So he spoke, and rushed back within doors: he calls for his steeds, and joys to look on them snorting and neighing—the steeds which Orithyia gave as a present to Pilumnus, to surpass the snows in whiteness, the winds in speed. 25 Round them stand the bustling charioteers, patting their chests with hollow palms and combing their maned necks. Next he throws round his shoulders his hauberk, stiff with scales of gold and dazzling orichalc,[282] and adjusts to his wear the sword, the shield, and the cones of the crimson 30 crest—that sword the Fire-god’s own hand had made for his father Daunus, and tempered it glowing in the Stygian wave. Lastly, the spear which was standing in the palace-hall, propped by a mighty column, the spoil of Auruncan Actor, he seizes forcefully, sturdy as it is, 35 and shakes till it quivers, crying aloud: “Now, my good spear, that hast never failed my call, now is the time; once wast thou swayed by giant Actor, now by Turnus: grant that I may lay low the emasculate Phrygian, strip and rend his hauberk by strength of hand, and soil in the dust those ringlets curled with hot iron and moist with myrrh.” So he rages, fury-driven: sparks flash from the furnace of his countenance, lightnings dart from his 5 fiery eyes; as when a bull in view of a fight raises fearful bellowing, and calls up rage into his horns by butting against a tree’s trunk, challenges the wind with his blows, and spurns the flying sand in prelude for the fray. With equal fierceness Æneas, clad in his mother’s 10 armour, sharpens valour’s edge, and lashes his heart with wrath, joying that proffered truce should end the war. Then he calms his comrades’ fear and the grief of Iulus, talking of destiny, and sends envoys with an answer to the Latian king, to name the conditions of peace. 15