Meanwhile Æneas had retreated to the camp, and was standing, surrounded by his friends, with the arrow still planted deep in his flesh. The most skilful leech in the Trojan army was a certain Iapis, whom Apollo had loved in his youth, and offered to endow with his own gifts as archer, harper, and seer; but he, that he might prolong the life of his father, who was sick unto death, chose rather to learn the virtues of healing herbs and all the physician’s lore. He now arrived, in answer to a hasty summons, and employed all his skill to draw the barbed arrow from the wound. But all his efforts were in vain; the arrow clung fast, and refused to stir. Louder and louder grew the roar of battle; nearer and nearer came the dense columns of the enemy, and their javelins began to fall thick in the very center of the camp. Venus saw her son’s dire strait, and came to his aid, bearing in her hand a bunch of dittany, a plant of wondrous healing powers, with downy leaves and purple flower, often cropped by the wild goats when they are wounded by the hunter’s shaft. Unseen of any Venus drew near, and dropped the magic herb into the vessel containing the water with which Iapis was bathing the wound. The leech, all unknowing, continued his ministrations; and instantly, at the first touch of that powerful remedy, all pain departed, the flow of blood was stanched, and the arrow dropped harmless to the ground. “This is no work of my skill,” said Iapis in a voice full of awe; “the hand of a god has been here.” Completely healed, with all his pristine vigor restored, Æneas resumed his armor, and kissing Iulus, who was standing near, he seized his spear, and charged into the thickest of the fight, followed close by the other Trojan chiefs. Juturna saw him coming, and, trembling for her brother’s life, she approached the car of Turnus, and flinging Metiscus, his charioteer, in the dust, herself put on his likeness, and seized the reins. Driven now by no mortal hand, the car flew hither and thither with miraculous speed, wheeling and darting in giddy circles, like a swallow pursuing her tiny prey. Æneas panted in pursuit, scorning every other foe, with eye and foot and hand all directed against Turnus, and Turnus alone; now he seemed to be gaining, and pressed forward, calling on his enemy to stand; and the next moment his prey was snatched from his grasp, like a hare doubling to avoid the fangs of a hound. Messapus, seeing him absorbed in the chase, and thinking to catch him unawares, flung a javelin, and struck off the plumes from his helmet. Then at last Æneas gave reins to his anger, and, abandoning the pursuit of Turnus, fell upon the foes who were nearest, and strewed the field with indiscriminate carnage.