnus riding in his golden armor. I will set aside that horse, his shield, and his red plume from the spoils for you, Nisus. They are yours from this moment. My father will also give you twelve mothers of the greatest beauty, and men taken captive, all dressed as befits them. Besides these, he will give you the meadowland that now belongs to King Latinus. 'And you, noble boy, who are closer to my own age, I welcome you with all my heart. I take you as my companion in every fortune. My state will seek no glory without you. In peace or war, I will place my greatest trust in you for action and counsel.'

Answering whom Euryalus speaks thus: 'Let but the day never come to prove me degenerate from this daring valour; fortune may fall prosperous or adverse. But above all thy gifts, one thing I ask of thee. My poor mother of Priam's ancient race, whom neither the Ilian land nor King Acestes' city kept from following me forth, her I now leave in ignorance of this danger, such as it is, and without a farewell, because—night and thine hand be witness!—I cannot bear a parent's tears. But thou, I pray, support her want and relieve her loneliness. Let me take with me this hope in thee, I shall go more daringly to every fortune.' Deeply stirred at heart, the Dardanians shed tears, fair Iülus before them all, as the likeness of his own father's love wrung his soul. Then he speaks thus: . . . 'Assure thyself all that is due to thy mighty enterprise; for she shall be a mother to me, and only in name fail to be Creüsa; nor slight is the honour reserved for the mother of such a son. What chance soever follow this deed, I swear by this head whereby my father was wont to swear, what I promise to thee on thy prosperous return shall abide the same for thy mother and kindred.' So speaks he weeping, and ungirds from his shoulder the sword inlaid with gold, fashioned with marvellous skill by Lycaon of Gnosus and fitly set in a sheath of ivory. Mnestheus gives Nisus the shaggy spoils of a lion's hide; faithful Aletes exchanges his helmet. They advance onward in arms, and as they go all the company of captains, young and old, speed them to the gates with vows. Likewise fair Iülus, with a man's thought and a spirit beyond his years, gave many messages to be carried to his father. But the breezes shred all asunder and give them unaccomplished to the clouds.

Euryalus answers him: 'May the day never come when I prove unworthy of this daring courage, whether fortune favors me or not. But above all your gifts, I ask one thing of you. My poor mother is descended from Priam's ancient line. Neither the Ilian land nor King Acestes' city kept her from following me. I now leave her unaware of this danger, whatever it may be, and without a farewell. Night and your hand are my witnesses: I cannot bear a parent's tears. But please provide for her needs and comfort her in her loneliness. Let me carry this hope in you, and I will face whatever comes with greater courage.' Deeply moved, the Dardanians weep, especially fair Iülus. The thought of his own father's love grips his heart. Then he speaks: . . . 'Be assured of everything your great undertaking deserves. Your mother will be a mother to me, different from Creüsa only in name. And the mother of such a son deserves no small honor. Whatever happens after this deed, I swear by this head, as my father used to swear. Whatever I promise you for your safe return will still be given to your mother and family.' Weeping, he unstraps the gold-inlaid sword from his shoulder. Lycaon of Gnosus made it with marvelous skill and fitted it in an ivory sheath. Mnestheus gives Nisus the shaggy hide of a lion, and faithful Aletes gives him his own helmet in exchange. Armed, they move forward. As they go, all the captains, young and old, escort them to the gates with prayers. Fair Iülus, with a man's judgment and a spirit beyond his years, also gives them many messages for his father. But the breezes scatter the messages and carry them unfulfilled to the clouds.

They issue and cross the trenches, and through the shadow of night seek the fatal camp, themselves first to be the death of many a man. All about they see bodies strewn along the grass in drunken sleep, chariots atilt on the shore, the men lying among their traces and wheels, with their armour by them, and their wine. The son of Hyrtacus began thus: 'Euryalus, now for daring hands; all invites them; here lies our way; see thou that none raise a hand from behind against us, and keep far-sighted watch. Here will I deal desolation, and make a broad path for thee to follow.' So speaks he and checks his voice; therewith he drives his sword at lordly Rhamnes, who haply on carpets heaped high was drawing the full breath of sleep; a king himself, and King Turnus' best-beloved augur, but not all his augury could avert his doom. Three of his household beside him, lying carelessly among their arms, and the armour-bearer and charioteer of Remus go down before him, caught at the horses' feet. Their drooping necks he severs with the sword, then beheads their lord likewise and leaves the trunk spouting blood; the dark warm gore soaks ground and cushions. Therewithal Lamyrus and Lamus, and beautiful young Serranus, who that night had played long and late, and lay with the conquering god heavy on every limb; happy, had he played out the night, and carried his game to day! Even thus an unfed lion riots through full sheepfolds, for the madness of hunger urges him, and champs and rends the fleecy flock that are dumb with fear, and roars with blood-stained mouth. Nor less is the slaughter of Euryalus; he too rages all aflame; an unnamed multitude go down before his path, and Fadus and Herbesus and Rhoetus and Abaris, unaware; Rhoetus awake and seeing all, but he hid in fear behind a great bowl; right in whose breast, as he rose close by, he plunged the sword all its length, and drew it back heavy with death. He vomits forth the crimson life-blood, and throws up wine mixed with blood in the death agony. The other presses hotly on his stealthy errand, and now bent his way towards Messapus' comrades, where he saw the last flicker of the fires go down, and the horses tethered in order cropping the grass; when Nisus briefly speaks thus, for he saw him carried away by excess of murderous desire; 'Let us stop; for unfriendly daylight draws nigh. Vengeance is sated to the full; a path is cut through the enemy.' Much they leave behind, men's armour wrought in solid silver, and bowls therewith, and beautiful carpets. Euryalus tears away the decorations of Rhamnes and his sword-belt embossed with gold, a gift which Caedicus, wealthiest of men of old, sends to Remulus of Tibur when plighting friendship far away; he on his death-bed gives them to his grandson for his own; after his death the Rutulians captured them as spoil of war; these he fits on the shoulders valiant in vain, then puts on Messapus' light helmet with its graceful plumes. They issue from the camp and make for safety.

They set out, cross the trenches, and seek the doomed camp through the darkness. But first they will bring death to many men. All around them, bodies lie scattered on the grass, sunk in drunken sleep. Chariots stand tilted on the shore, and men lie among their harnesses and wheels, with their weapons and wine beside them. The son of Hyrtacus speaks: 'Euryalus, now is the time for daring. Everything invites us on. Our way lies here. Make sure no one attacks us from behind, and keep a sharp watch. I will bring destruction here and cut a wide path for you to follow.' He speaks and then falls silent. He drives his sword into noble Rhamnes, who happens to be sleeping soundly on a pile of carpets. Rhamnes is a king and King Turnus' favorite augur, but all his prophecies could not save him from his fate. Three of his household lie carelessly among their weapons nearby. They fall before him, as do Remus' armour-bearer and charioteer, caught at the horses' feet. He cuts through their drooping necks with his sword. Then he beheads their lord and leaves his body gushing blood. Dark, warm blood soaks the ground and cushions. Then fall Lamyrus, Lamus, and the handsome young Serranus. Serranus had played long into the night and lay with the conquering god weighing down every limb. How fortunate he would have been if he had played through the night until dawn! Just so, a starving lion rampages through crowded sheepfolds, driven mad by hunger. He bites and tears the woolly sheep, silent with fear, and roars with a bloodstained mouth. Euryalus kills no fewer. He too rages, burning with fury. An unnamed multitude fall in his path, along with Fadus, Herbesus, Rhoetus, and Abaris, caught unaware. Rhoetus is awake and sees everything, but hides in fear behind a great bowl. As Rhoetus rises nearby, Euryalus plunges his sword deep into his chest and pulls it out, heavy with death. Rhoetus vomits crimson blood and brings up wine mixed with blood in his death agony. Euryalus presses on with his stealthy task. He now turns toward Messapus' comrades. There he sees the fires flickering out and the horses tethered in rows, grazing on the grass. But Nisus sees that Euryalus has been carried away by his lust for killing. He speaks briefly: 'Let us stop. Daylight, our enemy, is near. Vengeance has had its fill. We have cut a path through the enemy.' They leave much behind: armour made of solid silver, bowls, and beautiful carpets. Euryalus tears away Rhamnes' ornaments and his sword belt, embossed with gold. Long ago, Caedicus, the wealthiest of men, sent them to Remulus of Tibur as a pledge of friendship from afar. On his deathbed, Remulus gave them to his grandson. After his death, the Rutulians captured them as spoils of war. Euryalus puts them over his shoulders, brave to no purpose. Then he puts on Messapus' light helmet with its graceful plumes. They leave the camp and head for safety.

Meanwhile an advanced guard of cavalry were on their way from the Latin city, while the rest of their marshalled battalions linger on the plains, and bore a reply to King Turnus; three hundred men all under shield, in Volscens' leading. And now they approached the camp and drew near the wall, when they descry the two turning away by the pathway to the left; and in the glimmering darkness of night the forgotten helmet betrayed Euryalus, glittering as it met the light. It seemed no thing of chance. Volscens cries aloud from his column: 'Stand, men! why on the march, or how are you in arms? or whither hold you your way?' They offer nothing in reply, but quicken their flight into the forest, and throw themselves on the night. On this side and that the horsemen bar the familiar crossways, and encircle every outlet with sentinels. The forest spread wide in tangled thickets and dark ilex; thick growth of briars choked it all about, and the muffled pathway glimmered in a broken track. Hampered by the shadowy boughs and his cumbrous spoil, Euryalus in his fright misses the line of way. Nisus gets clear; and now unthinkingly he had passed the enemy, and the place afterwards called Albani from Alba's name; then the deep coverts were of King Latinus' domain; when he stopped, and looked back in vain for his lost friend. 'Euryalus, unhappy! on what ground have I left thee? or where shall I follow, again unwinding all the entanglement of the treacherous woodland way?' Therewith he marks and retraces his footsteps, and wanders down the silent thickets. He hears the horses, hears the clatter and signal-notes of the pursuers. Nor had he long to wait, when shouts reach his ears, and he sees Euryalus, whom even now, in the perplexity of ground and darkness, the whole squadron have borne down in a sudden rush, and seize in spite of all his vain struggles. What shall he do? with what force, what arms dare his rescue? or shall he rush on his doom amid their swords, and find in their wounds a speedy and glorious death? Quickly he draws back his arm with poised spear, and looking up to the moon on high, utters this prayer: 'Do thou give present aid to our enterprise, O Latonian goddess, glory of the stars and guardian of the woodlands: by all the gifts my father Hyrtacus ever bore for my sake to thine altars, by all mine own hand hath added from my hunting, or hung in thy dome, or fixed on thy holy roof, grant me to confound these masses, and guide my javelin through the air.' He ended, and with all the force of his body hurls the steel. The flying spear whistles through the darkness of the night, and comes full on the shield of Sulmo, and there snaps, and the broken shaft passes on through his heart. Spouting a warm tide from his breast he rolls over chill in death, and his sides throb with long-drawn gasps. Hither and thither they gaze round. Lo, he all the fiercer was poising another weapon high by his ear; while they hesitate, the spear went whizzing through both Tagus' temples, and pierced and stuck fast in the warm brain. Volscens is mad with rage, and nowhere espies the sender of the weapon, nor where to direct his fury. 'Yet meanwhile thy warm blood shalt pay me vengeance for both,' he cries; and unsheathing his sword, he made at Euryalus. Then indeed frantic with terror Nisus shrieks out; no longer could he shroud himself in darkness or endure such agony. 'On me, on me, I am here, I did it, on me turn your steel, O Rutulians! Mine is all the guilt; he dared not, no, nor could not; to this heaven I appeal and the stars that know; he only loved his hapless friend too well.' Such words he was uttering; but the sword driven hard home is gone clean through his ribs and pierces the white breast. Euryalus rolls over in death, and the blood runs over his lovely limbs, and his neck sinks and settles on his shoulder; even as when a lustrous flower cut away by the plough droops in death, or weary-necked poppies bow down their head if overweighted with a random shower. But Nisus rushes amidst them, and alone among them all makes at Volscens, keeps to Volscens alone: round him the foe cluster, and on this side and that hurl him back: none the less he presses on, and whirls his sword like lightning, till he plunges it full in the face of the shrieking Rutulian, and slays his enemy as he dies. Then, stabbed through and through, he flung himself above his lifeless friend, and there at last found the quiet sleep of death.

Meanwhile, an advance guard of cavalry was riding from the Latin city with a reply for King Turnus. The rest of their assembled battalions remained on the plains. The guard consisted of three hundred men, all carrying shields, under Volscens' command. They were nearing the camp and its wall when they saw the two men turn onto a path to the left. In the faint light of night, the helmet Euryalus had forgotten he was wearing caught the light and gave him away. The sight seemed no accident. Volscens shouted from the column: 'Halt, men! Why are you on the move, and why are you armed? Where are you going?' They made no reply, but fled faster into the forest, taking cover in the darkness. The horsemen blocked the familiar paths on every side and posted guards at every exit. The forest stretched far and wide, thick with tangled brush and dark ilex trees. Briars choked the ground, and the hidden path showed only in patches. Shadowy branches and his heavy loot slowed Euryalus down, and in his fear he lost his way. Nisus got clear and, without realizing it, had gone past the enemy. He had reached a place later called Albani, after Alba. At that time, its deep woods belonged to King Latinus. Then he stopped and looked back in vain for his lost friend. 'Euryalus, my poor friend! Where have I left you? Where can I go to find you, retracing every twist of this treacherous woodland path?' He looked for his footprints, followed them back, and wandered through the silent thickets. He heard the horses, the noise, and the calls of the pursuers. Soon he heard shouts and saw Euryalus. Confused by the ground and the darkness, Euryalus had been caught in a sudden rush by the whole squadron. They seized him despite all his desperate struggles. What could Nisus do? What force or weapons could he dare to use to rescue him? Or should he rush to his doom among their swords and find a swift, glorious death in the wounds they gave him? Nisus quickly drew back his arm, holding his spear ready. Looking up at the moon, he prayed: 'Help us now, goddess of Latona, glory of the stars and guardian of the woods. My father Hyrtacus brought gifts to your altars for my sake. I too have added gifts from my hunting, hanging them in your temple or fixing them to its sacred roof. In return for all these, let me throw this crowd into confusion and guide my javelin through the air.' When he finished, he hurled the spear with all his strength. It whistled through the darkness and struck Sulmo's shield head-on. The spear broke, and the broken shaft passed through his heart. A warm stream of blood poured from his chest as he fell, growing cold in death. His sides heaved with long, shuddering gasps. The men looked around in every direction. Nisus, fiercer than ever, was already raising another weapon beside his ear. While they hesitated, the spear whizzed through both of Tagus' temples and lodged in his warm brain. Volscens was wild with rage, but he could not see who had thrown the weapon or where to aim his fury. 'But your warm blood will pay for both of them!' he cried. He drew his sword and rushed at Euryalus. Then Nisus shrieked, frantic with terror. He could no longer hide in the darkness or bear such agony. 'Me, me! I am here! I did it! Turn your swords on me, Rutulians! All the guilt is mine. He did not dare, no, he could not have done it. I call on the heavens and the knowing stars to witness it. He only loved his unfortunate friend too well.' He was still speaking when the sword struck deep, passing through Euryalus' ribs and piercing his white breast. Euryalus fell in death, blood flowing over his beautiful limbs. His neck drooped, and his head came to rest on his shoulder. So a radiant flower, cut by the plough, droops in death. So poppies bow their weary heads when a passing shower weighs them down. But Nisus rushed among the men, aiming only for Volscens. Enemies crowded around him, driving him back from every side. Still he pressed on, swinging his sword like lightning. At last he plunged it into the face of the screaming Rutulian, killing his enemy as he himself died. Then, pierced through and through, he threw himself over his lifeless friend. There he finally found the quiet sleep of death.

Happy pair! if my verse is aught of avail, no length of days shall ever blot you from the memory of time, while the house of Aeneas shall dwell by the Capitoline's stedfast stone, and the lord of Rome hold sovereignty.

Happy pair! If my verse has any power, time will never erase your memory. It will endure as long as the house of Aeneas lives beside the steadfast stone of the Capitoline, and the lord of Rome rules.

The victorious Rutulians, with their spoils and the plunder regained, bore dead Volscens weeping to the camp. Nor in the camp was the wailing less, when Rhamnes was found a bloodless corpse, and Serranus and Numa and all their princes destroyed in a single slaughter. Crowds throng towards the corpses and the men wounded to death, the ground fresh with warm slaughter and the swoln runlets of frothing blood. They mutually recognise the spoils, Messapus' shining helmet and the decorations that cost such sweat to win back.

The victorious Rutulians carried the dead Volscens back to camp, weeping, along with their spoils and the plunder they had recovered. The wailing in the camp was just as loud. Rhamnes was found dead and drained of blood, and Serranus, Numa, and all their princes had been killed in a single slaughter. Crowds gathered around the corpses and the dying men. The ground was fresh with blood, and swollen streams of frothing blood ran across it. They recognized the spoils among themselves, including Messapus' shining helmet and the decorations they had struggled so hard to win back.

And now Dawn, leaving the saffron bed of Tithonus, scattered over earth her fresh shafts of early light; now the sunlight streams in, now daylight unveils the world. Turnus, himself fully armed, awakes his men to arms, and each leader marshals to battle his brazen lines and whets their ardour with varying rumours. Nay, pitiable sight! they fix on spear-points and uprear and follow with loud shouts the heads of Euryalus and Nisus. . . . The Aeneadae stubbornly face them, lining the left hand wall (for their right is girdled by the river), hold the deep trenches and stand gloomily on the high towers, stirred withal by the faces they know, alas, too well, in their dark dripping gore. Meanwhile Rumour on fluttering wings rushes with the news through the alarmed town and glides to the ears of Euryalus' mother. But instantly the warmth leaves her woeful body, the shuttle starts from her hand and the threads unroll. She darts forth in agony, and with woman's wailing and torn hair runs distractedly towards the walls and the foremost columns, recking naught of men, naught of peril or weapons; thereon she fills the air with her complaint: 'Is it thus I behold thee, O Euryalus? Couldst thou, the latest solace of mine age, leave me alone so cruelly? nor when sent into such danger was one last word of thee allowed thine unhappy mother? Alas, thou liest in a strange land, given for a prey to the dogs and fowls of Latium! nor was I, thy mother, there for chief mourner, to lay thee out or close thine eyes or wash thy wounds, and cover thee with the garment I hastened on for thee whole nights and days, an anxious old woman taking comfort from the loom. Whither shall I follow? or what land now holds thy mangled corpse, thy body torn limb from limb? Is this all of what thou wert that returns to me, O my son? is it this I have followed by land and sea? Strike me through of your pity, on me cast all your weapons, Rutulians; make me the first sacrifice of your steel. Or do thou, mighty lord of heaven, be merciful, and with thine own weapon hurl this hateful life to the nether deep, since in no wise else may I break away from life's cruelty.' At this weeping cry their courage falters, and a sigh of sorrow passes all along; their strength is benumbed and broken for battle. Her, while her grief kindled, at Ilioneus' and weeping Iülus' bidding Idaeus and Actor catch up and carry home in their arms.

Dawn left the saffron bed of Tithonus and scattered her fresh rays of early light over the earth. Sunlight streamed in, and daylight revealed the world. Turnus, already fully armed, roused his men to battle. Each leader drew up his bronze-clad ranks and stirred their fighting spirit with various rumors. Then came a pitiful sight! They raised the heads of Euryalus and Nisus on spear points and followed them with loud shouts. The Aeneadae stood firm against them, lining the wall on the left. The river protected their right side. They held the deep trenches and stood grimly on the high towers. They were shaken by the faces they knew, alas, too well, covered in dark, dripping blood. Meanwhile, Rumour sped on fluttering wings through the alarmed town and carried the news to Euryalus' mother. At once, the warmth left her stricken body. The shuttle sprang from her hand, and the threads unrolled. She rushed out in agony, wailing like a woman and tearing her hair. Distraught, she ran toward the walls and the front ranks, heedless of men, danger, or weapons. Then she filled the air with her cries: 'Is this how I see you, O Euryalus? Could you, the last comfort of my old age, leave me alone so cruelly? When you were sent into such danger, was your unhappy mother not allowed one last word from you? Alas, you lie in a foreign land, left as prey for the dogs and birds of Latium! I, your mother, was not there to mourn you above all others. I could not lay you out, close your eyes, or wash your wounds. Nor could I cover you with the garment I hurried to make for you through whole nights and days. I was an anxious old woman, taking comfort in my weaving. 'Where shall I follow you? What land now holds your mangled corpse, your body torn limb from limb? Is this all that returns to me of you, my son? Is this what I followed over land and sea? Rutulians, take pity on me and strike me through. Throw all your weapons at me, and let me be the first to die by your swords. Or you, mighty lord of heaven, be merciful. With your own weapon, hurl this hateful life down to the depths below. For there is no other way for me to escape the cruelty of life.' At her tearful cry, their courage faltered, and a sigh of sorrow passed through them all. Their strength for battle was numbed and broken. As her grief grew, Ilioneus and the weeping Iülus ordered Idaeus and Actor to take her away. They caught her up and carried her home in their arms.

But the terrible trumpet-note afar rang on the shrill brass; a shout follows, and is echoed from the sky. The Volscians hasten up in even line under their advancing roof of shields, and set to fill up the trenches and tear down the palisades. Some seek entrance by scaling the walls with ladders, where the defenders' battle-line is thin, and light shows through gaps in the ring of men. The Teucrians in return shower weapons of every sort, and push them down with stiff poles, practised by long warfare in their ramparts' defence: and fiercely hurl heavy stones, so be they may break the shielded line; while they, crowded under their shell, lightly bear all the downpour. But now they fail; for where the vast mass presses close, the Teucrians roll a huge block tumbling down that makes a wide gap in the Rutulians and crashes through their armour-plating. Nor do the bold Rutulians care longer to continue the blind fight, but strive to clear the rampart with missiles. . . . Elsewhere in dreadful guise Mezentius brandishes his Etruscan pine and hurls smoking brands; but Messapus, tamer of horses, seed of Neptune, tears away the palisading and calls for ladders to the ramparts.

But the terrible blast of a brass trumpet rang out in the distance. A shout followed and echoed from the sky. The Volscians advanced in an even line beneath a moving roof of shields. They set about filling the trenches and tearing down the palisades. Some tried to climb the walls on ladders, where the defenders’ line was thin and light showed through gaps between them. In return, the Teucrians showered them with weapons of every kind and pushed them down with stout poles. Long years of war had taught the Teucrians how to defend their ramparts. They also hurled heavy stones with fierce force, hoping to break the shielded line. But the attackers, crowded beneath their shell of shields, easily endured the downpour. Now, however, their defense failed. Where the vast mass pressed close, the Teucrians rolled down a huge block. It tore a wide gap through the Rutulians and smashed through their armor. The bold Rutulians no longer wanted to keep fighting without being able to see. Instead, they tried to clear the defenders from the rampart with missiles. . . . Elsewhere, the fearsome Mezentius brandished his Etruscan pine torch and hurled smoking firebrands. But Messapus, tamer of horses and son of Neptune, tore away the palisades and called for ladders to reach the ramparts.

Thy sisterhood, O Calliope, I pray inspire me while I sing the destruction spread then and there by Turnus' sword, the deaths dealt from his hand, and whom each warrior sent down to the under world; and unroll with me the broad borders of war.

Calliope, I pray that you and your sisters will inspire me as I sing. I sing of the destruction Turnus' sword spread then and there, and the deaths he dealt. I sing of whom each warrior sent down to the underworld. Unroll with me the vast scope of war.

A tower loomed vast with lofty gangways at a point of vantage; this all the Italians strove with main strength to storm, and set all their might and device to overthrow it; the Trojans in return defended it with stones and hurled showers of darts through the loopholes. Turnus, leading the attack, threw a blazing torch that caught flaming on the side wall; swoln by the wind, the flame seized the planking and clung devouring to the standards. Those within, in hurry and confusion, desire retreat from their distress; in vain; while they cluster together and fall back to the side free from the destroyer, the tower sinks prone under the sudden weight with a crash that thunders through all the sky. Pierced by their own weapons, and impaled on hard splinters of wood, they come half slain to the ground with the vast mass behind them. Scarcely do Helenor alone and Lycus struggle out; Helenor in his early prime, whom a slave woman of Licymnos bore in secret to the Maeonian king, and sent to Troy in forbidden weapons, lightly armed with sheathless sword and white unemblazoned shield. And he, when he saw himself among Turnus' encircling thousands, ranks on this side and ranks on this of Latins, as a wild beast which, girt with a crowded ring of hunters, dashes at their weapons, hurls herself unblinded on death, and comes with a bound upon the spears; even so he rushes to his death amid the enemy, and presses on where he sees their weapons thickest. But Lycus, far fleeter of foot, holds by the walls in flight midway among foes and arms, and strives to catch the coping in his grasp and reach the hands of his comrades. And Turnus pursuing and aiming as he ran, thus upbraids him in triumph: 'Didst thou hope, madman, thou mightest escape our hands?' and catches him as he clings, and tears him and a great piece of the wall away: as when, with a hare or snowy-bodied swan in his crooked talons, Jove's armour-bearer soars aloft, or the wolf of Mars snatches from the folds some lamb sought of his mother with incessant bleating. On all sides a shout goes up. They advance and fill the trenches with heaps of earth; some toss glowing brands on the roofs. Ilioneus strikes down Lucetius with a great fragment of mountain rock as, carrying fire, he draws nigh the gate. Liger slays Emathion, Asylas Corinaeus, the one skilled with the javelin, the other with the stealthy arrow from afar. Caeneus slays Ortygius; Turnus victorious Caeneus; Turnus Itys and Clonius, Dioxippus, and Promolus, and Sagaris, and Idas where he stood in front of the turret top; Capys Privernus: him Themillas' spear had first grazed lightly; the madman threw down his shield to carry his hand to the wound; so the arrow winged her way, and pinning his hand to his left side, broke into the lungs with deadly wound. The son of Arcens stood splendid in arms, and scarf embroidered with needlework and bright with Iberian blue, the beautiful boy sent by his father Arcens from nurture in the grove of our Lady about the streams of Symaethus, where Palicus' altar is rich and gracious. Laying down his spear, Mezentius whirled thrice round his head the tightened cord of his whistling sling, pierced him full between the temples with the molten bullet, and stretched him all his length upon the sand.

A huge tower with high walkways stood at a strategic point. All the Italians struggled with all their strength and skill to storm and overthrow it. The Trojans defended it with stones and hurled showers of darts through the openings. Turnus led the attack and threw a blazing torch against the tower’s side wall. Fanned by the wind, the flames seized the planks and devoured the supporting beams. Inside, the Trojans desperately tried to escape, but in vain. They crowded together and retreated to the side untouched by the fire. Under their sudden weight, the tower collapsed with a crash that thundered through the sky. The men fell to the ground beneath the huge mass, half dead, pierced by their own weapons and impaled on hard splinters. Only Helenor and Lycus barely managed to escape. Helenor was a young man in his prime. A slave woman belonging to Licymnos had borne him in secret to the Maeonian king. She sent him to Troy with weapons he was forbidden to carry, armed lightly with a sheathless sword and a plain white shield. Helenor saw himself surrounded by Turnus’ thousands, with ranks of Latins on every side. A wild beast, surrounded by a close ring of hunters, charges their weapons. It leaps upon their spears, rushing knowingly to its death. In the same way, Helenor rushed to his death among the enemy, pressing on where their weapons were thickest. But Lycus, much faster on his feet, fled along the walls amid enemies and weapons. He tried to grasp the top of the wall and reach his comrades’ hands. Turnus chased him, aiming as he ran, and taunted him in triumph: ‘Did you hope you could escape our hands, madman?’ He caught Lycus as he clung to the wall and tore him away, along with a great piece of it. So Jove’s eagle soars with a hare or a white-bodied swan in its curved talons. So too the wolf of Mars snatches a lamb from the fold, while its mother bleats for it without cease. A shout rose on all sides. The attackers advanced and filled the trenches with heaps of earth. Some threw burning torches onto the roofs. As Lucetius approached the gate carrying fire, Ilioneus struck him down with a great piece of mountain rock. Liger killed Emathion, and Asylas killed Corinaeus. Liger was skilled with the javelin, and Asylas with the arrow that strikes unseen from afar. Caeneus killed Ortygius, and the victorious Turnus killed Caeneus. Turnus also killed Itys and Clonius, Dioxippus and Promolus, Sagaris, and Idas, who stood before the top of the turret. Capys killed Privernus. Themillas’ spear had first grazed Privernus lightly. The fool dropped his shield to put his hand to the wound. An arrow then flew toward him, pinned his hand to his left side, and pierced his lungs with a deadly wound. The son of Arcens stood there in splendid armor. He wore a scarf embroidered with needlework and bright with Iberian blue. His father Arcens had sent the beautiful boy from the grove of our Lady, where he had been raised. The grove lay by the streams of Symaethus, where Palicus’ altar is richly adorned and welcoming. Mezentius laid down his spear and whirled the taut cord of his whistling sling three times around his head. Its bullet of molten metal struck the boy squarely between the temples, stretching him full length on the sand.

Then, it is said, Ascanius first aimed his flying shaft in war, wont before to frighten beasts of the chase, and struck down a brave Numanian, Remulus by name, but lately allied in bridal to Turnus' younger sister. He advancing before his ranks clamoured things fit and unfit to tell, and strode along lofty and voluble, his heart lifted up with his fresh royalty.

Then, it is said, Ascanius fired his first arrow in war. Until then, he had used arrows to frighten game. He struck down a brave Numanian named Remulus, who had recently married Turnus' younger sister. Remulus had been advancing before his ranks, shouting things both fit and unfit to repeat. He strode along proudly, talking loudly, his heart swollen with pride in his new royal status.

'Take you not shame to be again held leaguered in your ramparts, O Phrygians twice taken, and to make walls your fence from death? Behold them who demand in war our wives for theirs! What god, what madness, hath driven you to Italy? Here are no sons of Atreus nor glozing Ulysses. A race of hardy breed, we carry our newborn children to the streams and harden them in the bitter icy water; as boys they spend wakeful nights over the chase, and tire out the woodland; but in manhood, unwearied by toil and trained to poverty, they subdue the soil with their mattocks, or shake towns in war. Every age wears iron, and we goad the flanks of our oxen with reversed spear; nor does creeping old age weaken our strength of spirit or abate our force. White hairs bear the weight of the helmet; and it is ever our delight to drive in fresh spoil and live on our plunder. Yours is embroidered raiment of saffron and shining sea-purple. Indolence is your pleasure, your delight the luxurious dance; you wear sleeved tunics and ribboned turbans. O right Phrygian women, not even Phrygian men! traverse the heights of Dindymus, where the double-mouthed flute breathes familiar music. The drums call you, and the Berecyntian boxwood of the mother of Ida; leave arms to men, and lay down the sword.'

'Aren't you ashamed, Phrygians, captured twice, to be besieged again behind your ramparts? Are you not ashamed to use walls to keep death away? Look at these men who come to take our wives in war! What god, what madness, drove you to Italy? There are no sons of Atreus here, nor the deceitful Ulysses. We are a hardy people. We take our newborn children to the streams and toughen them in the bitter, icy water. As boys, they stay awake at night hunting and range through the woods until they wear them out. As men, they never tire of work and are used to hardship. They tame the soil with their mattocks or attack towns in war. At every age we carry iron weapons. We even prod the flanks of our oxen with our spears turned backward. Nor does creeping old age weaken our spirit or sap our strength. Our white-haired men still bear the weight of their helmets. We always delight in bringing home fresh spoils and living on our plunder. You wear embroidered clothes of saffron and shining sea-purple. You love idleness and delight in luxurious dancing. You wear sleeved tunics and turbans tied with ribbons. You are Phrygian women, indeed, not even Phrygian men! Go over the heights of Dindymus, where the double-mouthed flute plays its familiar music. The drums call you, as does the Berecyntian boxwood flute of the mother of Ida. Leave weapons to men, and put down the sword.'

As he flung forth such words of ill-ominous strain, Ascanius brooked it not, and aimed an arrow on him from the stretched horse sinew; and as he drew his arms asunder, first stayed to supplicate Jove in lowly vows: 'Jupiter omnipotent, deign to favour this daring deed. My hands shall bear yearly gifts to thee in thy temple, and bring to stand before thine altars a steer with gilded forehead, snow-white, carrying his head high as his mother's, already pushing with his horn and making the sand fly up under his feet.' The Father heard and from a clear space of sky thundered on the left; at once the fated bow rings, the grim-whistling arrow flies from the tense string, and goes through the head of Remulus, the steel piercing through from temple to temple. 'Go, mock valour with insolence of speech! Phrygians twice taken return this answer to Rutulians.' Thus and no further Ascanius; the Teucrians respond in cheers, and shout for joy in rising height of courage. Then haply in the tract of heaven tressed Apollo sate looking down from his cloud on the Ausonian ranks and town, and thus addresses triumphant Iülus: 'Good speed to thy young valour, O boy! this is the way to heaven, child of gods and parent of gods to be! Rightly shall all wars fated to come sink to peace beneath the line of Assaracus; nor art thou bounded in a Troy.' So speaking, he darts from heaven's height, and cleaving the breezy air, seeks Ascanius. Then he changes the fashion of his countenance, and becomes aged Butes, armour-bearer of old to Dardanian Anchises, and the faithful porter of his threshold; thereafter his lord gave him for Ascanius' attendant. In all points like the old man Apollo came, voice and colour, white hair, and grimly clashing arms, and speaks these words to eager Iülus:

As Remulus hurled out these ominous words, Ascanius could bear them no longer. He aimed an arrow at him from his bow of stretched horse sinew. As he drew the bow, he first offered a humble prayer to Jove: 'All-powerful Jupiter, please favor this daring deed. Each year my hands will bring gifts to you in your temple. I will bring a snow-white steer with a gilded forehead to stand before your altars. He will hold his head as high as his mother does. He will already be thrusting with his horn and kicking up sand with his feet.' The Father heard him and thundered on the left from a clear patch of sky. At once the fated bow rang out. The deadly arrow whistled from the taut string and passed through Remulus's head, its steel point piercing both temples. 'Go on, mock courage with your insolent words! Phrygians twice taken give this answer to Rutulians.' Ascanius said no more. The Teucrians cheered in reply and shouted with joy as their courage rose. At that moment, long-haired Apollo happened to be sitting on a cloud in heaven. He looked down on the Ausonian ranks and the town. He addressed the triumphant Iülus: 'Good fortune to your young courage, boy! This is the way to heaven, child of gods and father of gods to come! All wars fated to come will rightly yield to peace under the line of Assaracus. Nor will Troy be your limit.' With these words, he darted down from the heights of heaven. He cut through the breezy air toward Ascanius. Then he changed his appearance and became the aged Butes. Butes had once been armor-bearer to Dardanian Anchises and the faithful keeper of his door. Later, Anchises had given him to Ascanius as an attendant. Apollo came looking just like the old man, with his voice, complexion, white hair, and grimly clashing armor. He spoke these words to the eager Iülus:

'Be it enough, son of Aeneas, that the Numanian hath fallen unavenged beneath thine arrows; this first honour great Apollo allows thee, nor envies the arms that match his own. Further, O boy, let war alone.' Thus Apollo began, and yet speaking retreated from mortal view, vanishing into thin air away out of their eyes. The Dardanian princes knew the god and the arms of deity, and heard the clash of his quiver as he went. So they restrain Ascanius' keenness for battle by the words of Phoebus' will; themselves they again close in conflict, and cast their lives into the perilous breach. Shouts run all along the battlemented walls; ringing bows are drawn and javelin thongs twisted: all the ground is strewn with missiles. Shields and hollow helmets ring to blows; the battle swells fierce; heavy as the shower lashes the ground that sets in when the Kids are rainy in the West; thick as hail pours down from storm-clouds on the shallows, when the rough lord of the winds congeals his watery deluge and breaks up the hollow vapours in the sky.

'Let it be enough, son of Aeneas, that Numanian has fallen to your arrows without being avenged. Great Apollo grants you this first honor. He does not begrudge you weapons that rival his own. But now, boy, leave war alone.' As Apollo spoke, he withdrew from mortal sight and vanished into thin air. The Dardanian princes recognized the god and his divine weapons. They heard his quiver clash as he departed. So they used Phoebus' words to restrain Ascanius' eagerness for battle. They themselves returned to the fight and risked their lives in the dangerous breach. Shouts spread all along the battlemented walls. Bows rang as they were drawn, and javelin straps were twisted. Missiles covered all the ground. Shields and hollow helmets rang with blows, and the battle grew fierce. The missiles fell as heavily as rain that lashes the ground when the Kids bring rain in the west. They fell as thickly as hail from storm clouds onto the shallows. For then the fierce lord of the winds freezes his flood of rain and breaks open the hollow clouds above.

Pandarus and Bitias, sprung of Alcanor of Ida, whom woodland Iaera bore in the grove of Jupiter, grown now tall as their ancestral pines and hills, fling open the gates barred by their captain's order, and confident in arms, wilfully invite the enemy within the walls. Themselves within they stand to right and left in front of the towers, sheathed in iron, the plumes flickering over their stately heads: even as high in air around the gliding streams, whether on Padus' banks or by pleasant Athesis, twin oaks rise lifting their unshorn heads into the sky with high tops asway. The Rutulians pour in when they see the entrance open. Straightway Quercens and Aquicolus beautiful in arms, and desperate Tmarus, and Haemon, seed of Mars, either gave back in rout with all their columns, or in the very gateway laid down their life. Then the spirits of the combatants swell in rising wrath, and now the Trojans gather swarming to the spot, and dare to close hand to hand and to sally farther out.

Pandarus and Bitias were sons of Alcanor of Ida. Their mother, the woodland Iaera, bore them in Jupiter's grove. Now as tall as the pines and hills of their homeland, they threw open the gates their captain had ordered barred. Confident in their weapons, they deliberately invited the enemy inside the walls. The brothers stood inside, one on each side before the towers. They were clad in iron, with plumes flickering above their proud heads. They stood like twin oaks rising beside a flowing river, on the banks of Padus or by pleasant Athesis. The oaks lift their untrimmed crowns into the sky, their tall tops swaying. The Rutulians poured in when they saw the entrance open. At once Quercens, Aquicolus in his splendid armor, desperate Tmarus, and Haemon, a son of Mars, met defeat. They either fled with all their troops or died in the gateway itself. Then the fighters grew more furious. The Trojans swarmed to the spot, ready to fight hand to hand and venture farther outside.

News is brought to Turnus the captain, as he rages afar among the routed foe, that the enemy surges forth into fresh slaughter and flings wide his gates. He breaks off unfinished, and, fired with immense anger, rushes towards the haughty brethren at the Dardanian gate. And on Antiphates first, for first he came, the bastard son of mighty Sarpedon by a Theban mother, he hurls his javelin and strikes him down; the Italian cornel flies through the yielding air, and, piercing the gullet, runs deep into his breast; a frothing tide pours from the dark yawning wound, and the steel grows warm where it pierces the lung. Then Meropes and Erymas, then Aphidnus goes down before his hand; then Bitias, fiery-eyed and exultant, not with a javelin; for not to a javelin had he given his life; but the loud-whistling pike came hurled with a thunderbolt's force; neither twofold bull's hide kept it back, nor the trusty corslet's double scales of gold: his vast limbs sink in a heap; earth utters a groan, and the great shield clashes over him: even as once and again on the Euboïc shore of Baiae falls a mass of stone, built up of great blocks and so cast into the sea; thus does it tumble prone, crashes into the shoal water and sinks deep to rest; the seas are stirred, and the dark sand eddies up; therewith the depth of Prochyta quivers at the sound, and the couchant rocks of Inarime, piled above Typhoeus by Jove's commands.

Word reaches Turnus, the captain, as he rages among the defeated enemy far away. The enemy is pouring out to kill again, and has thrown open its gates. Turnus abandons his unfinished work and rushes in a fury toward the proud brothers at the Dardanian gate. Antiphates comes first, so Turnus hurls his javelin at him and strikes him down. Antiphates is the illegitimate son of mighty Sarpedon and a Theban mother. The Italian cornel wood flies through the yielding air, pierces his throat, and plunges deep into his chest. Frothy blood pours from the gaping dark wound, and the steel grows warm where it pierces his lung. Then Meropes, Erymas, and Aphidnus fall to Turnus. Next comes Bitias, fierce-eyed and exultant. Turnus does not strike him with a javelin, for a javelin would not have killed him. Instead, he hurls a whistling pike with the force of a thunderbolt. Neither a double layer of bull's hide nor the double gold scales of Bitias's trusty armor can stop it. His huge body collapses in a heap. The earth groans, and his great shield crashes over him. He falls like the masses of stone that sometimes drop into the sea off the Euboïc shore of Baiae. Each is built of great blocks and thrown into the water. It falls headlong, crashes into the shallows, and sinks deep to rest. The sea churns, and dark sand swirls up. At the sound, the depths around Prochyta tremble, as do the rocks of Inarime, lying over Typhoeus at Jove's command.

On this Mars armipotent raised the spirit and strength of the Latins, and goaded their hearts to rage, and sent Flight and dark Fear among the Teucrians. From all quarters they gather, since battle is freely offered; and the warrior god inspires. . . . Pandarus, at his brother's fall, sees how fortune stands, what hap rules the day; and swinging the gate round on its hinge with all his force, pushes it to with his broad shoulders, leaving many of his own people shut outside the walls in the desperate conflict, but shutting others in with him as they pour back in retreat. Madman! who saw not the Rutulian prince burst in amid their columns, and fairly shut him into the town, like a monstrous tiger among the silly flocks. At once strange light flashed from his eyes, and his armour rang terribly; the blood-red plumes flicker on his head, and lightnings shoot sparkling from his shield. In sudden dismay the Aeneadae know the hated form and giant limbs. Then tall Pandarus leaps forward, in burning rage at his brother's death: 'This is not the palace of Amata's dower,' he cries, 'nor does Ardea enclose Turnus in her native walls. Thou seest a hostile camp; escape hence is hopeless.' To him Turnus, smiling and cool: 'Begin with all thy valiance, and close hand to hand; here too shalt thou tell that a Priam found his Achilles.' He ended; the other, putting out all his strength, hurls his rough spear, knotty and unpeeled. The breezes caught it; Juno, daughter of Saturn, made the wound glance off as it came, and the spear sticks fast in the gate. 'But this weapon that my strong hand whirls, this thou shalt not escape; for not such is he who sends weapon and wound.' So speaks he, and rises high on his uplifted sword; the steel severs the forehead midway right between the temples, and divides the beardless cheeks with ghastly wound. He crashes down; earth shakes under the vast weight; dying limbs and brain-spattered armour tumble in a heap to the ground, and the head, evenly severed, dangles this way and that from either shoulder. The Trojans scatter and turn in hasty terror; and had the conqueror forthwith taken thought to burst the bars and let in his comrades at the gate, that had been the last day of the war and of the nation. But rage and mad thirst of slaughter drive him like fire on the foe. . . . First he catches up Phalaris; then Gyges, and hamstrings him; he plucks away their spears, and hurls them on the backs of the flying crowd; Juno lends strength and courage. Halys he sends to join them, and Phegeus, pierced right through the shield; then, as they ignorantly raised their war-cry on the walls, Alcander and Halius, Noëmon and Prytanis. Lynceus advanced to meet him, calling up his comrades; from the rampart the glittering sword sweeps to the left and catches him; struck off by the one downright blow, head and helmet lay far away. Next Amycus fell, the deadly huntsman, incomparable in skill of hand to anoint his arrows and arm their steel with venom; and Clytius the Aeolid, and Cretheus beloved of the Muses, Cretheus of the Muses' company, whose delight was ever in songs and harps and stringing of verses; ever he sang of steeds and armed men and battles.

Then mighty Mars raised the spirits and strength of the Latins and drove their hearts to rage. He sent Flight and dark Fear among the Teucrians. They gathered from every direction, since battle was freely offered, and the warrior god inspired them. . . . After his brother fell, Pandarus saw how fortune stood and what fate ruled the day. He swung the gate on its hinges with all his strength and pushed it shut with his broad shoulders. He left many of his own people outside the walls, fighting desperately. But he shut others inside with him as they streamed back in retreat. Madman! He had not seen the Rutulian prince burst in among their ranks. He had shut him inside the town, like a monstrous tiger among the foolish flocks. At once a strange light flashed from Turnus's eyes, and his armor rang terribly. Blood-red plumes flickered on his head, and lightning flashed from his shield. The Aeneadae suddenly recognized his hated form and giant limbs, and were filled with dismay. Then tall Pandarus leaped forward, burning with rage over his brother's death. 'This is not the palace that came with Amata's dowry,' he cried, 'and Ardea does not shelter Turnus within his native walls. You see an enemy camp. There is no hope of escape.' Turnus answered with a cool smile: 'Come on, fight with all your strength, and meet me hand to hand. Here too you shall tell Priam that you found an Achilles.' He finished speaking, and Pandarus hurled his rough, knotty, unpeeled spear with all his strength. The breezes caught it, and Juno, daughter of Saturn, made it glance aside as it came. The spear stuck fast in the gate. 'But you will not escape this weapon that my strong hand swings. The man who sends this weapon and its wound is no ordinary fighter.' So Turnus spoke, rising high with his sword raised. The blade split Pandarus's forehead between the temples and cut through his beardless cheeks, leaving a ghastly wound. He crashed down, and the earth shook under his great weight. His dying limbs and blood-spattered armor fell in a heap. His head, split evenly in two, hung on either shoulder. The Trojans scattered and fled in sudden terror. If the victor had immediately thought to break the bars and let his comrades in through the gate, that would have been the last day of the war and of the nation. But rage and a mad thirst for slaughter drove him like fire against the enemy. . . . First he caught Phalaris, then Gyges, whom he hamstrung. He seized their spears and hurled them into the backs of the fleeing crowd. Juno gave him strength and courage. He sent Halys to join them, and Phegeus, whom he pierced through the shield. Then he killed Alcander, Halius, Noëmon, and Prytanis as they raised their war cry on the walls, unaware of the danger. Lynceus came forward to meet him, calling his comrades to his aid. From the rampart, Turnus's glittering sword swept to the left and struck him. A single downward blow cut off his head, and it landed far away, still wearing its helmet. Next fell Amycus, the deadly huntsman. No one could match his skill at coating his arrows and arming their steel points with venom. Then fell Clytius the Aeolid and Cretheus, beloved of the Muses. Cretheus belonged to the Muses' company and always delighted in songs, harps, and composing verses. He always sang of horses, armed men, and battles.

At last, hearing of the slaughter of their men, the Teucrian captains, Mnestheus and gallant Serestus, come up, and see their comrades in disordered flight and the foe let in. And Mnestheus: 'Whither next, whither press you in flight? what other walls, what farther city have you yet? Shall one man, and he girt in on all sides, fellow-citizens, by your entrenchments, thus unchecked deal devastation throughout our city, and send all our best warriors to the under world? Have you no pity, no shame, cowards, for your unhappy country, for your ancient gods, for great Aeneas?'

At last, the Teucrian captains Mnestheus and brave Serestus hear that their men are being slaughtered and come to the scene. They see their comrades fleeing in disorder and the enemy inside the defenses. Mnestheus cries: 'Where are you running now? What other walls, what farther city, do you have left? Fellow citizens, will you let one man, surrounded by your defenses, rampage unchecked through our city? Will you let him send all our best warriors to the underworld? Have you no pity, no shame, cowards, for your unhappy country, your ancient gods, and great Aeneas?'

Kindled by such words, they take heart and rally in dense array. Little by little Turnus drew away from the fight towards the river, and the side encircled by the stream: the more bravely the Teucrians press on him with loud shouts and thickening masses, even as a band that fall on a wrathful lion with levelled weapons, but he, frightened back, retires surly and grim-glaring; and neither does wrath nor courage let him turn his back, nor can he make head, for all that he desires it, against the surrounding arms and men. Even thus Turnus draws lingeringly backward, with unhastened steps, and soul boiling in anger. Nay, twice even then did he charge amid the enemy, twice drove them in flying rout along the walls. But all the force of the camp gathers hastily up; nor does Juno, daughter of Saturn, dare to supply him strength to countervail; for Jupiter sent Iris down through the aery sky, bearing stern orders to his sister that Turnus shall withdraw from the high Trojan town. Therefore neither with shield nor hand can he keep his ground, so overpoweringly from all sides comes upon him the storm of weapons. About the hollows of his temples the helmet rings with incessant clash, and the solid brass is riven beneath the stones; the horsehair crest is rent away; the shield-boss avails not under the blows; Mnestheus thunders on with his Trojans, and pours in a storm of spears. All over him the sweat trickles and pours in swart stream, and no breathing space is given; sick gasps shake his exhausted limbs. Then at last, with a headlong bound, he leapt fully armed into the river; the river's yellow eddies opened for him as he came, and the buoyant water brought him up, and, washing away the slaughter, returned him triumphant to his comrades.

Stirred by these words, they take heart and rally in close ranks. Little by little, Turnus draws back from the fight toward the river and the side of the camp surrounded by water. The Teucrians press him all the harder, shouting loudly and gathering in ever greater numbers. They are like a band attacking an angry lion with weapons aimed at him. Driven back in fear, the lion retreats, sullen and glaring fiercely. Anger and courage will not let him turn his back. Yet, however much he wants to, he cannot advance against the men and weapons surrounding him. In the same way, Turnus slowly draws back, walking without haste, his heart boiling with anger. Even then, he charges into the enemy twice. Twice he drives them in flight along the walls. But the whole force of the camp quickly gathers against him. Juno, daughter of Saturn, does not dare give him strength to withstand them. Jupiter has sent Iris down through the sky with stern orders for his sister: Turnus must leave the lofty Trojan city. So Turnus can no longer hold his ground with shield or arm. A storm of weapons overwhelms him from every side. His helmet rings with constant blows around his temples, and stones split its solid bronze. His horsehair crest is torn away, and the boss of his shield cannot withstand the blows. Mnestheus charges on with his Trojans, hurling a storm of spears. Sweat runs all over Turnus, pouring down in dark streams, and he is given no time to catch his breath. Painful gasps shake his exhausted limbs. At last, fully armed, he leaps headlong into the river. Its yellow currents part as he enters, and the buoyant water lifts him up. It washes away the blood of battle and returns him triumphant to his comrades.