Authors: Virgil
Aeneas immediately summoned all those who wished to take
part in an archery contest and announced the prizes. With his
great hand he set up the mast taken from Serestus’ ship and put
a cord round a fluttering dove to hang it from the top of the
490 mast as a target for the steel-tipped arrows. The contestants
gathered. Lots were thrown into a bronze helmet, and the first
to leap out, to loud acclaim, gave the first place to Hippocoon,
son of Hyrtacus. Next came Mnestheus, fresh from his triumph
in the boat race, Mnestheus with the green olive binding his
hair. Third was Eurytion, brother of the famous Pandarus who
in days long past had been ordered to break the truce, and had
been the first to shoot an arrow into the middle of the Greeks.
Last of all, at the bottom of the helmet, was Acestes. He too
500 dared to try his hand at the test of warriors. Soon they were
bending their bows with all their strength and taking the arrows
out of their quivers. A string twanged and the first arrow, from
young Hippocoon, cut through the breezes of heaven to strike
home full in the wood of the mast. The mast quivered, there
was a flash of wings from the frightened bird and all around
rang out the loud applause. Next the eager Mnestheus took his
stand and drew, aiming high, straining both eye and bow, but
510 to his dismay he failed to hit the bird, cutting the knot in the
linen cords which bound her feet as she hung there at the top
of the mast. She made off, flying south towards some dark
clouds. Eurytion lost no time (his bow had long been bent and
his arrow at the ready), but called upon his brother Pandarus as
he prayed, and took aim at the dove now glorying in the freedom
of the sky. As she beat her wings just beneath the black cloud,
the arrow struck her and she fell dead, leaving her life among
the stars of heaven and bringing back as she fell the arrow that
had pierced her.
Father Acestes alone remained and the victor’s palm was lost
520 to him, but he aimed an arrow high into the breezes of the air
to display his old skill and let the sound of his bow be heard. At
this a sudden miracle appeared before their eyes, a mighty sign
of what the future held in store. In times to come was the
great fulfilment revealed and awesome prophets interpreted the
omens to future ages. As it flew through the vaporous clouds,
the arrow burst into flames and marked its path with fire till it
was consumed and faded into thin air, like those stars that leave
their appointed places and race across the sky trailing their
530 blazing hair behind them as they fly. Sicilians and Trojans stood
stock still in amazement, praying to the gods above, but the
mighty Aeneas welcomed the omen and embraced the exultant
Acestes, heaping great gifts on him and saying these words:
‘Accept these, Father Acestes, for the Great King of Olympus
has shown by this sign that he has willed you to receive honours
beyond the lot of other men. Here is a gift from my old father
Anchises himself, a mixing bowl engraved with figures which
he once received as a great tribute from Thracian Cisseus to be
a memorial and pledge of his love.’ With these words he put a
540 wreath of green laurel round Acestes’ temples and declared him
first victor above all the others. Nor did good Eurytion grudge
him the highest honour although he alone had brought down
the dove from the heights of heaven. Next in order for the prizes
came the archer who had cut the cord, and last the one who had
pierced the mast with his flying arrow.
But before the end of the archery contest Father Aeneas was
already calling to his side Epytides, the trusty comrade and
guardian of young Iulus, to speak a word in his ear: ‘Go now,
and if Ascanius has with him his troop of boys all ready and the
550 horses drawn up and prepared to move, tell him to lead on his
squadrons in honour of his grandfather and show himself in
arms.’ The people had all flooded into the circus, so Aeneas
ordered them to clear the whole long track and leave the level
ground free. Then came the boys, riding in perfect order on their
bridled mounts, resplendent in full view of their parents, and all
the men of Sicily and of Troy murmured in admiration as they
rode. They wore their hair close bound in trimmed garlands in
ceremonial style and each carried a pair of cornel-wood spears
tipped with steel. Some of them had polished quivers hanging
from their shoulders with circlets of twisted gold round neck
560 and chest. They spread out into three separate squadrons of
horse, each with its own leader at the head of a dozen boys in
two separate files of six, each squadron with its own trainer, all
of them gleaming in the sunlight. The first of these three squadrons
of young warriors was led in triumph by a little Priam, the
noble son of Polites who bore the name of his grandfather and
was destined to give increase to the Italian race. His horse was
a piebald Thracian with white above its hooves and a white
forehead carried high. The second squadron was led by Atys,
the founder of the Atii of Latium. Young Atys was a dear friend
570 of the boy Iulus, and Iulus was last and comeliest of them all,
riding on a Sidonian horse given to him by the lovely Dido as a
memorial and pledge of her love. The other youngsters rode
Sicilian mounts presented by old Acestes. They were daunted
by the praise they received as the Trojans feasted their eyes
upon them, tracing in their features the features of their distant
ancestors.
After they had paraded happily on horseback round the whole
gathering and shown themselves to their loved ones, when they
were all ready, Epytides, standing at a distance, gave the signal
580 with a loud call and a crack of his whip and the warriors wheeled
apart into two separate sections, each of the three troops dividing
its ranks equally. At a second command the two new formations
turned and advanced on each other with spears at the
level. All over the arena they charged and turned and charged
again, winding in circles now in one direction now in the other,
fighting out in full armour the very image of a battle, now
exposing their backs in flight, now turning to point their spears
at the enemy and now when peace is made riding along side by
side. They say there was a labyrinth once in the hills of Crete
where the way weaved between blind walls and lost itself in a
590 thousand treacherous paths; there was no following of tracks in
this maze, no finding of a way and no retracing of steps – such
was the pattern woven by the paths of the sons of the Trojans
as they wound their movements of mock battle and retreat, like
dolphins swimming in the waters of the sea, cleaving the waves
off Carpathos or Libya. The tradition of these manoeuvres and
battles was first renewed by Ascanius, who taught the native
Latins to celebrate it as he was building his walls round Alba
600 Longa. The Albans taught their sons to do as Ascanius himself
and the Trojans had done with him when they were boys. In
due course great Rome itself received this tradition from Alba
and preserved it. It is now called ‘Troy’ and the boys are called
‘the Trojan Troop’. Here ended the games held in honour of the
divine father of Aeneas.
At this moment Fortune first changed and turned against
them. While they were paying to the tomb the solemn tribute of
all these games, Saturnian Juno sent Iris down from the sky to
the Trojan fleet and breathed favouring winds upon her as she
went. Juno had many schemes in her mind and her ancient
610 bitterness remained unsatisfied. Unseen by human eye the virgin
goddess ran her swift course down her bow of a thousand
colours till she came within sight of the great assembly. She
then passed along the shore and saw the empty harbour and
unattended ships. But there, far apart on the deserted beach,
were the women of Troy, weeping for the loss of Anchises and
weeping, all of them, as they looked out over the unfathomable
sea. How weary they were, how numberless the breakers and
how vast the sea that still remained for them to cross! These
were the words on all their lips. What they were praying for was
a city – they were heart sick of toiling with the sea. Iris knew
how to cause mischief. She rushed into the middle of them,
620 laying aside her divine form and dress and appearing as Beroe,
the aged wife of Doryclus of Tmaros, a woman of good birth,
who had borne sons and been held in high regard. In this guise
she mingled with the mothers of Troy and spoke these words:
‘Our sadness is that Greek hands did not drag us off to our
deaths in war under the walls of our native city. O my unhappy
people, for what manner of destruction is Fortune preserving
you? This is the seventh summer since the fall of Troy that we
have been driven by the winds and have measured every sea and
land, every inhospitable rock and every angry star, rolling for
ever on the waves as we search the mighty ocean for an Italy
630 that ever recedes. Here we are in the land of our brother Eryx
and Acestes is our host. Who is to prevent us from laying down
the foundations of walls and giving a city to our people? I call
upon our native land and household gods snatched from the
hands of our enemies to no purpose, tell us, will there never
again be walls that will be called the walls of Troy? Shall I never
see a place with the rivers that Hector knew, the Xanthus and
the Simois? It is too much to endure. Come with me now and set
fire to these accursed ships and destroy them. I have seen in a
dream the image of the priestess Cassandra putting blazing
torches in my hands and saying: “This is your home. This is
where you must find your Troy.” Now is the time to act. Portents
640 like these brook no delay. Look at these four altars of Neptune.
The god himself is giving us the torches and the courage.’ While
still speaking she took the lead and snatched up the deadly fire,
brandished it in her right hand and threw it with all her force.
The minds of the women of Troy were roused and their hearts
were bewildered, but one of the many, the oldest of them all,
Pyrgo, who had been royal nurse to all the sons of Priam, called
out: ‘This is not Beroe speaking to you, women of Troy. This is
not the wife of Doryclus from Rhoeteum. Look at the marks of
divine beauty, the blazing eyes. Look at her proud bearing, her
650 features, the sound of her voice, her walk. I have just left Beroe
sick and fretting because she was the only one who could not
come to this ceremony and would not be paying due honour to
Anchises.’
These were the words of Pyrgo and at first the women were
at a loss, looking at the ships with loathing in their eyes, torn
between their pitiable desire to stay where they were on land,
and the kingdom to which destiny was calling them, when the
goddess soared through the heavens on poised wings, cutting in
her flight a great rainbow beneath the clouds. This portent
660 overwhelmed them. Driven at last to madness they began to
scream and snatch flames from the innermost hearths of the
encampment or rob the altar fires, hurling blazing branches and
brushwood and torches. The God of Fire raged with unbridled
fury over oars and benches and the fir wood of the painted
sterns.
It was Eumelus who brought the news to the Trojans while
they were still in the wedge-shaped blocks of seats in the theatre
near the tomb of Anchises, and they could see for themselves
the dark ash flying in a cloud. Ascanius was happily leading the
cavalry manoeuvres, so he made off to the troubled camp at full
gallop although the breathless trainers tried in vain to hold him
670 back. ‘What strange madness is this?’ he cried. ‘Where, oh where
is this leading you, you unhappy women of Troy? This is not
the camp of your Greek enemies. What you are burning is your
own hopes for the future! Look at me! I am your own Ascanius!’
He had been wearing a helmet as he stirred the images of war
in the mock battle and now he took it off and threw it on the
ground at his feet. At this moment Aeneas came rushing up and
columns of Trojans with him, but the women took to flight and
scattered all over the shore making for the woods and caves in
the rocks, wherever they could hide. They were ashamed of
what they had done and ashamed to look upon the light of day.
Their wits were restored now and they recognized their own
people. Juno was cast out of their hearts.