vex your quiet and woo you to tempt wars you know not? We that have
drawn sword on the fields of Ilium--I forbear to tell the drains of war
beneath her high walls, the men sunken in yonder Simoïs--have all over
the world paid to the full our punishment and the reward of guilt, a
crew Priam's self might pity; as Minerva's baleful star knows, and the
Euboïc reefs and Caphereus' revenge. From that warfaring driven to alien
shores, Menelaus son of Atreus is in exile far as Proteus' Pillars,
Ulysses hath seen the Cyclopes of Aetna. Shall I make mention of the
realm of Neoptolemus, and Idomeneus' household gods overthrown? or of
the Locrians who dwell on the Libyan beach? Even the lord of Mycenae,
the mighty Achaeans' general, sank on his own threshold edge under his
accursed wife's hand, where the adulterer crouched over conquered Asia.
Aye, or that the gods grudged it me to return to [270-301]my ancestral
altars, to see the bride of my desire, and lovely Calydon! Now likewise
sights of appalling presage pursue me; my comrades, lost to me, have
soared winging into the sky, and flit birds about the rivers--ah me,
dread punishment of my people!--and fill the cliffs with their
melancholy cries. This it was I had to look for even from the time when
I madly assailed celestial limbs with steel, and sullied the hand of
Venus with a wound. Do not, ah, do not urge me to such battles. Neither
have I any war with Troy since her towers are overthrown, nor do I
remember with delight the woes of old. Turn to Aeneas with the gifts you
bear to me from your ancestral borders. We have stood to face his grim
weapons, and met him hand to hand; believe one who hath proved it, how
mightily he rises over his shield, in what a whirlwind he hurls his
spear. Had the land of Ida borne two more like him, Dardanus had marched
to attack the towns of Inachus, and Greece were mourning fate's reverse.
In all our delay before that obstinate Trojan city, it was Hector and
Aeneas whose hand stayed the Grecian victory and bore back its advance
to the tenth year. Both were splendid in courage, both eminent in arms;
Aeneas was first in duty. Let your hands join in treaty as they may; but
beware that your weapons close not with his."
'Thou hast heard, most gracious king, at once what is the king's answer,
and what his counsel for our great struggle.'
Scarcely thus the envoys, when a diverse murmur ran through the troubled
lips of the Ausonians; even as, when rocks delay some running river, it
plashes in the barred pool, and the banks murmur nigh to the babbling
wave. So soon as their minds were quieted, and their hurrying lips
hushed, the king, first calling on the gods, begins from his lofty
throne:
[302-336]'Ere now could I wish, O Latins, we had determined our course
of state, and it had been better thus; not to meet in council at such a
time as now, with the enemy seated before our walls. We wage an
ill-timed war, fellow-citizens, with a divine race, invincible, unbroken
in battle, who brook not even when conquered to drop the sword. If you
had hope in appeal to Aetolian arms, abandon it; though each man's hope
is his own, you discern how narrow a path it is. Beyond that you see
with your eyes and handle with your hands the total ruin of our
fortunes. I blame no one; what valour's utmost could do is done; we have
fought with our whole kingdom's strength. Now I will unfold what I
doubtfully advise and purpose, and with your attention instruct you of
it in brief. There is an ancient land of mine bordering the Tuscan
river, stretching far westward beyond the Sicanian borders. Auruncans
and Rutulians sow on it, work the stiff hills with the ploughshare, and
pasture them where they are roughest. Let all this tract, with a
pine-clad belt of mountain height, pass to the Teucrians in friendship;
let us name fair terms of treaty, and invite them as allies to our
realm; let them settle, if they desire it so, and found a city. But if
they have a mind to try other coasts and another people, and can abide
to leave our soil, let us build twice ten ships of Italian oak, or as
many more as they can man; timber lies at the water's edge for all; let
them assign the number and fashion of the vessels, and we will supply
brass, labour, dockyards. Further, it is our will that an hundred
ambassadors of the highest rank in Latium shall go to bear our words and
ratify the treaty, holding forth in their hands the boughs of peace, and
carrying for gifts weight of gold and ivory, and the chair and striped
robe, our royal array. Give counsel openly, and succour our exhausted
state.'
Then Drances again, he whose jealous ill-will was [337-370]wrought to
anger and stung with bitterness by Turnus' fame, lavish of wealth and
quick of tongue though his hand was cold in war, held no empty
counsellor and potent in faction--his mother's rank ennobled a lineage
whose paternal source was obscure--rises, and with these words heaps and
heightens their passion:
'Dark to no man and needing no voice of ours, O gracious king, is that
whereon thou takest counsel. All confess they know how our nation's
fortune sways; but their words are choked. Let him grant freedom of
speech and abate his breath, he by whose disastrous government and
perverse way (I will speak out, though he menace me with arms and death)
we see so many stars of battle gone down and all our city sunk in
mourning; while he, confident in flight, assails the Trojan camp and
makes heaven quail before his arms. Add yet one to those gifts of thine,
to all the riches thou bidst us send or promise to the Dardanians, most
gracious of kings, but one; let no man's passion overbear thee from
giving thine own daughter to an illustrious son and a worthy marriage,
and binding this peace by perpetual treaty. Yet if we are thus
terror-stricken heart and soul, let us implore him in person, in person
plead him of his grace to give way, to restore king and country their
proper right. Why again and again hurlest thou these unhappy citizens on
peril so evident, O source and spring of Latium's woes? In war is no
safety; peace we all implore of thee, O Turnus, and the one pledge that
makes peace inviolable. I the first, I whom thou picturest thine enemy,
as I care not if I am, see, I bow at thy feet. Pity thine allies;
relent, and retire before thy conqueror. Enough have we seen of rout and
death, and desolation over our broad lands. Or if glory stir thee, if
such strength kindle in thy breast, and if a palace so delight thee for
thy dower, be bold, and advance stout-hearted upon the foe. We verily,
that Turnus [371-406]may have his royal bride, must lie scattered on
the plains, worthless lives, a crowd unburied and unwept. Do thou also,
if thou hast aught of might, if the War-god be in thee as in thy
fathers, look him in the face who challenges. . . .'
At these words Turnus' passion blazed out. He utters a groan, and breaks
forth thus in deep accents:
'Copious indeed, Drances, and fluent is ever thy speech at the moment
war calls for action; and when the fathers are summoned thou art there
the first. But we need no words to fill our senate-house, safely as thou
wingest them while the mounded walls keep off the enemy, and the
trenches swim not yet with blood. Thunder on in rhetoric, thy wonted
way: accuse thou me of fear, Drances, since thine hand hath heaped so
many Teucrians in slaughter, and thy glorious trophies dot the fields.
Trial is open of what live valour can do; nor indeed is our foe far to
seek; on all sides they surround our walls. Are we going to meet them?
Why linger? Will thy bravery ever be in that windy tongue and those
timorous feet of thine? . . . _My conqueror?_ Shall any justly flout me
as conquered, who sees Tiber swoln fuller with Ilian blood, and all the
house and people of Evander laid low, and the Arcadians stripped of
their armour? Not such did Bitias and huge Pandarus prove me, and the
thousand men whom on one day my conquering hand sent down to hell, shut
as I was in their walls and closed in the enemy's ramparts. _In war is
no safety._ Fool! be thy boding on the Dardanian's head and thine own
fortunes. Go on; cease not to throw all into confusion with thy terrors,
to exalt the strength of a twice vanquished race, and abase the arms of
Latinus before it. Now the princes of the Myrmidons tremble before
Phrygian arms, now Tydeus' son and Achilles of Larissa, and Aufidus
river recoils from the Adriatic wave. Or when the scheming villain
[407-443]pretends to shrink at my abuse, and sharpens calumny by
terror! never shall this hand--keep quiet!--rob thee of such a soul;
with thee let it abide, and dwell in that breast of thine. Now I return
to thee, my lord, and thy weighty resolves. If thou dost repose no
further hope in our arms, if all hath indeed left us, and one repulse
been our utter ruin, and our fortune is beyond recovery, let us plead
for peace and stretch forth unarmed hands. Yet ah! had we aught of our
wonted manhood, his toil beyond all other is blessed and his spirit
eminent, who rather than see it thus, hath fallen prone in death and
once bitten the ground. But if we have yet resources and an army still
unbroken, and cities and peoples of Italy remain for our aid; but if
even the Trojans have won their glory at great cost of blood (they too
have their deaths, and the storm fell equally on all), why do we
shamefully faint even on the threshold? Why does a shudder seize our
limbs before the trumpet sound? Often do the Days and the varying change
of toiling Time restore prosperity; often Fortune in broken visits makes
man her sport and again establishes him. The Aetolian of Arpi will not
help us; but Messapus will, and Tolumnius the fortunate, and the
captains sent by many a nation; nor will fame be scant to follow the
flower of Latium and the Laurentine land. Camilla the Volscian too is
with us, leading her train of cavalry, squadrons splendid in brass. But
if I only am claimed by the Teucrians for combat, if that is your
pleasure, and I am the barrier to the public good, Victory does not so
hate and shun my hands that I should renounce any enterprise for so
great a hope. I shall meet him in courage, did he outmatch great
Achilles and wear arms like his forged by Vulcan's hands. To you and to
my father Latinus I Turnus, unexcelled in bravery by any of old,
consecrate my life. _Aeneas calls on him alone_: let him, I implore: let
not Drances rather appease with his [444-480]life this wrath of heaven,
if such it be, or win the renown of valour.'
Thus they one with another strove together in uncertainty; Aeneas moved
from his camp to battle. Lo, a messenger rushes spreading confusion
through the royal house, and fills the town with great alarms: the
Teucrians, ranged in battle-line with the Tyrrhene forces, are marching
down by the Tiber river and filling the plain. Immediately spirits are
stirred and hearts shaken and wrath roused in fierce excitement among
the crowd. Hurrying hands grasp at arms; for arms their young men
clamour; the fathers shed tears and mutter gloomily. With that a great
noise rises aloft in diverse contention, even as when flocks of birds
haply settle on a lofty grove, or swans utter their hoarse cry among the
vocal pools on the fish-filled river of Padusa. 'Yes, citizens!' cries
Turnus, seizing his time: 'gather in council and sit praising peace,
while they rush on dominion in arms!' Without more words he sprung up
and issued swiftly from the high halls. 'Thou, Volusus,' he cries, 'bid
the Volscian battalions arm, and lead out the Rutulians. Messapus, and
Coras with thy brother, spread your armed cavalry widely over the plain.
Let a division entrench the city gates and man the towers: the rest of
our array attack with me where I command.' The whole town goes rushing
to the walls; lord Latinus himself, dismayed by the woeful emergency,
quits the council and puts off his high designs, and chides himself
sorely for not having given Aeneas unasked welcome, and made him son and
bulwark of the city. Some entrench the gates, or bring up supply of
stones and poles. The hoarse clarion utters the ensanguined note of war.
A motley ring of boys and matrons girdle the walls. Therewithal the
queen with a crowd of mothers ascends bearing gifts to Pallas' towered
temple, and by her side goes maiden Lavinia, source of all that woe,
[481-514]her beautiful eyes cast down. The mothers enter in, and while
the temple steams with their incense, pour from the high doorway their
mournful cry: 'Maiden armipotent, Tritonian, sovereign of war, break
with thine hand the spear of the Phrygian plunderer, hurl him prone to
earth and dash him down beneath our lofty gates.' Turnus arrays himself
in hot haste for battle, and even now hath done on his sparkling
breastplate with its flickering scales of brass, and clasped his golden
greaves, his brows yet bare and his sword buckled to his side; he runs
down from the fortress height glittering in gold, and exultantly
anticipates the foe. Thus when a horse snaps his tether, and, free at
last, rushes from the stalls and gains the open plain, he either darts
towards the pastures of the herded mares, or bathing, as is his wont, in
the familiar river waters, dashes out and neighs with neck stretched
high, glorying, and his mane tosses over collar and shoulder. Camilla
with her Volscian array meets him face to face in the gateway; the
princess leaps from her horse, and all her squadron at her example slide
from horseback to the ground. Then she speaks thus:
'Turnus, if bravery hath any just self-confidence, I dare and promise to
engage Aeneas' cavalry, and advance to meet the Tyrrhene horse. Permit
my hand to try war's first perils: do thou on foot keep by the walls and
guard the city.'
To this Turnus, with eyes fixed on the terrible maiden: 'O maiden flower
of Italy, how may I essay to express, how to prove my gratitude? But
now, since that spirit of thine excels all praise, share thou the toil
with me. Aeneas, as the report of the scouts I sent assures, hath sent
on his light-armed horse to annoy us and scour the plains; himself he
marches on the city across the lonely ridge of the mountain steep. I am
arranging a stratagem of [515-550]war in his pathway on the wooded
slope, to block a gorge on the highroad with armed troops. Do thou
receive and join battle with the Tyrrhene cavalry; with thee shall be
gallant Messapus, the Latin squadrons, and Tiburtus' division: do thou
likewise assume a captain's charge.'
So speaks he, and with like words heartens Messapus and the allied
captains to battle, and advances towards the enemy. There is a sweeping
curve of glen, made for ambushes and devices of arms. Dark thick foliage
hems it in on either hand, and into it a bare footpath leads by a narrow
gorge and difficult entrance. Right above it on the watch-towers of the
hill-top lies an unexpected level, hidden away in shelter, whether one
would charge from right and left or stand on the ridge and roll down
heavy stones. Hither he passes by a line of way he knew, and, seizing
his ground, occupies the treacherous woods.
Meanwhile in the heavenly dwellings Latona's daughter addressed fleet
Opis, one of her maiden fellowship and sacred band, and sadly uttered
these accents: 'Camilla moves to fierce war, O maiden, and vainly girds
on our arms, dear as she is beyond others to me. For her love of Diana
is not newly born, nor her spirit stirred by sudden affection. Driven
from his kingdom through jealousy of his haughty power, Metabus left
ancient Privernum town, and bore his infant with him in his flight
through war and battle, the companion of his exile, and called her by
her mother Casmilla's name, with a little change, Camilla. Carrying her
before him on his breast, he sought a long ridge of lonely woodland; on
all sides angry weapons pressed on him, and Volscian soldiery spread
hurrying round about. Lo, in mid flight swoln Amasenus ran foaming with
banks abrim, so heavily had the clouds burst in rain. He would swim it;
but love of the infant holds him back in alarm for so dear a burden.
Inly revolving [551-586]all, he settled reluctantly on a sudden
resolve: the great spear that the warrior haply carried in his stout
hand, of hard-knotted and seasoned oak, to it he ties his daughter
swathed in cork-tree bark of the woodland, and binds her balanced round
the middle of the spear; poising it in his great right hand he thus
cries aloft: "Gracious one, haunter of the woodland, maiden daughter of
Latona, a father devotes this babe to thy service; thine is this weapon
she holds, thine infant suppliant, flying through the air from her
enemies. Accept her, I implore, O goddess, for thine own, whom now I
entrust to the chance of air." He spoke, and drawing back his arm, darts
the spinning spear-shaft: the waters roar: over the racing river poor
Camilla shoots on the whistling weapon. But Metabus, as a strong band
now presses nigher, plunges into the river, and triumphantly pulls spear
and girl, his gift to Trivia, from the grassy turf. No cities ever
received him within house or rampart, nor had his savagery submitted to
it; he led his life on the lonely pastoral hills. Here he nursed his
daughter in the underwood among tangled coverts, on the milk of a wild
brood-mare's teats, squeezing the udder into her tender lips. And so
soon as the baby stood and went straight on her feet, he armed her hands
with a sharp javelin, and hung quiver and bow from her little shoulders.
Instead of gold to clasp her tresses, instead of the long skirted gown,
a tiger's spoils hang down her back. Even then her tender hand hurled
childish darts, and whirled about her head the twisted thong of her
sling, and struck down the crane from Strymon or the milk-white swan.
Many a mother among Tyrrhenian towns destined her for their sons in
vain; content with Diana alone, she keeps unsoiled for ever the love of
her darts and maidenhood. Would she had not plunged thus into warfare
and provoked the Trojans by attack! so were she now dear to me and one
of my [587-620]company. But since bitter doom is upon her, up, glide
from heaven, O Nymph, and seek the Latin borders, where under evil omen
they join in baleful battle. Take these, and draw from the quiver an
avenging shaft; by it shall he pay me forfeit of his blood, whoso,
Trojan or Italian alike, shall sully her sacred body with a wound.
Thereafter will I in a sheltering cloud bear body and armour of the
hapless girl unspoiled to the tomb, and lay them in her native land.'
She spoke; but the other sped lightly down the aery sky, girt about with
dark whirlwind on her echoing way.
But meanwhile the Trojan force nears the walls, with the Etruscan
captains and their whole cavalry arrayed in ordered squadrons. Their
horses' trampling hoofs thunder on all the field, as, swerving this way
and that, they chafe at the reins' pressure; the iron field bristles
wide with spears, and the plain is aflame with uplifted arms. Likewise
Messapus and the Latin horse, and Coras and his brother, and maiden
Camilla's squadron, come forth against them on the plain, and draw back
their hands and level the flickering points of their long lances, in a
fire of neighing horses and advancing men. And now each had drawn within
javelin-cast of each, and drew up; with a sudden shout they dart forth,
and urge on their furious horses; from all sides at once weapons shower
thick like snow, and veil the sky with their shadow. In a moment
Tyrrhenus and fiery Aconteus charge violently with crossing spears, and
are the first to fall; they go down with a heavy crash, and their beasts
break and shatter chest upon chest. Aconteus, hurled off like a
thunderbolt or some mass slung from an engine, is dashed away, and
scatters his life in air. Immediately the lines waver, and the Latins
wheeling about throw their shields behind them and turn their horses
towards the town. The Trojans pursue; Asilas heads and leads on
[621-653]their squadrons. And now they drew nigh the gates, and again
the Latins raise a shout and wheel their supple necks about; the
pursuers fly, and gallop right back with loosened rein: as when the sea,
running up in ebb and flow, now rushes shoreward and strikes over the
cliffs in a wave of foam, drenching the edge of the sand in its curving
sweep; now runs swirling back, and the surge sucks the rolling stones
away. Twice the Tuscans turn and drive the Rutulians towards the town;
twice they are repelled, and look back behind them from cover of their
shields. But when now meeting in a third encounter, the lines are locked
together all their length, and man singles out his man; then indeed,
amid groans of the dying, deep in blood roll armour and bodies, and
horses half slain mixed up with slaughtered men. The battle swells
fierce. Orsilochus hurled his spear at the horse of Remulus, whom
himself he shrank to meet, and left the steel in it under the ear; at
the stroke the charger rears madly, and, mastered by the wound, lifts
his chest and flings up his legs: the rider is thrown and rolls over on
the ground. Catillus strikes down Iollas, and Herminius mighty in
courage, mighty in limbs and arms, bareheaded, tawny-haired,
bare-shouldered; undismayed by wounds, he leaves his vast body open
against arms. Through his broad shoulders the quivering spear runs
piercing him through, and doubles him up with pain. Everywhere the dark
blood flows; they deal death with the sword in battle, and seek a noble
death by wounds.
But amid the slaughter Camilla rages, a quivered Amazon, with one side
stripped for battle, and now sends tough javelins showering from her
hand, now snatches the strong battle-axe in her unwearying grasp; the
golden bow, the armour of Diana, clashes on her shoulders; and even when
forced backward in retreat, she turns in flight and [654-691]aims darts
from her bow. But around her are her chosen comrades, maiden Larina,
Tulla, Tarpeia brandishing an axe inlaid with bronze, girls of Italy,
whom Camilla the bright chose for her own escort, good at service in
peace and war: even as Thracian Amazons when the streams of Thermodon
clash beneath them as they go to war in painted arms, whether around
Hippolyte, or while martial Penthesilea returns in her chariot, and the
crescent-shielded columns of women dance with loud confused cry. Whom
first, whom last, fierce maiden, does thy dart strike down? First
Euneus, son of Clytius; for as he meets her the long fir shaft crashes
through his open breast. He falls spouting streams of blood, and bites
the gory ground, and dying writhes himself upon his wound. Then Liris
and Pagasus above him; who fall headlong and together, the one thrown as
he reins up his horse stabbed under him, the other while he runs forward
and stretches his unarmed hand to stay his fall. To these she joins
Amastrus, son of Hippotas, and follows from far with her spear Tereus
and Harpalycus and Demophoön and Chromis: and as many darts as the
maiden sends whirling from her hand, so many Phrygians fall. Ornytus the
hunter rides near in strange arms on his Iapygian horse, his broad
warrior's shoulders swathed in the hide stripped from a bullock, his
head covered by a wolf's wide-grinning mouth and white-tusked jaws; a
rustic pike arms his hand; himself he moves amid the squadrons a full
head over all. Catching him up (for that was easy amid the rout), she
runs him through, and thus cries above her enemy: 'Thou wert hunting
wild beasts in the forest, thoughtest thou, Tyrrhenian? the day is come
for a woman's arms to refute thy words. Yet no light fame shalt thou
carry to thy fathers' ghosts, to have fallen under the weapon of
Camilla.' Next Orsilochus and Butes, the two mightiest of mould among
the Teucrians; Butes she pierces in the [692-725]back with her
spear-point between corslet and helmet, where the neck shews as he sits,
and the shield hangs from his left shoulder; Orsilochus she flies, and
darting in a wide circle, slips into the inner ring and pursues her
pursuer; then rising her full height, she drives the strong axe deep
through armour and bone, as he pleads and makes much entreaty; warm
brain from the wound splashes his face. One met her thus and hung
startled by the sudden sight, the warrior son of Aunus haunter of the
Apennine, not the meanest in Liguria while fate allowed him to deceive.
And he, when he discerns that no fleetness of foot may now save him from
battle or turn the princess from pursuit, essays to wind a subtle device
of treachery, and thus begins: 'How hast thou glory, if a woman trust in
her horse's strength? Debar retreat; trust thyself to level ground at
close quarters with me, and prepare to fight on foot. Soon wilt thou
know how windy boasting brings one to harm.' He spoke; but she, furious
and stung with fiery indignation, hands her horse to an attendant, and
takes her stand in equal arms on foot and undismayed, with naked sword
and shield unemblazoned. But he, thinking his craft had won the day,
himself flies off on the instant, and turning his rein, darts off in
flight, pricking his beast to speed with iron-armed heel. 'False
Ligurian, in vain elated in thy pride! for naught hast thou attempted
thy slippery native arts, nor will thy craft bring thee home unhurt to
treacherous Aunus.' So speaks the maiden, and with running feet swift as
fire crosses his horse, and catching the bridle, meets him in front and
takes her vengeance in her enemy's blood: as lightly as the falcon, bird
of bale, swoops down from aloft on a pigeon high in a cloud, and pounces
on and holds her, and disembowels her with taloned feet, while blood and
torn feathers flutter down the sky.