Turnus, the chief, while venting his rage elsewhere and 35 scattering ranks of warriors, hears tidings that the foe, fevered by the taste of blood, has thrown the gates open. He leaves the work he had begun, and stirred with giant fury hastens to the Dardan gate and the two haughty brethren. Hurling his dart, he first slays Antiphates, who happened first to meet him, bastard son of great Sarpedon by a Theban mother; the shaft of Italian cornel flies through the yielding air, and lodging in the throat goes 5 deep down into the chest; the wound’s dark pit spouts forth a foaming torrent, and the cold steel grows warm in the lungs it pierces. Then with strong hand he slays Merops and Erymas and then Aphidnus, then Bitias with his blazing eyes and his boiling valour—not with a 10 dart, for to a dart he would not have surrendered his life—no; it was a whirled phalaric lance that came hurtling fiercely, shot like a thunderbolt, which neither two bulls’ hides nor a trusty corselet with double golden plait could withstand: the massive limbs sink and fall: earth groans, 15 and the vast buckler thunders on the body. Even thus sometimes on Baiæ’s Eubœan coast falls a pile of stone, which men compact with mighty blocks and then fling into the sea; thus it comes down with protracted headlong ruin, and dashing on the shallows settles into its 20 place; the sea is all disturbed, and the murky sand rises to the surface; the crash shakes Prochyta[271] to her depths, and Inarime’s[272] rugged bed, laid by Jove’s command upon Typhœus.