The Aeneid (18 page)

                ‘One thing more: if the prophet Helenus has any insight into
                the future, if there is any reason to believe what I say, if Apollo
                fills my mind with the truth, there is one prophecy I shall make
                to you above all others, one counsel I shall repeat to you again
                and again – worship the godhead of great Juno first and foremost
                in your prayers, of your own free will submit your vows to Juno
                and win over the mighty Queen of Heaven with your offerings
440         as you pray. If you do this you will at last leave Sicily behind
                you and succeed in reaching the shores of Italy. When you have
                landed and come to the city of Cumae and the sacred lakes of
                Avernus among their sounding forests, there deep in a cave in
                the rock you will see a virgin priestess foretelling the future in
                prophetic frenzy by writing signs and names on leaves. After
                she has written her prophecies on these leaves she seals them all
                
up in her cave where they stay in their appointed order. But the
                leaves are so light that when the door turns in its sockets the
                slightest breath of wind dislodges them. The draught from
450         the door throws them into confusion and the priestess never
                makes it her concern to catch them as they flutter round her
                rocky cave and put them back in order or join up the prophecies.
                So men depart without receiving advice and are disappointed in
                the house of the Sibyl. No matter how impatient your comrades,
                no matter how the winds may cry out to your sails to take to sea,
                though you know that you could fill the canvas with favouring
                breezes, you must not begrudge the time but must stay to visit
                the priestess. Approach her oracle with prayers and beg her by
                her own gracious will to prophesy to you herself, opening her
460         lips and speaking to you in her own voice. She will tell you of
                the peoples of Italy and the wars that are to come, and how you
                are to escape or endure all the labours that lie before you. If
                you do her reverence she will give you a prosperous voyage.
                This is as much as my voice may utter to give you guidance.
                Now go forward and by your actions raise the greatness of Troy
                to the skies.’

                After the prophet Helenus had told us these things in the
                friendliness of his heart, he then ordered his people to carry gifts
                of solid gold and carved ivory down to our ships and stowed a
                great quantity of silver in their hulls with cauldrons from
                Jupiter’s temple at Dodona, a breastplate of chain mail interwoven
                with triple threads of gold and a noble helmet with crest
                and streaming plumes once worn by Neoptolemus. There were
470         other gifts for my father, and he also gave us horses and leaders
                of men, rowers to make up the crews and arms for my comrades.

                Meanwhile Anchises was ordering us to fit out the ships with
                their sails and not lose the following winds when the priest of
                Apollo addressed him in deep respect: ‘Anchises, the gods love
                you. You have been thought worthy of the highest of all honours,
                the love of Venus. You have been twice rescued from the ruins
                of Troy, and now before you, look, the land of Ausonia. Sail
                there and take possession of it. But you must sail past the
                opposite coast. The part of Ausonia which Apollo reveals to
480         you is far from here. Go then, Anchises, fortunate in the devotion
                
of your son. There is no more to say. Why do I keep you talking
                when the wind is rising?’

                Andromache also grieved at this parting that was to be our
                last and brought us robes embroidered with gold thread and a
                Phrygian cloak for Ascanius. She was as generous as Helenus
                had been, heaping the gifts of her weaving upon him and saying:
                ‘Take these too, my boy, and I hope the work of my hands may
                remind you of Andromache, wife of Hector, and be a token of
                my long-enduring love for you. Accept them. They are the last
                gifts you will receive from your own people. You are the only
490         image left to me of my own son Astyanax. He had just those
                eyes, and just those hands. His face was just like yours. He
                would have been growing up now, the same age as yourself.’

                The tears were starting to my eyes as I was leaving them, and
                I spoke these words. ‘Live on and enjoy the blessing of heaven.
                Your destiny has been accomplished. But we are called from
                fate to fate. Your rest is won. You do not need to plough tracts
                of ocean searching for the ever-receding Ausonian fields. You
                have before your eyes an image of the river Xanthus and a Troy
                made by your own hands, more fortunate, I pray, than the Troy
500         that was, and less of a stumbling-block to the Greeks. If ever I
                reach the river Thybris and the fields through which the Thybris
                flows and see my people with their own city walls, we shall in
                some future age unite our cities and the peoples of Hesperia and
                Epirus, for we are kith and kin, the same Dardanus is our
                founder and the same destiny attends us. We shall make them
                both one Troy in spirit. Let that be a duty for our descendants.’

                Down the coast we sailed near the Ceraunian rocks where the
                crossing to Italy is shortest, and as we sailed the sun set and
                shadow darkened the mountains. At last we lay down by the
                waves of the sea in the lap of earth, and after allotting the next
510         day’s order of rowing, we took our ease all along the dry beach
                and sleep washed into our weary limbs.

                Night in its chariot drawn by the Hours was not yet coming
                up to the middle of the sky, but there was no more sleep for
                Palinurus. He rose from his bed and studied all the winds,
                pricking up his ears to test the air and marking the path of every
                star gliding in the silent sky, Arcturus and the rainy Hyades and
                
the two Triones, the oxen of the Plough, and he looked round
                to the south at Orion armed in gold, and saw that the whole
                sky was serene and settled. Clear came his signal from the high
520         stern. We broke camp, started our voyage and spread the wings
                of our sails.

                The stars had been put to flight and dawn was reddening in
                the sky when we sighted in the far distance the dim hills and
                plains of Italy. ‘Italy!’ – the first shout was from Achates – and
                ‘Italy!’ – the men took up the cry in cheerful salute. Then Father
                Anchises, standing on the high stern, garlanded a great mixing
                bowl, filled it with unwatered wine and called upon the gods:
                ‘O you who rule sea, land and storm, give us an easy wind for
                our voyage. Blow kindly upon us.’

530         His prayer was answered. The breeze freshened and a harbour
                opened up before us, growing nearer and nearer till we could
                see the temple of Minerva on the citadel. My comrades furled
                their sails and pointed their prows to the shore. The harbour
                was shaped like a bow, curving away from the swell which came
                in from the east. The rocks at the mouth were foaming with salt
                spray but the harbour lay tucked away behind. Towering rocks
                on either side stretched down their arms to form a double wall
                and the temple stood well back from the shore. The first omen
                I saw here was four horses white as snow cropping the grass on
540         a broad plain and my father Anchises interpreted it: ‘This land
                that receives us is promising us war! Men arm horses for war
                and so this troop of horses means threat of war. Yet at other
                times they are harnessed to chariots and accept reins under the
                yoke in harmony. There is hope of peace also.’

                At that moment we prayed to the sacred godhead of Pallas,
                clasher of arms, the first goddess to welcome us in this hour of
                our joy. Standing at the altar we veiled our heads with Phrygian
                cloth, and in accordance with the instructions which Helenus
                had told us to follow before all others, duly paid the prescribed
                honour to Juno of Argos with our burnt offerings.

                We did not linger there but as soon as we had performed the
                rites in due order we raised our sails, swung the yards round
550         and left behind us this home of Greeks, this land we could not
                trust. Next we saw the bay of Tarentum, the city of Hercules if
                
the story is true, and over against it rose the temple of the
                goddess Juno at Lacinium, the citadel of Caulon and the bay of
                Scylaceum, that great breaker of ships. Then from far out at sea
                we sighted Mount Etna in Sicily and heard a loud moaning of
                waters and grinding of rocks and the voice of breakers beating
                on the shore, as the sea began to rise and swirl the sand in
                its surge. Father Anchises cried out: ‘This must be the deadly
                Charybdis. These are the cliffs Helenus warned us against. These
560         are the terrible rocks. Use all your strength to save yourselves,
                comrades. Keep well in time and rise to the oar.’ They did as
                they were bidden. Palinurus was the first to wrench his ship to
                port and out to sea with a loud creaking of the bow, and the
                whole fleet with every sail and oar steered to port with him. A
                great arching wave came and lifted us to the sky and a moment
                later as the wave was sucked down we plunged into the abyss
                of hell. Three times the cliffs roared between their hollow rocks.
                Three times we saw the foam shoot up and spatter the stars.
                Meanwhile the sun had set, the wind had fallen and we were
                weary and lost, drifting towards the shore of the Cyclopes.

570         The harbour there is out of the wind. It is still and spacious
                but close by Mount Etna thunders and hurls down its deadly
                debris. Sometimes it shoots a pitch-black cloud of swirling
                smoke and glowing ashes into the sky and tosses up balls of
                flame to lick the stars. Sometimes it belches boulders, tearing
                out the bowels of the mountain and throwing molten rock up
                into the air, seething and groaning in its very depths. The story
                goes that the body of Enceladus, half-consumed by the fire of
                the thunderbolt, is crushed under this great mass. Mighty Etna
580         lies on top of him breathing fire from its shattered furnaces and
                every time he turns over from one weary flank to another the
                whole of Sicily trembles and murmurs and wreathes the sky
                with smoke. We hid in the woods and lived through a night of
                horror, not seeing what was making these monstrous sounds.
                The fire of the stars was quenched and the dark bowl of heaven
                was denied their radiance. Clouds darkened the sky and
                unbroken night obscured the moon.

                At last the Morning Star appeared and the next day was
590         beginning to rise. The Goddess of the Dawn had dispersed the
                
dank mists from the sky when suddenly we saw a strange sight.
                Coming out of the woods was a man we did not know, in
                pitiable plight and half-dead with hunger, coming towards us
                on the shore with his hands stretched out in supplication. We
                stared at him. The filth on his body was indescribable. He had
                a straggling beard and the rags he wore were pinned together
                by thorns, but for all that he was a Greek, one of those who had
                been sent to Troy bearing the arms of his country. When still at
                a distance he saw our Trojan clothes and Trojan armour, he
                checked his stride and stood in terror at the sight of us. But he
600         soon rushed down to the shore weeping and pleading: ‘I beg
                you, Trojans, by all the stars, by the gods above, by the bright
                air of heaven which we breathe, take me aboard your ships.
                Take me anywhere. That is all I ask. I know I was one of those
                who sailed with the Greek fleet. I admit I made war against the
                gods of your homes in Troy. If that offence is so great, tear me
                limb from limb, scatter the pieces on the waves and let them
                sink into the vastness of the sea. If I am to die, I shall be pleased
                to die at the hands of men.’