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Moreover the queen,
thy surest stay, hath fallen by her own hand and in dismay fled the
light. Alone in front of the gates Messapus and valiant Atinas sustain
the battle-line. Round about them to right and left the armies stand
locked and the iron field shivers with naked points; thou wheelest thy
chariot on the sward alone. ' At the distracting picture of his fortune
Turnus froze in horror and stood in dumb gaze; together in his heart
sweep the vast mingling tides of shame and maddened grief, and love
stung to frenzy and resolved valour. So soon as the darkness cleared and
light returned to his soul, he fiercely turned his blazing eyeballs
towards the ramparts, and gazed back from his wheels on the great city.
And lo! a spire of flame wreathing through the floors wavered up skyward
and held a turret fast, a turret that he himself had reared of mortised
planks and set on rollers and laid with high gangways. 'Now, O my
sister, now fate prevails: cease to hinder; let us follow where deity
and stern fortune call. I am resolved to face Aeneas, resolved to bear
what bitterness there is in death; nor shalt thou longer see me shamed,
sister of mine. Let me be mad, I pray thee, with this madness before the
end. ' He spoke, and leapt swiftly from his chariot to the field, and
darting through weapons [682-718]and through enemies, leaves his
sorrowing sister, and bursts in rapid course amid their columns. And as
when a rock rushes headlong from some mountain peak, torn away by the
blast, or if the rushing rain washes it away, or the stealing years
loosen its ancient hold; the reckless mountain mass goes sheer and
impetuous, and leaps along the ground, hurling with it forests and herds
and men; thus through the scattering columns Turnus rushes to the city
walls, where the earth is wettest with bloodshed and the air sings with
spears; and beckons with his hand, and thus begins aloud: 'Forbear now,
O Rutulians, and you, Latins, stay your weapons. Whatsoever fortune is
left is mine: I singly must expiate the treaty for you all, and make
decision with the sword. ' All drew aside and left him room.

But lord Aeneas, hearing Turnus' name, abandons the walls, abandons the
fortress height, and in exultant joy flings aside all hindrance, breaks
off all work, and clashes his armour terribly, vast as Athos, or as
Eryx, or as the lord of Apennine when he roars with his tossing ilex
woods and rears his snowy crest rejoicing into air.
Now indeed Rutulians
and Trojans and all Italy turned in emulous gaze, and they who held the
high city, and they whose ram was battering the foundations of the wall,
and unarmed their shoulders. Latinus himself stands in amaze at the
mighty men, born in distant quarters of the world, met and making
decision with the sword. And they, in the empty level field that cleared
for them, darted swiftly forward, and hurling their spears from far,
close in battle shock with clangour of brazen shields. Earth utters a
moan; the sword-strokes fall thick and fast, chance and valour joining
in one. And as in broad Sila or high on Taburnus, when two bulls rush to
deadly battle forehead to forehead, the herdsmen retire in terror, all
the herd stands dumb in dismay, and the heifers murmur in doubt which
shall be [719-752]lord in the woodland, which all the cattle must
follow; they violently deal many a mutual wound, and gore with their
stubborn horns, bathing their necks and shoulders in abundant blood; all
the woodland moans back their bellowing: even thus Aeneas of Troy and
the Daunian hero rush together shield to shield; the mighty crash fills
the sky. Jupiter himself holds up the two scales in even balance, and
lays in them the different fates of both, trying which shall pay forfeit
of the strife, whose weight shall sink in death. Turnus darts out,
thinking it secure, and rises with his whole reach of body on his
uplifted sword; then strikes; Trojans and Latins cry out in excitement,
and both armies strain their gaze. But the treacherous sword shivers,
and in mid stroke deserts its eager lord. If flight aid him not now! He
flies swifter than the wind, when once he descries a strange hilt in his
weaponless hand. Rumour is that in his headlong hurry, when mounting
behind his yoked horses to begin the battle, he left his father's sword
behind and caught up his charioteer Metiscus' weapon; and that served
him long, while Teucrian stragglers turned their backs; when it met the
divine Vulcanian armour, the mortal blade like brittle ice snapped in
the stroke; the shards lie glittering upon the yellow sand. So in
distracted flight Turnus darts afar over the plain, and now this way and
now that crosses in wavering circles; for on all hands the Teucrians
locked him in crowded ring, and the dreary marsh on this side, on this
the steep city ramparts hem him in.

Therewith Aeneas pursues, though ever and anon his knees, disabled by
the arrow, hinder and stay his speed; and foot hard on foot presses
hotly on his hurrying enemy: as when a hunter courses with a fleet
barking hound some stag caught in a river-loop or girt by the
crimson-feathered toils, and he, in terror of the snares and the high
river-bank, [753-786]darts back and forward in a thousand ways; but the
keen Umbrian clings agape, and just catches at him, and as though he
caught him snaps his jaws while the baffled teeth close on vacancy. Then
indeed a cry goes up, and banks and pools answer round about, and all
the sky echoes the din. He, even as he flies, chides all his Rutulians,
calling each by name, and shrieks for the sword he knew. But Aeneas
denounces death and instant doom if one of them draw nigh, and doubles
their terror with threats of their city's destruction, and though
wounded presses on.