So, thought Allecto, That should suffice: the palace of Latinus, And all the king intended, in confusion. She flew on dusky wings, a gloomy goddess, To the bold Rutulian’s walls, that city, founded, Men say, by Danaë and Acrisian settlers, A place once called Ardea, and it keeps Its ancient name; its glory has departed. And here, in his high palace, Turnus slumbered. In the dead of night, Allecto changed her features, Her limbs, transformed her glowering, her grimness, To an old woman’s wrinkles, bound a ribbon Around gray hair, worked in a wreath of olive, And she was Calybe then, an aged priestess Of Juno’s temple, and so she came to Turnus:-- “Turnus! Can this be borne, so many labors Wasted, the kingdom given to the Trojans? The king denies you all, the bride, the dowry Bought with your blood; his heir must be a stranger. They mock you; never mind. Go forth, protect them, Save them from dangers, see what thanks they give you, Lay low the Tuscan ranks, hold over the Latins The shield of peace. I tell you, Juno told me, And you so calmly slumbering all through it, Rise up, be doing something, and be happy To see the young men armed, and get them going Out of the gates! There are ships to burn, and captains To set on fire: the mighty gods command it. Let King Latinus know it, let him reckon With Turnus in arms, unless he keeps his promise.” But Turnus, smiling at her, answered:--“Mother, You tell me nothing new; I know a fleet Has come to Tiber’s waters; do not scare me With fears imagined; Juno, I am certain, Has not forgotten me. Your age, old woman, Worn-down, truth-weary, harries you with worries, Makes you ridiculous, a busybody, Nervous for nothing in the wars of kings. Back to the temple, mind your proper business, Leave war and peace where they belong, with warriors.” Allecto blazed with anger: Turnus, speaking, Was suddenly afraid, so wild her features, So fierce her flaming eyes, the snakes of the Fury Hissing disaster. She shoves him back; he falters, Tries to say more; she plies her whip, she doubles The rising serpents, and her wild mouth cries, “See me for what I am, worn down, truth-weary, Nervous for nothing in the wars of kings! See what I am, see where I come from, bringing War, war and death, from the Grim Sisters’ home.” She flung the firebrand at him, torch and terror Smoking with lurid light. The body, sweating, Is torn from sleep; he cries for arms, he seeks Arms at his bedside, through the hallways, lusting For sword and steel, war’s wicked frenzy mounting To rampant rage. Even so a cauldron bubbles When fire burns hot beneath, and water seethes, Stirs, shifts, breaks out in boiling, and the cloud Of steam goes toward the sky. The peace is broken.