The Aeneid

by Virgil

Trust me, I know just how fiercely the fighter rises up behind his shield, what a whirlwind rides on that man’s spear!

There’s no salvation in war.

But of course—so Turnus can fetch his royal bride— our lives are cheap, scattered in piles across the field, unburied and unwept.

Turnus 450 groans under that barrage, his fury breaks into fire and the outrage bursts from the soldier’s deep heart:

To all, to Latinus, the father of my bride, I, Turnus, second in fighting strength to none of the men who came before me—I devote my life. 530 Aeneas challenges me alone? Challenge away, I beg you.

And Turnus in matchless fury gears himself for war.

Rushing to meet him came Camilla, riding up with her armed Volscian ranks and under the gates the princess sprang from her horse, and following suit her entire troop dismounted in one gliding flow as their captain speaks out: “Turnus, if the brave deserve to trust themselves, 600 I’m steeled, I swear, to engage the cavalry of Aeneas, foray out alone to confront the Tuscan squadrons.

Turnus, his eyes trained on the awesome young girl, responded: “Pride of Italy, Princess, what can I do or say to show my thanks?

Diana’s her only passion. She nurses a lifelong love of chastity and the hunt 690 while she remains untouched. If only she’d never been carried away to serve in such a war— bent on challenging Trojans. She’d still be one of my loyal comrades, still my own dear girl.

remembers Atalanta.

Picture an ocean rolling, waves ebbing and flowing, now flooding onto the shore, smashing over the cliffs in a burst of foam and drenching the bay’s sandy edge— now rushing in fast retreat, swallowing down the scree lost in the backwash, leaving the shallows high and dry: so twice the Etruscans hurled the Latins toward their walls, twice routed, glancing round they cover their backs with shields. But when at the third assault the whole front locked fast, fighting hand-to-hand, and each man picked out his man, then, truly, the groans of the dying men break loose, 750 weapons, bodies, a sea of blood, massacred riders, half-dead horses writhing together now in death and the pitched battle peaks.

Watch, exulting here in the thick of carnage, an Amazon, one breast bared for combat, quiver at hand—Camilla—now she rifles hardened spears from her hand in salvos, now she seizes a rugged double axe in her tireless grasp, 770 Diana’s golden archery clashing on her shoulder.

And round Camilla ride her elite companions, Tulla, young Larina, Tarpeia brandishing high her brazen axe— daughters of Italy, all, she chose to be her glory, godlike Camilla’s aides in peace and war and wild as Thracian Amazons galloping, pounding along the Thermodon’s banks, fighting in burnished gear around Hippolyte, or when Penthesilea born of Mars 780 comes sweeping home in her car, an army of women lifts their rolling, shrilling cries in welcome, exulting with half-moon shields.