Authors: Virgil
With these words she rose on her wings and flew into the
260 forest. In that instant the blood of my comrades was congealed
with fear. Their spirits fell and they lost all desire for fight,
telling me to plead and pray to the creatures for peace, whether
they were goddesses or foul and deadly birds. Then Father
Anchises stood on the shore and raised his hands palms upward
to heaven, calling upon the great gods and pledging to pay them
all the honours that were their due. ‘O you gods,’ he cried, ‘let
not this threat be fulfilled. O gods, turn away this fate from us
and graciously preserve your devoted people.’ He then gave
orders to pull in the cables, undo the sail-ropes and let them
run. The south wind filled the canvas, and wind and helmsman
each set the same course for us as we flew over the foaming
270 waves. Soon there appeared in mid-ocean the woods of
Zacynthus, and Dulichium, Same and the stone cliffs of Neritos.
We raced away from the rocks of Ithaca, the kingdom of Laertes,
and cursed the land that had nurtured the villain Ulixes. In no
time there rose before us the cloudy cap of Mount Leucas and
Apollo’s temple, the terror of sailors. Being weary we set course
for it and came to land at the little city. The anchors ran out
from the prows and our ships stood to the shore.
So at last our feet were on dry land again – more than we had
dared to hope for. We performed rites of purification to Jupiter
280 and lit altar fires in fulfilment of our vows, crowding the shores
of Actium with our Trojan games. My comrades stripped and
made their bodies slippery with oil and wrestled in the style of
their fathers, as we celebrated our escape and safe voyage past
so many Greek cities, right through the middle of our enemies.
In due course the sun rolled on round the great circle of the
year. Icy winter came and the north winds were roughening the
seas. I then took a concave shield of bronze, the armour once
carried by great Abas, and nailed it on the doors of the temple
where all could see, proclaiming the dedication of it with this
inscription:
Then I gave orders to leave port and told the rowers to sit to
290 their benches. They vied with one another to strike the sea and
sweep the surface of it with their oars. We had soon put the
cloud-capped citadels of Phaeacia down below the horizon and
we coasted along Epirus until we entered the harbour of Chaonia
and then walked up to the lofty city of Buthrotum.
Here there came to our ears a story almost beyond belief, that
Helenus, a son of Priam, was king over these Greek cities of
Epirus, having succeeded to the throne and the bed of Pyrrhus,
son of Achilles and descendant of Aeacus. Andromache, once
wife of Hector, had for a second time taken a husband from her
own people. I was astounded and the heart within me burned
with love for the man and longing to meet him and find out
300 about these great events. I was walking away from the harbour,
leaving ships and shore behind me, when I caught sight of
Andromache, offering a ritual meal and performing rites to the
dead in a grove in front of a city on the banks of a river Simois,
but not the true Simois of Troy. She was pouring a libation to
the ashes of her husband Hector, calling on his shade to come
to the empty tomb, a mound of green grass on which she had
consecrated two altars. There she used to go and weep. When
she saw me approaching with armed Trojans all about me, she
was beside herself, numb with fear the moment she saw this
great miracle, and the warmth of life went out of her bones. She
fainted, and only after a long time was she at last able to speak
310 to me: ‘Is this a true vision? Is it a true messenger that comes to
me, son of the goddess? Are you alive? If the light of life has left
you, why are you here? Where is Hector?’ As she spoke she
burst into tears and her cries filled all the grove. I could hardly
find an answer to these wild words, but stammered a few broken
phrases. ‘I am indeed alive. After all that has happened I still go
on living. Do not doubt it. What you see is true. But tell me,
what fate has overtaken you since you were deprived of such a
husband? What has fallen to the lot of Hector’s Andromache?
Are you still the wife of Pyrrhus?’
320 She answered, and her voice was low and her eyes downcast:
‘The happiest of all Trojan women was the virgin daughter of
Priam who was made to die by the tomb of her enemy Achilles
under the high walls of Troy. Polyxena did not have to endure
the casting of lots or live to be the slave of a conqueror and lie
in a master’s bed! But we saw our home burned and sailed over
many seas. We submitted to the arrogance of the house of
Achilles and the insolence of his son and bore him a child in
slavery. In due course he turned his attention to marrying a
Spartan, Hermione, granddaughter of Leda, giving his slave
Andromache over to his slave Helenus. But Orestes loved Hermione
330 and had hoped to marry her. Incensed at losing her and
driven on by the madness brought upon him by his own crimes,
he caught Pyrrhus where Pyrrhus least expected him and slaughtered
him on the altar he had raised to his father Achilles. At his
death some of the kingdom he had ruled over came into the
possession of Helenus, who then called the plains the Chaonian
plains and the whole district Chaonia after Chaon of Troy. He
then built a Pergamum, this Trojan citadel on the ridge. But
what winds and what fates have given you passage here? Is it
some god that has driven you to these shores that you did not
know were ours? What about your boy Ascanius? Is he alive
340 and breathing the air? If he were with you now in Troy…But
does he ever think of the mother he has lost? Does the old
courage and manliness ever rise in him at the thought of his
father Aeneas and his uncle Hector?’
She was weeping her useless tears and sobbing bitterly as
these words poured from her when the hero Helenus, son of
Priam, arrived from the walls of the city with a great escort. He
recognized his own people and took us gladly to his home. He
too was weeping and could speak only a few broken words to
us between his tears. As I walked I recognized a little Troy, a
350 citadel modelled on great Pergamum and a dried-up stream they
called the Xanthus. There was the Scaean Gate and I embraced
it. Nor were my Trojans slow to enjoy this Trojan city with
me. The king received them in a broad colonnade and in the
middle of the courtyard they poured libations of the wine of
Bacchus and fed off golden dishes and every man had a goblet
in his hand.
Day after day wore on with breezes tempting our sails and
the canvas filling and swelling in the south wind, until I went to
the prophet Helenus with this request: ‘You are Trojan born.
360 You can read the signs sent by the gods. You understand the
will of Phoebus Apollo of Claros, his tripods and his laurels.
You know the meaning of the stars, the cries of birds and the
omens of their flight. Come tell me – for every sign I have
received from heaven has spoken in favour of this journey, and
I am persuaded by all the divine powers to set course for Italy
and try to find that distant land. Only the Harpy Celaeno has
prophesied a strange and monstrous portent, threatening us
with her deadly anger and all the horrors of famine – come
tell me now, what dangers am I to avoid as I start upon this
journey? And as it goes on, what must I do to overcome such
adversities?’
370 Before replying Helenus first performed a ritual slaughter of
bullocks and asked for the blessing of the gods. He then loosened
the ribbons from his consecrated head, and taking my hand, he
led me in anxious expectation into the mighty presence of the
god. In due course he spoke as priest and this was the prophecy
that came from his hallowed lips. ‘O son of the goddess, the
proof is full and clear that the highest auspices favour your
voyage. This is the fate allotted to you by the King of the Gods.
This is how your fortune rolls and this is the order of its turning.
My words will tell you a small part of all there is to know so
that you may trust yourself more safely to cross the seas that
are waiting to receive you, and come to harbour in Ausonia.
380 The Fates do not allow Helenus to know the rest and Saturnian
Juno forbids it to be spoken. First, you are wrong to imagine
that it is a short voyage to Italy and that there are harbours
close at hand for you to enter. Far and pathless are the ways
that lie between you and that far distant land. You must first
bend the oar in the waves of Sicilian seas, then cross the ocean
of Ausonia and the lakes of the underworld, and pass Aeaea,
the island of Circe, before you can come to the land which will
be safe for the founding of your city. I shall give you a sign and
you must keep it deep within your heart: when in an hour of
perplexity by the flowing waters of a lonely river you find under
390 some holm-oaks on the shore a great sow with the litter of thirty
piglets she has farrowed, lying there on her side all white, with
her young all white around her udders, that will be the place for
your city. There you will find the rest ordained for all your
labours. Nor is there any need for you to shudder at the thought
of eating your tables. The Fates will find a way. Call upon
Apollo and he will come. But you must quickly leave this land
of ours and keep well clear of the shore of Italy that lies nearest
us bathed by the tide of our sea, for hostile Greeks live in all
these cities. Here Locrians from Narycum have built their walls
400 and the army of the Cretan Idomeneus of Lyctos has seized the
Sallentine plains in Calabria. Here too is the little town of Petelia
perching on the wall built for it by Philoctetes, leader of the
Meliboeans. And when you have passed all these and your
ships are moored across the sea, when you have raised altars
on the shore to fulfil your vows, do not forget to veil your
head in purple cloth so that when the altar fires are burning to
honour the gods, no enemy presence can intrude and spoil the
omens. Your comrades and you yourself must keep this mode
of sacrifice and your descendants must maintain this purity of
worship for ever.
410 ‘But when you sail on and the wind carries you near the shore
of Sicily, and the close-set barriers of Pelorus open before you,
make for the land to the south and the sea to the south, taking
the long way round Sicily and keeping well clear of the breakers
on the coast to starboard. Men say these lands were originally
one but were long ago convulsed by some great upheaval and
torn apart. Such changes can occur in the long ageing of time.
The waves of the sea burst in between them and cut Sicily
loose from the flank of the land of Hesperia, putting coastlines
between their fields and cities and flowing in between them in a
420 narrow tide. On your right waits Scylla in ambush and on your
left the insatiable Charybdis. Three times a day with the deep
vortex of her whirlpool Charybdis sucks great waves into the
abyss and then throws them upwards again to lash the stars.
But Scylla lurks in the dark recesses of her cave and shoots out
her mouths to seize ships and drag them on to the rocks. She
has a human face and as far as the groin she is a girl with lovely
breasts, but below she is a monstrous sea creature, her womb
430 full of wolves, each with a dolphin’s tail. It is better to lose time
by taking the long course round Cape Pachynus rather than set
eyes on the hideous Scylla deep in her cave or see those rocks
loud with the barking of dogs as blue as the sea.