down to you a stainless spirit, guiltless of that base charge,
worthy in all my acts of my great forefathers.”
Scarce had he spoken, when lo! there flies through the
midst of the foe, on a foaming steed, Saces, with an arrow 35
full in his face: up he spurs, imploring Turnus by name:
“Turnus, our last hope is in you: have compassion on
your army. Æneas thunders with sword and spear, and
threatens that he will level in dust and give to destruction
the Italians’ topmost battlements: even now brands
are flying to the roofs. Every Latian face, every eye