Camilla’s squadron
Was first to flee, their leader lost; Atinas,
Keen though he was, sped off; in reel and rout
Rutulians followed; captains and troops uncaptained,
Shattered and broken, turned and wheeled their horses
On a gallop toward the walls. No one can halt
The Trojans now, nor stand against the havoc;
They carry unstrung bows on nerveless shoulders,
And the horses drum in the rush in the dust of the plain.
A cloud of dust, black murk, rolls toward the walls,
And from the watch-towers mothers wail to heaven,
Beating their breasts, screaming in lamentation.
The first ones stumble through the gates; upon them
The enemy presses hard, and friend and foe
Are all confused together. Men are dying,
Gasping away their lives on their own threshold,
In sight of home and shelter, unprotected
Within their native walls. Some close the gates,
Dare not admit their wretched comrades, pleading,
Nor take them to the town. And slaughter follows,
Most pitiful: the sword that guards the portals
Kills citizens who try to rush in blindly.
Their parents, weeping, see them shut from the city,
And some, who are driven back, go rolling headlong
Into the trenches, and others, dashing wildly
With loosened rein, crash into gates and portals
Locked tight against them. Along the walls the mothers
Try to be fighters (love of country taught them)
And, as they saw Camilla do, fling weapons
With trembling hands, or grasp at stakes or oak-poles
To do the work that steel should do, poor creatures,
Eager to die, before the walls, in the vanguard.
Meanwhile, to Turnus in his forest ambush
The terrible news is borne: Acca reports it,
The Volscian ranks destroyed, Camilla fallen,
The enemy, deadly, massing thick, and sweeping
All things before them in triumphant warfare,
Fear at the very walls. And Turnus, raging—
(As Jupiter’s relentless will commanded)
Forsook the ambush in the hills, abandoned
The rugged woodland, and scarcely had he done so,
Passing from sight to valley, when Aeneas
Entered the pass in safety, crossed the mountain,
Came out of the dark woods. And both were striving
To reach the city, swiftly, in full column
And almost side by side: in a single moment
Aeneas saw the plain and the dust rising
And Turnus saw Aeneas, fierce for battle,
And heard the stamp and snorting of the horses.
There was almost time for fighting, but the Sun-god,
Colored in crimson, brought his weary horses
To bathe in the Western ocean; day was over,
Night coming on. They camped before the city.
BOOK XII
THE
FINAL COMBAT
As Turnus saw the Latins failing, broken,
With Mars against them, and all eyes upon him
Awaiting the fulfillment of his promise,
He burned with wrath, implacable, and lifted
His spirit high, as in the fields of Carthage
A lion, sorely wounded by the hunters,
Fights harder for the hurt, the happier for it.
And the mane rises on the neck and shoulders,
And the jaws break off the weapon, and the bloody mouth
Roars out defiance, even so in Turnus
The violent spirit raged. He spoke to the king
In angry words:—“Turnus won’t keep them waiting;
No reason for these cowards to renounce
Their bargain. Start the holy ritual, father,
Arrange the terms. I go to meet the Trojan;
Let the Latins sit and watch it if they want to,
And this right arm will send him down to Hell,
The renegade from Asia. I alone
Answer the argument that calls us cowards,
I, with one single sword. Or we are beaten
And he takes Lavinia home.”
Latinus answered
With quiet in his heart:—“O youth, distinguished
Above them all in spirit, the more your courage
Rises to fierceness, the more I find it needful
To take slow counsel, to balance every hazard.
You have the kingdom of your father Daunus,
And many a captured town; and I, Latinus,
Lack neither gold nor spirit. In our country
There are other girls, unwed, and not ignoble.
Let me say this—I know it is not easy—
As frankly as I can, and listen to me:
It was not right for me to give my daughter
To any of her former native suitors,
And gods and men so prophesied. I loved you,
Turnus, and I gave in: we are related
By blood, I know, and when Amata sorrowed,
I broke off every bond, cancelled the promise,
Took up unholy arms. From that day, Turnus,
You see what wars pursue me, and what dangers,
What sufferings you, above all men, submit to.
We have been beaten twice in a great battle
And now we hold, just barely, in our city
The hopes of Italy. The streams of Tiber
Are warm with blood of ours, and the broad fields
White with our bones. In what direction
Do I keep turning, back and forth? What madness
Changes my purpose? If, with Turnus dead,
I stand prepared to join them to me as allies,
Why not, while he still lives, break off the conflict?
What will they say, all your Rutulian kinsmen,
All Italy, if I (may fortune keep
The word I say from coming true!) betray you
To death, the suitor of my only daughter?
Consider war’s uncertainties, and pity
Your aged father, far from us and grieving
In Ardea, his homeland.” The king’s appeal
Moved Turnus not at all; his temper worsened,
Was aggravated by the attempt at healing.
He managed, with an effort, to say something:—
“Most kindly father, the care you have for me
Lay down, for my sake; let me have permission
To trade death for renown. I too, dear father,
Toss no mean dart, swing no mean sword, and blood
Follows the wounds I give. His goddess-mother
Will not be there, this time, to hide him, running
To the folds of her gown and cloud and empty shadows.”
But Queen Amata, sick and almost dying
From fear of the new battle-chance, was weeping;
He was the son she wanted; she would not let him
Risk that heroic life, and, clinging to him,
She made her plea:—“Turnus, our only hope,
Our only comfort in our sad old age,
The pride and honor of Latinus’ kingdom
Rest in your keeping, and our sinking house
Depends on you to shore it up from ruin.
If tears of mine can move you, if my daughter
Merits the least devotion, I implore you,
I beg one favor: do not fight the Trojan!
Whatever danger waits you in that duel
Awaits me also, Turnus; I shall leave
The hateful light when you do, I shall never
Be such a captive as to see Aeneas
Come to my home as son-in-law.” Lavinia
Listened and wept and blushed, her maiden features
Suffused with color, as the stain of crimson
Adds hue to Indian ivory, or lilies
Lose something of their whiteness, mixed with roses.
And Turnus, troubled enough, was troubled further
Watching the girl, and burned the more for battle,
And spoke, however briefly, to Amata:—
“Do not, O mother, follow me with tears
Or any such omen as I go to battle.
Turnus can not delay his death.” He turned
To Idmon, then, and told him:—“Be my herald:
Deliver to that Phrygian usurper
These words from me—I know that he will hate them—
When dawn to-morrow, riding in the heaven
In crimson chariot, glows and reddens, let him
Hold back his Trojans, let their weapons and ours
Have rest, let us end the war, two of us only;
There let Lavinia be sought, her husband
The victor on that field!”
And he went home
To his own quarters, hurrying, demanding
His horses, given Pilumnus by Orithyia,
Whiter than snow, swifter than wind. And he was happy
Looking at them, all spirit, as they nickered
Seeing their master. The drivers stood about them,
Grooming the manes, patting the chests. And Turnus
Fits to his shoulders the stiff coat of armor,
The gold, the bronze, and tests the readiness
Of sword and shield and the horns of the ruddy crest
Vulcan had made the sword for Daunus, metal
Glowing white-hot and plunged in Stygian water.
The spear stood leaning on a mighty pillar
In the great hall, a trophy won from Actor;
He seized it poised it, shook it, cried aloud:—
“Be with me now, good spear that never failed me!
The time has come. Let me lay low that body,
Let my tough hands rip off his coat of armor,
Let me shove that eunuch’s crimped and perfumed tresses
Deep in the dust!” So he was driven by fury,
Sparks leaping from his countenance, and fire
Flashing at every glance; he is like a bull
Bellowing before battle, charging tree-trunks
To get the anger into his horns, head lowered
As if to gore the winds, and pawing sand.
And in the other camp Aeneas, likewise,
Fierce in the arms his mother brought from Vulcan,
Sharpens his fighting spirit and rejoices
That the war’s end is near through this agreement.
He comforts comrades, reassures Iulus,
Sad in his fear, tells them the fates, and orders
Definite answer brought to King Latinus
With proper terms of armistice.
And dawn
Had scarcely touched the mountain-tops with light
And the Sun-god’s horses risen from the ocean,
When Trojans and Rutulians left the city
And came to the great plain, the field of combat,
Under the walls, and in the midst erected
The hearths and altars for their common gods.
Others, their temples bound with holy vervain,
Veiled with the sacred robes, brought fire and water.
Through the full gates the Ausonian host came streaming,
And from the other side, Trojans, Etruscans,
Harnessed in steel, as if a battle called them,
With leaders flashing there, amid their thousands,
Brilliant in gold and purple, brave Asilas,
Mnestheus, Assaracus’ high-souled descendant,
Messapus, tamer of horses, son of Neptune.
Each, at a signal, found his post; the spears
Were fixed in the earth, and the shields rested on them.
Then came the mothers in their eagerness,
And the unarmed throng, and the weak old men, all crowding
Towers and house-tops, or standing by the portals.
But Juno, from the summit now called Alban,
Nameless in those days, lacking fame and glory,
Looked over the plain, the lines of Latin and Trojan,
The city of Latinus, and she turned,
A goddess to a goddess, to Juturna,
Sister of Turnus, guardian of still pools
And sounding rivers; Jupiter had given
This honor to her, for the honor taken,
The lost virginity. Juno addressed her:—
“O glory of the rivers, dear Juturna,
You know you are the only one I have favored
Of all the Latin girls who have made their way
To great-souled Jove’s ungrateful couch; I gave you,
Gladly, a place in Heaven; learn, Juturna,
A sorrow of yours; do not reproach me for it.
Where fortune seemed to grant it, and the Fates
Let things go well for Latium, I protected
Your brother and your city. Now I see him
Faced with unequal destiny. The day
Of doom and enemy violence draws near.
I cannot watch this battle and this treaty;
You, it may be, have in you greater daring,
Resourceful for your brother’s sake. Go on;
That much is only decent. Happier fortunes
Will follow the unfortunate, if only—”
As she broke off, Juturna wept; her hand
Struck thrice, four times, her lovely breast. And Juno
Cried:—“This is not the time for tears, Juturna!
Hurry; and if there is some way to save him,
Snatch him from death; or stir up war, break off
The covenant: be daring—you are granted
Authority from Juno!” And she left her
Doubtful and suffering, with wounded spirit.