#11 Death of Turnus

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Episode #11:  The Death of Turnus & the End of the Aeneid

Vergil Aeneid Book 12 (lines 697-952)

[summarized in ‘Search for a Homeland’ pp. 110-113]

 

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.

Now all warriors turned their eyes, stripping the armor

from their shoulders, both 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,

Aeneas and Turnus both dashed forward, hurling their spears

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.

Thus Trojan Aeneas and the Italian hero, Turnus,

clashed their shields, and the mighty crash filled the sky.

 

Turnus leapt forward thinking himself safe, rose to the full height

of his body with uplifted sword, and struck: the Trojans

and the anxious Italians cried out, both armies were roused.

But the treacherous blade snapped, and would have left the eager

warrior defenseless in mid-stroke, if immediate flight

had not saved him. He ran swifter than the east wind.

So Turnus ran madly this way and that over the plain, winding

aimless circles here and there: on all sides the Trojans

imprisoned him in their crowded ring, and a vast marsh

penned him on one side, on the other the steep ramparts.

 

Aeneas pursued and pressed his enemy hotly, foot to foot.

As he fled Turnus yelled to his Italians, calling on each

by name and calling out for new, sharp sword.

Aeneas in turn threatened death and immediate destruction

if any one approached, and terrified his trembling enemies

threatening to raze the city, and pressing on to catch Turnus.

 

 Aeneas pressed on, brandishing his great spear like a tree,

and, angered at heart, he cried out in this way:

‘Why now yet more delay? Why do you still retreat, Turnus?

We must compete hand to hand with fierce weapons, not by running.

Change into every form: summon up all your powers

of mind and art, wing your way if you wish

to the high stars, or hide in earth’s hollow prison.’

 

Turnus shook his head: ‘Fierce man, your fiery words

don’t frighten me: the gods terrify me and Jupiter’s enmity.’

Saying no more he looked round seeing a great rock,

a vast ancient stone, that happened to lie there in the plain,

set up as a boundary marker, to distinguish fields in dispute.

Twelve picked men, men of such form as Earth

now produces, could scarcely have lifted it on their shoulders,

but the hero, grasping it quickly, rising to his full height

and as swiftly as he could, hurled it at his enemy.

But he did not know himself, running or moving

raising the great rock in his hands, or throwing:

his knees gave way, his blood was frozen cold.

The stone itself, whirled by the warrior through the empty air,

failed to travel the whole distance, or drive home with force.

 

After Turnus’ failed attempt, Aeneas shook his fateful spear,

seeing a favorable chance, and hurled it from the distance

with all his might. Stone shot from a siege engine

never roared so loud, such mighty thunder never burst

from a lightning bolt. Like a black hurricane the spear flew on

bearing dire destruction, and pierced the outer circle

of the seven-fold shield, the breastplate’s lower rim,

and, hissing, passed through the centre of the thigh.

Great Turnus sank, his knee bent beneath him, under the blow.

The Italians rose up, and groaned, and all the hills around

re-echoed, and, far and wide, the woods returned the sound.

 

Turnus lowered his eyes in submission and stretched out his right hand:

‘I have earned this, I ask no mercy’ he said,

‘seize your chance. If any concern for a parent’s grief

can touch you (you too had such a father, in Anchises)

I beg you to pity my father Daunus’ and return me alive -

or if you prefer it my body robbed of life - to my people.

You are the victor, and the Italians have seen me

stretch out my hands in defeat: Lavinia is your wife,

don’t extend your hatred further.’

 

Aeneas stood, fierce

in his armor, his eyes flickered, and he held back his hand:

and even now, as he paused, the words began to move him

more deeply, when high on Turnus’ shoulder young Pallas’

luckless sword-belt met his gaze, the strap glinting with its familiar

decorations, he whom Turnus, now wearing his enemy’s emblems

on his shoulder, had wounded and thrown, defeated, to the earth.

As soon as his eyes took in the trophy, a memory of cruel grief,

Aeneas, blazing with fury, and terrible in his anger, cried:

‘Shall you be snatched from my grasp, wearing the spoils

of one who was my own? Pallas it is, Pallas, who sacrifices you

with this stroke, and exacts retribution from your guilty blood.’

 

So saying, burning with rage, Aeneas buried his sword deep

in Turnus’ breast: and then Turnus’ limbs grew slack

with death, and his life fled, with a moan, angrily, to the Shades.