The Rutulian conquerors, enriched with spoil and booty,
were bearing Volscens’ body to the camp with tears in their
eyes. Nor less loud is the wailing in the camp, when they 5
find Rhamnes drained of life, and those many chiefs slain
by a single carnage—Serranus, Numa, and the rest.
They flock in crowds to the bodies, the warriors yet breathing,
the place fresh and reeking with slaughter, and the
streams of gore full and foaming. They pass the spoils 10
from hand to hand, and recognize Messapus’ gleaming
helm, and the trappings which it cost such sweat to recover.