And during all this swirling burning tumult, Envoys, who came from Diomede’s great city, Brought gloomy news: nothing had been accomplished With all that toil and trouble; nothing gained By gifts or gold or pleading, and the Latins Were left two choices, to seek for other allies Or ask Aeneas for peace. Under the burden Of that great grief even Latinus falters. Aeneas is called by fate, the will of heaven Is clear, the gods are angry; the fresh graves, Before their eyes, bear more than ample witness. Therefore, he calls a council; all his leaders Stream through the crowded highways to the palace, And in their midst, the oldest man among them, The first in power, Latinus, far from happy, Speaks from his throne,--the messengers from Arpi Should tell what news they bring, in proper order, Sparing no single item. All were silent, Obedient to his word, and Venulus Gave the report:--“O citizens, we have seen The Argive camp, and Diomede. We made The journey safely through all kinds of perils. We have touched the hand by which Troy fell. That hero Has his own city now, named from his father, In Garganus’ conquered fields. We entered there, Had leave to speak, offered our gifts, and told him Our name and country, why we came to Arpi, Who made war on us. He listened to our story And answered us, quite calmly. These are his words:-- ‘O happy people of the realm of Saturn, Ancient Ausonians, what chance, what fortune Disturbs your rest, leads you to unknown warfare? All of us, every one, who desecrated The fields of Troy with steel--I do not mention All that we suffered under those high walls, Or heroes drowned in Simois--every one, All over the world, has paid and kept on paying All kinds of punishment, all kinds of torture, A band that even Priam would have to pity. Minerva knows it, with her baleful star, Euboea’s headland knows it, and Caphereus, That cape of vengeance. From that warfare driven Ulysses faced the Cyclops; Menelaus Was exiled far to the west. Idomeneus Lost Crete: what need is there to mention Pyrrhus, To name the Locrians on Libya’s coastline? Even the Greeks’ great captain, Agamemnon, Met shame beyond his threshold; Clytemnestra Struck with her evil hand,--the king of men, The conqueror of Asia, fell, a cuckold Murdered in his own palace, at Mycenae. To me the gods were kinder; they would not let me See home again, the wife I loved, the altars Of lovely Calydon; here I am, still haunted By portents horrible to see--my comrades Lost, seeking heaven on their wings, or aimless Along the rivers, crying in shrill voices Around the rocks, creatures of lamentation That once were men! The gods know how to punish.