The Aeneid (9 page)

                Venus could listen to no more. She broke in on the tale of his
                sufferings, saying: ‘Whoever you are I do not believe you are
                hated by the gods: you live and breathe and have reached this
390         Tyrian city. Go on now from here to the queen’s door. I can tell
                you that your comrades are restored and your fleet returned to
                you. The winds have veered to the north and blown them safe
                to shore. All this is true unless my parents have failed in their
                efforts to teach me to interpret the flight of birds. Look at these
                twelve swans flying joyfully in formation. The eagle of Jupiter
                was swooping down on them from the heights of heaven and
                scattering them over the open sky, but now look at them in
                their long column. Some are reaching land. Some have already
                reached it and are looking down on it. Just as they have come
                to their home and their flock has circled the sky in play, singing
                as they fly with whirring wings, so your ships and your warriors
400         are either already in port or crossing the bar in full sail. Go on
                now, and follow where the road takes you.’

                When she had finished speaking and was turning away, her
                neck shone with a rosy light and her hair breathed the divine
                odour of ambrosia. Her dress flowed free to her feet and as she
                walked he knew she was truly a goddess. As she hastened away,
                he recognized her as his mother and called after her: ‘Why do
                you so often mock your own son by taking on these disguises?
                You too are cruel. Why am I never allowed to take your hand
                in mine, to hear your true voice and speak to you as you really are?’

410         With these reproaches he took the road that led to the city,
                but Venus hedged them about with a thick mist as they walked.
                The goddess spread a great veil of cloud over them so that no
                one could see them or touch them or cause any delay or ask the
                reason for their coming. She herself soared high into the sky and
                departed for Paphos, returning happily to her beloved home
                where she has her temple, and a hundred altars steam with the
                incense of Sheba and breathe the fragrance of fresh-cut flowers.

                
Meanwhile Aeneas and Achates hurried on their way, following
420         the track, and they were soon climbing the great hill which
                towered over the city and looked down upon the citadel opposite.
                Aeneas was amazed by the size of it where recently there
                had been nothing but shepherds’ huts, amazed too by the gates,
                the paved streets and all the stir. The Tyrians were working with
                a will: some of them were laying out the line of walls or rolling
                up great stones for building the citadel; others were choosing
                sites for building and marking them out with the plough; others
                were drawing up laws and electing magistrates and a senate
                whom they could revere; on one side they were excavating a
                harbour; on the other laying deep foundations for a theatre and
                quarrying huge columns from the rock to make a handsome
430         backdrop for the stage that was to be. They were like bees at
                the beginning of summer, busy in the sunshine all through the
                flowery meadows, bringing out the young of the race, just come
                of age, or treading the oozing honey and swelling the cells with
                sweet nectar, or taking the loads as they come in or mounting
                guard to keep the herds of idle drones out of their farmstead.
                The hive seethes with activity and the fragrance of honey
                flavoured with thyme is everywhere. ‘How fortunate they are!’
                cried Aeneas, now looking up at the high tops of the buildings.
                ‘
Their
walls are already rising!’ and he moved on through the
440         middle of the people, hedged about by the miraculous cloud,
                and no one saw him.

                There was a wooded grove which gave abundant shade in the
                middle of the city. When first the Phoenicians had been driven
                there by wind and wave, Juno, the Queen of the Gods, had led
                them to this spot where they had dug up the head of a spirited
                stallion. This was a sign that from generation to generation they
                would be a race glorious in war and would have no difficulty in
                finding fields to graze. Here Sidonian Dido was building for
                Juno a huge temple rich with offerings and rich, too, with the
                presence of the goddess. It was a raised temple, and at the top
                of its steps the threshold was of bronze, the beams were jointed
                with bronze and the bronze doors grated as they turned in their
450         sockets. Here in this grove Aeneas saw a strange sight which for
                the first time allayed his fears. Here for the first time he dared
                
to hope, and despite all the calamities of the past to have
                better confidence in the future. While waiting for the queen and
                studying everything there was to see under the roof of this huge
                temple, as he marvelled at the good fortune of the city, the skill
                of the workmen and all the works of their hands, he suddenly
                saw, laid out in order, depictions of the battles fought at Troy.
                The Trojan War was already famous throughout the world. The
                two sons of Atreus were there, and Priam, and Achilles who
                hated both sides. Aeneas stopped, and wept, and said to Achates:
460         ‘Is there anywhere now on the face of this earth that is not
                full of the knowledge of our misfortunes? Look at Priam. Here
                too there is just reward for merit, there are tears for suffering
                and men’s hearts are touched by what man has to bear. Forget
                your fears. We are known here. This will give you some hope
                for the future.’

                As he spoke these words, he was feeding his spirit with the
                empty images and groaning, and rivers of tears washed down
                his cheeks as he gazed at the fighting round the walls of Troy.
                On one side Greeks were in flight with Trojan warriors hard on
                their heels; on the other Trojans were retreating and Achilles
470         with his crested helmet was pursuing them in his chariot. He
                wept, too, when he recognized the white canvas of the tents of
                Rhesus nearby. It was the first sleep of the night. The tents had
                been betrayed, and were being torn down by Diomede, red with
                the blood of all the men he had slaughtered. He stole the fiery
                horses and took them back to the Greek camp before they could
                crop the grass of Troy or drink the water of the Xanthus. In
                another part of the picture poor Troilus, a mere boy and no
                match for Achilles, had lost his armour and was in full flight.
                His horses had run away with the chariot and he was being
                dragged along helpless on his back behind it, still holding on to
                the reins. His neck and hair were trailing along the ground and
                the end of his spear was scoring the dust behind him. The women
                of Troy, meanwhile, were going in supplication to the temple
480         of Pallas Athene, but the goddess was hostile to them. Their hair
                was unbound, and they were carrying a robe to offer her, beating
                their breasts in grief, but her head was turned from them and
                her eyes were fixed upon the ground. There too was Achilles.
                
He had dragged Hector three times round the walls of Troy,
                and now was selling his dead body for gold. Aeneas groaned
                from the depths of his heart to see the armour stripped off him,
                the chariot, the corpse of his dear friend and Priam stretching
                out his feeble hands. Aeneas even recognized himself in the
                confusion of battle, with the leaders of the Greeks all around
490         him. There were the warriors of the East, the armour of Memnon
                and his dark skin. The Amazons were there in their thousands
                with crescent shields and their leader Penthesilea in the middle
                of her army, ablaze with passion for war. There, showing her
                naked breast supported by a band of gold, was the warrior
                maiden, daring to clash with men in battle.

                While Trojan Aeneas stood gazing, rooted to the spot and
                lost in amazement at what he saw, queen Dido in all her beauty
                arrived at the temple with a great crowd of warriors around her.
                She was like Diana leading the dance on the banks of the Eurotas
                or along the ridges of Mount Cynthus with a thousand mountain
500         nymphs thronging behind her on either side. She carries her
                quiver on her shoulder, and as she walks, she is the tallest of all
                the goddesses. Her mother Latona does not speak, but a great
                joy stirs her heart at the sight of her. Dido was like Diana, and
                like Diana she bore herself joyfully among her people, urging
                on their work for the kingdom that was to be. Then in the
                doorway of the goddess, under the middle of the vault of the
                temple, she took her seat with her armed guards about her.
                There, as she was giving laws and rules of conduct to her people,
                and dividing the work that had to be done in equal parts or
                allocating it by lot, Aeneas suddenly saw a great throng approaching,
510         Antheus, Sergestus, brave Cloanthus and the other
                Trojans who had been scattered over the sea by the dark storm
                and swept away to distant shores. He was astounded, and
                Achates, too, was stunned with joy and fear. They burned with
                longing to clasp the hands of their comrades, but were at a
                loss because they did not understand what they saw. They did
                nothing, but stayed hidden in their cloak of cloud, waiting to
                learn how Fortune had dealt with their comrades. On what
                shore had they left their fleet? Why were they here? For these
                were picked men coming from each of the ships to plead their
                
case, and they were now walking to the temple with shouting
                all about them.

520         They came in and were allowed to address the queen. Ilioneus,
                the oldest of them, made this appeal: ‘You are a queen whom
                Jupiter has allowed to found a new city and curb proud peoples
                with your justice; we are the unhappy men of Troy, blown by
                the winds over all the oceans of the world, and we come to you
                as suppliants. Save our ships from the impious threat of fire. We
                are god-fearing men. Take pity on us. Look more closely at us
                – we have not come to Libya to pillage your homes and their
                gods, to take plunder and drive it down to the shore. Such
                violence and arrogance are not to be found in the hearts of the
                defeated.

530         ‘There is a place which Greeks know by the name Hesperia.
                It is an ancient land, strong in war and rich in the fertility of its
                soil. It was once tilled by Oenotrians, but now we believe
                their descendants have called themselves Italians after their king
                Italus. This is where we were steering when suddenly Orion rose
                in cloud and tempest and drove us on to hidden shallows, the
                sea overwhelmed us and fierce southerly squalls scattered us far
                and wide among breakers and uncharted rocks. A few of us
                drifted ashore here to your land. What manner of men are these?
540         Is this a country of barbarians that allows its people to act in
                this way? Sailors have a right to the shore and we are refused it.
                They make war on us and will not let us set foot on land. You
                may be no respecters of men. You may fear no men’s arms, but
                think of the gods, who see right and wrong and do not forget.
                Our king was Aeneas. He had no equal for his piety and his care
                for justice, and no equal in the field of battle. If the Fates still
                protect him, if he still breathes the air of heaven, if he is not
                even now laid low among the merciless shades, you would have
                nothing to fear or to regret by taking the lead in a contest of
550         kindness. In the land of Sicily we have arms and cities and the
                great Acestes, sprung from Trojan blood. Allow us to draw up
                our storm-battered ships, to hew timbers in your woods and
                shape new oars, so that we can make for Italy and Latium with
                joy in our hearts, if indeed we go to Italy with our comrades
                and our king; but if they are lost, if you, great Father of the
                
Trojans, are drowned in the sea off Libya, and there are no
                hopes left in Iulus, then we can at least go back to where we
                came from across the Sicilian sea, to the place that is prepared
560         for us, and return to king Acestes.’ So spoke Ilioneus and all the
                Trojans to a man murmured in agreement.