The Aeneid (48 page)

                Meanwhile, after Juturna had advised her dear brother
440         Turnus to take the place of Lausus, he cut through the middle
                of the ranks of warriors on his swift chariot, and as soon as he
                saw his allies he called out: ‘Time now to stand down from the
                fighting. I am the only one who attacks Pallas. Pallas is mine,
                and mine alone. I wish his father were here to see it.’ So he
                spoke and his allies left the ground clear as ordered. When the
                Rutulians withdrew, Pallas marvelled at these proud commands
                and stood amazed at the sight of Turnus, running his eyes all
                over that mighty body, his grim stare taking it in part by part
                from where he stood, and these were the words he hurled in
                reply to the words of the insolent prince: ‘I shall win rich
                renown today, either for stripping the corpse of the leader of
450         my country’s enemies, or else for a glorious death. My father
                will bear the one fate as easily as the other. Do not waste your
                threats on me.’ With these words he strode on to the level
                ground in the middle of the battlefield, and the blood of the
                Arcadians froze in their breasts. Turnus leapt down from his
                chariot and prepared to come to close quarters on foot, flying
                at him like a lion which has seen from some high vantage point
                a bull practising for combat far away on the plain – this is how
                Turnus appeared as he came on. Pallas made the first attack,
                judging that Turnus would be within range of a spear-cast and
                hoping that Fortune would favour the weaker for his daring.
                Lifting up his voice to the wide expanse of heaven, he cried: ‘I
460         call upon you, Hercules of the stock of Alceus, by my father’s
                table and by the friendship he offered you when you came as a
                stranger to his home, stand at my side now as I set my hand to
                this great task. May Turnus as he dies see me tear the blood-stained
                armour off his body, and may the last sight he endures
                be the face of the man who has defeated him!’ Hearing the
                young warrior, Hercules checked the great groan rising from
                
the depths of his heart and the helpless tears streamed from his
                eyes. Then Father Jupiter spoke these loving words to his son:
                ‘Each man has his allotted day. All life is brief and time once
                past can never be restored. But the task of the brave man is to
470         enlarge his fame by his actions. So many sons of gods fell under
                the high walls of Troy, and with them fell also my son Sarpedon.
                Turnus too is called by his own destiny and has reached the
                limits of the time he has been given.’ So he spoke and instantly
                turned his eyes away from the Rutulian fields.

                But Pallas hurled his spear with all his strength and tore his
                bright sword from its enclosing scabbard. The spear flew and
                fell where the armour stood highest on the shoulder of Turnus,
                forcing its way through the edge of the shield and grazing at last
480         the skin of that huge body. Then Turnus took long aim at Pallas
                with his steel-pointed hardwood spear and threw it saying:
                ‘Now see whether mine is any better at piercing!’ With a shuddering
                blow it beat through the middle of the shield, through all
                the plates of iron and of bronze and all the ox-hides that covered
                it, and unchecked by the breastplate, it bored through that
                mighty breast. In desperation Pallas tore the warm blade out of
                the wound, and blood and life came out together after it, both
                by the same channel. He fell forward on the wound, his armour
                ringing on top of his body, and as he died his bleeding mouth
490         bit the soil of his enemies. Turnus stood over him and said:
                ‘Take this message of mine to Evander, you Arcadians, and do
                not forget it: I am sending him back the Pallas he deserves.
                Whatever honour there is in a tomb, and any comfort he finds
                in burying him, these I gladly give him. His hospitality to Aeneas
                will cost him dear!’ With these words he planted his left foot on
                the dead body, and tore off the huge, heavy baldric. On this
                great belt an abominable crime was embossed, how in one night,
                the night of their marriage, a band of young men were foully
                slain, and their marriage chambers bathed in blood, all worked
                by Clonus, son of Eurytus, in a wealth of gold. This was the
500         spoil in which Turnus now exulted and he gloried in the taking
                of it. The mind of man has no knowledge of what Fate holds in
                store, and observes no limit when Fortune raises him up. The
                time will come when Turnus would gladly pay, and pay richly,
                
to see Pallas alive and unharmed. He will bitterly regret this
                spoil and the day he took it. A throng of Pallas’ comrades laid
                him on his shield and carried him back with tears and groans. O
                Pallas, a great grief and a great glory are coming home to your
                father! This one day gave you to war, and now takes you from it,
                and yet you leave behind you huge piles of Rutulian dead.

510         First a rumour of this calamity came flying to Aeneas and
                then a reliable messenger, to tell him his men were on the very
                edge of destruction; the Trojans were in retreat; now was the
                time to help them. Everything that stood before him he harvested
                with the sword, cutting a broad swathe through the enemy
                ranks, and burning with rage as he looked for this Turnus
                flushed with slaughter. Before his eyes he could see Pallas,
                Evander, everything, the table he had sat down to that day when
                he first came to their house, and the right hands of friendship
                they had given him. Four warrior sons of Sulmo he now captured
                alive and four reared by Ufens, to sacrifice them as offerings to
520         the shade of Pallas and pour their captive blood on the flames
                of his pyre. Next he aimed his deadly spear from long range at
                Magus, who cleverly ran under it. The quivering spear flew over
                his head and he clasped the knees of Aeneas with this prayer:
                ‘By the shade of your own father and the hopes you have of
                Iulus as he grows to manhood, I beg you to spare this life of
                mine for the sake of my son and my father. Our home is a
                high-built palace, and buried deep within it I have talents of
                engraved silver and great weights of gold, both worked and
                unworked. A Trojan victory does not depend on me. My one
530         life will not make so great a difference.’ This was Aeneas’ reply:
                ‘Keep for your children all those talents of silver and gold you
                talk about. Turnus put an end to such war-trading the moment
                he murdered Pallas. So judges the shade of my father Anchises.
                And so judges Iulus.’ When he had spoken he took Magus’
                helmet in his left hand, and bending back his neck when he was
                still begging for mercy, he drove the sword home to the hilt.
                Not far away was Haemonides, priest of Phoebus Apollo and
                Diana Trivia, his temples bound by a headband of sacred wool,
540         all shining white in his white robes and insignia. Aeneas closed
                with him, drove him across the plain, stood over him when he
                
fell, darkening the whiteness with his great shadow, and took
                him as his victim. Serestus collected the spoils and carried them
                back on his shoulders as a trophy to Mars Gradivus.

                Caeculus of the stock of Vulcan renewed the battle, and
                Umbro from the Marsian mountains with him. Aeneas confronted
                them in all his fury. His sword had already struck off
                the left hand of Anxur – a stroke of the blade had sent the whole
                circle of his shield to the ground. He had uttered some great
                threat, imagining that the strength would be there to make it
                good. It seemed he was trying to raise his spirits to the skies,
                and had promised himself that he would live to enjoy grey hairs
550         and a long life. Next Aeneas in his fury was faced by Tarquitus,
                glorying in his shining armour, the son of Faunus, God of the
                Woods, and the nymph Dryope. Drawing back his spear, Aeneas
                threw and pinned the great heavy shield to the breastplate.
                While he was still begging for mercy, and still had much to say,
                Aeneas smashed his head to the ground, and as he set the warm
                trunk rolling, these were the words he spoke with hatred in his
                heart: ‘Lie there now, you fearsome warrior. Your good mother
                will not bury you in the earth or burden your body with the
                family tomb. You will be left for the wild birds, or thrown into
560         the sea to be carried away by the waves, and the hungry fish will
                come and lick your wounds!’ Next he pursued and caught
                Antaeus and Lucas, the front rank of Turnus, then brave Numa
                and yellow-haired Camers, son of great-hearted Volcens, who
                was richest in land of all the men of Italy and ruled over silent
                Amyclae. Aeneas was like Aegaeon, who they say had a hundred
                arms and a hundred hands, with fire flaming from fifty breasts
                and mouths, and fifty was the number of swords he drew against
                the lightning of Jupiter, fifty the number of identical shields he
                clashed – so seemed Aeneas, raging victorious all over the plain,
570         when once his sword blade had warmed to the work. Imagine
                him next bearing down on the chariot of Niphaeus, with the
                four horses showing their chests as they stood to meet him, but
                when they saw Aeneas’ great stride and heard his fearsome roar,
                they wheeled in panic and bolted, throwing their master out of
                the chariot and stampeding to the shore.

                Meanwhile Lucagus was coming into the middle of battle on
                
a chariot drawn by two white horses. With him was his brother
                Liger, handling the reins and controlling the horses while
                Lucagus whirled his naked sword about him. Aeneas could not
                endure to see such fury and such fervour, but rushed forward
580         and loomed huge before them with his levelled spear. It was
                Liger who spoke: ‘These are not the horses of Diomede you are
                looking at, or the chariot of Achilles. These are not the plains
                of Troy. Here in this land today there will be an end to your
                wars and to your life.’ Far flew these wild words of Liger. The
                Trojan was preparing a reply to his enemy, but it was not in
                words – it was his javelin he hurled. Lucagus had been leaning
                forward over his horses to urge them on by beating them with
                the flat of his spear. Now, when he had planted his left foot to
                the front and was preparing for battle, through the bottom rim
                of his shining shield came the spear of Aeneas and pierced his
590         left groin. He was pitched from his chariot and as he lay dying
                on the ground, good Aeneas addressed these bitter words to
                him: ‘It is not the panic of your horses, Lucagus, that has brought
                your chariot to grief. They did not shy away from the shadow
                of their enemy. It is your own doing, leaping off the car and
                abandoning your team!’ With these words Aeneas caught the
                horses’ bridles. The wretched brother of Lucagus fell from the
                chariot and stretched out his helpless hands to Aeneas: ‘Great
                Trojan, I implore you by your own self and by the parents who
                brought such a man as you into the world, spare this life of mine
                and take pity on a suppliant.’ Aeneas cut short his appeal. ‘This
600         is not what I heard you say a moment ago. Die now. A brother’s
                place is with his brother.’ And as he spoke the point of his sword
                opened the breast of Liger, the hiding place of his soul. So did
                the Trojan leader deal out death all over the plain like a raging
                torrent of water or a storm of black wind, until at last the young
                Ascanius and his warriors sallied forth and left the camp. The
                siege was lifted.

                In the meanwhile Jupiter came to Juno and said to her: ‘O my
                true sister and most pleasing of wives, you are right, it is Venus,
                as you thought, who is maintaining the strength of the Trojans,
610         not the warlike vigour of their right arms nor their fierce
                and danger-hardened spirit.’ Humbly Juno replied: ‘O finest of
                
husbands, why do you cause me anguish when I am in despair
                and in terror of your harsh commands? If your love for me had
                that power which once it had, and should have still, you who
                can do all things would not be refusing me this. I should be able
                to withdraw Turnus from the battle and keep him safe for his
                father Daunus. But as things are, let him die. Let him pay the
                penalty to the Trojans with his righteous blood. Nevertheless
                he is descended from our stock, Pilumnus was his ancestor in
620         the fourth generation and his generous hand has often weighed
                down your threshold with abundant gifts.’ The King of
                Heavenly Olympus made brief reply: ‘If what you ask is a stay
                of the death that is upon him and respite for a young man who
                must die, and if you accept that this is what I ordain, then rescue
                Turnus. Let him flee. Snatch him from the Fates that tread upon
                his heels. There is room for me to grant you indulgence thus far.
                But if there is some deeper thought of mercy underlying these
                appeals of yours, and if you believe that the whole course of the
                war can be affected or its outcome changed, the hopes which
                you nourish are empty.’ Juno replied, weeping as she spoke:
                ‘What if your heart wished to give what your words refuse?
630         What if you listened to me and let Turnus live? As it is, although
                he is innocent, a cruel death is waiting for him, unless I am wide
                of the mark and there is no truth in me. But oh how I wish my
                fears were false and I were deluded! How I wish you would
                recast your plans, for you can do so, and choose a better course!’