When Æneas flung his spear at the beginning of the duel the weapon had sunk deep into the stump of an olive-tree; the tree itself, which was sacred to Faunus, had been felled by the Trojans, and rolled out of the way, on the morning before the battle. Catching sight of the spear as he ran past in pursuit of Turnus, Æneas paused, and strove to tear it out. In wild terror Turnus watched his efforts, and cried: “Faunus, god of my fathers, hold the weapon fast, and preserve thy worshiper!” Faunus heard his prayer, and kept the iron point close pinned in the knotted roots of his sacred tree; and while Æneas was still tugging and straining at the shaft, Juturna, again disguised as Metiscus, ran up to Turnus, and gave him back his sword. Thereupon Venus, angered by the presumption of the nymph, drew near in her turn, wrenched out the lance, and handed it to her son. Their weapons thus restored the champions stood face to face once more, prepared to renew the battle. But the end was now at hand. Jove sat watching the rival warriors, and weary that the inevitable issue should be so long delayed he thus addressed his haughty consort: “Juno, how long must I suffer thee to thwart my high purpose? Thou knowest that it is in vain. Surely thy hate should now be satisfied, after so many years in which thy malice has ranged unchecked and strewn the path of Æneas with death and disaster. The word must now be spoken: Cease; I forbid thee to go further.” Juno answered humbly: “Be it so! I also am weary of the fray, and will resist no more. One thing only I ask, which fate forbids thee not to grant: when the two peoples have united into one, let the language and the dress and the customs of Italy survive, and let the whole nation be called the Latins. Troy has perished; let her name perish also.” Jove smiled indulgently as he replied: “True daughter of Saturn, still unappeasable in thine ire, it shall be as thou sayest. Latins they shall be called, and they shall be thy people, mighty in word and deed, and laud and honor thy name for ever.” The old quarrel thus happily concluded, Jove prepared to end the conflict between Æneas and Turnus. Close by his throne two hideous warders lie couched day and night, sisters of the Furies, and armed with the same attributes of terror, with serpent tresses, and windy wings. One of these the monarch of heaven sent to warn Juturna that she must leave her brother’s side. Like a poisoned arrow shot from a Parthian’s bow the daughter of Night sped down to earth, and as she came in sight of the Trojan and Latin armies, she took the shape of that ill-omened bird who sits among tombs and ruined towers, and sends her moaning cry through the darkness. In such shape the fiend dashed herself against the face of Turnus, and buffeted his shield with her wings.