Virgil · a new plain-English translation from the Latin
1| Meanwhile Aeneas, resolute, was already well out to sea with his fleet and cutting through waves darkened by the north wind, looking back at the walls that now glow with poor Elissa's flames. What cause has lit so great a fire is unknown; but the knowledge of the bitter pain when a great love is defiled, and of what a woman in her frenzy can do, lead the Trojans' hearts into grim foreboding. When the ships reached the open sea and no land met the eye any longer, only sea on every side and sky on every side, a dark-blue rain cloud came and stood over his head, bringing night and storm, and the water bristled in the darkness. The helmsman Palinurus himself cried from the high stern: "Ah, why have such clouds encircled the sky? Father Neptune, what are you preparing?" After these words he orders them to take in the tackle and bend to their strong oars, and he slants the sails into the wind and says: "Great-hearted Aeneas, not even if Jupiter gave me his word would I hope to reach Italy under this sky. The winds have shifted and roar across our path, rising up from the dark west, and the sky is massing into cloud.
21| We are not strong enough to struggle against it or even to hold our course. Since Fortune is winning, let us go where she leads and shift our course where she calls. I believe the faithful shores of your brother Eryx are not far off, and the harbors of Sicily, if only I remember rightly and am retracing the stars I observed." Then dutiful Aeneas: "I have seen for a long time that the winds demand this and that you strain against them in vain. Change course under sail. Could any land be more welcome to me, or where would I rather bring my weary ships to rest, than the one that keeps Dardan Acestes for me and holds my father Anchises' bones in its embrace?" When this was said, they make for the harbor, and the following west winds fill their sails; the fleet is carried swiftly over the deep, and at last, rejoicing, they turn in to the familiar sands.
35| But Acestes, who from a high mountaintop far off had wondered at the arrival of friendly ships, hurries to meet them, bristling with javelins and the hide of a Libyan bear. A Trojan mother bore him, conceived by the river Crinisus. Not forgetting his ancestry, he welcomes them back, receives them gladly with his rustic riches, and comforts the weary men with friendly abundance.
42| The next day, when its bright dawn had put the stars to flight in the east, Aeneas calls his companions together from all along the shore and speaks from a raised mound: "Great Dardans, a race from the high blood of the gods, the circle of the year is complete with the months run out since we laid in the earth the remains and the bones of my divine father and consecrated altars of mourning. And now the day is here, if I am not mistaken, which I will always keep as a day of grief, always as a day of honor — so you gods have willed. If I were spending it in exile among the Gaetulian Syrtes, or caught on the Argive sea or in the city of Mycenae, I would still carry out the yearly vows and the solemn processions in order, and pile the altars with their proper gifts. Now, unasked, we find ourselves at the very ashes and bones of my father — not, I think, without the purpose and will of the gods — carried here and entering a friendly harbor. So come, let us all celebrate the rite with gladness: let us ask him for winds, and may he be willing for me to offer these rites every year in temples dedicated to him, once my city is founded. Acestes, born of Troy, gives you two head of cattle for each ship; bring to the feast the household gods of our fathers and those that our host Acestes worships. Besides, if the ninth Dawn brings out the kindly day for mortals and unveils the world with her rays, I will set up contests for the Trojans: first for swift ships; then whoever is strong in running, whoever steps forward bold in strength, or better with the javelin and light arrows, or trusts himself to fight with the rawhide gauntlet — let them all come and look forward to the prizes of a well-earned palm. Keep holy silence, all of you, and wreathe your temples with branches."
72| So he spoke, and veiled his temples with his mother's myrtle. Helymus does the same, and Acestes, ripe in years, and the boy Ascanius, and all of the other young men follow them. Aeneas went from the assembly with many thousands to the tomb, in the middle of a great escorting crowd. Here, as the rite requires, he pours on the ground a libation of two cups of unmixed wine, two of fresh milk, two of sacrificial blood, scatters purple flowers, and speaks: "Hail, holy father, once again; hail, ashes I rescued in vain, and spirit and ghost of my father. I was not permitted to seek with you the borders of Italy, the fields promised by fate, or the Ausonian Tiber, whatever it may be." He had just said this when from the depths of the shrine a slippery snake, huge, drew out seven coils, seven folds, gently encircling the tomb and gliding between the altars. Its back was flecked with blue markings, and a sheen spotted with gold set its scales ablaze, as a rainbow in the clouds casts a thousand changing colors against the sun. Aeneas was stunned at the sight. At last, winding its long column between the bowls and polished cups, it tasted the food, and then, harmless, it slid back into the bottom of the tomb and left the altars where it had fed.
94| All the more for this he renews the rites he had begun for his father, unsure whether to think it the spirit of the place or a servant of his father. As custom requires, he slaughters two sheep, as many pigs, and as many black-backed young bulls; he poured wine from the bowls and called on the soul of great Anchises and his shade, sent back from Acheron. His comrades too bring gifts gladly, each as much as he has, load the altars and slaughter bullocks; others set out bronze cauldrons in rows and, stretched out on the grass, put coals under the spits and roast the entrails.
104| The awaited day had come, and the horses of Phaethon were already bringing the ninth Dawn, in clear light. The news and the name of famous Acestes had called out the neighbors; they had filled the shore with a happy crowd, come to see Aeneas' men, and some of them ready to compete. First, the prizes are set out in sight of all in the middle of the arena: sacred tripods, green wreaths, and palms as the reward for victors, weapons, garments steeped in purple, talents of silver and gold, while a trumpet sounds from the middle of the mound to announce that the games have begun.
114| The first contest is between four matched ships with heavy oars, chosen from the whole fleet. Mnestheus drives the swift Pristis with eager rowers, soon to be Italian Mnestheus, from whom the Memmian family takes its name; Gyas drives the huge Chimaera, huge in bulk, the size of a city, which the Dardan youths propel with three banks of oars, the oars rising in tiers of three; Sergestus, from whom the house of Sergius has its name, is carried in the great Centaur, and Cloanthus, from whom you come, Roman Cluentius, in the sea-blue Scylla.
124| There is a rock far out in the sea, facing the foaming shore, which at times is submerged and battered by swelling waves, when the winter northwest winds hide the stars; in calm weather it is silent and rises from the unmoving water as a flat surface, and a very welcome resting place for sunning gulls. Here father Aeneas set up a green marker of leafy holm oak as a signal for the sailors, so they would know where to turn back and where to bend their long course around. Then they choose their places by lot, and the captains themselves, on their sterns, shine from afar in gold and purple finery; the rest of the crew are wreathed in poplar leaves and gleam, their bare shoulders soaked in oil. They sit at the benches, arms stretched to the oars; tensely they wait for the signal, and pounding fear and eager desire for praise drain their leaping hearts. Then, when the clear trumpet gave its blast, all of them without delay shot out from their lines; the sailors' shout strikes the sky, and the churned waters foam as their arms pull back. Together they split the furrows, and the whole sea is torn open by oars and three-pronged beaks. Chariots racing in a two-horse contest do not tear across the plain so headlong and burst from the starting gate, nor do charioteers shake the rippling reins so hard over their loosed teams and hang forward over the whip. Then the whole grove rings with the applause and shouting of men and the eager cheers of supporters, the enclosing shores roll back the sound, and the struck hills echo the cry.
151| Gyas slips ahead of the others and glides out first on the waves, amid the crowd and the roar; Cloanthus follows him, better with the oars, but held back by the weight of his slow pine hull. After these, Pristis and Centaur strive on equal terms to take the lead; now Pristis has it, now the huge Centaur passes her, beaten, now both run together, bows level, and plow the salt water with their long keels. And now they were approaching the rock and nearing the marker, when Gyas, leader and winner in the middle of the swell, calls to the steersman of his ship, Menoetes: "Why are you going so far to starboard? Steer this way. Hug the shore and let the oar blade graze the rocks on the left; let the others stay in deep water." So he spoke; but Menoetes, afraid of hidden rocks, turns the prow away toward the open sea. "Why are you going off course? Make for the rocks, Menoetes!" Gyas shouted again, calling him back, and look, he sees Cloanthus behind him, pressing close and holding the nearer line. Cloanthus scrapes through on the inside, between Gyas' ship and the roaring rocks, keeping to the left; suddenly he passes the leader and, leaving the marker behind, holds safe water.
172| Then truly a huge grief blazed in the young man's bones, and tears were on his cheeks; forgetting his own dignity and the safety of his comrades, he hurls the sluggish Menoetes headlong from the high stern into the sea. He himself takes the helm as steersman, and as captain urges the men on and turns the tiller toward the shore. But when Menoetes, heavy, now older, finally got back up from the bottom of the sea, dripping in his soaked clothes, he made for the top of the rock and sat down on the dry crag. The Trojans laughed at him as he fell, laughed as he swam, and laugh as he vomits the salt water from his chest.
183| Here happy hope is kindled in the last two, Sergestus and Mnestheus, of overtaking the lagging Gyas. Sergestus takes the place ahead and nears the rock, though he is not wholly in front with his whole ship; he leads by part, and rival Pristis presses on him with her beak. But Mnestheus, walking amid his comrades in the middle of the ship, urges them on: "Now, now rise to the oars, comrades of Hector, whom I chose as companions at Troy's last fate; now bring out the strength and the spirit you showed in the Gaetulian Syrtes and the Ionian Sea and on the pursuing waves of Malea. I, Mnestheus, no longer seek first place or aim to win (though, ah! but let those win to whom you gave this, Neptune); let us be ashamed to come back last: win this much, fellow citizens, and prevent that disgrace." They throw themselves forward in the final effort; the bronze-beaked stern shakes with the mighty strokes and the ground slips away beneath them; then thick panting shakes their limbs and parched mouths, and sweat runs everywhere in streams. Chance itself brought the men the honor they wanted: for while Sergestus, wild with excitement, forces his prow in toward the rocks on the inside and enters a narrow passage, the unlucky man stuck on the projecting rocks.
205| The crags shook, the oars strained against the sharp rock and snapped, and the prow, jammed, hung there. The sailors leap up and, with a great shout, bring the ship to a halt; they bring out iron-shod poles and spiked boathooks and gather up the broken oars from the water. But Mnestheus, happy and keener for his success, with the swift motion of his oars and calling up the winds, makes for the sea sloping before him and runs down the open water. Like a dove suddenly startled from a cave, whose home and sweet nest are in the hidden pumice, and which flies out into the fields and, frightened, makes a great clap of wings in the roof, then gliding in the quiet air skims her clear path without moving her wings, so Mnestheus, so Pristis herself cuts the last stretch of the sea, so her own momentum carries her flying along. First he leaves Sergestus behind, struggling on the high rock and in the shallows, calling uselessly for help, and learning to race with shattered oars. Then he catches up with Gyas and the Chimaera herself, huge in bulk; she gives way, since she has lost her steersman. And now only Cloanthus remains, right at the finish, and Mnestheus goes after him and presses him with all his strength.
227| Then truly the shouting redoubles, and all urge on the pursuer with their cheers, and the sky resounds with the din. Some are indignant if they do not keep their own distinction and the honor they have won, and want to trade their lives for glory; others are fed by success: they can, because they seem able. And perhaps they would have taken the prize with their prows level, if Cloanthus, stretching both palms toward the sea, had not poured out prayers and called on the gods with vows: "Gods, who hold power over the sea, whose waters I run over, I will gladly set before your altars on this shore a gleaming white bull, bound by my vow, and I will throw its entrails into the salt waves and pour out clear wine." He spoke, and beneath the depths of the waves the whole chorus of Nereids and Phorcus heard him, and Panopea the virgin, and father Portunus in person with his great hand pushed him as he went: faster than the south wind or a flying arrow the ship fled to land and hid in the deep harbor. Then the son of Anchises, calling everyone together as custom required, declares Cloanthus the winner in the loud voice of a herald, and covers his brow with green laurel; and he gives to each ship a choice of three young bulls, wine, and a big talent of silver to carry off.
249| To the captains themselves he adds special honors: to the winner a gold-embroidered cloak, around which plentiful purple from Meliboea ran in a double meander, and woven into it the royal boy on leafy Ida wearing out swift stags with his javelin and in the chase, eager, like one panting, whom Jupiter's armor-bearer, the swift bird, snatched up high from Ida in his hooked talons; his aged guardians stretch their hands toward the stars in vain, and the barking of dogs rages into the air. To the man who took second place by his merit he gives a coat of mail, triple-woven with gold and linked with smooth hooks, which he himself as victor had stripped from Demoleos by the swift Simois under high Ilium, to keep, an ornament for the man and protection in battle. His servants Phegeus and Sagaris could scarcely carry it, straining with their shoulders, so many layers; yet Demoleos once wore it and drove scattering Trojans before him as he ran. For the third prize he makes two bronze cauldrons and bowls finished in silver and rough with embossed figures. And now all had been given their prizes and, proud of their riches, went with brows bound in crimson ribbons, when Sergestus, torn with great difficulty by skill from the cruel rock, having lost his oars and crippled on one bank, was bringing in his mocked ship without honor.
273| Like a snake caught on the crown of a road, which a bronze-rimmed wheel has crossed at an angle, or which a traveler has struck with a heavy stone and left half dead and mangled; in its vain flight it makes long twisting movements, fierce in one part and blazing in the eyes, rearing up high with a hissing neck, while the other part, crippled by the wound, holds it back as it knots itself in coils and folds back on its own limbs: with such rowing the ship moved slowly. Yet she hoists sail, and with full sails enters the harbor mouth. Aeneas gives Sergestus the gift he promised, glad that the ship was saved and his comrades brought back. A slave woman is given to him, not unskilled in the works of Minerva, Pholoe, Cretan by birth, with twin sons at her breast.
286| When this contest was over, dutiful Aeneas makes for a grassy plain, which woods surrounded on every side with curving hills, and in the middle of the valley lay a ring like a theater; the hero went there with many thousands and took his seat in the middle on a raised platform. Here he invites any who might want to compete in a swift footrace, tempting their spirits with prizes, and sets out the rewards. They gather from all sides, Trojans and Sicilians mixed, Nisus and Euryalus first, Euryalus outstanding in beauty and fresh youth, Nisus in his devoted love for the boy; then following them the royal Diores, of Priam's outstanding line; after him Salius and Patron together, one of whom was an Acarnanian, the other of Arcadian blood from the Tegean people; then two Sicilian youths, Helymus and Panopes, used to the woods, companions of old Acestes; and many others besides, whom obscure fame hides away. Aeneas then spoke to them in their midst: "Listen to this with your minds, and turn glad hearts to it. No one of this number will leave me without a gift. I shall give two Cretan spears with bright polished iron and an engraved double ax of silver to carry; this one honor will be for all. The first three will receive prizes and bind their heads with pale olive. The first, as winner, is to have a horse decked with ornaments; the second an Amazon quiver full of Thracian arrows, which a belt encircles with broad gold and a clasp fastens with a rounded gem; the third is to go away content with this Greek helmet."
315| When this was said, they take their places and at the signal, as soon as they hear it, suddenly seize the track and leave the line, pouring out like a rainstorm. At once they mark the far end; Nisus goes off first and darts far ahead of all the bodies, quicker than the winds and the wings of lightning; following him, though following at a long interval, comes Salius; then, after a gap, Euryalus is third; and Helymus follows Euryalus; and right behind him, look, Diores flies, treading heel on heel, leaning with his shoulder, and if more track remained he would slip ahead and pass him and leave the outcome unclear. And now, nearly at the end of the course, weary, they were coming up to the very finish, when unlucky Nisus slips on slick blood, spilled on the ground where bullocks had happened to be slaughtered and which had soaked the green grass. Here the young man, already a winner and exulting, could not keep his footing as it faltered on the trodden ground, but fell face down in the filth itself and the sacred blood. Yet he was not forgetful of Euryalus, not forgetful of his love:
335| for as he rose on the slippery ground he put himself in Salius' way; Salius went sprawling, rolled over on the thick sand, and Euryalus darts out and, victor thanks to his friend's service, takes first place, flying along amid the applause and favoring shouts. After him comes Helymus, and now Diores has the third palm. At this Salius fills the whole crowd seated in the vast stands and the front faces of the elders with loud shouts, and demands that the honor torn from him by trickery be given back to him. Favor protects Euryalus, and his becoming tears, and manly excellence is more welcome when it comes in a handsome body. Diores helps him and shouts in a loud voice, since he has come in for a palm and has come in vain for the last prizes if the first honors are to be given back to Salius. Then father Aeneas said: "Your prizes remain secure for you, boys, and no one changes the order of the palm; let me be allowed to pity the misfortune of a blameless friend." So he spoke and gives Salius the huge hide of a Gaetulian lion, heavy with shaggy hair and golden claws. At this Nisus said: "If such prizes are for the defeated, and you pity those who fell, what gift will you give to Nisus that is worthy, I who earned the first crown by my merit, had not hostile fortune swept me away as it did Salius?" And as he said this he displayed his face and his limbs fouled with wet filth. The best of fathers laughed at him and ordered a shield brought out, the craftsmanship of Didymaon, which the Greeks had taken down from Neptune's sacred doorpost. With this outstanding gift he presents the excellent young man.
362| Afterward, when the race was finished and he had given out the gifts: "Now, if anyone has courage and a spirit ready in his chest, let him come forward and raise his arms with gloves bound on." So he speaks, and sets a double prize for the fight: for the winner a bullock draped in gold and ribbons, for the loser, as comfort, a sword and a handsome helmet. Without delay Dares at once brings forward his face with huge strength and rises amid great murmuring from the men, he who alone used to fight against Paris, and who at the tomb where mighty Hector lies struck down the champion Butes of enormous body, who came from the Bebrycian people of Amycus and boasted of it, and stretched him dying on the tawny sand. Such was Dares as he first raised his lofty head for battle, and he shows his broad shoulders, throws his arms out one after the other and lashes the air with his blows. Another opponent is sought for him; and no one in that great company dares approach the man and fit the gloves to his hands. So, eager, and thinking that all had given up the prize, he stood before Aeneas' feet, and without more delay took the bull with his left hand by the horn and said: "Son of a goddess, if no one dares to trust himself to the fight, what end is there to my standing here? How long is it right to keep me waiting? Tell me to lead off my prize." All the Dardans together shouted in agreement and demanded that what was promised be given to the man.
387| Here Acestes severely scolds Entellus with his words, since he happened to be sitting next to him on the green bank of grass: "Entellus, once the bravest of heroes, in vain, will you let so great a prize be carried off so patiently without any contest? Where is that god of ours now, Eryx, your teacher, so often named in vain? Where is the fame throughout all Sicily, and those spoils hanging in your house?" He answered: "It is not that love of praise or glory has gone, driven out by fear; but my blood is cold and sluggish with slowing old age, and strength is chilled and spent in my body. If I had now that youth I once had, and in which that bold fellow exults with such confidence, if that youth were here, I would not have come lured by a prize or a fine bullock, and I do not care about the gifts." Having so spoken, he threw into the middle a pair of gloves of huge weight, with which fierce Eryx used to carry his fists into battle and stretch his arms with the hard hide. Their minds were stunned: the huge hides of seven great oxen stood stiff with lead and iron sewn into them. Above all Dares himself is astonished and shrinks far back, and the great-hearted son of Anchises turns the weight and the immense coils of the straps themselves this way and that.
409| Then the old man spoke from his heart with these words: "What if someone had seen the gloves of Hercules himself, and the grim fight on this very shore? Your brother Eryx once wore these arms (you see them still stained with blood and spattered brains); with these he stood against great Alcides; with these I was familiar, while better blood gave me strength, and old age, jealous of my youth, had not yet scattered gray over both my temples. But if Trojan Dares refuses these arms of ours and dutiful Aeneas is set on it, and Acestes, who sponsors the fight, approves, let us make the fight equal. I give up the hides of Eryx for you (put aside your fear), and you take off your Trojan gloves." After saying this he threw his double cloak from his shoulders and stripped off the great joints of his limbs, the great bones and muscles, and stood huge in the middle of the sand. Then the son of Anchises, the father, brought out matched gloves and strapped the hands of both with matching arms. At once each stood up on his toes and fearlessly raised his arms to the upper air. They drew their lofty heads far back from the blow and mix hand with hand and provoke the fight, the one better in the movement of his feet and relying on youth, the other strong in limbs and bulk; but his slow knees tremble and totter, and a sickly panting shakes his huge frame.
433| The men throw many blows at each other in vain, many they redouble on the hollow flank and make huge thuds from the chest, and a hand wanders constantly around ears and temples, and the jaws crack under the hard blows. Heavy Entellus stands unmoved in the same stance, and avoids the blows only by a movement of his body and watchful eyes. The other, like a man who attacks a high city with siege works or sits under arms around a mountain fort, tries now these approaches, now those, ranges over the whole place with skill and presses on in vain with varied assaults. Entellus rose up, showed his right hand and lifted it high; the other saw the blow coming from above and, quick, slipped away with a swift movement of his body and gave way; Entellus spent his strength on the wind and, heavy of his own accord, fell heavily to the ground with his vast weight, as a hollow pine, torn up by the roots, once fell on Erymanthus or great Ida. The Trojans and the Sicilian youth rise eagerly; a shout goes up to the sky, and Acestes runs up first and, pitying him, lifts his friend of the same age from the ground.
453| Entellus, undelayed by his fall and not frightened by it, goes back into the fight more fiercely, and anger rouses his strength. Shame and a conscious pride in his courage fire him too, and in a blaze of rage he drives Dares headlong across the whole field, now pounding him with his right hand, now with his left. There is no pause and no rest. As rain clouds rattle down hail on rooftops, so the hero, with blow after thick blow, hammers Dares with both hands in quick succession and sends him reeling.
461| Then father Aeneas would not let Entellus advance his rage any further and rage on with such bitter feeling. Instead he put an end to the fight and rescued the exhausted Dares, soothing him with words, and said: "Poor man, what great madness has seized your mind? Don't you feel that the strength is different now, and that the gods have turned against you? Yield to the god." So he spoke, and with his voice he broke up the fighting. But Dares's loyal companions led him to the ships, dragging his weak knees, his head lolling from side to side, spitting thick blood from his mouth, and teeth mixed in with the blood. They were called back to take his helmet and sword, and they left the palm and the bull to Entellus. Then the victor, exultant in spirit and proud of his bull, said: "Son of a goddess, and all you Trojans, learn this: learn what strength I had in my young body, and from what death you are saving Dares, whom you have called back." He spoke, and he stood facing the bull that was waiting there as the prize of the fight, right in front of its head. Drawing back his right hand, he stood tall and swung the hard gauntlet between the horns, and drove it into the bone, shattering the brain. The ox collapsed and dropped lifeless to the ground, trembling. Over it he poured out these words from his chest: "This better life, Eryx, I pay you in place of the death of Dares. Here, as victor, I lay down the gauntlets and my art."
485| Straightaway Aeneas invites any who might wish to compete with the swift arrow, and announces the prizes. With his huge hand he raises the mast of Serestus's ship and, from a cord passed through it, hangs a fluttering dove from the top of the mast as the target for their arrows. The men gathered, and a bronze helmet received the lots that had been thrown in. First, to a roar of applause, the place of Hyrtacus's son Hippocoon came out ahead of all; Mnestheus follows him, the victor of the recent ship race, Mnestheus crowned with green olive. Third was Eurytion, your brother, famous Pandarus, who once, ordered to break the treaty, was the first to hurl a weapon into the midst of the Greeks. Last, at the bottom of the helmet, was Acestes, who had dared to try the contest with his own hand, young men's work though it was. Then each man, putting his strength into it, bent his flexible bow, and they drew their arrows from their quivers. The first arrow, with the bowstring whirring through the sky, belonged to Hyrtacus's young son and cut through the swift air, and it came and lodged in the wood of the mast facing him.
505| The mast shook, and the terrified bird fluttered its wings, and everything rang out with enormous applause. Then keen Mnestheus took his stand with his bow drawn back, aiming high, and stretched his eyes and his arrow together. But the poor man was unable to hit the bird itself with the iron point; he cut the knots and the linen cords by which it hung, tied by the foot, from the top of the mast. The bird flew off into the dark clouds on the south wind. Then quick Eurytion, who had been holding his arrow ready on his drawn bow for some time, called on his brother in prayer. Now he caught sight of the dove in the clear sky, happily clapping its wings, and he pierced it beneath a dark cloud. It fell lifeless, left its life among the stars of the sky, and as it came down brought back the arrow that had pierced it.
519| Only Acestes was left, with the prize now lost. Even so, the old man shot his arrow up into the air, showing off both his skill and his twanging bow. Here a sudden portent was set before their eyes, one that would prove to be of great significance. Its huge outcome taught them this afterward, and awe-inspiring seers sang of its omens late. For as it flew among the clear clouds, the reed arrow caught fire and marked its path with flames, then thinned away, consumed into the winds, as shooting stars torn from the sky often race across it, trailing their hair of fire. The men of Sicily and the Trojans alike stood rooted in amazement, and they prayed to the gods above. Great Aeneas did not turn the omen away, but embraced the delighted Acestes and heaped great gifts on him, saying: "Take them, father, for the great king of Olympus has wished you, by such signs, to be awarded these honors without having drawn a lot. You will have this gift from aged Anchises himself, a mixing bowl embossed with figures, which Thracian Cisseus once gave to my father Anchises as a splendid present, to carry with him as a memorial of himself and a pledge of his love." With these words he wreathed Acestes's temples with green laurel and proclaimed him, before all the others, the first victor. Good Eurytion did not begrudge him the honor he had been put ahead of, although he alone had brought the bird down from high in the sky. Next in turn came the man who cut the cords, with his gift, and last the one who pinned the mast with his winged arrow.
545| But father Aeneas, with the contest not yet dismissed, summons Epytides, the guardian and companion of the young Iulus, and speaks into his trusty ear: "Go, and tell Ascanius, if he now has his boys' squadron ready with him and has organized the maneuvers of the horses, to lead out his troops in honor of his grandfather and show himself in arms." He himself orders the whole crowd that had flooded the long circus to withdraw, and the field to be left open. The boys ride in, side by side, gleaming on their bridled horses before the eyes of their parents, and as they go all the youth of Sicily and Troy murmur in admiration. All have their hair cut in the customary way and held by a wreath. Each carries two cornel-wood spears tipped with iron; some have light quivers on their shoulders; a flexible circle of twisted gold runs around the neck and down on the upper chest. There are three troops of riders, and three captains ride about; twelve boys follow each, gleaming in divided ranks, with leaders to match. One line of youths is led in triumph by little Priam, who carries his grandfather's name, your famous offspring, Polites, destined to increase the Italian peoples; a two-colored Thracian horse carries him, spotted with white, showing white at the tips of its forefeet and raising a white forehead high.
568| The second was Atys, from whom the Latin Atii trace their family, little Atys, a boy dear to the boy Iulus. Last, and in beauty ahead of them all, Iulus rode in on a Sidonian horse, which radiant Dido had given him as a memorial of herself and a pledge of her love. The rest of the young riders are carried on horses from Sicily, belonging to elderly Acestes. The Trojans welcome the anxious boys with applause and delight in watching them, and they recognize the faces of their own ancestors. When they had happily surveyed the whole gathering and the eyes of their families on horseback, Epytides gave the signal from afar with a shout to the waiting boys and cracked his whip. In matched pairs they raced apart, and the three squadrons split their ranks and broke up their formations; then, called back, they turned their paths and charged with levelled spears. After that they enter other courses and other returns, facing one another across the spaces, and weave circles within circles in turn, and stir up the semblance of a battle under arms. At one moment they show their backs in flight, at another they level their spears in attack, now, peace made, they ride along side by side.
588| As the labyrinth in high Crete is said once to have had a path woven with blind walls and a bewildering trick of a thousand ways, where an error that could not be traced and could not be retraced would break up any sign for following, in just such a course the sons of the Trojans interweave their steps, and weave flights and battles in play, like dolphins that cut through the watery seas by swimming, across the Carpathian and the Libyan waters. This custom of riding and these contests Ascanius was the first to revive, when he was surrounding Alba Longa with walls, and he taught the ancient Latins to celebrate them, in the way he himself had done as a boy, and the Trojan youth with him. The Albans taught their own people; from them mighty Rome in turn received them and kept the ancestral honor; and now the boys are called Troy, and the troop is called the Trojan one. Up to this point the contests were held in honor of his sainted father.
604| From here Fortune first changed her pledge and broke faith. While they were paying tribute at the tomb with various games, Saturn's daughter Juno sent Iris down from heaven to the Trojan fleet and breathed winds to help her on her way, brooding over many things and not yet sated in her ancient grief. Hurrying her journey along her arch of a thousand colors, the maiden ran swiftly down her path, seen by no one. She sees the huge crowd and scans the shore, and she sees the harbors deserted and the fleet abandoned. But far away, on a lonely stretch of beach, the Trojan women were apart, weeping for the lost Anchises, and all of them were gazing out in tears at the deep sea. "Oh, how many shoals still remain for us, exhausted as we are, and how much sea!" was the one cry from them all. They long for a city; they are sick of enduring the hardship of the ocean. So Iris, well versed in doing harm, throws herself into their midst, laying aside the face and clothing of a goddess. She becomes Beroe, elderly wife of Tmarian Doryclus, who once possessed family and a name and sons, and in this way she brings herself into the middle of the Trojan mothers. "Oh, you poor women," she says, "whom no Greek hand dragged to death in war beneath the walls of our homeland! Oh, unlucky people, for what destruction is Fortune keeping you?
626| This is now the seventh summer turning since the fall of Troy, since we began crossing waters, lands of every kind, so many inhospitable rocks and stars, being carried along as we follow a fleeing Italy over the great sea and are tossed by the waves. Here is the territory of Eryx, Aeneas's brother, and Acestes, our host: who stops us from laying down walls and giving our citizens a city? O my country, and household gods snatched from the enemy in vain, will no walls ever again be called Troy? Shall I nowhere see the rivers of Hector, the Xanthus and the Simois? Come on, then, and burn these ill-omened ships with me. For in my sleep the image of the prophetess Cassandra seemed to hand me blazing torches. 'Look for Troy here,' she said; 'this is your home.' The hour has come to act, and there should be no delay with such portents. Look, here are four altars to Neptune; the god himself supplies the torches and the courage." With these words she was the first to seize a fire fiercely, and, raising her right hand high, she strained and brandished it, and hurled it. The minds of the Trojan women were stunned, and their hearts dazed. Then one of the many, the oldest of them, Pyrgo, royal nurse of so many of Priam's children, said:
646| "This is not Beroe, mothers, not the Rhoeteian wife of Doryclus. Notice the marks of divine beauty and her blazing eyes, what breath she has, what a face, the sound of her voice, even her step as she walks. I myself left Beroe not long ago, sick, and angry that she alone should miss out on such a duty and not bring Anchises the honors he deserves." So she spoke. But the women, at first uncertain, looked at the ships with ill-disposed, doubtful eyes, torn between their wretched love for the land before them and the kingdoms that the fates were calling them toward, when the goddess lifted herself through the sky on matching wings and, as she fled, cut a huge arch beneath the clouds. Then indeed, stunned by the portents and driven by madness, they cry out together, and snatch fire from the hearths inside their homes; some strip the altars, throwing on leaves and brushwood and torches. Vulcan runs wild with loosened reins through the benches and oars and the ships' painted fir hulls.
664| Eumelus carries the news that the ships are burning to Anchises's tomb and the tiers of the theater, and the people themselves look back and see black ash flying in a cloud. And the first, Ascanius, just as he was happily leading the cavalry exercise, so he eagerly rode his horse to the disordered camp, and his out-of-breath trainers cannot hold him back. "What new madness is this?" he says. "Where, where are you heading now? Oh, wretched citizens! It is not the enemy or the hostile camp of the Greeks you are burning, but your own hopes. Look, I am your Ascanius!" He threw the empty helmet down before his feet, the one he had put on for the game as he stirred up the image of war. At the same time Aeneas hurries up, and the Trojan columns with him. But the women scatter in fear in different directions along the shore, and make for the woods and any hollow rocks they can find, in secret. They are ashamed of what they began, and sorry to see the light; they change and recognize their own people, and Juno is shaken out of their hearts.
680| But for all that, the flames and the fire did not give up their unconquered strength. Under the damp timber the tow stays alive, belching slow smoke; a smoldering heat eats into the keels, and the plague spreads down through the whole body of each ship, and neither the heroes' strength nor the streams of water poured on do any good. Then dutiful Aeneas tore the cloak from his shoulders, called on the gods for help, and stretched out his hands: "Almighty Jupiter, if you do not yet hate the Trojans to the last man, if your devotion of old still has any regard for human hardships, grant now, Father, that the fleet escape the flames, and snatch the small fortunes of the Trojans from destruction. Or else, as for what is left, send me down to death with your hostile thunderbolt, if I deserve it, and crush me here with your own right hand." He had hardly said this when a black storm broke out with pouring rain and raged beyond all measure, and the high places of the earth and the plains shook with thunder. A turbid rainstorm poured down from the whole sky, black with thick south winds. The ships filled up with water above, the half-burnt timbers were soaked, until all the heat was quenched and all the ships, except four that were lost, were saved from the plague.
700| But father Aeneas, shaken by the bitter blow, turned over huge anxieties in his heart, now this way, now that: should he settle in the Sicilian fields, forgetting the fates, or reach for the shores of Italy? Then old Nautes, the one man whom Tritonian Pallas had taught and made famous for his great skill, he gave answers, whether the great wrath of the gods foretold something or the order of the fates demanded it. He consoled Aeneas and began to speak with these words: "Son of a goddess, let us follow where the fates lead us and lead us back. Whatever happens, every fortune must be overcome by bearing it. You have Acestes, a Trojan of divine descent: take him as a partner in your plans and join him to you, since he is willing, and hand over to him those who are left over now that ships are lost, and those who are tired of your great undertaking and your fortunes. Choose the aged old men, the mothers worn out by the sea, and anyone with you who is weak and afraid of danger, and let the weary have a city in this land. They will call the city Acesta, with the name allowed to them."
719| Fired by these words from his older friend, Aeneas was then truly torn in his mind by all his anxieties. And black Night, carried on her two-horse chariot, held the sky. Then the form of his father Anchises seemed to glide down from heaven and suddenly pour out these words: "Son, once dearer to me than life, while I still had life, son, tried by the fates of Troy, I come here by the command of Jupiter, who drove the fire from your ships and has at last taken pity on you from high heaven. Follow the excellent advice that old Nautes is now giving you: take picked young men, the bravest hearts, to Italy. In Latium you must conquer a hard people, rough in their way of life. But before that, approach the lower dwellings of Dis, and through the deep Avernus come to meet me, my son. For impious Tartarus does not hold me, among the sad shades, but I dwell in the pleasant gatherings of the dutiful and in Elysium. The chaste Sibyl will lead you here with the blood of many black sheep. Then you will learn your whole line and the walls that will be granted you. And now farewell; damp Night is turning in the middle of her course, and the cruel East has breathed on me with its panting horses." He had spoken, and he fled like smoke into thin air. Aeneas said: "Where are you rushing off to? Where are you hurrying? Whom are you fleeing? Or who keeps you from our embrace?" With these words he rouses the ashes and the sleeping fires, and as a suppliant he worships the Trojan household god and the shrine of ancient Vesta with sacred meal and a full censer.
746| At once he summons his comrades, and first of all Acestes, and tells them of Jupiter's command and the instructions of his dear father, and of the decision that is now fixed in his mind. There is no delay in the plan, and Acestes does not refuse the orders. They enroll the mothers for the city and set down those of the people who are willing, hearts that have no need of great glory. The others themselves renew the benches and replace the timbers eaten by the flames on their ships, and fit oars and rigging, few in number, but with a courage alive for war. Meanwhile Aeneas marks out the city with a plow and assigns the houses by lot; he orders this to be Ilium and these places to be Troy. Trojan Acestes rejoices in his kingdom and proclaims a forum and gives laws to the senators he has summoned. Then a seat close to the stars is founded on the summit of Eryx for Idalian Venus, and a priest and a sacred grove, wide in extent, are added to Anchises's tomb.
762| And now the whole people had feasted for nine days, and honor had been paid at the altars: calm winds had smoothed the seas, and a steady south wind, blowing again, calls them out to the deep. A great weeping rises along the curving shores; clasping one another, they linger through night and day. Now the very mothers, and the men themselves, for whom the look of the sea once seemed harsh and its power intolerable, want to go and endure every hardship of the flight. Good Aeneas comforts them with friendly words and, weeping, entrusts them to his kinsman Acestes. Then he orders three calves to be sacrificed to Eryx and a lamb to the Storms, and the cable to be loosed in turn. He himself, his head bound with leaves of trimmed olive, stands at a distance on the prow holding a bowl, and throws the entrails into the salt waves and pours out the flowing wine. The comrades eagerly strike the sea and sweep the waters; a wind rising from the stern follows them as they go.
779| But meanwhile Venus, tormented by anxiety, speaks to Neptune and pours these complaints from her heart: "Juno's heavy anger and her insatiable heart force me, Neptune, to stoop to every kind of prayer. Neither long time nor any devotion softens her, nor does she rest, broken by Jupiter's command or the fates. It does not suffice her to have devoured the city from the midst of the Phrygian people with her unspeakable hatred, nor to have dragged the remnants of Troy through every punishment: she pursues the ashes and bones of a city already destroyed. She may know the reasons for such great madness. You yourself were my witness lately on the Libyan waves, what a storm she suddenly stirred up: she mixed all the seas with the sky, relying in vain on the storms of Aeolus, daring this in your realm. And look, by crime she drove the Trojan mothers to it and foully burned the ships, and, with the fleet lost, forced him to leave his comrades in an unknown land. As for what is left, I beg you, let them give their sails safely to you over the waves, let them reach the Laurentine Tiber, if I am asking what is allowed, if the Fates give those walls."
799| Then the son of Saturn, tamer of the deep sea, answered: "It is entirely right, Venus of Cythera, that you trust my kingdoms, from which you trace your birth. I have also earned it; often I have suppressed the furies and great raging of sky and sea. And my care for your Aeneas has been no less on land, and I call the Xanthus and the Simois to witness. When Achilles, pursuing the Trojans as they fled in terror, drove their columns against the walls, and sent many thousands to their death, and the rivers groaned, choked full, and Xanthus could not find his way or roll himself out into the sea, then I snatched Aeneas, who had met the brave son of Peleus with neither gods nor strength to match, in a hollow cloud, though I was eager to overturn from its foundations the walls of faithless Troy that my own hands had built. Now too my purpose stays the same; put away your fears. He will reach the harbor of Avernus that you wish for, safe. There will be only one whom you will look for, lost in the flood; one life will be given for many." When he had soothed the goddess's happy heart with these words, the father yokes his horses with gold, puts foaming bridles on the wild creatures, and lets all the reins go slack in his hands.
819| On his sea-blue chariot he flies lightly over the surface of the waters; the waves subside, and the swollen sea is laid flat with its waters beneath the thundering axle, and the storm clouds flee the vast sky. Then there are the various forms of his retinue, huge sea monsters, the aged chorus of Glaucus, Palaemon, Ino's son, the swift Tritons, and all the host of Phorcus; to the left are Thetis, Melite and the maiden Panopea, Nisaea and Spio and Thalia and Cymodoce.
827| At this, in turn, gentle joys play upon father Aeneas's anxious mind; he orders all the masts to be raised quickly and the sail-yards to be stretched with sails. All together they worked the sheets, now to the left and now to the right, loosening the sail's folds in unison; together they swing the high yardarms round and back; the winds carry the fleet along. In front of all, Palinurus led the close-packed column; the others were ordered to steer by him. And now damp Night had almost reached the midpoint of her course in the sky, and the sailors, stretched out on the hard benches under their oars, were relaxing their limbs in peaceful rest, when light Sleep, gliding down from the heavenly stars, parted the dark air and scattered the shadows, seeking you, Palinurus, bringing sad dreams to you, an innocent man. The god settled on the high stern, looking like Phorbas, and poured these words from his mouth: "Palinurus, son of Iasus, the sea itself carries the fleet, the breezes blow evenly, the hour is given to rest. Lay down your head and steal your weary eyes from their work. I myself will take over your duties for a little while in your place."
847| Palinurus, barely lifting his eyes, answers him: "Are you telling me to ignore the face of the calm sea and its quiet waves? Me, to trust this monster? Am I to entrust Aeneas — what else would I do? — to treacherous breezes, I who have been deceived so often by the falseness of a clear sky?" Such were the words he spoke, and, gripping the tiller and clinging to it, he never let it go, and kept his eyes on the stars. But look: the god shakes over both his temples a branch dripping with the dew of Lethe and drowsy with the power of Styx, and, as he struggles, unloosens his swimming eyes. Scarcely had this unexpected rest relaxed his limbs when the god, bending over him, flung him headfirst into the clear waves, with part of the stern torn away and the rudder too, calling often to his companions in vain; the god himself rose on wings like a bird into the thin air. The fleet runs its course safely over the sea all the same, and is carried on unafraid under father Neptune's promises. And now, drawn on, it was already nearing the rocks of the Sirens — once dangerous, and white with the bones of many men, where the rocks were then booming far and wide with the ceaseless surf — when the father felt the ship drifting aimlessly, its pilot lost, and he himself steered her through the night waters, groaning deeply, his heart shaken by his friend's fate: "O Palinurus, you trusted too much in a calm sky and sea; you will lie naked on an unknown shore."
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