While Turnus is filling the Rutulians with the spirit of daring, Allecto is putting her infernal wings in motion against the Teucrians. A new device working in her 10 mind, she fixed her eye on the spot where on the winding coast Iulus was hunting game with the snare and the course. Hereon the maiden of Cocytus suddenly presents to the hounds a maddening lure, and touches their nostrils with the scent they know so well, making them chase a 15 stag in full cry; which was the first origin of the trouble, and put the spark of war to the spirit of the countryside. There was a stag of beauteous form and lofty horns, taken by the sons of Tyrrheus from its mother’s breast, and brought up by them and their father Tyrrheus, 20 who had the control of the royal herds and the charge of the whole range of lawn. Trained to obey, it was the chief care of their sister Silvia; she would deck and wreathe its horns with delicate festoons, and comb its rough coat, and wash it in the clear stream. Grown tame 25 to the hand, and accustomed to its master’s table, it would run free in the forest and take itself back home to the well-known door, however late the night. Now, in one of its wanderings the maddened hounds of Iulus started it in the hunt, as it happened to be floating down the 30 stream or allaying its heat on the verdant bank. Ascanius himself, fired with a proud ambition, bent his bow and levelled a shaft: nor did his hand err for want of heavenly aid: the reed sped with a loud hurtling sound and pierced the belly and the flank. The wounded creature took refuge 35 under the roof it knew, and moaning crept into its stall, and bleeding all over filled, like a human suppliant, the house with its piteous plaints. Sister Silvia first, smiting on her arms with her flat hands, calls for help and summons the rough country folk. They—for the fell fiend is lurking in the silence of the forest—are at her side ere she looks for them, armed one with a seared brand, one with a heavy knotted stock: what each first finds as he 5 gropes about, anger makes do weapon’s service. Tyrrheus musters the company, just as the news found him, splitting an oak in four with convergent wedges, catching up an axe and breathing savage rage. But the cruel goddess, seizing from her watch-tower the moment of mischief, 10 makes for the stall’s lofty roof, and from its summit shrills forth the shepherd’s clarion, pitching high on the wreathen horn her Tartarean note; at the sound the whole line of forest was convulsed, and the woods echoed to their depths: it was heard far off by Trivia’s[246] lake, 15 heard by river Nar[246] with his whitening sulphurous waters, and by the springs of the Veline[246]: and terror-stricken