And now his whole army was in motion along the open plain, richly dowered with horses, richly dowered with gold and broidered raiment. Messapus[265] marshals the van, Tyrrheus’ warrior-sons the rear: Turnus himself, the 30 general, is in the centre—like Ganges with his seven calm streams proudly rising through the silence, or Nile when he withdraws from the plain his fertilizing waters and has at last subsided into his bed. Suddenly the Teucrians look forth on a cloud massed with murky dust, and see darkness gathering over the plain. First cries Caicus from 5 the rampart’s front: “What mass have we here, my countrymen, rolling towards us, black as night? Quick with the steel, bring weapons, man the walls, the enemy is upon us, ho!” With loud shouts the Teucrians pour themselves through all the gates and through the bulwarks. 10 For such had been the charge of Æneas, that best of soldiers, when going on his way; should aught fall out meantime, let them not venture to draw out their lines or try the fortune of the field: enough for them to guard camp and wall safe behind their earthworks. So now, though 15 shame and anger prompt to an engagement, they shield themselves nevertheless with closed gates in pursuance of his bidding, and armed, within the covert of their towers, await the foe. Turnus, just as he had galloped on in advance of his tardy column, appears unforeseen before the 20 gate with a chosen following of twenty horse: with a Thracian steed to carry him, spotted with white, and a golden helm with scarlet crest to guard his head. “Now, gallants, which of you will venture with me first against the foe? Look there!” he cries, and with a whirl sends 25 his javelin into the air, the overture of battle, and proudly prances over the plain. His friends second him with a shout and follow with dreadful cries; they wonder at the Teucrians’ sluggish hearts—men-at-arms, not to trust themselves to a fair field or fight face to face, but keep 30 nursing their camp. Enraged, he rides round and round the walls, and looks out for an opening where way is none. Even as a wolf, lying in wait to surprise a crowded fold, whines about the enclosure, exposed to wind and rain, at mid of night; the lambs, nestling safe under their mothers, 35 keep bleating loudly; he, maddened and reckless, gnashes his teeth at the prey beyond his reach, tormented by the long-gathered rage of hunger and his dry bloodless jaws: just so the Rutulian scans wall and camp with kindling wrath; grief fires the marrow of his iron bones—how to essay an entrance? what way to dash the prisoned Trojans from the rampart and fling them forth on level ground? Close to the camp’s side was lying the fleet, 5 shored round by earthworks and by the river; this he