Turnus had declared himself ready to decide the struggle in single combat with Æneas. The time had now come for him to redeem his pledge. The Latins were beaten and discouraged, and all eyes were fixed upon him as the author and cause of the war. The fiery spirit of the young Rutulian rose under this trial; he sought an interview with Latinus, and bade him send a herald to demand a truce and arrange the preliminaries of his duel with Æneas. Latinus strove in vain to deter him from his purpose; in vain Amata besought him with tears and prayers not to drive matters to so desperate an issue. Turnus fixed his eyes on the lovely form and blushing features of Lavinia, who was standing a silent witness of the scene, and, carried away by passion, he answered in excited tones: “Urge me no further, dear lady! The die is cast; I have given my word, and cannot draw back now.” Then he called an officer, and sent him with a flag of truce to the Trojan camp, appointing the next day for the encounter which was to settle his claim to the hand of Lavinia and the scepter of Latium. * * * * * The fatal day is come, and with the first gleam of light Turnus leaps from his couch and prepares himself for battle. Every tone and gesture of the turbulent Rutulian betray wild exaltation of spirits. “Come,” he cries, seizing a ponderous lance, which quivered like a reed in his powerful grasp, “come, good spear, that hast never failed me yet! To-day thou shalt drink deep of a coward’s blood, and the curled darling of Venus shall stain his scented locks in the dust of Latium.” On the other side Æneas armed himself with calm confidence, secure in the sense of his lofty mission. The lists were measured, and altars of turf erected for the customary sacrifice. On either side of the field the Trojans and Latins were drawn up in battle array, and the walls of Laurentum were thronged with women and old men, the passive spectators of the approaching combat.