await the foe. Turnus, just as he had galloped on in advance
of his tardy column, appears unforeseen before the 20
gate with a chosen following of twenty horse: with a
Thracian steed to carry him, spotted with white, and a
golden helm with scarlet crest to guard his head. “Now,
gallants, which of you will venture with me first against
the foe? Look there!” he cries, and with a whirl sends 25
his javelin into the air, the overture of battle, and proudly
prances over the plain. His friends second him with a
shout and follow with dreadful cries; they wonder at the