Meanwhile the palace of all-powerful Olympus
	was opened wide, and the father of the gods, and king of men,
	called a council in his starry house, from whose heights
	he gazed at every land, at Trojan camp, and Latin people.
5	They took their seats in the hall with doors at east and west,
	and he began: ‘Great sky-dwellers, why have you changed
	your decision, competing now, with such opposing wills? 
	I commanded Italy not to make war on the Trojans.
	Why this conflict, against my orders? What fear
10	has driven them both to take up arms and incite violence?
	The right time for fighting will arrive (don’t bring it on)
	when fierce Carthage, piercing the Alps, will launch 
	great destruction on the Roman strongholds:
	then it will be fine to compete in hatred, and ravage things.
15	Now let it alone, and construct a treaty, gladly, as agreed.’
	Jupiter’s speech was brief as this: but golden Venus’s reply 
	was not:
	‘O father, eternal judge of men and things
	(for who else is there I can make my appeal to now?)
20	you see how the Rutulians exult, how Turnus is drawn
	by noble horses through the crowd, and, fortunate in war,
	rushes on proudly. Barred defences no longer protect the Trojans:
	rather they join battle within the gates, and on the rampart 
	walls themselves, and the ditches are filled with blood.
25	Aeneas is absent, unaware of this. Will you never let the siege
	be raised? A second enemy once again 
	menaces and harasses new-born Troy, 
	and again, from Aetolian Arpi, a Diomede rises. 
	I almost think the wound I had from him still awaits me:
30	your child merely delays the thrust of that mortal’s weapon.
	If the Trojans sought Italy without your consent, 
	and despite your divine will, let them expiate the sin: 
	don’t grant them help. But if they’ve followed the oracles 
	of powers above and below, why should anyone change 
35	your orders now, and forge new destinies?
	Shall I remind you of their fleet, burned on the shores of Eryx?
	Or the king of the storms and his furious winds roused 
	from Aeolia, or Iris sent down from the clouds?
	Now Juno even stirs the dead (the only lot still left to use)
40	and Allecto too, suddenly loosed on the upper world,
	runs wild through all the Italian cities.
	I no longer care about Empire. Though that was my hope
	while fortune was kind. Let those you wish to win prevail.
	Father, if there’s no land your relentless queen will grant 
45	the Trojans, I beg, by the smoking ruins of shattered Troy, 
	let me bring Ascanius, untouched, from among 
	the weapons: let my grandson live.
	Aeneas, yes, may be tossed on unknown seas, and go
	wherever Fortune grants a road: but let me have the power
50	to protect the child and remove him from the fatal battle.
	Amathus is mine, high Paphos and Cythera are mine,
	and Idalia’s temple: let him ground his weapons there,
	and live out inglorious years. Command that Carthage,
	with her great power, crush Italy: then there’ll be 
55	no obstacle to the Tyrian cities. What was the use in their escaping
	the plague of war, fleeing through the heart of Argive flames,
	enduring the dangers at sea, and in desolate lands,
	as long as the Trojans seek Latium and Troy re-born?
	Wouldn’t it have been better to build on those last embersof their country, 
60	on the soil where Troy once stood? Give Xanthus and Simois 
	back to these unfortunates, father, I beg you, and let the Trojans re-live 
	the course of Ilium.’ Then royal Juno goaded to savage frenzy, 
	cried out:‘Why do you make me shatter my profound silence,
	and utter words of suffering to the world?
65	Did any god or man force Aeneas to make war
	and attack King Latinus as an enemy?
	He sought Italy prompted by the Fates (so be it)
	impelled by Cassandra’s ravings: was he urged by me
	to leave the camp, and trust his life to the winds?
70	To leave the outcome of war, and their defences to a child:
	to disturb Tuscan good faith, and peaceful tribes?
	What goddess, what harsh powers of mine drove him
	to harm? Where is Juno in this, or Iris sent from the clouds?
	If it’s shameful that the Italians surround new-born Troy
75	with flames, and Turnus make a stand on his native soil,
	he whose ancestor is Pilumnus, divine Venilia his mother:
	what of the Trojans with smoking brands using force against the Latins,
	planting their yoke on others’ fields and driving off their plunder?
	Deciding whose daughters to marry, and dragging betrothed girls
80	from their lover’s arms, offering peace with one hand, 
	but decking their ships with weapons? You can steal
	Aeneas away from Greek hands and grant them fog and empty air
	instead of a man, and turn their fleet of ships into as many nymphs:
	is it wrong then for me to have given some help to the Rutulians?
85	“Aeneas is absent, unaware of this.” Let him be absent and unaware.
	Paphos, Idalium, and high Cythera are yours? Why meddle then
	with a city pregnant with wars and fierce hearts?
	Is it I who try to uproot Troy’s fragile state from its base?  
	Is it I? Or he who exposed the wretched Trojans to the Greeks?
90	What reason was there for Europe and Asia to rise up
	in arms, and dissolve their alliance, through treachery?
	Did I lead the Trojan adulterer to conquer Sparta?
	Did I give him weapons, or foment a war because of his lust?
	Then, you should have feared for your own: now, too late,
95	you raise complaints without justice, and provoke useless quarrels.’

	So Juno argued, and all the divinities of heaven murmured
	their diverse opinions, as when rising gales murmur in the woods
	and roll out their secret humming, warning sailors of coming storms. 
	Then the all-powerful father, who has prime authority over things,
100	began (the noble hall of the gods fell silent as he spoke,
	earth trembled underground, high heaven fell silent,
	the Zephyrs too were stilled, the sea calmed its placid waters).
	‘Take my words to heart and fix them there. 
	Since Italians and Trojans are not allowed to join 
105	in alliance, and your disagreement has no end,
	I will draw no distinction between them, Trojan or Rutulian,
	whatever luck each has today, whatever hopes they pursue,
	whether the camp’s under siege, because of Italy’s fortunes,
	or Troy’s evil wanderings and unhappy prophecies.
110	Nor will I absolve the Rutulians. What each has instigated
	shall bring its own suffering and success. Jupiter is king of all, 
	equally: the fates will determine the way.’ He nodded, 
	swearing it by the waters of his Stygian brother, 
	by the banks that seethe with pitch, and the black chasm
115	and made all Olympus tremble at his nod.
	So the speaking ended. Jupiter rose from his golden throne,
	and the divinities led him to the threshold, among them.

	Meanwhile the Rutulians gathered round every gate,
	to slaughter the men, and circle the walls with flames,
120	while Aeneas’s army was held inside their stockade,
	imprisoned, with no hope of escape. Wretchedly they stood
	there on the high turrets, and circling the walls, a sparse ring.
	Asius, son of Imbrasus, Thymoetes, son of Hicetaon,
	the two Assaraci, and Castor with old Thymbris were 
125	the front rank: Sarpedon’s two brothers, Clarus and Thaemon, 
	from noble Lycia, were at their side. 
	Acmon of Lyrnesus, no less huge than his father 
	Clytius, or his brother Mnestheus, lifted a giant rock, 
	no small fragment of a hillside, straining his whole body.
130	Some tried to defend with javelins, some with stones,
	hurling fire and fitting arrows to the bow.
	See, the Trojan boy, himself, in their midst, 
	Venus’s special care, his handsome head uncovered,
	sparkling like a jewel set in yellow gold 
135	adorning neck or forehead, gleaming like ivory, 
	inlaid skilfully in boxwood or Orician terebinth: 
	his milk-white neck, and the circle of soft gold
	clasping it, received his flowing hair.  
	Your great-hearted people saw you too Ismarus,
140	dipping reed-shafts in venom, and aiming them 
	to wound, from a noble Lydian house, there where men
	till rich fields, that the Pactolus waters with gold. There was 
	Mnestheus as well, whom yesterday’s glory, of beating 
	Turnus back from the wall’s embankment, exalted highly, 
145	and Capys: from him the name of the Campanian city comes.
	Men were fighting each other in the conflict of bitter war:
	while Aeneas, by night, was cutting through the waves.
	When, on leaving Evander and entering the Tuscan camp,
	he had met the king, announced his name and race,
150	the help he sought, and that he himself offered, what forces Mezentius 
	was gathering to him, and the violence in Turnus’s heart, 
	and then had warned how little faith can be placed in human powers,
	and had added his entreaties, Tarchon, joined forces with him
	without delay, and agreed a treaty: then fulfilling their fate
155	the Lydian people took to their ships by divine command,
	trusting to a ‘foreign’ leader. Aeneas’s vessel took the van,
	adorned with Phrygian lions below her beak, Mount Ida 
	towering above them, a delight to the exiled Trojans.
	There great Aeneas sat and pondered the varying issues
160	of the war, and Pallas sticking close to his left side, asked him
	now about the stars, their path through the dark night,
	and now about his adventures on land and sea.

	Now, goddesses, throw Helicon wide open: begin your song
	of the company that followed Aeneas from Tuscan shores,
165	arming the ships and riding over the seas.
	Massicus cut the waters at their head, in the bronze-armoured Tiger,
	a band of a thousand warriors under him, leaving the walls
	of Clusium, and the city of Cosae, whose weapons are arrows,
	held in light quivers over their shoulders, and deadly bows.
170	Grim Abas was with him: whose ranks were all splendidly 
	armoured, his ship aglow with a gilded figure of Apollo.
	Populonia, the mother-city, had given him six hundred
	of her offspring, all expert in war, and the island of Ilva, rich 
	with the Chalybes’ inexhaustible mines, three hundred.
175	Asilas was third, that interpreter of gods and men,
	to whom the entrails of beasts were an open book, the stars
	in the sky, the tongues of birds, the prophetic bolts of lightning.
	He hurried his thousand men to war, dense ranks bristling with spears.
	Pisa ordered them to obey, city of Alphean foundation,
180	set on Etruscan soil. Then the most handsome Astur
	followed, Astur relying on horse and iridescent armour.
	Three hundred more (minded to follow as one) were added 
	by those with their home in Caere, the fields 
	by the Minio, ancient Pyrgi, unhealthy Graviscae. 
185	I would not forget you, Cunerus, in war the bravest 
	Ligurian leader, or you with your small company, Cupavo, 
	on whose crest the swan plumes rose, a sign of your father’s 
	transformation (Cupid, your and your mother’s crime).
	For they say that Cycnus wept for his beloved Phaethon,
190	singing amongst the poplar leaves, those shades of Phaethon’s
	sisters, consoling his sorrowful passion with the Muse,
	and drew white age over himself, in soft plumage,
	relinquishing earth, and seeking the stars with song.
	His son, Cupavo, drove on the mighty Centaur, following 
195	the fleet, with troops of his own age: the figurehead towered 
	over the water, threatening from above to hurl a huge rock 
	into the waves, the long keel ploughing through the deep ocean.
	Ocnus, also, called up troops from his native shores,
	he, the son of Manto the prophetess and the Tuscan river,
200	who gave you your walls, Mantua, and his mother’s name,
	Mantua rich in ancestors, but not all of one race:
	there were three races there, under each race four tribes,
	herself the head of the tribes, her strength from Tuscan blood.
	From there too Mezentius drove five hundred to arm against him,
205	lead in pine warships through the sea by a figure, the River Mincius, 
	the child of Lake Benacus, crowned with grey-green reeds.
	Aulestes ploughed on weightily, lashing the waves as he surged
	to the stroke of a hundred oars: the waters foamed as the surface churned.
	He sailed the huge Triton, whose conch shell alarmed the blue waves,
210	it’s carved prow displayed a man’s form down to the waist, 
	as it sailed on, its belly ending in a sea-creature’s, while 
	under the half-man’s chest the waves murmured with foam.
	Such was the count of princes chosen to sail in the thirty ships
	to the aid of Troy, and plough the salt plains with their bronze rams.

215	Now daylight had vanished from the sky and kindly Phoebe
	was treading mid-heaven with her nocturnal team:
	Aeneas (since care allowed his limbs no rest) sat there
	controlling the helm himself, and tending the sails.
	And see, in mid-course, a troop of his own friends
220	appeared: the nymphs, whom gracious Cybele
	had commanded to be goddesses of the sea,
	to be nymphs not ships, swam beside him and cut the flood,
	as many as the bronze prows that once lay by the shore.
	They knew the king from far off, and circled him dancing:
225	and Cymodocea, following, most skilful of them in speech, 
	caught at the stern with her right hand, lifted her length herself, 
	and paddled along with her left arm under the silent water.
	Then she spoke to the bemused man, so: ‘Are you awake, Aeneas,
	child of the gods? Be awake: loose the sheets: make full sail.
230	We are your fleet, now nymphs of the sea, once pines of Ida, 
	from her sacred peak. Against our will we broke our bonds
	when the treacherous Rutulian was pressing us hard,
	with fire and sword, and we have sought you over the waves.
	Cybele, the Mother, refashioned us in this form, from pity,
235	granting that we became goddesses, spending life under the waves.
	Now, your son Ascanius is penned behind walls and ditches,
	among weapons, and Latins bristling for a fight.
	The Arcadian Horse, mixed with brave Etruscans already hold
	the positions commanded: while Turnus’s certain purpose
240	is to send his central squadrons against them, lest they reach the camp.
	Up then, in the rising dawn, call your friends with an order
	to arm, and take your invincible shield that the lord of fire
	gave you himself, that he circled with a golden rim.
	If you don’t think my words idle, tomorrow’s light
245	will gaze on a mighty heap of Rutulian dead.’
	She spoke, and, knowing how, with her right hand, 
	thrust the high stern on, as she left: it sped through the waves
	faster than a javelin, or an arrow equalling the wind.
	Then the others quickened speed. Amazed, the Trojan son
250	of Anchises marvelled, yet his spirits lifted at the omen.
	Then looking up to the arching heavens he briefly prayed:
	‘Kind Cybele, Mother of the gods, to whom Dindymus,
	tower-crowned cities, and harnessed lions are dear,
	be my leader now in battle, duly further this omen,
255	and be with your Trojans, goddess, with your favouring step.’
	He prayed like this, and meanwhile the wheeling day
	rushed in with a flood of light, chasing away the night:
	first he ordered his comrades to obey his signals,
	prepare their spirits for fighting, and ready themselves for battle.

260	Now, he stood on the high stern, with the Trojans 
	and his fort in view, and at once lifted high the blazing shield, 
	in his left hand. The Trojans on the walls raised a shout 
	to the sky, new hope freshened their fury, 
	they hurled their spears, just as Strymonian
265	cranes under dark clouds, flying through the air, give noisy 
	cries, and fleeing the south wind, trail their clamour.
	This seemed strange to the Rutulian king and the Italian
	leaders, until looking behind them they saw the fleet 
	turned towards shore, and the whole sea alive with ships.
270	Aeneas’s crest blazed, and a dark flame streamed from the top,
	and the shield’s gold boss spouted floods of fire:
	just as when comets glow, blood-red and ominous 
	in the clear night, or when fiery Sirius, 
	bringer of drought and plague to frail mortals, 
275	rises and saddens the sky with sinister light.
	Still, brave Turnus did not lose hope of seizing the shore first,
	and driving the approaching enemy away from land.
	[And he raised his men’s spirits as well, and chided them:]
	‘What you asked for in prayer is here, to break through 
280	with the sword. Mars himself empowers your hands, men!
	Now let each remember his wife and home, now recall
	the great actions, the glories of our fathers. And let’s 
	meet them in the waves, while they’re unsure and 
	their first steps falter as they land. Fortune favours the brave.’
285	So he spoke, and asked himself whom to lead in attack
	and whom he could trust the siege of the walls. 
	Meanwhile Aeneas landed his allies from the tall ships
	using gangways. Many waited for the spent wave to ebb
	and trusted themselves to the shallow water: others rowed.
290	Tarchon, noting a strand where no waves heaved 
	and no breaking waters roared, but the sea swept in
	smoothly with the rising tide, suddenly turned 
	his prow towards it, exhorting his men: 
	‘Now, O chosen band, bend to your sturdy oars:
295	lift, drive your boats, split this enemy shore 
	with your beaks, let the keel itself plough a furrow.
	I don’t shrink from wrecking the ship in such a harbour
	once I’ve seized the land.’ When Tarchon had finished
	speaking so, his comrades rose to the oars and drove 
300	their foam-wet ships onto the Latin fields,
	till the rams gained dry ground and all the hulls
	came to rest unharmed. But not yours, Tarchon,
	since, striking the shallows, she hung on an uneven ridge
	poised for a while, unbalanced, and, tiring the waves,
305	broke and pitched her crew into the water,
	broken oars and floating benches obstructed them
	and at the same time the ebbing waves sucked at their feet.

	But the long delay didn’t keep Turnus back: swiftly he moved
	his whole front against the Trojans, and stood against them on the shore.
310	The trumpets sounded. Aeneas, first, attacked the ranks 
	of farmers, as a sign of battle, and toppled the Latins,
	killing Theron, noblest of men, who unprompted 
	sought out Aeneas. The sword drank from his side, pierced
	through the bronze joints, and the tunic scaled with gold.
315	Then he struck Lichas, who had been cut from the womb
	of his dead mother and consecrated to you, Phoebus: why
	was he allowed to evade the blade at birth? Soon after,
	he toppled in death tough Cisseus, and huge Gyas, as they
	laid men low with their clubs: Hercules’s weapons 
320	were no help, nor their stout hands nor Melampus their father,
	Hercules’s friend, while earth granted him heavy labours.
	See, Aeneas hurled his javelin as Pharus uttered 
	words in vain, and planted it in his noisy gullet.
	You too, unhappy Cydon, as you followed Clytius, your new 
325	delight, his cheeks golden with youthful down, you too
	would have fallen beneath the Trojan hand, and lain there, 
	wretched, free of that love of youth that was ever yours, 
	had the massed ranks of your brothers, not opposed him,
	the children of Phorcus, seven in number, seven the spears
330	they threw: some glanced idly from helmet and shield,
	some gentle Venus deflected, so they only grazed 
	his body. Aeneas spoke to faithful Achates:
	‘Supply me with spears, those that lodged in the bodies
	of Greeks on Ilium’s plain: my right hand won’t hurl
335	any at these Rutulians in vain.’ Then he grasped a great javelin
	and threw it: flying on, it crashed through the bronze
	of Maeon’s shield, smashing breastplate and breast in one go.
	His brother Alcanor was there, supporting his brother 
	with his right arm as he fell: piercing the arm, the spear 
340	flew straight on, keeping its blood-wet course, 
	and the lifeless arm hung by the shoulder tendons.
	Then Numitor, ripping the javelin from his brother’s body,
	aimed at Aeneas: but he could not strike at him 
	in return, and grazed great Achates’s thigh.
345	Now Clausus of Cures approached, relying on his youthful
	strength, and hit Dryopes under the chin from a distance away,
	with his rigid spear, driven with force, and, piercing his throat 
	as he spoke, took his voice and life together: he hit the ground
	with his forehead, and spewed thick blood from his mouth.
350	Clausus toppled, in various ways, three Thracians too, 
	of Boreas’s exalted race, and three whom Idas their father 
	and their native Ismarus sent out. Halaesus ran to join him,
	and the Auruncan Band, and Messapus, Neptune’s scion,
	with his glorious horses. Now one side, now the other strained
355	to push back the enemy: the struggle was at the very 
	threshold of Italy. As warring winds, equal in force 
	and purpose, rise to do battle in the vast heavens
	and between them neither yield either clouds or sea:
	the battle is long in doubt, all things stand locked in conflict:
360	so the ranks of Troy clashed with the Latin ranks,
	foot against foot, man pressed hard against man.
	But in another place, where a torrent had rolled and scattered 
	boulders, with bushes torn from the banks, far and wide,
	Pallas, seeing his Arcadians unused to charging in ranks
365	on foot turning to run from the pursuing Latins, because 
	the nature of the ground, churned by water, had persuaded them to leave
	their horses for once, now with prayers, and now with bitter words,
	the sole recourse in time of need, fired their courage:
	‘Friends, where are you running to? Don’t trust to flight,
370	by your brave deeds, by King Evander’s name,
	and the wars you’ve won, and my hopes, now seeking
	to emulate my father’s glory. We must hack a way through
	the enemy with our swords. Your noble country calls you
	and your leader Pallas, to where the ranks of men are densest.
375	No gods attack us. We are mortals driven before a mortal foe:
	we have as many lives, as many hands as they do.
	Look, the ocean closes us in with a vast barrier of water,
	there’s no land left to flee to: shall we seek the seas or Troy?’
	He spoke, and rushed into the midst of the close-packed enemy.
380	Lagus met him first, drawn there by a hostile 
	fate. As he tore at a huge weight of stone, 
	Pallas pierced him where the spine parts 
	the ribs in two, with the spear he hurled, and plucked out the spear again 
	as it lodged in the bone. Nor did Hisbo surprise him from above, 
385	hopeful though he was, since, as he rushed in, 
	raging recklessly at his friend’s cruel death, Pallas intercepted him first, 
	and buried his sword in his swollen chest.
	Next Pallas attacked Sthenius, and Anchemolus, of Rhoetus’s
	ancient line, who had dared to violate his step-mother’s bed.
390	You, twin brothers, also fell in the Rutulian fields, Laridus
	and Thymber, the sons of Daucus, so alike you were 
	indistinguishable to kin, and a dear confusion to your parents:
	but now Pallas has given you a cruel separateness.
	For Evander’s sword swept off your head, Thymber:
395	while your right hand, Laridus, sought its owner,
	and the dying fingers twitched and clutched again at the sword.
	Fired by his rebuke and seeing his glorious deeds, a mixture 
	of remorse and pain roused the Arcadians against their enemy. 
	Then Pallas pierced Rhoetus as he shot past in his chariot.
400	Ilus gained that much time and that much respite,
	since he had launched his solid spear at Ilus from far off,
	which Rhoetus received, as he fled from you, noble Teuthras
	and your brother Tyres, and rolling from the chariot
	he struck the Rutulian fields with his heels as he died.
405	As in summer, when a hoped-for wind has risen,
	the shepherd sets scattered fires in the woods,
	the spaces between catch light, and Vulcan’s bristling 
	ranks extend over the broad fields, while the shepherd sits
	and gazes down in triumph over the joyful flames:
410	so all your comrades’ courage united as one 
	to aid you Pallas. But Halaesus, fierce in war,
	advanced against them and gathered himself behind his shield.
	He killed Ladon, Pheres and Demodocus, struck off
	Strymonius’s right hand, raised towards his throat,
415	with his shining sword, and smashed Thoas in the face 
	with a stone, scattering bone mixed with blood and brain.
	Halaesus’s father, prescient of fate, had hidden him in the woods:
	but when, in white-haired old age, the father closed his eyes in death,
	the Fates laid their hands on Halaesus and doomed him
420	to Evander’s spear. Pallas attacked him first praying:
	‘Grant luck to the spear I aim to throw, father Tiber, 
	and a path through sturdy Halaesus’s chest. Your oak
	shall have the these weapons and the soldier’s spoils.’
	The god heard his prayer: while Halaesus covered Imaon
425	he sadly exposed his unshielded chest to the Arcadian spear.

	But Lausus, a powerful force in the war, would not allow
	his troops to be dismayed by the hero’s great slaughter:
	first he killed Abas opposite, a knotty obstacle in the battle.
	The youth of Arcadia fell, the Etruscans fell, and you, 
430	O Trojans, men not even destroyed by the Greeks.
	The armies met, equal in leadership and strength:
	the rear and front closed ranks, and the crush prevented
	weapons or hands from moving. Here, Pallas pressed and urged,
	there Lausus opposed him, not many years between them,
435	both of outstanding presence, but Fortune had denied them
	a return to their country. Yet the king of great Olympos
	did not allow them to meet face to face: their fate 
	was waiting for them soon, at the hand of a greater opponent.
	Meanwhile Turnus’s gentle sister Juturna adjured him to help 
440	Lausus, and he parted the ranks between in his swift chariot.
	When he saw his comrades he cried: ‘It’s time to hold back
	from the fight: it’s for me alone to attack Pallas, Pallas 
	is mine alone: I wish his father were here to see it.’
	And his comrades drew back from the field as ordered.
445	When the Rutulians retired, then the youth, amazed at that proud
	command, marvelled at Turnus, casting his eyes over 
	the mighty body, surveying all of him from the distance 
	with a fierce look, and answered the ruler’s words with these:
	‘I’ll soon be praised for taking rich spoils, or for a glorious death:
450	my father is equal to either fate for me: away with your threats.’
	So saying he marched down the centre of the field: 
	the blood gathered, chill, in Arcadian hearts.
	Turnus leapt from his chariot, preparing to close on foot,
	and the sight of the advancing Turnus, was no different
455	than that of a lion, seeing from a high point a bull far off 
	on the plain contemplating battle, and rushing down.
	But Pallas came forward first, when he thought Turnus might 
	be within spear-throw, so that chance might help him, in venturing
	his unequal strength, and so he spoke to the mighty heavens:
460	‘I pray you, Hercules, by my father’s hospitality and the feast
	to which you came as a stranger, assist my great enterprise.
	Let me strip the blood-drenched armour from his dying limbs,
	and let Turnus’s failing sight meet its conqueror.’
	Hercules heard the youth, and stifled a heavy sigh 
465	deep in his heart, and wept tears in vain.
	Then Jupiter the father spoke to Hercules, his son,
	with kindly words: ‘Every man has his day, the course
	of life is brief and cannot be recalled: but virtue’s task
	is this, to increase fame by deeds. So many sons of gods
470	fell beneath the high walls of Troy, yes, and my own son
	Sarpedon among them: fate calls even for Turnus,
	and he too has reached the end of the years granted to him.’
	So he spoke, and turned his eyes from the Rutulian fields.
	Then Pallas threw his spear with all his might,
475	and snatched his gleaming sword from its hollow sheath.
	The shaft flew and struck Turnus, where the top of the armour
	laps the shoulder, and forcing a way through the rim
	of his shield at last, even grazed his mighty frame.
	At this, Turnus hurled his oak spear tipped 
480	with sharp steel, long levelled at Pallas, saying:
	‘See if this weapon of mine isn’t of greater sharpness.’
	The spear-head, with a quivering blow, tore through
	the centre of his shield, passed through all the layers 
	of iron, of bronze, all the overlapping bull’s-hide,
485	piercing the breastplate, and the mighty chest.
	Vainly he pulled the hot spear from the wound:
	blood and life followed, by one and the same path.
	He fell in his own blood (his weapons clanged over him)
	and he struck the hostile earth in death with gory lips.
490	Then Turnus, standing over him, cried out: 
	‘Arcadians, take note, and carry these words of mine
	to Evander: I return Pallas to him as he deserves.
	I freely give whatever honours lie in a tomb, whatever
	solace there is in burial. His hospitality to Aeneas
495	will cost him greatly.’ So saying he planted his left foot on the corpse,
	and tore away the huge weight of Pallas’s belt, engraved 
	with the Danaids’ crime: that band of young men foully murdered
	on the same wedding night: the blood-drenched marriage chambers:
	that Clonus, son of Eurytus had richly chased in gold.
500	Now Turnus exulted at the spoil, and gloried in winning.
	Oh, human mind, ignorant of fate or fortune to come,
	or of how to keep to the limits, exalted by favourable events!
	The time will come for Turnus when he’d prefer to have bought
	an untouched Pallas at great price, and will hate those spoils
505	and the day. So his friends crowded round Pallas with many 
	groans and tears, and carried him back, lying on his shield.
	O the great grief and glory in returning to your father:
	that day first gave you to warfare, the same day took you from it,
	while nevertheless you left behind vast heaps of Rutulian dead!

510	Now not merely a rumour of this great evil, but a more trustworthy
	messenger flew to Aeneas, saying that his men were a hair’s breadth 
	from death, that it was time to help the routed Trojans. Seeking you,
	Turnus, you, proud of your fresh slaughter, he mowed down 
	his nearest enemies, with the sword, and fiercely drove a wide path
515	through the ranks with its blade. Pallas, Evander, all was before 
	his eyes, the feast to which he had first come as a stranger,
	the right hands pledged in friendship. Then he captured
	four youths alive, sons of Sulmo, and as many reared 
	by Ufens, to sacrifice to the shades of the dead, and sprinkle
520	the flames of the pyre with the prisoners’ blood. 
	Next he aimed a hostile spear at Magus from a distance:
	Magus moved in cleverly, and the spear flew over him, quivering,
	and he clasped the hero’s knees as a suppliant, and spoke as follows:
	‘I beg you, by your father’s shade, by your hope in your boy 
525	Iulus, preserve my life, for my son and my father.
	I have a noble house: talents of chased silver 
	lie buried there: I have masses of wrought 
	and unwrought gold. Troy’s victory does not rest 
	with me: one life will not make that much difference.’
530	Thus he spoke. Aeneas replied to him in this way: 
	‘Keep those many talents of silver and gold you mention 
	for your sons. Turnus, before we spoke, did away 
	with the courtesies of war, the moment he killed Pallas.
	So my father Anchises’s spirit thinks, so does Iulus.’
535	Saying this he held the helmet with his left hand and, bending
	the suppliant’s neck backwards, drove in his sword to the hilt.
	Haemon’s son, a priest of Apollo and Diana, was not far away,
	the band with its sacred ribbons circling his temples, and all 
	his robes and emblems shining white. Aeneas met him and drove him
540	over the plain, then, standing over the fallen man, killed him and cloaked
	him in mighty darkness: Serestus collected and carried off 
	his weapons on his shoulders, a trophy for you, King Gradivus.
	Caeculus, born of the race of Vulcan, and Umbro 
	who came from the Marsian hills restored order, 
545	the Trojan raged against them: his sword sliced off Anxur’s
	left arm, it fell to the ground with the whole disc of his shield
	(Anxur had shouted some boast, trusting the power 
	of words, lifting his spirit high perhaps, promising
	himself white-haired old age and long years):
550	then Tarquitus nearby, proud in his gleaming armour,
	whom the nymph Dryope had born to Faunus of the woods,
	exposed himself to fiery Aeneas. He, drawing back his spear,
	pinned the breastplate and the huge weight of shield together:
	then as the youth begged in vain, and tried to utter a flow of words,
555	he struck his head to the ground and, rolling the warm trunk over,
	spoke these words above him, from a hostile heart:
	‘Lie there now, one to be feared. No noble mother will bury you
	in the earth, nor weight your limbs with an ancestral tomb:
	you’ll be left for the carrion birds, or, sunk in the abyss,
560	the flood will bear you, and hungry fish suck your wounds.’
	Then he caught up with Antaeus, and Lucas, in Turnus’s
	front line, brave Numa and auburn Camers, 
	son of noble Volcens, the wealthiest in 
	Ausonian land, who ruled silent Amyclae.
565	Once his sword was hot, victorious Aeneas raged 
	over the whole plain, like Aegeaon, who had a hundred 
	arms and a hundred hands they say, and breathed fire
	from fifty chests and mouths, when he clashed 
	with as many like shields of his and drew as many swords
570	against Jove’s lightning-bolts. See now he was headed 
	towards the four horse team of Niphaeus’s chariot 
	and the opposing front. And when the horses saw him taking 
	great strides in his deadly rage, they shied and galloped in fear,
	throwing their master, and dragging the chariot to the shore.
575	Meanwhile Lucagus and his brother Liger entered the fray
	in their chariot with two white horses: Liger handling 
	the horses’ reins, fierce Lucagus waving his naked sword.
	Aeneas could not tolerate such furious hot-headedness:
	he rushed at them, and loomed up gigantic with levelled spear.
580	Liger said to him: 
	‘These are not Diomedes’s horses that you see, nor Achilles’ chariot, 
	nor Phrygia’s plain: now you’ll be dealt an end 
	to your war and life.’ Such were the words that flew far, from 
	foolish Liger’s lips. But the Trojan hero did not ready 
585	words in reply, he hurled his spear then against his enemies.
	While Lucagus urged on his horses, leaning forward
	towards the spear’s blow, as, with left foot advanced,
	he prepared himself for battle, the spear entered the lower 
	rim of his bright shield, then pierced the left thigh:
590	thrown from the chariot he rolled on the ground in death:
	while noble Aeneas spoke bitter words to him:
	‘Lucagus, it was not the flight of your horses in fear that betrayed
	your chariot, or the enemy’s idle shadow that turned them:
	it was you, leaping from the wheels, who relinquished the reins.’ 
595	So saying he grasped at the chariot: the wretched brother, 
	Liger, who had fallen as well, held, out his helpless hands:
	‘Trojan hero, by your own life, by your parents who bore
	such a son, take pity I beg you, without taking this life away.’ 
	As he begged more urgently, Aeaneas said: ‘Those were not
600	the words you spoke before. Die and don’t let brother desert brother.’
	Then he sliced open his chest where the life is hidden.
	Such were the deaths the Trojan leader caused across 
	that plain, raging like a torrent of water or a dark
	tempest. At last his child, Ascanius, and the men 
605	who were besieged in vain, breaking free, left the camp.

	Meanwhile Jupiter, unasked, spoke to Juno:
	‘O my sister, and at the same time my dearest wife,
	as you thought (your judgement is not wrong)
	it is Venus who sustains the Trojans’ power, not their own right hands, 
610	so ready for war, nor their fierce spirits, tolerant of danger.’
	Juno spoke submissively to him: ‘O loveliest of husbands
	why do you trouble me, who am ill, and fearful of your 
	harsh commands? If my love had the power it once had,
	that is my right, you, all-powerful, would surely not
615	deny me this, to withdraw Turnus from the conflict
	and save him, unharmed, for his father, Daunus.
	Let him die then, let him pay the Trojans in innocent blood.
	Yet he derives his name from our line: Pilumnus 
	was his ancestor four generations back, and often weighted
620	your threshold with copious gifts from a lavish hand.’
	The king of heavenly Olympus briefly replied to her like this:
	‘If your prayer is for reprieve from imminent death
	for your doomed prince, and you understand I so ordain it,
	take Turnus away, in flight, snatch him from oncoming fate:
625	there’s room for that much indulgence. But if thought
	of any greater favour hides behind your prayers, and you think
	this whole war may be deflected or altered, you nurture a vain hope.’
	And Juno, replied, weeping: ‘Why should your mind not grant
	what your tongue withholds, and life be left to Turnus?
630	Now, guiltless, a heavy doom awaits him or I stray empty
	of truth. Oh, that I might be mocked by false fears, 
	and that you, who are able to, might harbour kinder speech!’
	When she had spoken these words, she darted down at once
	from high heaven through the air, driving a storm before her, and wreathed 
635	in cloud, and sought the ranks of Ilium and the Laurentine camp. 
	Then from the cavernous mist the goddess decked out a weak 
	and tenuous phantom, in the likeness of Aeneas, with Trojan weapons 
	(a strange marvel to behold), simulated his shield, and the plumes
	on his godlike head, gave it insubstantial speech,
640	gave it sound without mind, and mimicked the way he walked: 
	like shapes that flit, they say, after death, 
	or dreams that in sleep deceive the senses. 
	And the phantom flaunted itself exultantly in front of the leading ranks, 
	provoking Turnus with spear casts, and exasperating him with words. Turnus 
645	ran at it, and hurled a hissing spear from the distance: it turned its heels in flight.
	Then, as Turnus thought that Aeneas had retreated
	and conceded, and in his confusion clung to this idle hope 
	in his mind, he cried: ‘Where are you off to, Aeneas?
	Don’t desert your marriage pact: this hand of mine
650	will grant you the earth you looked for over the seas.’
	He pursued him, calling loudly, brandishing his naked sword,
	not seeing that the wind was carrying away his glory.
	It chanced that the ship, in which King Osinius sailed
	from Clusium’s shores, was moored to a high stone pier,
655	with ladders released and gangway ready. The swift phantom
	of fleeing Aeneas sank into it to hide, and Turnus followed 
	no less swiftly, conquering all obstacles and leapt 
	up the high gangway. He had barely reached the prow
	when Saturn’s daughter snapped the cable,
660	and, snatching the ship, swept it over the waters.
	Then the vague phantom no longer tried to hide
	but, flying into the air, merged with a dark cloud.
	Meanwhile Aeneas himself was challenging his missing enemy
	to battle: and sending many opposing warriors to their deaths,
665	while the storm carried Turnus over the wide ocean.
	Unaware of the truth, and ungrateful for his rescue,
	he looked back and raised clasped hands and voice to heaven:
	‘All-powerful father, did you think me so worthy of punishment,
	did you intend me to pay such a price? Where am I being taken?
670	From whom am I escaping? Why am I fleeing: how will I return?
	Will I see the walls and camp of Laurentium again?
	What of that company of men that followed me, and my standard?
	Have I left them all (the shame of it) to a cruel death,
	seeing them scattered now, hearing the groans as they fall?
675	What shall I do? Where is the earth that could gape 
	wide enough for me? Rather have pity on me, O winds:
	Drive the ship on the rocks, the reefs (I, Turnus, beg you, freely)
	or send it into the vicious quicksands, where no Rutulian,
	nor any knowing rumour of my shame can follow me?
680	So saying he debated this way and that in his mind,
	whether he should throw himself on his sword, mad
	with such disgrace, and drive the cruel steel through his ribs,
	or plunge into the waves, and, by swimming, gain 
	the curving bay, and hurl himself again at the Trojan weapons.
685	Three times he attempted each: three times great Juno
	held him back, preventing him from heartfelt pity. He glided on, 
	with the help of wave and tide, cutting the depths, 
	and was carried to his father Daunus’s ancient city.

	But meanwhile fiery Mezentius, warned by Jupiter,
690	took up the fight, and attacked the jubilant Trojans.
	The Etruscan ranks closed up, and concentrated
	all their hatred, and showers of missiles, on him alone.
	He (like a vast cliff that juts out into the vast deep,
	confronting the raging winds, and exposed to the waves,
695	suffering the force and threat of sky and sea,
	itself left unshaken) felled Hebrus, son of Dolichaon,
	to the earth, with him were Latagus and swift Palmus,
	but he anticipated Latagus, with a huge fragment of rock
	from the hillside in his mouth and face, while he hamstrung
700	Palmus and left him writhing helplessly: he gave Lausus the armour 
	to protect his shoulders, and the plumes to wear on his crest.
	He killed Evanthes too, the Phrygian, and Mimas, Paris’s
	friend and peer, whom Theano bore to his father Amycus
	on the same night Hecuba, Cisseus’s royal daughter, pregnant
705	with a firebrand, gave birth to Paris: Paris lies in the city 
	of his fathers, the Laurentine shore holds the unknown Mimas.
	And as a boar, that piny Vesulus has sheltered 
	for many years and Laurentine marshes have nourished
	with forests of reeds, is driven from the high hills, 
710	by snapping hounds, and halts when it reaches the nets,
	snorts fiercely, hackles bristling, no one brave enough 
	to rage at it, or approach it, but all attacking it with spears, 
	and shouting from a safe distance: halts, unafraid,
	turning in every direction, grinding its jaws,
715	and shaking the spears from its hide: so none of those 
	who were rightly angered with Mezentius had the courage 
	to meet him with naked sword, but provoked him 
	from afar with their missiles, and a mighty clamour.
	Acron, a Greek had arrived there from the ancient lands
720	of Corythus, an exile, his marriage ceremony left incomplete.
	When Mezentius saw him in the distance, embroiled
	among the ranks, with crimson plumes, and in purple robes
	given by his promised bride, he rushed eagerly into the thick
	of the foe, as a ravenous lion often ranges the high coverts
725	(since a raging hunger drives it) and exults, with 
	vast gaping jaws, if it chances to see a fleeing roe-deer, 
	or a stag with immature horns, then clings crouching over 
	the entrails, with bristling mane, its cruel mouth stained hideously 
	with blood.
730	Wretched Acron fell, striking the dark earth with his heels
	in dying, drenching his shattered weapons with blood.
	And he did not even deign to kill Orodes as he fled,
	or inflict a hidden wound with a thrust of his spear:
	he ran to meet him on the way, and opposed him man to man,
735	getting the better of him by force of arms not stealth.
	Then setting his foot on the fallen man, and straining at his spear, 
	he called out: ‘Soldiers, noble Orodes lies here, he was no small part of this battle.’ 
	His comrades shouted, taking up the joyful cry:
	Yet Orodes, dying, said: ‘Whoever you are, winner here, 
740	I’ll not go unavenged, nor will you rejoice for long: 
	a like fate watches for you: you’ll soon lie in these same fields.’
	To him Mezentius replied, grinning with rage: 
	‘Die now, as for me, the father of gods and king of men 
	will see to that.’ So saying he withdrew his spear from the warrior’s body.
745	Enduring rest, and iron sleep, pressed on Orodes’s eyes,
	and their light was shrouded in eternal night.
	Caedicus killed Alcathous: Sacrator killed Hydapses:
	Rapo killed Parthenius, and Orses of outstanding strength.
	Messapus killed Clonius, and Ericetes, son of Lycaon,
750	one lying on the ground fallen from his bridle-less horse,
	the other still on his feet. Lycian Agis had advanced his feet
	but Valerus overthrew him, with no lack of his ancestors’ skill:
	Salius killed Thronius, and Nealces, famed for the javelin,
	and the deceptive long-distance arrow, in turn killed Salcius.

755	Now grievous War dealt grief and death mutually:
	they killed alike, and alike they died, winners and losers,
	and neither one nor the other knew how to flee.
	The gods in Jupiter’s halls pitied the useless anger of them both,
	and that such pain existed for mortal beings:
760	here Venus gazed down, here, opposite, Saturnian Juno.
	Pale Tisiphone raged among the warring thousands. 
	And now Mezentius shaking his mighty spear,
	advanced like a whirlwind over the field. Great as Orion,
	when he strides through Ocean’s deepest chasms, forging a way,
765	his shoulders towering above the waves, or carrying 
	an ancient manna ash down from the mountain heights, 
	walking the earth, with his head hidden in the clouds,
	so Mezentius advanced in his giant’s armour.
	Aeneas, opposite, catching sight of him in the far ranks
770	prepared to go and meet him. Mezentius stood there unafraid,
	waiting for his great-hearted enemy, firm in his great bulk:
	and measuring with his eye what distance would suit his spear,
	saying: ‘Now let this right hand that is my god, and the weapon
	I level to throw, aid me! I vow that you yourself, Lausus, as token
775	of my victory over Aeneas, shall be dressed in the spoils stripped 
	from that robber’s corpse.’ He spoke, and threw the hissing spear 
	from far out. But, flying on, it glanced from the shield, 
	and pierced the handsome Antores, nearby, between flank
	and thigh, Antores, friend of Hercules, sent from Argos
780	who had joined Evander, and settled in an Italian city.
	Unhappy man, he fell to a wound meant for another, 
	and dying, gazing at the sky, remembered sweet Argos.
	Then virtuous Aeneas hurled a spear: it passed through 
	Mezentius’s curved shield of triple-bronze, through linen, 
785	and the interwoven layers of three bull’s hides, and lodged
	deep in the groin, but failed to drive home with force.
	Aeneas, joyful at the sight of the Tuscan blood, 
	snatched the sword from his side, and pressed 
	his shaken enemy hotly. Lausus, seeing it, groaned heavily
790	for love of his father, and tears rolled down his cheeks – 
	and here I’ll not be silent, for my part, about your harsh death,
	through fate, nor, if future ages place belief in such deeds, your actions, 
	so glorious, nor you yourself, youth, worthy of remembrance – 
	his father was retreating, yielding ground, helpless,
795	hampered, dragging the enemy lance along with his shield.
	The youth ran forward, and plunged into the fray,
	and, just as Aeneas’s right hand lifted to strike a blow,
	he snatched at the sword-point, and checked him in delay:
	his friends followed with great clamour, and, with a shower 
800	of spears, forced the enemy to keep his distance till the father
	could withdraw, protected by his son’s shield.
	Aeneas raged, but kept himself under cover.
	As every ploughman and farmer runs from the fields
	when storm-clouds pour down streams of hail,
805	and the passer by shelters in a safe corner, under a river 
	bank or an arch of high rock, while the rain falls to earth, 
	so as to pursue the day’s work when the sun returns:
	so, overwhelmed by missiles from every side, 
	Aeneas endured the clouds of war, while they all thundered,
810	and rebuked Lausus, and threatened Lausus, saying:
	‘Why are you rushing to death, with courage beyond your strength?
	Your loyalty’s betraying you to foolishness.’ Nevertheless
	the youth raged madly, and now fierce anger rose higher
	in the Trojan leader’s heart, and the Fates gathered together
815	the last threads of Lausus’s life. For Aeneas drove his sword
	firmly through the youth’s body, and buried it to the hilt:
	the point passed through his shield, too light for his threats,
	and the tunic of soft gold thread his mother had woven,
	blood filled its folds: then life left the body and fled, 
820	sorrowing, through the air to the spirits below.
	And when Anchises’s son saw the look on his dying face,
	that face pale with the wonderment of its ending,
	he groaned deeply with pity and stretched out his hand,
	as that reflection of his own love for his father touched 
825	his heart. ‘Unhappy child, what can loyal Aeneas grant
	to such a nature, worthy of these glorious deeds of yours?
	Keep the weapons you delighted in: and if it is something you are
	anxious about, I return you to the shades and ashes of your ancestors. 
	This too should solace you, unhappy one, for your sad death:
830	you died at the hands of great Aeneas.’ Also he rebuked 
	Lausus’s comrades, and lifted their leader from the earth, 
	where he was soiling his well-ordered hair with blood.

	Meanwhile the father, Mezentius, staunched his wounds
	by the waters of Tiber’s river, and rested his body 
835	by leaning against a tree trunk. His bronze helmet hung
	on a nearby branch, and his heavy armour lay peacefully on the grass.
	The pick of his warriors stood around: he himself, weak and panting
	eased his neck, his flowing beard streaming over his chest.
	Many a time he asked for Lausus, and many times sent men 
840	to carry him a sorrowing father’s orders and recall him.
	But his weeping comrades were carrying the dead Lausus, 
	on his armour, a great man conquered by a mighty wound.
	The mind prescient of evil, knew their sighs from far off.
	Mezentius darkened his white hair with dust, and lifted
845	both hands to heaven, clinging to the body:
	‘My son, did such delight in living possess me,
	that I let you face the enemy force in my place,
	you whom I fathered? Is this father of yours alive
	through your death, saved by your wounds? Ah, now at last 
850	my exile is wretchedly driven home: and my wound, deeply!
	My son, I have also tarnished your name by my crime,
	driven in hatred from my fathers’ throne and sceptre.
	I have long owed reparation to my country and my people’s hatred:
	I should have yielded my guilty soul to death in any form!
855	Now I live: I do not leave humankind yet, or the light,
	but I will leave.’ So saying he raised himself weakly on his thigh,
	and, despite all, ordered his horse to be brought, though his strength
	ebbed from the deep wound. His mount was his pride, 
	and it was his solace, on it he had ridden victorious from every battle.
860	He spoke to the sorrowful creature, in these words:
	‘Rhaebus, we have lived a long time, if anything lasts long
	for mortal beings. Today you will either carry the head of Aeneas,
	and his blood-stained spoils, in victory, and avenge Lausus’s pain
	with me, or die with me, if no power opens that road to us:
865	I don’t think that you, the bravest of creatures, will deign
	to suffer a stranger’s orders or a Trojan master.’
	He spoke, then, mounting, disposed his limbs as usual,
	and weighted each hand with a sharp javelin,
	his head gleaming with bronze, bristling with its horsehair crest.
870	So he launched himself quickly into the fray. In that one heart
	a vast flood of shame and madness merged with grief
	[and love, increased by fury, and his conscious bravery]
	And now he called to Aeneas in a great voice.
	Aeneas knew him and offered up a joyous prayer:
875	‘So let the father of the gods himself decree it, so noble Apollo! 
	You then begin the conflict….’
	He spoke those words and moved against him with level spear.
	But Mezentius replied: ‘How can you frighten me, most savage 
	of men, me, bereft of my son? That was the only way you could
880	destroy me: I do not shrink from death, or halt for any god.
	Cease, since I come here to die, and bring you, first,
	these gifts.’ He spoke, and hurled a spear at his enemy:
	then landed another and yet another, wheeling 
	in a wide circle, but the gilded shield withstood them.
885	He rode three times round his careful enemy,
	throwing darts from his hand: three times the Trojan hero
	dragged round the huge thicket of spears fixed in his bronze shield.
	Then tired of all that drawn-out delay, 
	and burdened by the unequal conflict, 
890	he thought hard, and finally broke free, hurling his spear 
	straight between the war horse’s curved temples.
	The animal reared, and lashed the air with its hooves,
	and throwing its rider, followed him down, from above,
	entangling him, collapsing headlong onto him, its shoulder thrown.
895	Trojans and Latins ignited the heavens with their shouts.
	Aeneas ran to him, plucking his sword from its sheath
	and standing over him, cried: ‘Where is fierce Mezentius, now,
	and the savage force of that spirit?’ The Tuscan replied, as, lifting
	his eyes to the sky, and gulping the air, he regained his thoughts:
900	‘Bitter enemy, why taunt, or threaten me in death?
	There is no sin in killing: I did not come to fight believing so,
	nor did my Lausus agree any treaty between you and me.
	I only ask, by whatever indulgence a fallen enemy might claim,
	that my body be buried in the earth. I know that my people’s
905	fierce hatred surrounds me: protect me, I beg you, 
	from their anger, and let me share a tomb with my son.’
	So he spoke, and in full awareness received the sword in his throat,
	and poured out his life, over his armour, in a wave of blood.