No More Learning

Catching him up (for that was easy amid the rout), she
runs him through, and thus cries above her enemy: 'Thou wert hunting
wild beasts in the forest, thoughtest thou, Tyrrhenian? the day is come
for a woman's arms to refute thy words. Yet no light fame shalt thou
carry to thy fathers' ghosts, to have fallen under the weapon of
Camilla. ' Next Orsilochus and Butes, the two mightiest of mould among
the Teucrians; Butes she pierces in the [692-725]back with her
spear-point between corslet and helmet, where the neck shews as he sits,
and the shield hangs from his left shoulder; Orsilochus she flies, and
darting in a wide circle, slips into the inner ring and pursues her
pursuer; then rising her full height, she drives the strong axe deep
through armour and bone, as he pleads and makes much entreaty; warm
brain from the wound splashes his face. One met her thus and hung
startled by the sudden sight, the warrior son of Aunus haunter of the
Apennine, not the meanest in Liguria while fate allowed him to deceive.
And he, when he discerns that no fleetness of foot may now save him from
battle or turn the princess from pursuit, essays to wind a subtle device
of treachery, and thus begins: 'How hast thou glory, if a woman trust in
her horse's strength? Debar retreat; trust thyself to level ground at
close quarters with me, and prepare to fight on foot. Soon wilt thou
know how windy boasting brings one to harm. ' He spoke; but she, furious
and stung with fiery indignation, hands her horse to an attendant, and
takes her stand in equal arms on foot and undismayed, with naked sword
and shield unemblazoned. But he, thinking his craft had won the day,
himself flies off on the instant, and turning his rein, darts off in
flight, pricking his beast to speed with iron-armed heel. 'False
Ligurian, in vain elated in thy pride! for naught hast thou attempted
thy slippery native arts, nor will thy craft bring thee home unhurt to
treacherous Aunus. ' So speaks the maiden, and with running feet swift as
fire crosses his horse, and catching the bridle, meets him in front and
takes her vengeance in her enemy's blood: as lightly as the falcon, bird
of bale, swoops down from aloft on a pigeon high in a cloud, and pounces
on and holds her, and disembowels her with taloned feet, while blood and
torn feathers flutter down the sky.

But the creator of men and gods sits high on Olympus' [726-759]summit
watching this, not with eyes unseeing: he kindles Tyrrhenian Tarchon to
the fierce battle, and sharply goads him on to wrath. So Tarchon gallops
amid the slaughter where his squadrons retreat, and urges his troops in
changing tones, calling man on man by name, and rallies the fliers to
fight.
'What terror, what utter cowardice hath fallen on your spirits, O
never to be stung to shame, O slack alway? a woman drives you in
disorder and routs our ranks! Why wear we steel? for what are these idle
weapons in our hands? Yet not slack in Venus' service and wars by night,
or, when the curving flute proclaims Bacchus' revels, to look forward to
the feast and the cups on the loaded board (this your passion, this your
desire! ) till the soothsayer pronounce the offering favourable, and the
fatted victim invite you to the deep groves. ' So speaking, he spurs his
horse into the midmost, ready himself to die, and bears violently down
full on Venulus; and tearing him from horseback, grasps his enemy and
carries him away with him on the saddle-bow by main force. A cry rises
up, and all the Latins turn their eyes. Tarchon flies like fire over the
plain, carrying the armed man, and breaks off the steel head from his
own spear and searches the uncovered places, trying where he may deal
the mortal blow; the other struggling against him keeps his hand off his
throat, and strongly parries his attack. And, as when a golden eagle
snatches and soars with a serpent in his clutch, and his feet are fast
in it, and his talons cling; but the wounded snake writhes in coiling
spires, and its scales rise and roughen, and its mouth hisses as it
towers upward; the bird none the less attacks his struggling prize with
crooked beak, while his vans beat the air: even so Tarchon carries
Tiburtus out of the ranks, triumphant in his prize. Following their
captain's example and issue the men of Maeonia charge in. Then Arruns,
due to his [760-796]doom, circles in advance of fleet Camilla with
artful javelin, and tries how fortune may be easiest. Where the maiden
darts furious amid the ranks, there Arruns slips up and silently tracks
her footsteps; where she returns victorious and retires from amid the
enemy, there he stealthily bends his rapid reins. Here he approaches,
and here again he approaches, and strays all round and about, and
untiringly shakes his certain spear. Haply Chloreus, sacred to Cybele
and once her priest, glittered afar, splendid in Phrygian armour; a skin
feathered with brazen scales and clasped with gold clothed the horse
that foamed under his spur; himself he shone in foreign blue and
scarlet, with fleet Gortynian shafts and a Lycian horn; a golden bow was
on his shoulder, and the soothsayer's helmet was of gold; red gold
knotted up his yellow scarf with its rustling lawny folds; his tunics
and barbarian trousers were wrought in needlework. Him, whether that she
might nail armour of Troy on her temples, or herself move in captive
gold, the maiden pursued in blind chase alone of all the battle
conflict, and down the whole line, reckless and fired by a woman's
passion for spoils and plunder: when at last out of his ambush Arruns
chooses his time and darts his javelin, praying thus aloud to heaven:
'Apollo, most high of gods, holy Soracte's warder, to whom we beyond all
do worship, for whom the blaze of the pinewood heap is fed, where we thy
worshippers in pious faith print our steps amid the deep embers of the
fire, grant, O Lord omnipotent, that our arms wipe off this disgrace.