VIRGIL: AENEID: BOOK XII: THE DEATH OF TURNUS

Introduction.

Book Twelve (XII) of the "Aeneid", which is translated in full below, brings Virgil's magnificent epic poem to its end. The last six books resemble the "Iliad" rather than the "Odyssey", because they deal with matters of war rather than voyaging. In both the "Iliad" and the "Aeneid" an older man gives the principal hero a companion to fight by their side who is subsequently killed by an enemy chieftain, whom the hero then kills in revenge. Book XII, as is indeed the case with much of the last four books, also resembles Homer's "Iliad" in that it is full of bloody war scenes in which the grim and gory realities of battle, far from being played down, are emphasised. The two main combatants, Aeneas and Turnus, erupt in an orgy of killing. Each is driven by hatred, contempt, rivalry for the love of a woman, and the desire for revenge; and each taunts his wounded adversaries and kills them without mercy. Vicious civil war had been a reality for most of Virgil's adult life and he did not flinch from descriptions of warfare which portray it in a harsh but a factual light.

Neither of the main characters appear attractive. As many commentators have stated, Aeneas comes over as, at best, an unsympathetic character, both cold and inhibited. Indeed, T.E. Page, the editor of the Latin text which this translation has employed went so far as to say this: "...Virgil is unhappy in his hero. Compared with Achilles, his Aeneas is but the shadow of a man. He is an abstraction typifying the ideal Roman, in whom reverence for the gods (pietas) and manly courage (virtus) combine....Indeed throughout the "Aeneid" he is so regulated by fate, visions and superintending deities that it is hard to take any real interest in his acts and doings." On the other hand, his adversary Turnus is portrayed as a man with disconcerting levels of violence and mad anger, but like the archetypal 'playground bully' he seems to develop cold feet when confronted by the imminence of single combat.

Some readers have been surprised that the "Aeneid" ends with Aeneas' decision to kill Turnus, as his wounded enemy lies on the ground begging for his life, whereas a decision to spare him might have assisted   him in the founding of the new nation in which the Trojans were to merge with the Latins. It is perhaps the one and only time in the book that Aeneas does something of his own accord and unprompted, and it is perhaps mainly for this reason that the reader may be surprised. However, in killing Turnus in revenge for the death of Pallas, Virgil is of course, maintaining the parallel with the "Iliad", in which Hector is killed by Achilles in revenge for the earlier death of Patroclus. But there is, perhaps, a deeper significance to the death of Turnus. Virgil had written this epic at the behest of, and with the close encouragement of, Augustus, the first Roman emperor, for whom Aeneas is presented as a forerunner or precursor, and, as Augustus well knew, revenge is an inevitable part of war. Indeed as a youth he had won the devotion of the legions by promising to avenge the murder of their beloved Caesar, and, true to his pledge, he had hunted down every last one of the assassins.  The Romans were a stern and unbending race, with a reputation for ruthlessness. It was perhaps appropriate that the final act of this the founding national epic of the new Roman Empire should have ended on such a merciless note.

The text for this translation of the "Aeneid", Book XII, is taken from the edition of the book in Macmillan School Classics Series, edited by T.E.Page, M.A., D.Litt. (1902).

Ll. 1-17.  Turnus sees that the Latins, dispirited by their ill-success, look to him to take the field as their champion. Furious as a wounded lion, he bids King Latinus arrange a single combat between him and Aeneas, the issue of which shall end the war.

When Turnus sees that the Latins, having been broken (in spirit) by the adverse (fortunes of) war (lit. Mars), have become faint-hearted, (and) that his own promises were now being demanded in fulfiment, (and) that he was being marked by their eyes, he blazes implacably, and raises up his spirits. Like a lion in the lands of the Carthaginians, (when) wounded in his breast by the grievous thrust of huntsmen, only then does he move to battle, and exult, shaking out the shaggy masses froor most m his neck, and he fearlessly breaks the brigand's spear fixed (in him) and roars from his blood-stained mouth. Just so (lit. not otherwise), Turnus having been set on fire (with rage), his violence blazes forth. So then he addresses the king, and he begins thus wildly: "(There is) no delay in the case of Turnus; there is no (reason) why the cowardly followers of Aeneas should retract their words, or refuse what they have pledged. I am stepping forward (to battle). Bring (out) the sacrificial implements, sire (lit. father), and draw up the truce. Either I shall send that Dardanian (i.e. Trojan) runaway from Asia down to Tartarus - the Latins may sit and gaze - and I alone shall refute with my sword the general charge (of cowardice), or let him hold sway over the vanquished, and let Lavinia pass (to him as) his wife."

Ll. 18-53.  Latinus discourages Turnus from challenging Aeneas to single combat, indicating that, while he has the opportunity to marry many noble maidens, the oracles have forbidden that Lavinia should be married to any of her former suitors.  But these soothing words only excite the rage of Turnus still further, and he demands the right to defend his own cause. 

Latinus replies to him with an unruffled heart: "O young man excelling in spirit, as much as you yourself excel in bold valour, so much the more earnestly is it right that I deliberate and ponder fearfully all possibilities. You have (lit. there is to you) the realms of your father Daunus, towns have been taken by your hand, and moreover Latinus has (lit. there is to Latinus) both gold and good will: there are other unwedded (maidens) in Latium and the Laurentine fields, and not ignoble in respect of their birth. Allow me to unfold these very hard (lit. not soft) things in speech without guile (lit. with guile having been removed); at the same time drink this into your soul. It was not lawful for me to unite my daughter to any (lit. it was lawful for me to unite my daughter to none) of her former suitors, and everyone, both gods and men, foretold this. Overcome by love for you, overcome by our ties of blood (lit. related blood) and by the tears of my sorrowing wife, I broke all bonds: I snatched away the promised (maiden) from my son-in-law, (and) I took up impious arms. From that, you see, Turnus, what disasters, what wars are pursuing me, (and) above all what great tribulations you are suffering. Twice vanquished in pitched battle, scarcely with our city(-walls) (can) we guard the hopes of Italy; the stream of the Tiber is still made hot with our blood and our broad plains are white with our bones. To what (end) am I brought back so often? What madness changes my mind? If, Turnus having been killed, I was prepared to recognise (them as) allies, why do I not rather put an end to the struggle (with him yet) unharmed? What will your Rutulian kinsmen, (what will) the rest of Italy, say, if - may fortune refute the words! - I shall have betrayed you to death, (while) seeking my daughter and a union with our house? Take pity on your aged father, whom, now sorrowing, your native Ardea keeps far apart (from you)." (But) the violence of Turnus is in no way deflected by these words; it  mounts up higher (still) and grows angrier with the healing. As soon as he could speak, he began (to speak) through his mouth thus: "Lay down this concern which you exercise on my behalf, I implore (you), lord (lit. best of men), for my sake, and permit (me) to barter death for glory. We too, sire (lit. father), scatter darts of (lit. and) very strong (lit. not weak) iron with our right-hand; and blood is drawn from our thrusts. The goddess, his mother, will be (too) far away to cover his flight in womanly cloud and to conceal herself in empty shadows."

Ll. 54-80.  Amata beseeches Turnus not to hazard his life, on which all their hopes rest, but the beauty and blushes of Lavinia only inflame his passion more, and he bids his squire Idmon carry his challenge to Aeneas. 


But the queen, terrified at the new terms of battle, wept and, (as) one about to die, sought to restrain her fiery son-in-law: "Turnus, by these tears, by your regard for Amata, if any (such regard) touches your soul - you (are) now my one hope, you (are) the repose of my unhappy old age, the honour and authority of Latinus are in your power; upon you all our sinking house rests - this one thing I beg of you: refrain from joining in battle with the Teucrians (viz. the Trojans). Whatever outcomes await you in that struggle of yours, await me too, Turnus; together (with you) I shall leave this hateful light, nor, (as) a captive, shall I see Aeneas (as) my son-in-law." Lavinia heard (lit. received) her mother's utterance with tears, bathing her burning cheeks (with weeping), while (lit. to whom) a deep blush kindled a flame and ran over her glowing face. Just as Indian ivory, if one stains (it) with sanguine dye, or where white lilies grow red with many a rose mixed in (with them), the maiden displayed such hues on her face: love throws him into confusion and his countenance fastens upon her face. He burns (even) more for battle, and addresses Amata with a few (words): (Do) not, I beg (you), O mother, pursue me with tears, or with an omen so grievous, as I go (lit. going) to the stern contest of war (lit. Mars); for neither (is) delay free of death to Turnus. (As) my messenger, Idmon, deliver these my unwelcome (lit. not welcome) words to the Phrygian tyrant: when tomorrow's Dawn, borne upwards on crimson wheels, first blushes in the sky, may he not lead Teucrians against Rutulians - let the arms of Teucrians and Rutulians have rest - let us settle this war with our blood; on that field let Lavinia be sought (as) a wife."

Ll. 81-112.  Turnus arms himself for battle. Aeneas too prepares himself, and soothes the fears of his companions by reminding them of his assured destiny.


When he had uttered these words and swiftly withdrawn into his house, he calls up his horses, and exults, seeing (them) snorting before his face, (horses) which Orithyia gave to Pilumnus (as) an honour, since they would surpass the snows in whiteness and the winds in speed. Eager charioteers stand around and stir up their  chests with hollowed hands and comb their long-haired necks. Next, he threw around his shoulders a corselet stiff with (scales of) gold and pale mountain-copper; at the same time he fits for wearing his sword and shield and the horns (on his helmet) with their scarlet plumes; that sword, which the mighty fire god himself (i.e. Vulcan) had forged for his father, Daunus, and had dipped, glowing, in the Stygian wave. After that, he seizes with force his mighty spear, which was leaning on a massive pillar in the middle of his house, spoil (taken) from Actor the Aurucan, and he brandishes (it) quivering, crying aloud: "Now, O spear, never having failed my summons, now the time is come: greatest Actor (once bore ) you, now the right-hand of Turnus bears you. Grant (me) to lay low that carcass and mangle the torn corselet of that Phrygian eunuch with my strong hand, and defile in the dust those locks, curled by hot iron and dripping with myrrh." He is borne along in this violent rage, and sparks leap forth from the whole of his blazing face, (and) fire flashes from his keen eyes, just as when a bull at the beginning of the fray raises a fearful bellowing, and tries to drive his rage into his horns, pushing hard against the trunk of a tree, and he harasses the winds with his blows, or, the sand having been scattered, he practises for battle.

No less, meanwhile, does Aeneas, terrible in his mother's armour, whet his warlike zeal and incite himself with anger, rejoicing, the compact having been offered, that the war was being settled. Then, he comforts his comrades and the fear of the sorrowing Iulus, telling (them) of his destiny, and he orders his men to take back assured replies to King Latinus, and set out the conditions for the peace.

Ll. 113-133.  Next morning at daybreak the lists are prepared and thronged by the troops on both sides in martial array, while the women and old men crowd the roofs.  


Scarcely was the next risen day sprinkling the tops of the mountains with light, when the horses of the sun first lift themselves from the deep gulf (of the sea) and breathe light from their upraised nostrils; Rutulian and Teucrian men, measuring out the field (of battle), prepared (it) for the contest beneath the walls of the great city, and, in the middle (of it) braziers and grassy altars to their common gods. Some, clothed in an apron, and, having bound their temples with laurel, were carrying spring(-water) and fire. The legion of the Ausonians (i.e. the Italians) marches out, and their densely-packed columns pour themselves through the crowded gates. Hence all the Trojan  and Tyrrhenian (i.e. Etruscan) army rush with their diverse weapons, arrayed with steel just as (lit. not otherwise than) if the harsh combat of war (lit. Mars) were calling (them forth): moreover, the captains hasten to and fro, themselves splendid in gold and purple, Mnestheus, descendant of Assaracus, and brave Asilas, and Messapus, tamer of horses, Neptune's offspring. And when, the signal having been given, each had withdrawn to his own position, they plant their spears in the ground, and lean their shields (against them). Then mothers pour forth in their eagerness, and the unarmed crowd and feeble old men frequent the towers and the roofs of the houses, (and) some take their stand upon the towering gates.

Ll. 134-160.  Juno summons the nymph Juturna, the sister of Turnus, and prays her, as she can do no more, to save her brother by hindering the proposed combat.


But Juno looking forth from the summit of the hill that is now styled Alban - then the mountain had (lit. there was to the mountain) neither name nor honour or glory - beheld the plain and both the battle-lines of the Laurentines and the Trojans and the city of Latinus. Straightway, goddess (speaking) to goddess, she thus  addressed Turnus' sister, who presides over the pools and sounding rivers; this honour Jupiter, the high king of the sky dedicated to her in return for her ravished maidenhood: "Nymph, the pride of the rivers, very dear to my heart, you know how I have preferred you alone of all the Latin (maids) who have mounted the thankless bed of great-hearted Jupiter, and have gladly placed (you) in your part of the sky: learn of your grief, Juturna, lest you blame me. Where Fortune seemed to allow, and the Fates permitted, estates to accrue to Latium, I have shielded Turnus and your city: now I see the young man joining battle with an unequal destiny, and the day of doom (lit. of the Fates) and malevolent force approaches. I cannot look upon this battle nor this truce with my eyes. You, if you dare anything more efficaciously now on behalf of your brother, go on with (it); it is fitting. Perhaps better (fortunes) will attend the wretched." Scarcely (had she spoken) these (words), when Juturna poured forth tears from her eyes, and three times and four times she smote her comely breast. "This (is) not the time for tears," says Saturn's daughter, Juno. "Hasten and rescue your brother  from death, if (there is) any way (of doing so), or do you awaken the war and do away with (lit. cast off) the truce which has been devised (lit. having been devised): I (am) the prompter of this daring." Having exhorted (her) thus, she left (her) uncertain and dazed by the sad wound to her mind.

Ll. 161-215.  The chiefs come forward, followed by the priests and victims. Then, Aeneas swears by all the gods that, if Turnus prevails, the Trojans will withdraw, but that, if he himself conquers, it is not empire which he seeks, but an everlasting union. Latinus takes a like oath. Then the sacrifice is begun.  

Meanwhile, the kings go forth, Latinus in his mighty greatness, rides in a four-horse chariot, (he) around whose glittering temples twelve (lit. twice six) gilded rays, the symbol of his grandfather, the Sun, encircle; Turnus goes in a chariot and pair of white (horses), brandishing in his hand two spears with broad iron(-tips). Hence, father Aeneas, source of the Roman race, blazing with his shield as bright as a star and in his celestial armour, and near (him) Ascanius, the second hope of mighty Rome, issue forth from their camp, and a priest in spotless raiment, has brought the young of a bristly sow and an unshorn two-year old sheep, and has moved his flock to the burning altars. They, turning their eyes towards the rising sun, offer the salted corn from their hands and mark the tops of the animals' temples with steel, and besprinkle the altars from cups. Then, pious Aeneas, with drawn sword, prays thus: "May (you), Sun, and you, this land (viz. Italy), on whose account I have been able to endure such tribulations, be now a witness for me invoking (you); and (to you), almighty Father, and you, his wife, the divine daughter of Saturn, now at last more (propitious), I pray; and you, renowned father Mavors (i.e. Mars), who controls all warfare under your sway; I invoke the fountains and the rivers; (and) whatever (is) the dread power of the high heaven, and the deities which are in the dark-blue sea (I call upon you): if victory shall, perchance, fall to Ausonian Turnus, it is agreed that the vanquished will withdraw to the city of Evander; Iulus will retire from the soil; nor afterwards shall any followers of Aeneas again take up any arms, (while) renewing war, or challenge this realm with the sword. But if victory shall grant to us that the outcome of the battle is (favourable) to us (lit. [is] ours), as I rather think (it will be), and that the gods may rather seal this with their nod, I shall not order Italians to obey my Teucrians, nor do I seek the realm for myself, (but) under equal laws may both unconquered peoples  throw themselves into everlasting union (lit. agreement). I shall give our holy things and gods; (as) my father-in-law, let Latinus keep his (command in) battle, (and as) my father-in-law, let him (keep) his wonted authority; the Teucrians will build a walled city for me, and Lavinia will give her name to that city." Thus Aeneas (spoke) first; then Latinus follows (him) thus, looking up at the heavens and stretching out his right-hand to the stars: "I swear by these same things, Aeneas, the Earth, the Sun, the Stars, and the twin offspring of Latona (i.e. Apollo and Diana), and two-faced Janus, and the infernal might of the gods and the abodes (lit. shrines) of Dis (i.e. Pluto); let the great Father, who sanctifies treaties with his thunderbolt, hear this; I touch the altars, (and) I call to witness the intervening fires and the gods: no day shall break this peace or this truce among Italians, whithersoever the event shall fall; nor shall any force make me willingly turn aside, not if it pour forth the earth into the waves,  confounding (them) in a flood, and let loose heaven into Tartarus; even as this sceptre - for by chance he was bearing a sceptre in his right-hand - shall never sprout foliage with delicate leaves or shady (shelters), since once in the woods, cut away from the base of a tree-trunk, it is without a mother, and has let its tresses and its arms fall beneath the iron; once (it was) a tree; now a craftsman's hand has encased (it) in comely bronze, and given (it) to our Latin fathers to carry." With such words they sealed the compact between themselves in the midst of the sight of the chiefs. Then they duly slaughter the consecrated beasts over the flame, and they tear out the entrails from the (still) living (animals), and pile the altars with laden platters.

Ll. 216-243.  The Rutulians see that the combatants are ill-matched, and Juturna, taking the form of the warrior Camers, taunts them with shrinking from a foe inferior in numbers, while, like sluggards, they allow Turnus to win name and fame by sacrificing himself for them. She thus excites their eagerness for a general engagement. 


But, in truth, this contest for a long time seemed unequal to the Rutulians, and their hearts were stirred by discordant emotions; (but) then (they were stirred even) more, as they discern more closely their ill-matched (lit. not equal) strength. Turnus aids (this), (by) advancing with a silent step and worshipping submissively at the altar with eyes downcast, and his cheeks (are) wasted and (there is) a pallor on his youthful body. As soon as his sister, Juturna, saw that this talk was spreading, and that the wavering hearts of the crowds were  changing, into the midst of the battle-line, feigning the shape of Camers, whose lineage from his ancestors was exalted, and (whose) name was renowned for his father's courage, and (who was) himself most valiant in arms, into the midst of the battle-line she flings (lit. offers) herself, not unaware of her task, and she spreads (lit. sows) various rumours as follows: "Does it not shame (you), O Rutulians, to throw away one soul for all such as these? Are we not equal in numbers and in bravery? See, these are all (there are), both Trojans and Arcadians, and those fate-bound hosts, (whom) Etruria (has) arrayed against Turnus; he, indeed, will ascend in fame to the beings above, to whose altars he devotes himself, and will be borne alive on the lips (of men); (but) we who now sit sluggishly in our fields, will be forced, our country having been lost, to obey proud masters." By such words the feelings of the warriors were set alight now more and yet more, and a murmur creeps through their column; the very Larentines and the very Latins (were) changed. (Those) who by this time were hoping for rest from battle for themselves and safety in relation to their (troubled) circumstances now want weapons and pray for the truce to be (lit. having been) broken, and they pity the cruel lot of Turnus.

Ll. 244-310.  Juturna further excites the Rutulians by the omen of an eagle, which, after seizing a swan, is at last driven off by the other swans. Toulumnius, the augur, interprets this as the driving away of Aeneas, and commences the battle by shooting an arrow which slays one of the sons of Gylippus. Then a general combat begins and many warriors are slain. 


To this, Juturna adds another (even) greater thing, and she offers a sign in the high sky, by which nothing (lit. not anything) has (ever) more powerfully confused Italian minds and deceived (them) by its omen. For indeed Jupiter's tawny bird (i.e. an eagle), as it flew (lit. flying) in the red sky, harried the shore birds and the clamorous crowd of the winged column, when suddenly, swooping down to the waves, it cruelly seizes a noble swan in its crooked feet. The Italians concentrated their attention (lit. aroused their minds), when (lit. and), wonderful to see, the birds reverse their flight with a scream and darken the sky with their wings, and, a cloud having been formed,  they drive their enemy through the air, until, conquered by their force and by (the swan's) very weight, it faltered, and the bird let its prey fall from its talons into the river, and flies far away into the clouds. Then, indeed, the Rutulians greet the omen with a great shout, and make ready their hands (for battle); and the augur, Tolumnius, speaks first, "This, (even) this, was (something) which I have often sought: I welcome (this omen), and I recognise (the work of) the gods; with me, with me (as) your leader, snatch up your sword, O hapless (people), whom, like feeble birds, the relentless foreigner scares by war: he will seek flight and will set sail (lit. give his sails [to the wind]) far away over the deep (sea). Do you, with one accord, marshal your squadrons in close array, and defend in battle your captured king." He spoke, and dashing forward, hurled a spear at the enemy opposite; the whizzing of the cornel-wood (shaft) gives (off) a noise, and  it unerringly cleaves the air. At the same time (as) this (happened), at the same time, a huge shout (arose), and all the ranks (were) disturbed, and their hearts made hot by the tumult. Flying (onwards), the spear, as by chance there stood opposite the most handsome forms of the nine brothers whom his one faithful Tyrrhene wife had so prolifically borne to Arcadian Gylippus, of these, one, a youth, conspicuous in his appearance and in his shining armour, (it) pierces through the ribs at the waist where the well-stitched sword-belt rubs against the belly and the buckle clasps the joinings of its ends, and stretches on the yellow sand. But (of) the brothers, a band courageous and inflamed by grief, some draw their swords with their hands, others seize a steel missile and rush forward blindly. The columns of the Laurentines rush forward; on the other side (once) again, the Trojans, and the Agyllines (i.e. Etruscans) and the Arcadians in their emblazoned armour pour forth: thus one passion possesses all (of them), to determine (the issue) by the sword. They dismantle the altars - into the whole of the sky goes a whirling storm of weapons, and a rain of iron falls upon (them) - (and) they carry off both the mixing-bowls and the braziers; Latinus himself flees, taking back (with him) the outraged gods, the truce having been broken. Others harness their chariots, or fling their bodies on their horses with a leap, and are present with drawn swords. Messapus, eager to break the truce, with his horse turned towards (him), scares (into flight) Aulestes, the Tyrrhenian, a king, wearing the array of a king; retreating, he rushes (back), and, poor man, he is hurled on to his head and on to his shoulders amid the altars which have been (lit. having been) placed behind (him) (lit. at his back). But Messapus, flies up, eager with his spear, and from high above on his horse he strikes (him), as he pleads (lit. pleading) many things, grievously with his weapon like a  beam, and he speaks thus: "He has it (now); this (is) a finer victim offered to the mighty gods." The Italians crowd together, and strip his warm limbs. Barring the path, Corynaeus seizes a smouldering fire-brand from the altar, and, with Ebysus advancing and dealing a blow, fills his face with flames; his huge beard blazes out, and, scorched, it gave out a smell; then he himself following up (the attack) seizes the hair of his distracted foe with his left(-hand), and, leaning with his knee pressed into (him), he pins (the man) himself to the earth; so he strikes  his side with his rigid sword. Podalirius, pursuing (him) with naked sword, towers over the shepherd Alsum as he rushes (lit. rushing) through the weapons in the foremost of the battle-line; he (i.e. Alsus) with his axe drawn back (for the stroke) cleaves asunder the middle of his adversary's forehead and chin, and wets his armour all over with spattered blood. Hard rest and iron sleep press hard upon his eyes; his eyes are closed in everlasting night.

Ll. 311-340.  Aeneas, as he seeks to stay the strife, is wounded by a chance arrow and retires. Turnus, marking this, exultingly mounts his car, and spreads destruction among the foe, fierce and terrible as the War-god himself. 

But pious Aeneas, with his head bare, kept stretching out his unarmed right(-hand), and called his men with a shout: "Whither are you rushing? Or what (is) this sudden discord (that) rises (among you)? O restrain your wrath! The truce (is) already ratified, and all the terms settled; the right to join battle (is) mine alone; let me (alone), and banish fear! I shall make the truce binding with my arm; now these holy rites make Turnus mine." Amid these voices, amid the midst of such words, behold, an arrow, whistling on its wings, fell on the hero, by what hand, by what force driven, what brought such great renown to the Rutulians, whether chance or a god, (is) unknown; the glory of the illustrious deed was hidden, nor did anyone boast of himself in relation to Aeneas' wound. Turnus, when he sees Aeneas withdrawing from the ranks and his captains disheartened, burns hot with sudden hope; he calls for his horses and his armour at the same time, and flashes forth proudly into his chariot with a leap, and plies the reins with his hands. Darting about, he deals many brave bodies of men to death; he rolls many half-dead, or crushes columns with his chariot, or flings captured spears on those fleeing. And just as, when beside the streams of the icy Hebrus, bloody Mavors, (fully) aroused, clashes on his shield, and, whipping up warfare, gives the reins to (lit. lets loose) his steeds, (and) they fly over the open plain before Notus and Zephyr (i.e. the South and West Winds), (and) farthest Thrace groans beneath the pounding of their feet, and around the god's retinue rush the faces of black Dread, Wrath and Treachery, even such an eager man (as) Turnus lashes his horses, steaming with sweat, amid the midst of the battle, trampling upon his piteously slain foes, (and) the galloping horses scatter bloody dew, and blood mixed with sand is trodden under foot.

Ll. 340-382.  Turnus slays other Trojans, especially Eumedes, who, like his father Dolon, sought glory only to find a grave. Then as he sweeps along, furious as the blast of Boreas, the hero Phegeus seizes on his horses' reins and strives to check them, but is trampled under foot and slain. 

And now he has dealt to death Sthenelus and Thamyrus and Pholus, this one and that one at close quarters, and the former (i.e. Sthenelus) from afar; from afar (too he slew) both the sons of Imbrasus, Glaucus and Lades, whom Imbrasus himself had raised in Lycia, and had arrayed in like armour, either to fight hand to hand, or to outstrip the winds on horse(back). In another part (of the battlefield), Eumedes is borne into the midst of the fray, (of) the brood of the former Dolon, illustrious in war, recalling in name his grandfather, (and) in courage and in prowess his father, who once dared to claim the chariot (and horses) of the son of Peleus (i.e. Achilles) as his reward for going (as) a spy to the Danaans' (ie. the Greeks') camp; the son of Tydeus (i.e. Diomedes) repaid him with another reward, and he does not (now) aspire to the horses of Achilles. Turnus, when he caught sight of him afar off on the open plain, firstly aiming (at him) with a light javelin through the long space between, stops his double-yoked horses and jumps out of his chariot, and comes upon his half-alive and fallen (foe), and, with his foot planted upon his neck, he wrests the sword from his hand and dyes (it) glittering deep in his throat, and adds these (words) on top: "Behold, as you lie (lit. lying) (there), Trojan, measure out the fields and the Hesperian (i.e. Western) (land), which you have sought in war: (Those) who dare to try me with their sword gain this reward; thus they establish their walled city."  His spear having been hurled, he sends Asbytes (as) a companion for him, and Chloreus and Sybaris and Dares and Thersilochus and Thymoetes, having fallen on the neck of his restive horse. And, just as, when the blast of the Edonian Boreas (i.e. the North Wind) roars on the deep Aegean, and pursues the waves to the shore, where the winds sweep down upon (them), and the clouds take to (lit. give) flight in the sky. Thus, their columns give way to Turnus, wheresoever he cleaves his way, and, their battle-lines, having been turned around, rush (away); his (own) impetus carries his very self along, and the breeze, his chariot meeting (it), tosses his flying plume. Phegeus did not endure his onset (lit. pressing forward) and his roaring with rage; he flung himself at the chariot, and wrenched aside with his right(-hand) the mouths of the galloping horses, foaming at the bit. While he is dragged (along) and he hangs on to the yoke, (Turnus') broad lance pierces him, having been exposed, and, having been driven in, it bursts (through) his double-threaded corselet, and just grazes (lit. tastes) the surface of his body with a wound. He, however, his shield having been held before (him), (and) having turned, was making for his foe, and was seeking succour in the drawn sword, when the wheel and its axle, whirling in its onrush, drove (him) headlong, and stretched (him) on the ground, and Turnus, following up, lopped off his head with a sword, between the bottom of his helmet, and the edge of the top of his breastplate, and left the trunk on the sand.

Ll. 383-440.  Aeneas is led from the field, and the doctor Iapis tries to extract the arrow-head. This is achieved with the help of Venus, and Aeneas dons his armour once more.

And, while Turnus victoriously deals these deaths over the plain, in the meantime Mnestheus and the faithful Achates, and Ascanius, (as) their companion, set down Aeneas within the camp, blood-stained and leaning, at alternate steps, on his long spear. He rages, and strives to pull out the arrow(-head), the shaft having been broken off, and demands the way for relief which (is) the nearest, (that) they should cut the wound  with a broad sword, and break open deeply the hiding-place of the dart, and send him back to the battle. And now Iapis, the son of Iasus, beloved by Phoebus beyond others, came up, to whom, having once been overcome by his sharp desire, Apollo had gladly offered his own skills and gifts, (that is), augury and the lyre and swift arrows. (But) he, in order to defer the fate of a dying father, preferred to know the powers of herbs and the practice of healing, and took up the silent and unrenowned arts. Aeneas stood, chafing bitterly, (and) leaning on his huge spear, amid a great throng of young men and the sorrowing Iulus, (but) unmoved by their tears. That aged man, girt in Paeonian fashion with his cloak thrown back, tries many things with a healing hand and with the potent herbs of Phoebus (but) in vain, and in vain he works at the arrow(-head) with his hand, and grips the steel with his biting forceps. No fortune directs his course; and his patron Apollo does not assist (him) at all; and (meanwhile) savage dread spreads over the plain more and more, and disaster is nearer. Already they see that the sky is solid (lit. is standing) with dust, and the cavalry rides up and dense arrows fall into the midst of the camp. Dismal shouting goes to the sky, of  warriors fighting and falling beneath the hard (hand of) Mars. Hereupon his mother Venus, sorely troubled by the undeserved pain of her son, plucks from Cretan Ida a stalk of dittany with downy leaves and blooming purple flowers; that plant (is) not unknown to wild goats, when arrows are stuck in their backs. Venus brought this down, enveloping her form in a dark cloud; with this she impregnates the river(-water) (which had been) poured into a gleaming cauldron, and, secretly healing, she sprinkles the health-giving juices of ambrosia and fragrant panacea. With that water the aged Iapis unwittingly bathed the wound, and suddenly all pain assuredly fled from his body, and all the blood from the bottom of the wound was staunched (lit. stood [still]). And now, following (the motion of ) his hand, the arrow falls out, with nothing compelling (it), and his new-found strength returned to its former (state). "Hasten and quickly (bring) arms to the man! Why are you standing (there)?" Iapis shouts, and is the first to set alight their spirits against the enemy: "These things are not happening through human powers, (and) not through art (as) instructress, nor is my hand saving (you), Aeneas; a mightier god intervenes, and is sending (you) back to a mightier exploit." He, eager for battle, had (already) enclosed his greaves of gold on this (leg) and on that (leg), and he scorns delay and brandishes his spear. When his shield is fitted to (lit. is convenient for) his side and his corselet to his back, he embraces Ascanius, his mail-clad (arms) having been flung around (him), and, just kissing the edge of  his lips through his helmet, he addresses (him thus): "Learn from me valour and true toil, (and) good fortune from others. Now my hand will give you protection in war, and will lead (you) among great rewards: do you see to it that you be mindful (of my deeds), and let both your father Aeneas and your uncle Hector arouse you as you recall (lit. recalling) to your mind the examples of your (kindred)."

Ll. 441-499.  Aeneas moves to battle. His companions slay many of the Rutulians, but he pursues Turnus only. Juturna, however, drives Turnus' chariot in such a way that Aeneas is baffled. 

When he had uttered these words, he strode forth (lit. he carried himself out) from the gates, an enormous (figure), brandishing in his hand his monstrous spear; together (with him) in a thick column, Antheus and Mnestheus rush (forward), and the whole throng streams (forth), the camp having been left behind. Then, the plain is confounded with blinding dust, and the startled earth trembles at the stamping of feet.

From his rampart opposite, Turnus saw (them) coming, (and) the Ausonians saw (them coming), and an icy shudder ran through their inmost bones; first and before all the Latins, Juturna heard and recognised the sound, and fled away trembling. He (i.e. Aeneas) flies (onward), and hurries his dark column over the open plain. As when, with a bursting tempest, a storm-cloud goes over the middle of the sea to land, the prescient hearts within the wretched farmers, alas, shudder far away (inland); it will deal havoc to their trees and destruction to their crops, (and) everything will come to ruin far and wide; the winds fly before (it) and bear its sound to the shore. So, the Rhoetian (i.e. Trojan) captain drives his column against the foe confronting (them). Thickly they mass themselves together, each man in serried columns (lit. wedge-shaped [formations]). Thymbraeus smites massive Osiris with his sword, Mnestheus slays Archetius, Achates Epulo, (and) Gyas Ufens; the augur Tolumnius falls himself, (he) who had first hurled his spear against the opposing enemy. Their shout rises (lit. is lifted) to heaven, and, wheeling around in their turn, the Rutulians give their dusty backs in flight over the fields. He himself (i.e. Aeneas) neither deigns to lay low in death those fleeing, nor does he pursue those meeting (him) on an equal footing or those bearing missiles; he tracks Turnus alone, searching for (him) in the thick haze, (and) he claims (him) alone for combat. The warlike maiden Juturna, greatly shaken in her mind by this fear, knocks Turnus' charioteer, Metiscus, (standing) among the midst of the reins, out (of the car), and, having fallen from the chariot-pole, she leaves (him) far behind; she herself takes (lit. comes in) his place, and plies with her hands the flowing reins, taking on everything of Metiscus, his voice, his shape and his armour. As when a black swallow flies through the spacious dwelling of a wealthy lord, and surveys on its wings the lofty entrance-halls, gathering scraps and morsels of food for its noisy nestlings, and twitters now in empty colonnades, now around wet ponds, similarly, Juturna is borne by her horses through the midst of the enemy, and, flying in her speedy chariot, she traverses the whole (field); and now here, and now there, she portrays her triumphing brother, but she does not allow (him) to fight hand to hand; she flies to remote places far away. No less (eagerly) does Aeneas lightly trace the the winding circuits so as to meet (him), and he tracks his man and with a loud cry calls (on him) through the scattered ranks. As often as he cast his eyes on his enemy and tries, by running, (to match)  the flight of his wing-footed horses, so often Juturna turns aside and reverses her team (lit. reverses her team having been turned aside). What, alas, can he do? He is tossed in vain on a shifting tide, and different cares call upon his spirit in contrary (ways). In his case, Messapus, as (being) light in his running, was by chance carrying in his left(-hand) two tough spears tipped with steel; whirling one of these, he directs (it) with a sure throw. Aeneas stood still, and gathered himself within his armour, sinking on his knee; yet the swift spear bore (off) the top of his helmet's peak and dashed off the topmost plumes from its crest. Then indeed his wrath swells up; and, compelled by their treachery, when he sees that the horses and the chariot are driving away afar off, calling Jupiter and the altars of the violated treaty to witness, now at last he enters into their midst, and, terrible, with Mars favouring (him), he incites savage slaughter with no distinction, and lets go all the reins of his wrath.

Ll. 500-553.  With both Aeneas and Turnus slaughtering their respective adversaries in great numbers, the fight grows stubborn between the two armies. 

What god could now unfold for me so many woes, who (could relate) in song (so many) diverse slaughters, and the destruction of captains, whom now Turnus, now the Trojan hero in his turn, drives all over the field? Was it pleasing (to you, O) Jupiter that peoples destined to exist in everlasting peace, should clash with so great a shock? Aeneas intercepts Rutulian Sucro, not delaying (him) for long - that combat first checks (lit. makes to stand in [one] place) the onrushing Teucrians, (catching him) in the side, and, (at the place) where death is quickest, he drives his harsh sword through the ribs and the fence of his breast. Turnus, meeting on foot Amycus, (who had been) hurled down from his horse, and his brother Diores, coming at the one with his long spear, he smites the other with his sword, and he hangs the severed heads of the two men from his chariot, and he carries (them off) dripping with blood. The former (i.e. Aeneas) sends to destruction Talos and Tanais and brave Cethegus, three at one encounter, and sorrowful Onites, a name of Echion (i.e. ancient Thebes) and the offspring of his mother Peridia; the latter (i.e. Turnus) (slays) the brothers sent from Lycia and the fields of Apollo, and Arcadian Menoetes, a young man loathing warfare in vain, who had had (lit. to whom there had been) the craft of fisheries and a humble home by the river of Lerna, and the duties of the powerful not being known, and his father was sowing rented land. And as fires (have been) let loose in different places upon dry woodland and bushes crackling with bay, or when foaming rivers give off a (roaring) sound in their rapid descent from the high mountains, and run into the sea, each laying waste its own path, so (lit. not otherwise) both Aeneas and Turnus rush through the battle; now, now wrath is boiling within (them); their hearts, not knowing how to be conquered, are bursting; now they advance (lit. it is gone [by them]) in all their strength upon wounds. The former knocks Murranus headlong with a stone and with the whirlwind of a mighty rock, as he cries out (lit. crying out) his ancestors and the names of his forefathers and his whole line,  drawn through Latin kings, and stretches (him) on the ground; the wheels  rolled over him beneath the reins and the yoke; the hooves, swift with frequent pounding, of horses not mindful of their master, trample on top of (him). The latter meets Hyllus, rushing on, and horribly raging in his mind, and he hurls his spear at his gilded temples: (going) through his helmet, the spear stood fast, his brain having been pierced. Neither did your right(-hand) save you from Turnus, (O) Cretheus, bravest of the Greeks; nor did his gods shield Cupencus, as Aeneas approached (lit. with Aeneas coming); he gave his breast to meet the steel, nor was the delay of his brazen shield of (any) service to the wretched man. You, also, Aeolus, the Laurentine plains saw die and cover the earth with your broad back; you fall, whom Argive battalions could not lay low, nor (even) Achilles, the overthrower of Priam's realm; here was your goal of death, your stately dwelling (was) under Ida, your stately dwelling (was) at Lynesus, (but) your tomb (is) on Laurentine soil. So all the battle-lines converged, both all the Latins (and) all the descendants of Dardanus (i.e. the Trojans), Mnestheus and fierce Serestus, and Messapus, tamer of horses, and brave Asilas, both the battalion of Tuscans (i.e. Etruscans) and Evander's Arcadian squadrons, each doing his best (lit. each by virtue of himself), the warriors strive with utmost force of strength.

Ll. 554-592.  Venus suggests to Aeneas that he should attack the city itself. He accordingly addresses his army, telling them that, weary of seeking Turnus, he is resolved to destroy the city with fire. The assault begins, Aeneas leading on his men, while the citizens are confused, some eager to surrender, others to resist. 


Then, Aeneas' very beautiful mother sent (him) a plan to advance to the walls, and to direct his column to the city, and to dismay the Latins more swiftly by a sudden disaster. He, even as, when tracking Turnus through the separate ranks, his glance darted around hither and thither, beholds the city immune from such great warfare and peacefully unpunished.  Forthwith, the idea of a greater battle inflames (him); he summons his captains, Mnestheus, Sergestus and brave Serestus, and occupies a hillock, where the rest of the army of the Teucrians gather densely, but they do not put down their shields or javelins. Standing on the lofty mound in their midst, he addresses (them thus):

"Be there not any delay to my words; Jupiter is on our side (lit. stands by this [way]; neither let anyone move on account of my sudden plan. Today I shall destroy this city, the cause of the war, (and) the very realm of Latinus, and I shall lay its smoking roofs level with the ground, unless they consent to receive our yoke and, having been conquered, to obey (us). Am I really to wait until it may be pleasing to Turnus to endure again our combat, and he be willing to engage with (me), having been defeated? This, O citizens, (is) the fountain(-head), this (is) the source (lit. the most important part) of this dreadful war: fetch fire-brands quickly, and reclaim the truce with flames." He had spoken, and all alike in contending spirits, they form a wedge-shaped column, and rush in a serried mass to the walls. Ladders and a sudden fire unexpectedly appear. Others hurl iron (javelins) and darken the sky with their missiles. Aeneas, himself amongst the foremost, stretches (forth) his right(-hand) up towards the walls, and reproaches Latinus in a loud voice, and he calls the gods to witness that he is being forced into battle once more, that twice now the Italians (are) his enemies, (and) that now they are breaking this second treaty. Discord arises among the the fearful citizens: some bid to unlock the city and to throw open the gates to the descendants of Dardanus, and they (seek to) drag the king himself to the walls; others bring arms and proceed to defend the walls. As when a shepherd has tracked bees which have been (lit. having been) enclosed in a rock full of holes, and has filled (it) with pungent smoke; those inside, terrified about their fortunes, run up and down through their waxen fortress, and accentuate their anger with loud buzzing; the dark smell rolls about their dwelling; then the rock resounds within with a blind murmuring; the smoke goes to the empty air.

Ll. 593-613.  Amata, seeing the attack and thinking Turnus dead, hangs herself. Lavinia and Latinus bewail her.


This misfortune also befell the exhausted Latins, which shook  shook the whole city with grief from its very bottom. When the queen espies from the (palace-)roof the enemy approaching, the walls being assaulted (and) fires flying up to the roofs, (but) nowhere (any) Rutulian battle-lines, no columns of Turnus confronting (them), she unfortunately believes the young man to have been slain in the shock of battle, and disturbed in her mind by sudden grief, she cries out that she is the cause, both the guilty party and the source of these woes, and, dementedly uttering many things through mournful frenzy, (and) resolved to die, she rends her purple garments by hand, and ties from a high beam the noose of hideous death. After the wretched Latin women have heard the news of this disaster, first her daughter Lavinia, tearing her flower-like tresses and her rosy cheeks with her hand, (and) then the rest of the crowd around (her), rave with grief; the wide palace resounds with their wailing.

Ll. 614-649.  Turnus hears the tumult and din within the walls, and, when his sister seeks to divert his attention by urging him to further exploits in the field, he replies that he cannot witness the ruin of his home. He will fly no more, but at least die undisgraced, as befits his birth.


Meanwhile, the warrior Turnus pursues a few stragglers on the very edge of the field, now more slowly and less exultant at the success of his horses. The breeze wafted this confused cry to him in blind terror, and the noise and the joyless murmur of the disordered city struck his attentive ears. "Ah me! why are the walls disturbed by such great grief? Or what very great cry rushes from the distant city?" Thus he speaks, and, distracted, he checks the drawn in reins. And his sister, as, having been changed into the shape of his charioteer Metiscus, she directed both his chariot and and his horses and their reins, confronts him with the following words: "By this (method), Turnus, let us pursue those born in Troy, where victory first opens up the way: there are others who can defend our dwellings with their hands. Aeneas falls on the Italians and joins battle (with them), and let us send pitiless death on the Teucrians with our hand: neither in number (slain) nor in glory of battle will you retire inferior (to him)." To these (words) Turmus (replied): "O sister, I both recognised (you) a long time ago when first you broke the truce through your cunning and you offered yourself into this warfare, and now you (seek to) hide your (being) a goddess in vain. But who willed that you, having been sent down from Olympus, should endure such great toils? Or (was it) so that you might behold the cruel death of your poor brother? For what am I to do? Or what fortune now gives a promise of my safety? I myself saw before my (very) eyes Murranus, calling upon me with a (loud) voice, than whom there is not left to me another more dear, dying, a mighty (warrior), conquered by a mighty wound. The hapless Ufens has fallen, in order that he should not behold my dishonour; the Teucrians possess his body and his armour. Am I to endure that our homes should be utterly destroyed? That alone was wanting to my misfortunes. And shall I not, with my right(-hand), refute the (sneering) words of Drances? Shall I turn (lit. offer) my back, and shall this land see Turnus fleeing? Is it so very bitter to die? Be you gracious to me, O Shades (viz. spirits of the departed), since the good-will of the Higher Powers is turned away from me. To you I shall go down a pure spirit, and unaware of that reproach of yours (i.e. cowardice), not ever unworthy of my forefathers."

Ll. 650-696.  Saces brings news of the city's plight and the need for help from Turnus, who declares his resolve to meet Aeneas. Leaping from his chariot, he bounds over the plain, and cries aloud that  he comes to resolve the issue in single combat.


Scarcely had he spoken, (when), behold, Saces flies through the midst of the enemy, carried on his foaming horse, (and) wounded right in the face by an arrow, and he rushes (forward), imploring Turnus by name: "Turnus, in you (is) our last (hope of) safety; pity your (people). Aeneas thunders in arms, and threatens that he will lay low the topmost towers of the Italians, and give (them) over to destruction; and already fire-brands are flying up to our roofs: on you the Latins (turn) their faces, on you they turn their eyes; King Latinus himself mutters, (in doubt as to) whom he should call his sons-in-law or (as) to what treaty he should incline himself. Moreover, the queen, most trusting in you, has herself fallen by her own right(-hand), and, terrified, has fled the light. Alone in front of the gates, Messapus and valiant Atinas sustain the battle-lines: around them on both sides the battalions stand densely (packed), and the harvest of iron bristles with drawn blades: you wheel your chariot on a deserted sward." Bewildered at the distracting picture of his fortunes, Turnus stood with silent gaze: a great (sense of) shame, and madness with grief mingled (in), and love goaded to frenzy, and conscious valour seethed (all) together in his heart. As soon as the shadows were dispersed and the light returned to his mind, he wildly turned the balls of his eyes to the walls, and looked back from his wheels towards the great city. Then, lo, a spire, rolling with flames, surged between stories to the sky, and seized hold of a tower, the (very) tower which he himself had reared on high with planks welded together, and placed beneath wheels, and fitted with high drawbridges. "Already now, sister, destiny prevails; cease to delay! Let us follow where god and where our hard fortune calls. It is my resolve (lit. it stands firm [in my case]) to meet with Aeneas hand to hand, it is my resolve to endure whatever there is of bitter(ness) in death, nor, sister, shall you see me dishonoured any longer. But first (lit. before [I die]) let me indulge (lit. rave) this madness." He spoke, and gave a leap swiftly from his chariot to the ground, and rushes through enemies (and) through weapons, and forsakes his sorrowful sister, and with fast running bursts through the middle of the ranks. And, just as when a rock rushes headlong from the peak of a mountain, having been torn away by the wind, or if a whirling storm of rain washes (it) away, or great age, undermined by the years, loosens(it), the relentless crag is borne along with great impetus on its downward (path) and bounds along the ground, rolling forests and herds and men along with itself: so Turnus rushes through the scattered ranks to the walls of the city, where the earth is moistened most deeply with blood-shed, and the air whirrs with spear-shafts, and he beckons with his hand and at the same time begins (to speak) with a loud voice (lit. with a great mouth): "Refrain now, Rutulians, restrain yourselves, Latins; whatever the outcome is, it is mine; (it is) fairer for me to atone for (the breaking of) the truce on behalf of you (all), and to decide (the issue) with the sword." They all withdrew from the middle, and gave (him) space.

Ll. 697-745.  Aeneas hastens to the combat, and all eyes are centred on the two champions. They meet with a crash, like two bulls, while in heaven Jupiter decides their doom in the scales of destiny. The sword of Turnus shivers on the divine armour of Aeneas, and he turns in flight.

But father Aeneas, the name of Turnus having been heard, abandons the walls, and abandons the tops of the towers, and, exulting with joy, he flings away all delays and breaks (off) all tasks, and thunders dreadfully on his arms: as huge as Athos, or as huge as Eryx, or as huge as father Appennine himself, when he roars with his tossing holm-oaks, and rejoices, raising himself into the air with snowy crest. Now indeed, the Rutulians and the Trojans and all the Italians, and (those) who held the high city and (those) who were battering the bottom of the walls with a battering-ram, turned their eyes emulously, and they laid down the arms on their shoulders. Latinus himself is amazed that these huge men, born in diverse parts of the world, have met between themselves, and are deciding (the issue) with the sword. And they, as the field opened up in an empty plain, go into battle (lit. attack Mars) with a rapid charge, their spears being hurled from a distance, and the earth gives a groan with the sounding bronze of (lit. and) their shields; then they redouble their frequent blows with the sword; chance and valour are confounded in one. And as, when on massive Sila or on the top of Tabernus, two bulls charge into deadly battle, their brows having been turned towards (each other), the terror-stricken herdsmen withdrew, the whole herd stands dumb with fear and the heifers murmur    (as to) who is lord over the forest, whom all the cattle must follow; they exchange wounds between themselves with great force, and, pushing, they drive in their horns, and bathe their necks and shoulders with abundant blood; the whole forest resounds with their bellowing: just so (lit. not otherwise) Trojan Aeneas and the Daunian (i.e. Apulian) hero rush together with their shields; the mighty crash fills the sky. Jupiter himself holds up a pair of (lit. two) scales in even poise (lit. with the tongue of the balance having been made even), and lays in (them) the different fates of the two (of them), (to see) whom the struggle condemns and with which weight death sinks. Then Turnus, deeming (it) secure, flashes forth, and rises on high on to his  uplifted sword with (the weight) of his whole body, and strikes. The Trojans and the nervous Latins cry out, and the battle-lines of both were aroused. But the treacherous sword is shattered and deserts its fiery (master) in mid-stroke, (and he would be helpless) if flight did not come to his assistance. He flees more swiftly than the East Wind, when he saw a strange sword-hilt in his disarmed right(-hand). Rumour is that, in his headlong haste, (at the very moment) when he was mounting his yoked steeds at the beginning of the battle, his father's sword having been left behind, while he anxiously bustles about, he seized the sword of his charioteer Metiscus. And this sufficed for a long time, while the Teucrians showed their straggling backs; when he had come (lit. it had come [in his case]) upon the the Vulcanian armour of the god, the mortal blade, like brittle (lit. useless) ice snapped asunder in the stroke; the fragments gleam on the yellow sand. Therefore Turnus, distracted, seeks the distant plain in flight, and now hither, then thither, he entwines wavering circles; for on all sides the Teucrians enclose (him) in a crowded ring, and a vast marsh on this side, and steep battlements on that side, surround (him).

 Ll. 746-790.  Aeneas, though still hampered by his wound, pursues his quarry. Calling for his sword, Turnus flies for his life, until at last the chase brings Aeneas near the stump of a wild olive tree, in which his sword had lodged. As he seeks to draw it out, Juturna brings her brother his own trusty sword, whereupon Venus loosens Aeneas' spear, and the champions meet again. 

No less (vigorously) Aeneas pursues, although sometimes, hampered by his arrow(-wound), his knees hinder (him) and check (lit. refuse) his running, and with his foot he presses hotly upon the foot of his trembling (enemy): (it was) just as if when a hound (lit. hunter dog), finding a stag entrapped by a river or hemmed in by terror of the scarlet feather, presses on (him) with speed and yelping; but he, afraid of the snares and the high (river-)bank, flies and flies back over his tracks; but the eager Umbrian (hound) clings (with) gaping (jaws), now, now he seizes (it), and, as though seizing (it), he snapped with his jaws, and he is baffled with an empty bite. Then indeed a cry arises, and banks and pools re-echo (it all) around, and the whole sky thunders with the din. He, even while fleeing, chides all his Rutulians, calling each by name, and demands his well-known sword. Aeneas, in reply, threatens death and instant destruction, if anyone should seek to approach, and, threatening that he would destroy the city, he frightens his trembling (adversaries), and, (though) wounded, he presses on. They complete five circles at (full) speed, and he unweaves just as many in this direction as in that; for neither slight nor trivial prizes are being sought, but they strive concerning the life and blood of Turnus. By chance, a wild olive tree with bitter leaves, sacred to Faunus, had stood here, once revered by sailors rescued from the waves, where they were wont to fix gifts to the god of Laurentum and hang their votive garments; but the Teucrians with no consideration had removed the sacred stem, so that they could gather on a clear field. Here stood Aeneas' spear; the force (of his throw) had borne it hither, and held (it) fixed in the tough root. The descendant of Dardanus stooped over (it) and sought to wrench the iron free with his hand, and to pursue with this weapon (him) who he could not catch by running. Then indeed Turnus, distracted with terror, cries out, "Faunus, have pity, I beseech (you), and you, most gracious Earth, keep hold of the iron, if I have ever held your service as hallowed, which on the contrary the followers of Aeneas have made profane by war." He spoke, and called upon the aid of the god in not fruitless prayers: for indeed, Aeneas, struggling for a long time and delayed by the tough stem, was not able with any of his strength to dislodge the grip of the hard wood. While he strains and pulls fiercely, the Daunian goddess, changing once more into the form of the charioteer Metiscus, runs forward and gives back to her brother his sword. Whereupon, Venus, indignant that it were possible for an audacious nymph (to act thus), drew near, and wrenched away the weapon from the deep root. They, standing erect, refreshed with weapons and spirit, the one trusting in his sword, the other fierce and towering aloft with his spear, stand breathless to  face the contest of battle (lit. Mars).

Ll. 791-842.  Meanwhile Jupiter begs Juno to cease from opposing the fortunes of the Trojans. She replies that she will yield to his will  and to destiny, only begging that, when the two hostile nations are united in one, the names of Latium and Rome may be preserved, and the name of Troy forgotten. Jupiter assured her that the Trojans will disappear in that new race which, wuth Italian speech and customs, is to exceed all other nations in righteousness and in reverence for herself.  

Meanwhile, the king of almighty Olympus adresses Juno, as she gazes (lit. gazing) on the battle from a sunlit cloud: "What now shall be the end, wife? What remains finally? You, yourself, know, and you confess to know, that the national hero Aeneas is due for heaven, and is to be raised to the stars by destiny. What are you scheming? Or with what hope do you linger in these chilly clouds? Is it fitting that a deity be violated by a  mortal's wound, or that the lost sword - for what could Juturna avail without you? - should be returned to Turnus, and should (thereby) swell the force of the vanquished? Desist now at (long) last and bend to my entreaties. Let not such great grief consume you in silence (lit. silent), and may (not) bitter troubles flood back to me (so) often from your sweet mouth: it has come to the final (issue). You have had the power to chase the Trojans over land and the waves, to kindle accursed war, to disfigure the household, and to confound the bridal song with lamentation: I forbid (you) to attempt (anything) further." Thus Jupiter began; thus the goddess, the daughter of Saturn, with her countenance cast down, (spoke) in answer: "Since indeed that will of yours is well-known to me, mighty Jupiter, I have forsaken both Turnus and the earth; nor (otherwise) would you see me now alone on this aery seat, enduring (things) meet and unmeet, but, girt with flames, I should be standing by the very battle-line, and I should be dragging the Teucrians into deadly battle.
I urged Juturna, I confess (it), to succour her poor brother, and, for the sake of his life, I approved too bold (a deed); yet not that (she should aim) a dart, not that she should bend a bow; I swear by the implacable head of the Stygian spring, the one object of dread which is bestowed upon the high gods. And now indeed I withdraw, and I leave behind the battles, loathing (them) also. This thing I beseech you, that is bound by no law of fate, on behalf of Latium and the greatness of your (kindred): when now they shall plight peace with prosperous marriages -  may it be so! - when now they shall enjoin laws and treaties, do not command that the indigenous Latins change their old name, nor that they become Trojans and are called Teucrians, or that their men should change their language or alter their attire: let Latium be, let Alban kings (endure) through the ages, let the Roman race be powerful through Italian valour; Troy has fallen, and let it have fallen (together) with its name." Smiling, the designer of men and things (replied) to her: " You are the sister of Jupiter and the second offspring of Saturn; (so) you revolve such great waves of passion within your breast. But come, and control your fury (which has) broken out in vain: I grant what you wish, and I unbend (lit. give myself up) both vanquished and willingly. The Ausonians (i.e. Italians from central and southern Italy) will keep their language, and the customs of their fathers, and, as it is, the name will be; only the Teucrians will disappear (lit. sink down). I shall add the custom and the rites of their religious practices, and I shall fashion all Latins with a single speech. Hence, there shall arise a race mixed with Ausonian blood, which you will see outdo (lit. go beyond) men and (outdo) gods in piety. Nor will any (other) race celebrate your service equally." To these (words) Juno nodded (her assent), and happily altered her purpose: meanwhile she withdraws from the sky, and quits her cloud.

Ll. 843-886.  Jupiter, desiring to remove Juturna from her brother's side, summons one of the two Furies who wait beside his portals to execute his judgments upon men. The Fury speeds earthwards, and. taking the shape of an ill-omened bird, flies screaming before the terror-stricken Turnus. Juturna recognises the fatal sign and, praying for that death which she can never obtain herself, returns to her home in the stream. 

These things having been done, the Father himself ponders another thing within (lit. with) himself, and prepares to send Juturna away from her brother's arms. Two demons are spoken of, the Dread Ones by name, who, (and) infernal (lit. Tartarean) Megaera too, unseasonable Night bore in one and the same birth, and wreathed (their hair) in coils similar to snakes, and in addition gave them wings full of wind. In this (form) they appear beside the throne of Jupiter and on the threshold of the terrible king (i.e. Pluto or Dis), and sharpen the fear of sick mortals, if ever the king of the gods deals dreadful death and sicknesses, or scares with war cities deserving (this). One of these, Jupiter sent swiftly down from the heights of the sky, and bade (her) meet Juturna as an omen. (Off) she flies and is borne to earth in a swift whirlwind. Just so (lit. not otherwise) an arrow is shot from a bow-string through a cloud, which, having been furnished with the gall of cruel poison, a Parthian or a Cydonian (i.e. a Cretan) has shot (as) an incurable dart, and it cleaves the swift shadows, whirring and undetected. In such a manner (the daughter) begotten by Night sped along (lit. bore herself)  and sought the earth. When she sees the Ilian (i.e. Trojan) battle-lines and the columns of Turnus, suddenly shrinking (lit. collecting herself together) into the shape of a small bird, which, often perching on tombstones or deserted roofs by night, strangely sings her late (song) through the darkness: changed into this shape, the monster noisily passes and repasses (lit. carries herself and carries [herself] back) before the face of Turnus, and beats his shield with her wings. A strange lethargy loosens his limbs with dread, and his hair stands on end with horror, and his voice sticks in his throat. But when the hapless Juturna recognised the whistling wings (lit. the whistling and the wings) of the Fury, she rends her loosened tresses, marring her face with her nails and her breast with her fists: "How can your sister help you now, Turnus? Or what now is left to me, the enduring (one)? By what art (of mine) can I stay your light (of day)? Is it possible for me to confront such a monster? Now, now I quit the battle-lines. Do not frighten me, the (already) affrighted, ill-omened birds; I recognise the beating of your wings and the sound of death; nor do the haughty ordinances of great-hearted Jupiter deceive (me). Is this his repayment for my (lost) virginity? For what (purpose) has he given (me) eternal life? Why has he taken away (from me) the law of death? (For otherwise) I could assuredly end these very great pains, and go through the shadows as a companion to my brother. (Why am) I immortal? Or will anything of my (life) be sweet to me without you, my brother? O how may the earth gape open deep enough for me, and send my deity down to the lowest Shades?" Having spoken so much, she wrapped her head in a bluish-grey cloak, groaning frequently, and the goddess buried herself in a deep stream.

Ll. 887-952.  Aeneas taunts his opponent with still shrinking from the combat, and Turnus seizes a huge boulder, but the hand of doom was upon him, and, when he seeks to fling it, his power fails him. Aeneas hurls his spear, deeply wounding Turnus, who prays for mercy. Aeneas almost yields, when the sight of the belt of Pallas, which Turnus was wearing, inflames his fury, and he strikes the avenging blow. 

On the other side, Aeneas presses on and brandishes his spear, vast, like a tree, and from his relentless heart   speaks thus: "What (more) delay is there now after that? Or why now, Turnus, are you drawing back? Not in speed (of foot) (but) in cruel arms is it necessary (for us) to contend hand-to-hand. Transform yourself in all aspects, and gather together whatever you are able to, whether in courage or in skill; pray to pursue the high stars with wings or to hide yourself in the hollow earth." Shaking his head, the other (said): "Your heated words do not scare me, you insolent (man); the gods and Jupiter (as) an enemy frighten me." Not saying (any) more, he catches sight of a huge stone, an ancient stone, vast, which by chance lay upon the plain, a boundary-stone, placed in the field to decide disputes about land. Scarcely could twelve (lit. twice six) chosen (men), of such a physique (lit. body of men) as earth now gives birth to, raise it on their shoulders (lit.  get beneath it with their necks); that hero whirled at his enemy with a trembling hand (the stone which he had) snatched up by hand, rising up on high and running (lit. stirred up) at (full) speed. But he does not recognise himself either running, or going, or raising by hand or moving the monstruous stone: his knees totter, his blood grows chilly with cold. Then the hero's stone itself, spinning through the empty void, neither went the whole distance, nor carried through the blow. But as in sleep, when languid repose presses down our eyes at night, we seem in vain to wish to extend our eager course, and in the midst of our efforts we sink down, faint; the tongue has no power, the well-known strength is not sufficient for the body, nor does the voice or words follow: thus the dread goddess denies success to Turnus in whatever (form of) valour he sought an opening. Then shifting fancies whirl through his mind; he gazes on his Rutulians and the city and hesitates in fear, and shudders (to see) that the spear is imminent; he sees neither whither he may rescue himself, nor with what force he may advance upon his enemy, nor anywhere his chariot or his sister (as) charioteer. Aeneas brandishes the fatal spear (at him) as he hesitates (lit. hesitating), seeking with his eyes to gain by chance the lucky spot, and he hurls (it) from afar with all (the strength of) his body. Never do stones hurled from an engine for (battering) walls roar thus, nor does such a great crash leap forth from thunder. Carrying grim death, the spear flies like a dark whirlwind, and opens up the edge of his corselet and the outermost circles of his sevenfold shield. Whistling, it passes through the middle of his thigh. The mighty Turnus falls under the blow, his knee bent (beneath him). The Rutulians rise up together with a groan, and the whole mountain resounds roundabout, and the high woodlands return their cry far and wide. He, stretching forth (as) a suppliant, humble eyes and a prayerful right(-hand), says "I indeed have deserved (this), nor am I begging (for mercy). Make use of your fortune. If any anxiety of a wretched father can touch you, I ask - and you had (lit. there was to you) (once) such a father (in) Anchises - take pity on the old age of Daunus, and restore me, or, if you prefer, my body deprived of the light (of day), to my (kindred). You have conquered, and the Ausonians have seen (me) the vanquished stretch out my (hand-)palms; Lavinia is your bride: press no further in your hatred." Aeneas stood fierce in his armour, rolling his eyes, and he checked (the fall of) his right (arm); and now, and now (even) more, this speech began to incline him to waver (lit. wavering), when high on his shoulder appeared the unlucky baldric, and the sword-belt flashed with the well-known studs of the boy Pallas, whom, having been vanquished, Turnus had laid low with a thrust, and had (then) worn his enemy's distinctive badge.  The other, when he drank in with his eyes those spoils, the memorial of a fierce grief, inflamed with fury and terrible with wrath (cries out): "Are you, clothed in the spoils of my dear friends to be snatched hence from me?" Pallas, Pallas sacrifices you with this thrust, and exacts punishment from your guilty blood." Saying this, he fiercely buries his sword right within his breast. But his limbs are slackened with cold, and his life with a groan flies indignantly to the shades (below).