Authors: Virgil
But Caesar was riding into Rome in triple triumph, paying
undying vows to the gods of Italy and consecrating three hundred
great shrines throughout the city. The streets resounded
with joy and festivities and applause. There was a chorus of
matrons at every temple, at every temple there were altars and
the ground before the altars was strewn with the bodies of
720 slaughtered bullocks. He himself was seated at the white marble
threshold of gleaming white Apollo, inspecting the gifts brought
before him by the peoples of the earth and hanging them high
on the posts of the doors of the temple, while the defeated
nations walked in long procession in all their different costumes
and in all their different armour, speaking all the tongues of the
earth. Here Mulciber, the God of Fire, had moulded the Nomads
and the Africans with their streaming robes; here, too, the
Lelegeians and Carians of Asia and the Gelonians from Scythia
with their arrows. The Euphrates was now moving with a
chastened current, and here were the Gaulish Morini from the
ends of the earth, the two-horned Rhine, the undefeated Dahae
from beyond the Caspian and the river Araxes chafing at his
bridge.
Such were the scenes spread over the shield that Vulcan made
730 and Venus gave to her son. Marvelling at it, and rejoicing at the
things pictured on it without knowing what they were, Aeneas
lifted on to his shoulder the fame and the fate of his descendants.
1
While this was happening far away in Etruria, Juno, daughter
of Saturn, sent Iris down from the sky to bold Turnus, who
chanced at that moment to be sitting in a grove sacred to his
ancestor Pilumnus. These were the words that came to him from
the rosy lips of Iris, daughter of Thaumas: ‘There, Turnus, time
in its ever-rolling course has brought you unasked what none
of the gods would have dared to promise you if you had prayed
for it – Aeneas has left his city, his allies and his fleet, and gone
10 to visit the royal seat of Evander on the Palatine. And as though
that were not enough, he has travelled as far as the remotest
cities of Corythus and is arming a band of Lydians, some country
people he has collected. What are you waiting for? This is the
moment to call for your horses and chariots. Do not allow any
delay. Make a surprise attack on their camp and seize it.’ At
these words she soared into the sky on poised wings, cutting in
her flight a great rainbow under the clouds. The warrior knew
her, and raising his hands palms upward to the stars, he called
out to her as she flew: ‘Iris, glory of the sky, who has sent you
here to me, riding the clouds down to the earth? Why this
20 sudden brightness in the air? I see the heights of heaven parting
and stars wandering through the vault of the sky. I follow this
great sign, whoever you are that call me to arms.’ When he had
spoken these words, he walked to the river’s edge and scooped
up in his hands the water from its surface as he offered up prayer
upon prayer to the gods and burdened heaven with his vows.
The whole army was soon moving across the open plain, rich
in its horses, rich in embroidered apparel, rich in gold. The
vanguard was controlled by Messapus, the rear by the sons of
Tyrrhus, while Turnus, the chief commander, was in the middle
30 of the column. It was like the Ganges fed by the steady flow of
its seven rivers and silently rising, or like the fertile waters of the
Nile when it withdraws from the plains and settles back at last
into its own channel. The Trojans saw this distant cloud of
black dust suddenly gathering and the darkness rising on the
plain. Caicus was on the rampart on that side and he was the
first to raise the alarm: ‘What is that ball of dark dust rolling
along the plain? Fetch your weapons, fellow-citizens, and fetch
them now! Give out missiles! Mount the walls! The enemy is
upon us. To your posts!’ With a great clamour the Trojans
40 streamed in by all the gates to man the walls, for these were the
orders they had received from Aeneas, the greatest of warriors,
as he left them: if anything should happen in his absence, they
were not to dare take up position for a pitched battle or trust
themselves to the plain, but only to stay on the ramparts and
defend the camp and the walls. So, though shame and anger
urged them to join battle, they nevertheless obeyed orders and
closed the gates against the enemy, waiting for them in full
armour inside their towers.
By this time Turnus had taken wing and gone on ahead of the
slow-moving column. With twenty picked horsemen he arrived
50 at the city before he was expected, riding a piebald Thracian
charger and wearing his gold helmet shaded by red plumes. ‘Is
there any man among you, my friends, will come with me and
be first upon the enemy? There!’ he cried, and sent his javelin
spinning into the air as a signal for battle, then, rising in the
saddle he charged across the plain. His comrades took up the
cry and followed him with blood-curdling shouts. They were
amazed at the faint-heartedness of the Trojans. Why did they
not commit themselves to a fair fight on the level plain? They
were men. Why did they huddle in their camp and not meet
arms with arms? Turnus in a fury prowled round the walls this
way and that, searching for an approach where there was none,
60 like a wolf in the dead of night, lying in wait in all the wind and
rain by a pen full of sheep, and growling at the gaps in the
fence, while the lambs keep up their bleating, safe beneath their
mothers; beside himself with anger he storms and rages but
cannot reach them; he is worn out by the ravening hunger he
has been so long in gathering and many a day has passed since
blood wet his throat – so did the Rutulian blaze with anger as
he surveyed the walls of the Trojan camp and the pain burned
him to the bone. How could he try to come at them? What
70 device could shake out the Trojans shut up there behind their
rampart and spill them on to the plain? Ah! The fleet! There it
was moored in a sheltered position along the side of the camp,
protected by the water of the river, and to the landward by
ramparts. There he made his attack. Burning with fury himself
he demanded fire from his exultant comrades and took up a
great blazing pine torch in his hand. At this they all bent to the
task, with Turnus there to urge them on. They plundered what
fires they could find, and their reeking torches smouldered with
a pitchy light as Vulcan whirled to the stars dense clouds of
smoke shot through with sparks.
Tell me, Muses, what god turned these fierce flames away
from the Trojans and drove such fire from their ships. The tale
was told in times long past but the fame of it will live for ever.
80 When Aeneas was first building his fleet on Mount Ida in Phrygia
and preparing to take to the high seas, Berecyntian Cybele
herself, the Mother of the Gods, is said to have addressed these
words to great Jupiter: ‘O my son, grant my prayer. Now that
Olympus is subdued, grant what your dear mother asks of you.
On top of my citadel I had a wood of pine trees which I had
loved for many years, a dark grove of black pine and maple
where men would bring their offerings. These trees I gladly gave
to the Trojan warrior when he needed a fleet, but now my heart
90 is seized by anxiety and dread. Put all my fears at rest and
answer your mother’s prayer. Grant that my ships should not
be wrecked on any of their voyages or overwhelmed by any
squall of wind. Let it stand to their favour that they were born
on our mountains.’ Her son, who turns the stars of heaven in
their courses, made this reply to his mother: ‘What is this you
are calling on the Fates to do? What do these words of yours
mean? Are ships made by mortal hands to have immortal rights?
Is Aeneas to face all his doubts and dangers and never know
uncertainty? Is there any god to whom such a privilege has been
granted? No. But when the ships have done their duty, when in
due course they reach the end of their voyaging and are safe in
harbour in Ausonia, each one to survive the sea and reach the
100 Laurentine fields with the Trojan leader will lose its mortal
shape. I shall order all of them to become goddesses of the great
ocean, like Galatea and Doto, daughters of Nereus, whose
breasts cleave the foam of the waves of the sea.’ Jupiter had
spoken, ratifying his words by the waters of the Styx, his
brother’s river, by the banks and dark whirlpools of that pitch-black
torrent, and at his nod the whole of Olympus shook.
And so the promised day had come and the Fates had completed
the allotted time, when the violent attack of Turnus
warned the Mother Goddess to defend her sacred ships from
110 these burning brands. A strange light now shone before men’s
eyes and a great cloud seemed to cross the sky from the east,
bearing with it votaries of the goddess from Mount Ida. A
fearsome voice then fell from the air and filled the ears of Trojans
and Rutulians in their armed ranks: ‘Do not trouble, Trojans,
to defend my ships. Do not take your weapons in your hands.
Turnus will burn the sea dry before he can burn these sacred
pine trees. Go then! You are freed. Go, you goddesses of the
sea! The Mother of the Gods commands.’ In an instant every
120 ship burst the ropes that moored it to the bank, and they plunged
like dolphins, beak first to the bottom. When they returned to
the surface, they were miraculously changed, each one a nymph
swimming in the sea.
The Rutulians were astonished. Messapus himself was afraid
and his horses reared. Even Tiber checked his flow with a harsh
roaring of his waters as he called back his current from the sea.
But the boldness and confidence of Turnus never wavered.
Without hesitation he set about haranguing his men and whipping
up their spirits: ‘These portents strike at the Trojans: they
mean that Jupiter has taken from them the help they have
130 become accustomed to. The ships did not wait to taste Rutulian
fire and sword! So now the seas are barred to the Trojans and
they have no hope of escape. By this they have lost one half of
the world, and the land is already in our hands, so many thousands
of men are marching under arms from all the races of
Italy. This Phrygian talk of destiny and the oracles of the gods
does not dismay me. Destiny and Venus were satisfied the
moment Trojans set foot on the fertile fields of Italy. I too have
a destiny, of a different sort – to cut down with the sword this
vicious people that has robbed me of my bride. The sons of
Atreus are not the only ones who have suffered, and the people
of Mycenae are not the only men who can take up arms. Let
140 them not imagine it is enough to have been destroyed once! It
should have been enough for them to sin once. They had no
need to show loathing and contempt for every woman in the
world. Look at them now, all courage and confidence because
of this rampart that keeps us from them and these ditches they
have dug to hold us back. This is no sort of barrier to stand
between them and death. Did they not see the walls of Troy
settling into the flames? And those were fashioned by the hands
of Neptune. You are my chosen few. Which one of you is ready
to cut through their rampart with the sword and rush into that
camp of cowards? To fight Trojans I do not need the armour
Vulcan made for Achilles. I do not need a thousand ships, not
150 if every man in Etruria went and joined them as allies this
instant. Nor do they need to be frightened of the dark. We shall
not be creeping up on them like cowards to kill the guards all
over their citadel and steal their Palladium. We shall not be
hiding in the blind belly of a horse. Our plan is to come in
daylight in full view and gird their walls with fire. I shall soon
make sure they realize it is not Greeks they have to deal with or
the army of Pelasgians Hector held off into a tenth year. But the
best part of the day is already spent. For what remains of it you
can now rest yourselves. You have done well. Be of good cheer,
in high hopes that we can bring them to battle.’ Meanwhile
160 Messapus was given the task of blockading the gates with a
night guard and ringing the walls with watch-fires. Fourteen
Rutulians were chosen to keep watch on the walls, each commanding
a hundred men with purple crests on their helmets and
gleaming with gold. They dispersed, some going to their various
duties, others lying out on the grass, enjoying their wine and
tipping up the bronze mixing bowls. The watch-fires burned
and the guards kept awake by gaming the night away.