sleep, and their hearts forgot their pain; the foremost Trojan captains,
a chosen band, held council [227-261]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.'
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; [262-296]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.'
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;
[297-330]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.
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 [331-364]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 [365-396]in vain, then puts on Messapus' light helmet
with its graceful plumes. They issue from the camp and make 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 [397-431]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 [432-464]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.
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.
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.
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
[465-499]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
[500-535]her grief kindled, at Ilioneus' and weeping Iülus' bidding
Idaeus and Actor catch up and carry 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.
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.
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
[536-570]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 [571-606]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.
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.
'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, [607-639]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.'
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
[640-673]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:
'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.