Aeneid XII.612-727
Turnus comes to terms with his fate/the narrative. The final duel begins.
Meanwhile Turnus, fighting at the edge of the plain,
was pursuing the stragglers now more slowly
and rejoicing less and less in his horses’ advance.
The breeze bore a clamour to him mingled
with an unknown dread, and the cheerless sounds
of a city in chaos met his straining ears.
“Ah, what is this great grief that shakes the walls?
What is this clamour that rises from the distant city?”
So he spoke, anxiously grasping the reins and halting.
At this his sister, controlling chariot, horses, and reins,
disguised in the shape of his charioteer Metiscus,
countered with these words: “Turnus, this way, let us chase
the sons of Troy where victory forges the way ahead:
there are others with hands to defend our homes.
Aeneas is attacking the Italians and stirring conflict:
let our hands too deal cruel death to the Trojans.
You will not leave the field inferior in battle honours
or the number you have killed.” Turnus replied to this:
“O sister, I recognised you long ago, when you first
wrecked the truce with your guile and dedicated yourself to warfare,
and now too you hide your divinity in vain. But who desired
you to be sent down from Olympus to suffer such labours?
Was it so you might see your unlucky brother’s death?
What can I do? What chance can offer me life?
I saw Murranus fall before my very eyes, calling out
to me loudly, no one more dear to me than him remains,
a mighty man, and overwhelmed by a mighty wound.
Unfortunate Ufens fell so he might not witness our shame;
the Trojans captured his body and his armour.
Shall I endure the razing of our homes (the one thing left)
and not deny Drances’s words with my sword?
Shall I turn my back, and this country see Turnus run?
Is it indeed so terrible to die? Oh, be good to me, you shades
below, since the gods above have turned their faces from me.
I will descend to you a virtuous soul, innocent
of blame, never unworthy of my great ancestors.”
He had barely spoken when Saces1 sped by, carried on a foaming
horse through the thick of the enemy, wounded full in the face
by an arrow, and calling to Turnus by name as he rushed on:
“Turnus, in you our last hope lies, pity your people.
Aeneas is explosive in arms and threatens to throw down
Italy’s highest citadel and deliver it to destruction, even now
burning brands fly towards the roofs. The Latins turn their faces
to you, their eyes are on you; King Latinus mutters to himself,
wavering as to whom to call his sons, towards what alliance to lean.
Moreover the queen, most loyal to you, has fallen
by her own hand and fled in horror of the light.
Messapus and brave Atinas, alone in front of the gates,
sustain our lines. Around them dense squadrons stand
on every side, a harvest of steel that bristles with naked swords,
while you drive your chariot over the empty turf.”
Stunned and amazed by this vision of multiple disaster,
Turnus stood silently gazing; fierce shame surged
in that solitary heart, and madness mingled with grief,
love stung to frenzy, consciousness of virtue.
As soon as the shadows dispersed and light returned to his mind,
he turned his gaze with blazing eyes towards the walls
and looked back on the mighty city from his chariot.
See, now, a spiralling crest of flame fastened
on a tower and rolled skyward through the stories,
a tower he had built himself with jointed beams,
set on wheels, and equipped with high walkways.
He spoke: “Now, sister, now fate triumphs, no more delays;
where god and cruel fortune calls, let me follow.
I’m determined on meeting Aeneas, determined to suffer
death, however bitter: you’ll no longer see me ashamed, sister.
I beg you: let me rage before I am maddened.”
And, leaping swiftly from his chariot to the ground,
he ran through enemy spears, deserting his grieving sister,
and burst in his quick passage through the ranks.
As when a rock torn from the mountaintop by a storm
hurtles downward, washed free by a tempest of rain
or loosened in time by the passage of the years,
and the wilful mass plunges down the slope in a mighty rush
and leaps over the ground, rolling trees, herds, and men
with it: so Turnus ran to the city walls through the broken ranks,
where the soil was most drenched with blood and the air
shrill with spears, signalled with his hand and began shouting aloud:
“Rutulians, stop now, and you Latins, hold back your spears.
Whatever fate is here is mine: it is better that I alone
make reparation for the truce and decide it with the sword.”
All drew back and left a space in their midst.
Now Aeneas the leader, hearing the name of Turnus,
left the walls and left the high fortress,
cast aside all delay, broke off from every task,
and, exultant with delight, clashed his weapons fiercely:
vast as Mount Athos,2 or Mount Eryx, or vast as old Appennine3
himself when he roars through the glittering holm-oaks
and joys in lifting his snowy summit to heaven.
Now all truly turned their eyes, stripping the armour
from their shoulders, Rutulians, Trojans, and Italians,
those who held the high ramparts and those whose ram
battered at the walls beneath. Latinus himself was amazed
at these mighty men, born at opposite ends of the world,
meeting and deciding the outcome with their swords.
As soon as the field was clear on the open plain,
they both dashed quickly forward, hurling their spears first
from a distance, rushing with shield and ringing bronze
to battle. The earth groaned; they redoubled their intense
sword-strokes, chance and skill mingled together.
And as when two bulls charge head to head in mortal battle
on mighty Sila or on Taburnus’s heights,4 and in terror
their keepers retreat, the whole herd stands silent with fear,
and the heifers wait, mute, to see who will be
lord of the forest, whom all the herds will follow,
as they deal wounds to each other with immense force,
gore with butting horns, and bathe neck and shoulders
in streaming blood, while all the wood echoes to their bellowing:
so Trojan Aeneas and the Daunian hero Turnus
clashed their shields, and the mighty crash filled the sky.
Jupiter himself held up two evenly balanced scales
before him and placed in them the diverse fates of the two
to see whom the effort doomed, with whose weight death sank down.
Interea extremo bellator in aequore Turnus 614
palantis sequitur paucos iam segnior atque
iam minus atque minus successu laetus equorum.
attulit hunc illi caecis terroribus aura
commixtum clamorem, arrectasque impulit auris
confusae sonus urbis et inlaetabile murmur.
'ei mihi! quid tanto turbantur moenia luctu? 620
quisve ruit tantus diversa clamor ab urbe?'
sic ait, adductisque amens subsistit habenis.
atque huic, in faciem soror ut conversa Metisci
aurigae currumque et equos et lora regebat,
talibus occurrit dictis: 'hac, Turne, sequamur 625
Troiugenas, qua prima viam victoria pandit;
sunt alii qui tecta manu defendere possint.
ingruit Aeneas Italis et proelia miscet,
et nos saeva manu mittamus funera Teucris.
nec numero inferior pugnae neque honore recedes.' 630
Turnus ad haec:
'o soror, et dudum agnovi, cum prima per artem
foedera turbasti teque haec in bella dedisti,
et nunc nequiquam fallis dea. sed quis Olympo
demissam tantos volvit te ferre labores? 635
an fratris miseri letum ut crudele videres?
nam quid ago? aut quae iam spondet Fortuna salutem?
vidi oculos ante ipse meos me voce vocantem
Murranum, quo non superat mihi carior alter,
oppetere ingentem atque ingenti vulnere victum. 640
occidit infelix ne nostrum dedecus Ufens
aspiceret; Teucri potiuntur corpore et armis.
exscindine domos (id rebus defuit unum)
perpetiar, dextra nec Drancis dicta refellam?
terga dabo et Turnum fugientem haec terra videbit? 645
usque adeone mori miserum est? vos o mihi, Manes,
este boni, quoniam superis aversa voluntas.
sancta ad vos anima atque istius inscia culpae
descendam magnorum haud umquam indignus avorum.'
Vix ea fatus erat: medios volat ecce per hostis 650
vectus equo spumante Saces, adversa sagitta
saucius ora, ruitque implorans nomine Turnum:
'Turne, in te suprema salus, miserere tuorum.
fulminat Aeneas armis summasque minatur
deiecturum arces Italum excidioque daturum, 655
iamque faces ad tecta volant. in te ora Latini,
in te oculos referunt; mussat rex ipse Latinus
quos generos vocet aut quae sese ad foedera flectat.
praeterea regina, tui fidissima, dextra
occidit ipsa sua lucemque exterrita fugit. 660
soli pro portis Messapus et acer Atinas
sustentant acies. circum hos utrimque phalanges
stant densae strictisque seges mucronibus horret
ferrea; tu currum deserto in gramine versas.'
obstipuit varia confusus imagine rerum 665
Turnus et obtutu tacito stetit; aestuat ingens
uno in corde pudor mixtoque insania luctu
et furiis agitatus amor et conscia virtus.
ut primum discussae umbrae et lux reddita menti,
ardentis oculorum orbis ad moenia torsit 670
turbidus eque rotis magnam respexit ad urbem.
Ecce autem flammis inter tabulata volutus
ad caelum undabat vertex turrimque tenebat,
turrim compactis trabibus quam eduxerat ipse
subdideratque rotas pontisque instraverat altos. 675
'iam iam fata, soror, superant, absiste morari;
quo deus et quo dura vocat Fortuna sequamur.
stat conferre manum Aeneae, stat, quidquid acerbi est,
morte pati, neque me indecorem, germana, videbis
amplius. hunc, oro, sine me furere ante furorem.' 680
dixit, et e curru saltum dedit ocius arvis
perque hostis, per tela ruit maestamque sororem
deserit ac rapido cursu media agmina rumpit.
ac veluti montis saxum de vertice praeceps
cum ruit avulsum vento, seu turbidus imber 685
proluit aut annis soluit sublapsa vetustas;
fertur in abruptum magno mons improbus actu
exsultatque solo, silvas armenta virosque
involvens secum: disiecta per agmina Turnus
sic urbis ruit ad muros, ubi plurima fuso 690
sanguine terra madet striduntque hastilibus aurae,
significatque manu et magno simul incipit ore:
'parcite iam, Rutuli, et vos tela inhibete, Latini.
quaecumque est fortuna, mea est; me verius unum
pro vobis foedus luere et decernere ferro.' 695
discessere omnes medii spatiumque dedere.
At pater Aeneas audito nomine Turni
deserit et muros et summas deserit arces
praecipitatque moras omnis, opera omnia rumpit
laetitia exsultans horrendumque intonat armis: 700
quantus Athos aut quantus Eryx aut ipse coruscis
cum fremit ilicibus quantus gaudetque nivali
vertice se attollens pater Appenninus ad auras.
iam vero et Rutuli certatim et Troes et omnes
convertere oculos Itali, quique alta tenebant 705
moenia quique imos pulsabant ariete muros,
armaque deposuere umeris. stupet ipse Latinus
ingentis, genitos diversis partibus orbis,
inter se coiisse viros et cernere ferro.
atque illi, ut vacuo patuerunt aequore campi, 710
procursu rapido coniectis eminus hastis
invadunt Martem clipeis atque aere sonoro.
dat gemitum tellus; tum crebros ensibus ictus
congeminant, fors et virtus miscetur in unum.
ac velut ingenti Sila summove Taburno 715
cum duo conversis inimica in proelia tauri
frontibus incurrunt, pavidi cessere magistri,
stat pecus omne metu mutum, mussantque iuvencae
quis nemori imperitet, quem tota armenta sequantur;
illi inter sese multa vi vulnera miscent 720
cornuaque obnixi infigunt et sanguine largo
colla armosque lavant, gemitu nemus omne remugit:
non aliter Tros Aeneas et Daunius heros
concurrunt clipeis, ingens fragor aethera complet.
Iuppiter ipse duas aequato examine lances 725
sustinet et fata imponit diversa duorum,
quem damnet labor et quo vergat pondere letum.
Find the glossary for Aeneid Daily here; subscribe to receive daily posts.
a Rutulian
a mountain in northern Greece
godly personification of the Appennine mountain range in Italy
both Italian mountains