foot, weapon in hand: Turnus alone he tracks winding
through the thick darkness, him alone he challenges to
combat. The terror struck Juturna’s manly mind: she
plucks from his seat Metiscus, Turnus’ charioteer, as he 35
drives the horses, and leaves him fallen at distance behind
the car: herself takes his place and handles the
flowing rein, assuming all that Metiscus had, voice and
person and armour. Like a black swallow that flies
through the house of some wealthy man and traverses
the lofty hail, in quest of scraps of food for her twittering