The Aeneid: A New Prose Translation by Richard Colaresi

By Vergil and Richard Colaresi

Epic Tale of Aeneas: Surviving Troy, Guided by Gods, Founding Rome. A Fresh Retelling of Homer's Classics, Rich with Heroism, Adversity, and Resilience.

In this masterful retelling of The Aeneid

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing
• Release date: Feb 13, 2025
• ISBN: 9798822981829

Book preview

AENEID

BOOK ONE

INVOCATION

I sing of war and a man, a hero,

Who was driven by Fate from the shores of Troy,

The first to lead his people to Italy’s Lavinian coast.

Even as Juno, Queen of the Gods drubbed him on land and sea,

Ruthless in Her divine powers, and unforgiving in Her wrath,

This singular man endured and founded a city, long foretold,

A shelter for his Gods, and the fount of the Latin peoples,

The Alban Fathers, and the artisans of Rome’s mighty walls.

Recall to me, O Muses, the reasons for Juno’s anger

And the events that so offended Her.

For my song must recall Her relentless assaults

Against a mortal loyal, diligent and reverent to the Gods.

Oh how could so much anger persist in the heart

Of a celestial power?

And so I must sing of an African city, Tyrian Carthage,

Wealthy and warlike, south across the Great Sea,

Facing directly north to the mouth of the Tiber River.

This city was most favored by Juno,

Who dreamt that one day Carthage would rule the world.

Yet She was troubled by talk of ill omens and defeat,

Of the Fates deeming Her City to be ravaged one day

By a city of Trojans destined to rule the entire world

With its laws.

Now Juno also recalled in bitterness a contest,

As to the beauty of the Olympian Goddesses,

Adjudged solely by Paris, Prince of Troy,

Who unwisely awarded the crown not to Her, but to Venus!

Nor could She forgive Jupiter’s love of Troy’s Ganymede.

Thus when Paris stole Spartan Helen and sparked a war.

Juno’s fiery chariot led the Greek charge against Troy,

Until the Greeks triumphed and Troy was in ruins,

Its people erased but for a few, led by a man of destiny,

A hero.

Such were the reasons for Her fury at the Trojans.

For years She kept them far from Italy, this small band,

Wandering on stormy seas, this brave band

Who had survived the rage of Greeks and Achilles.

And so, arduous indeed was this great task

Of creating the Roman people. (34)

(The poem begins seven years after the sack of Troy with the Trojan fleet setting sail from the west coast of Sicily on a northbound course to Italy—the final days of their hard journey as they approach the place promised by destiny on the west coast of Italy.)6

* * * * *

The rocky shoreline of Sicily is sinking below the horizon as the jubilant Trojans feel the sturdy brace of the ocean wind on their ships. They abandon oars and raise the sails high above them into the sun-drenched sky, rejoicing at the sudden billow and scampering pull of bronze prows dancing sleekly atop salty spume. (35)

Even higher aloft, however, Juno arches her brow and scowls as She spies the small Trojan fleet. She shares none of the excitement below, nursing instead an undying wound. Should I accept defeat? Admit I am powerless to keep the Trojan Prince from his Italian kingdom? And am I truly forbidden by the Fates? Indeed! Did the Fates punish Athena, brooding over some insult uttered by Ajax, when She dared summon the lightning of Jupiter Himself and whipped up both sea and wind to sink an entire Greek fleet! Only at the end did She deal with the real culprit and whirl errant Ajax high into the sky and dash him on razor-sharp rocks. Well, I am Wife and Sister of Jupiter, and majesty is in My every step. Alone have I battled this one people for years. If I do not finish them off, who will bother to honor Me or My Name? Who would ever bring offerings to My altars? (49)

With renewed purpose She breathes deeply and flies to cloudy Aeolia, an island brimming with all the wildness of the winds of the south. Here in vast caverns underneath a massive mountain lives King Aeolus, the God of the Winds, who imprisons the unsleeping tempests and restive gusts of the world within a vast echoing network of caves. Aeolus’ throne sits high within, on a lofty stone outcrop. Below, the winds abide in stifled fury as they rumble and moan through a vast honeycomb of dark caverns. Aeolus looks down on them, scepter in hand, and soothes and comforts them, for if Aeolus ever lost control, a rampage of the winds could obliterate everything, earth, sea, and the sky itself. Long ago, Jupiter had wisely imprisoned them here within this web of boulders and charged Aeolus to contain them and only release them into the world at the express command of Jupiter. And yet now the Queen of Olympus stands before the God of the Winds with one small request. (64)

Ah Aeolus! Did not my husband, the Lord of Gods and men, grant you authority over the winds to either calm the waves or set them astir? Well, it seems the remnant of a people hateful to me is sailing north in Tyrrhenian waters to establish their defeated gods in Italy. I need you to whip the winds into a fury and drive the ships apart, then sink them all and scatter fragments and crews into the deepest watery furrows. For you know, Aeolus, I have fourteen nymphs, extraordinarily beautiful they are. And the loveliest of all is my jewel, Deiopea. Do this for Me and I shall set her free and join you both in marriage. She can live out her years with you and bear you many gorgeous children. (75)

Aeolus pauses and then responds, As I see it, Your Majesty, it is Your task to think up what is to happen, and mine to get it done with dispatch! Besides, am I not indebted to you for securing for me this scepter and my kingdom? It was Your good will that prompted Your husband to grant me power over the winds and a place at the banquet of the Gods. (80)

He turns, raps the haft of his spear against a rock beside him, and a great door in the mountain yawns open behind him. Led by the Southwestern African gales and East and South Winds, all of the winds line up in battle formation and disappear through the opening, howling as they sweep across the land and swoop down upon the sea, churning the deepest depths of the seabed and creating mountainous waves crashing down in all quarters. Suddenly in the thick darkness that filches all light, shouts of frantic sailors, squawking of strained ropes, and unending flickering tongues of lightning and cracks of thunderbolts portend doom for the entire fleet. (91)

Aeneas’ limbs go numb with despair. He collapses to his knees, extends both hands to the heavens, and wails, O my long dead comrades of Troy, three and fourfold more blest are you than I am! For you met your doom beneath the walls of Troy under the eyes of your fathers and countrymen! Alas! When Diomedes, the bravest of the Greeks, cornered me, why could I not have died by his strong arm there on the plain of Troy, where brave Hector fell to Achilles’ sword, where giant Sarpedon lies! Where the helmets and shields and so many fine heroes were washed away by the waters of our Simois River. (101)

As Aeneas spews his cries into the air, his ship jolts to a complete stop under a sharp frontal attack by the whistling North Wind that turns his ship exposing its broadside to the rush of waves. Ship oars begin to crack beneath the thundering flood of water cascading from great sky-seeking waves. Meanwhile the bows of other ships stand poised on the highest peak of a wave while the stern is sunk low in the sandy trough of the next wave. South Wind then impales three other floundering ships upon a barely concealed rocky ridge (called the Altars) that stretches far out to sea. East Wind drives three other ships onto sunken shoals and sandbars of the Syrtes, and, to Aeneas’ horror, pelting sands begin to bury them where they are trapped. (112)

Aeneas looks to the ship of trusty Orantes near him carrying the Lycians and watches a huge wave rise, swallow the stern, and toss the helmsman into the sea where he disappears. The ship then careens out of control into a gigantic whirlpool that spins it three times until the eddying whorl sucks the entire ship beneath the waves, leaving behind only scattered swimmers, shields, planks, and mementos of Troy as they pop up onto the surging surface. To his right, Ilioneus’ sturdy ship flounders, and further on the ship of brave Achates, then Abas, and old Aletes are all in great distress. Groaning ship beams weaken and twist to create gaping holes until they split and snap under the overwhelming force of the raging sea. (123)

Meanwhile, deep underwater, Neptune, Lord of the Sea, feels to the lowest depths a great turbulence and hears the cacophony of violent storms above. He is furious as He raises His majestic head and noble shoulders high above the highest waves and sees the Trojan fleet pressed by avalanches of seawater. Knowing that this is the work of His scheming sister Juno, Neptune lets out a bellow and commands East and West Winds to stand before him. He snarls, Are you so confident in the questionable nobility of your birth, O Winds, that you think you can bring chaos to the mass of water that is My Kingdom and recklessly flaunt My authority? I have a good mind to . . . Later! Right now, I must calm the tempest you have roused! Hereafter any transgression will be dealt with harshly. Away with you! And go tell that King of yours he possesses no sovereignty here. Nor does he wield my pitiless trident, which the Fates have bestowed only on Me. Aeolus’ entire fiefdom is that rock pile of an island, Oh East Wind, and it is there that you belong. He can strut to his heart’s delight anywhere on that island, but only so long as he keeps his oath to shackle the winds properly under lock and key! (141)

As Neptune is speaking, the torrential winds swiftly subside and fall into balmy silence. Storm clouds roll away and the sun breaks through, flooding the rolling sea with its golden light. One great sweep of the God’s trident frees a ship from the sandy shoals, while His son Triton and the sea nymph Cymothoe rescue another lodged in the rocks. Soon Neptune takes the reins of His chariot and swiftly smooths out the foamy waves. It is as if a great mob, intent on destruction, has been on a rampage through a city, their anger arming them with torches and weapons and hurled stones, until they chance upon a dignified old veteran known to them all, one who steps forward, raises his hand, and brings them to a standstill. Relying only on his peaceful presence and the reasonable rasp of his voice, he quiets them to silence, their hearts settling into an unexpected calm. Just so do the rowdy seas bow to their majestic monarch. And as azure light and serene waters prevail, Neptune taps on the reins and speeds smoothly away under fair skies. (156)

Exhausted, the Trojans hurriedly search the horizon and spot land to the south. They race toward the coastline, assuming it is Libya. Soon they are gliding into a long, narrow channel formed by the shore and an island that shelters a large inland harbor surrounded by mountains and towering cliffs that are mirrored in placid waters. At the farthest stony shore, tingling forests of pine wave to and fro in sunlight as they extend up the mountains on one side, while on the nearer shore, mossy recesses, shaded rocks, and streams have formed stony pedestals set in pools of fresh water. This shelter for delicate Nymphs overlooks waters so serene that no chain or fluked anchor is needed. Aeneas docks here and counts only seven out of the total of twenty ships in his fleet. Meanwhile, the weary survivors, hungry for dry land, disembark, and dripping with salt water as they kiss the dry land beneath their feet proceed to lay out clothes and accoutrements to dry on shore grasses. Aeneas’ faithful friend Achates is the first to strike sparks to dry leaves and twigs and nurse the tendrils of smoke until a steady flame ignites. Toward this warmth more people, gritty and weary, emerge and gather about it with cooking gear and precious grains, some of it in puddles of seawater. They are soon drying and pulverizing the kernels of grain to prepare Ceres’ healing gift of bread. (179)

Aeneas quickly climbs to a tall, rocky cliff overlooking the sea for an unobstructed view of the area. His hungry eyes scour the horizon for any sign of the missing ships, yearning to catch sight of Antheus’ wind-blown sails, or the bireme of Caicus with its glimmering shield mounted on the high deck, or Capys’ bireme. Nothing. Instead, in the narrows along the coastline beneath him he sees three stags, each high-held head sporting a rack of branching antlers as they lead their small herd of grazing deer. Aeneas stands very still and quietly takes bow and sleek arrows from Achates. The three stags fall first, followed by several more. The rest scurry into leaf cover and brush, leaving seven deer lying on the ground, one for each ship. Back down at the harbor he allocates the animals and divides the frothy Sicilian wine from the great amphora that good King Acestes had just given them as His parting gift. It is only after all have partaken of the wine that Aeneas speaks to his grieving comrades. (197)

My friends and comrades, none of us are strangers to misfortune. Just as the Gods delivered us from even greater peril, so will they find us a way out of this. You have faced down the multi-headed Scylla, the echoing rocks of Charybdis, and the hurling boulders of the Cyclops. Take heart yet again. Defy the voice of despair within you. Perchance, one day it shall give you pleasure to remember even these days. We have held true to our course in spite of danger or loss, and we must continue to keep our bearings as we sail toward Latium, where the Fates have ordained for us a home and a blessed life. So it is foretold. And so it shall be! Troy will rise again. Endure and press forward for the blessed times to come. (207)

Aeneas feigns hope with his face, but he conceals in his heart anxiety and unbearable grief at the loss of so many comrades. But soon chopping and chatter takes over the entire beachhead as deer hides are stripped away, leaving the quivering flesh to be sliced and pierced onto spits while bubbling bronze pots jitter atop friendly flames. Finally, stretched out amid gentle coastal grasses the survivors gather to eat the hearty grain, rich venison, and Bacchus’ great gift. Refreshed and hungry no more, they huddle together and ritually murmur with regret the names of missing comrades, unable to know if they are among the living or whether their name must be called in the final farewell at a funeral. Aeneas broods in secret despair, his mind restless with the faces of his missing captains, wild Orontes, Amycus, Lycus, Gyas, and Cloanthus, and mourns the loss of many trusted companions. (222)

At the very moment the feast is ending, Jupiter in the heights of heaven is peering down at the blue seas studded with bright-winged sails, sparkling shorelines and the far reaches of a plethora of nations bustling with activity. But when He reaches the very zenith of the heavens and peers down with concern at the coast of Libya and those suffering there, His daughter Venus suddenly appears before Him, Her bright eyes filled with tears and anxiety far greater than He is displaying. You with limitless authority over the affairs of Gods and men, and with a fearsome arsenal of lightning bolts, can you tell Me what My son Aeneas and his Trojans have done to offend You? They have already endured so much misfortune and death, yet now as they finally approach Italy, why is all the world closed to them? You promised that in due time their descendants, strong with the royal blood of Teucer, would be resummoned to Italy. You swore they would spawn a great people, the Romans, who would hold sway over the entire world. So what has changed Your mind, Father? My only consolation as I watched Troy crumble was this promise of Yours that Troy’s misfortune would be far outweighed by the glory to come in some future age. Yet disaster after disaster hound them. When will You declare an end to suffering, O Mighty King? Trojan Antenor also slipped through the Greek lines, easily reached Italy’s Illyrian coast, marched across the savage inland kingdom of the Liburnians, all without a scratch on him. He strolled unscathed past the great geysers and floods of the Timavo with their eruptions and collapsing underground caverns and has established the City of Padua. His people are called the Antenori, and his Trojan arms are mere decorations hung in his home in a city of serenity. But we, the children of Olympus, although we have Your promise of a place among the stars, we are mercilessly tormented by the hatred of one certain Goddess. This is unspeakable betrayal! Lost ships! Marooned far from Italy! This! A reward for my son’s heroic duty? A fulfilment of Your promise of empire? (253)

Jupiter, Father of Gods and men, with a countenance that calms the heavens and creates the sunshine, flashes His smile, and lightly kisses His daughter. "Fear not, my Cytherea. Unchanged is the destiny of your son and his people. As I foretold, Your great-souled son Aeneas will found the city of Lavinium, and Your lovely divine hands shall transport him to a seat among the Gods in the starry heavens. My resolve has not changed. (260)

"But I see You are deeply disturbed. Let me further unroll for you the secret scrolls of the Fates. Yes, Aeneas must yet wage a great war in Italy, but he shall crush the fierce Rutulians. He shall found a walled city and establish many undying institutions. In the three summers and three winters of his rule before he dies, he will impose order not just on the Rutulians, but on all Latium. His son Ascanius, whose second name was Ilus while Troy stood, will continue to rule for thirty more years. He will move the seat of power from Lavinium to Mount Alba within fortified walls and a fortress in the City of Alba Longa. Oh, my dear Venus, as a tribute to you I hereby decree that Ascanius’ second name from this day forward shall be Iulus, instead of the Trojan Ilus. In Alba Longa, Ascanius Iulus, and a line of kings of Hector’s blood will rule an empire for three hundred years. Then Ilia, a Trojan Princess-Priestess, will conceive by Mars and give birth to twins who will be nursed by a she-wolf and clothed in tawny animal skins. One of them, Romulus, will become the ruler of this people. He will construct the great walls of Mars around seven hills on the Tiber, and his name will forever be the name of his people, the Romans. On them I place no limit on the reach of their dominion, or on the years of their governance. Their rule shall be without end. Even fierce Juno who in Her wrath harries them so on land and sea, even She will come to cherish the exalted destiny of those who wear the Roman toga as the sovereigns of the world. My decree is unchangeable! And as the sacred seasons slip by, there will come a day when all the cities of the Greeks, yes, Achilles’ homeland at Phthia, Agamemnon’s famed Mycenae, they all shall bow low before the children of Troy. From the princely stock of Ascanius and his Julian family, there will be born a Trojan Caesar who will extend the boundaries of empire to the very oceans and his fame shall stretch to the stars of heaven. He shall hold the riches of the East in his hands on that future day when You again, Cytherea, will lead this faithful servant of empire to a celestial throne, where his name will be invoked in the prayers of his people. (288)

And then the harshness of the ages shall grow mild, and all war shall cease. The Italian Gods of the Hearth, silver-haired Truth and Vesta, shall mete out justice and deified Romulus will be reconciled with his brother Remus. The grim iron gates of the Temple of War shall be shut, and its locked gates shall confine but one occupant, godless War Fever. Huddled atop piles of abandoned, pitiless weapons with hands bound behind His back, He will still emit those chilling cries to battle, but only the bronze links of chain that hold him fast shall be roused by His blood-curdling summons. (296)

So Jupiter prophesies. He then turns to Mercury and dispatches Him to Africa and the newly built walls of Carthage to ensure that Queen Dido will receive the Trojans gracefully, for the Queen knows nothing of the great destiny looming over her city. And so, frisky Mercury, son of Maia, flies on whirring winged sandals toward Libya’s shore, where he proclaims Jupiter’s commands. The Phoenician Carthaginians put aside their suspicions and accede to the divine request, and the Queen is eager to welcome them with gentility and kindness. (304)

Meanwhile, after a long night full of anxiety, devoted Aeneas resolves in the healing freshness of dawn to explore the shores to which the sea winds had carried them and bring his people precise information as to what people and animals live on this uncultivated land. And so with his ships safely hidden and protected by cliffs and sheltering limbs, he sets out with Achates, toting two broad-pointed hunting lances. (313)

In the woodlands they soon encounter Aeneas’ mother Venus disguised as a young Spartan maiden. For She is garbed in hunting gear with maidenly weapons as She hurries along the wooded path with a stride as vigorous as Thracian Harpalyce outpacing a herd of horses or as the swift current of the River Hebrus. Her shoulder sports a light huntress bow, Her hair has been let down to cascade in the breeze, and the folds of Her robes are lifted just over Her bared knees. She speaks breathlessly as soon as She sees them. Ho there, good fellows! My sisters! Have you seen them? One wears the pelt of a spotted wildcat with a quiver hung on her belt. The other is in rowdy pursuit of a boar that is foaming at the mouth. Have you seen them? So speaks the disguised Venus. (325)

The son of Venus retorts, I have neither seen nor heard anyone. But how am I to address you, fair maid? You are far lovelier than any mortal, and your voice has the resonance of immortality. Oh surely, you are a Goddess. Diana the Huntress, perhaps? Or at least the child of a nymph? But, whoever you may be, please set aside your worry for a moment and tell us under which sky we tread and upon what land we have been tossed? For a violent storm forced us ashore and we know nothing of this place. I promise scores of sacrifices and gifts in your honor if you will help us. (334)

Venus says, "Oh, I lay claim to no such divine honors. We Tyrian girls always dress this way, sporting a huntress bow, and purple buskins high on the calf. Regardless. All around you is a Phoenician realm with people from Tyre, Agenor’s city. But beyond our borders are the native Libyans, problematic and hostile. Back in Tyre our Queen Dido was forced to flee her brother. And she has settled here to build and rule our new city. Long is the saga of the sins against our Queen, but I will summarize. Dido fell madly in love and married Sychaeus, the richest man in all the land. But, Dido’s brother, Pygmalion, was the King of Tyre, a troublesome scoundrel who coveted Sychaeus’ gold. Undeterred by his sister’s love, Pygmalion quarreled with Sychaeus and ambushed him while he was praying at their household altar and murdered him. Then he pretended to be in grief as he concocted stories, making up excuses to give her false hope. But the wandering, bloodied soul of her unburied husband soon came to Dido in a dream and revealed the horror that occurred in their home. For the phantom lifted his deathly pale head, laid bare his breast, and pointed to the altar and the knife wounds inflicted by her brother. He then showed her the location of a huge treasure trove, long buried, and urged her to dig it up and flee. (359)

How swiftly she laid out her escape! She found by chance some sea-ready ships, and with no shortage of people who hated and feared her brother, she assembled crews and many companions. Soon we were on our way with all that gold. Dido had preserved her life and protected her unfortunate husband’s massive wealth from the clutches of her greedy brother. All done by a woman! We landed and arrived at a nearby place where she purchased land known as the Byrsa, expanding it with acres more by some trickery involving thin strips of the hide of a bull. There. Look up ahead and you will see the rising walls and citadel of our great new city, the city of Carthage. But tell me, who are you? Where did you come from, and exactly where are you going? (371)

Aeneas sighs deeply and opens the floodgates to his deep distress, Oh Goddess, the saga of our tribulations will take up much more time than yours. If I begin now, evening stars will have lit up the heavens long before it ends, and the gates of Olympus will be locked up tight! Has the name ‘Troy’ ever reached your ears? We were driven from there and have been tossed on every sea until a great storm washed our ship upon the coast of Africa. I am Aeneas, descended from highest Jupiter and I am dutifully following a decree of Fate and leading our Gods of home and hearth, whom I saved from enemy hands, to a fatherland in Italy, a place from which my family arose. My Goddess mother showed me and my twenty ships the way, but we seem to be despised in the heavens and have endured more trouble than the Fates should allow. Only seven leaking ships have made it this far. Forced out of Asia and Europe, I now wander helplessly, a stranger in the wastelands of Libya. (386)

Unable to endure Her son’s endless self-pity, Venus interrupts, Enough with the laments! Whoever you are, the Gods surely favor you. Are you not still breathing life-giving air? Do you realize you are docked safely next to a Tyrian city? Just continue along this path, and it will take you to the threshold of our Queen’s palace. Be on your way. And did you notice that the winds have changed? I believe that your fleet and your people are safe. Either all of that is true, or clearly my parents failed to teach me how to accurately read omens. Look up there at the twelve swans flying above in formation? Just now an eagle of Jupiter swooped at them and disturbed their flight. But now the swans have all regrouped. Some are landing, while others are circling to land in sporting style after riding the high winds and honking with great joy. This all means that twelve of your lost ships are either in port or crossing the bar in full sail. It is time for you to move on and follow this path. (401)

And as She begins to turn away, a roseate glow elegantly flickers at Her neck, while the aroma of the ambrosia in her hair spreads everywhere, and Her rich garments drape luxuriously to her feet as Her poised royal stride reveals—a Goddess! Aeneas’ voice pursues her swift departure, Mother! This is cruelty. Why do you constantly demean your son with false identities? Can we ever walk arm in arm, and speak freely with our true voices? (409)

His rebuke pursues Her as he turns toward the city. In response, she surrounds him and Achates in a mantle of mist so thick that no one can see them, touch them, or stop and interrogate them. The Goddess then soars high toward her home, the Temple at Paphos, where one hundred altars waft the misty scent of Sabean incense and flowers to sweeten the pungence of the warm, salty air. (417)

Meanwhile Aeneas and Achates are hurrying along the path and soon climb a steep hill to a summit that has a panoramic view of the city rising here and its partially constructed citadel. Aeneas is overwhelmed at the grandness of the new buildings replacing the primitive huts, the fine paved streets noisy and alive with people and artisans, and proud city gates. He sees tireless Tyrians building massive walls and fortifications and using their bare hands to roll rocks and set them in place. Elsewhere teams are measuring and marking housing sites and foundations. At the very center of it all, scholars are gathered to enact laws, appoint magistrates, assign nobles to the holy Senate, and argue endlessly about the power of courts and assemblies. At the coast, dockworkers excavate and dredge the massive harbor, while further inland stonemasons are transforming a wooded, rocky knoll into an open-air theater as they carve the quarried rock into columns that stand tall before a stage yet to be built. The city is everywhere seething with such activity and industry that it is like a beehive, with bees scurrying through flowering fields under a new warm sun, bees leading novices just come of age to gather a harvest of gold to swell new-built cells with nectar, while others relieve the foragers of their precious spoils to stuff the burgeoning hive or organize a troupe to keep the lazy drones away from the enclosures, and all while the aroma of fragrant honey and thyme permeates the air. Aeneas sighs, Such a glorious destiny! Walls are already rising around them. And so, full of yearning and fear of the surrounding Tyrians who cannot see them, they step through the city gate into the wondrous, rising new city of Carthage. (440)

In the heart of the city, they come upon a sacred grove cool with bounteous shade. For after Dido’s stormy crossing from Tyre, Juno had led the Queen and her Tyrians to this very grove where they had found the buried head of a warhorse which they interpreted as a powerful omen of their City’s future prosperity and success in war. As a result Sidonian Dido is building here a mighty temple to Juno, one that is strong with the presence and blessings of the Queen of Olympus. Atop the temple’s long stairway, at a bronze threshold set beneath massive bronze lintels, great bronze doors creak on their hinges as they open and close. (449)

It is in this sacred grove beneath the walls of Juno’s temple that Aeneas for the first time encounters a sight that begins to dispel his fear of the hardships he has endured and rouses his spirit to grapple its way to hope and a renewed confidence in the future. For while he awaits the Queen, he begins strolling the temple grounds, further admiring the city’s good fortune and the fine skill of its many craftsmen. And it is there in a row along one wall that he notices a line of dazzling works of art, all of them scenes of the siege and fall of his beloved Troy, events that apparently are famous now throughout the world! There he sees Trojan King Priam, Greek Agamemnon and Menelaus, and arrogant Achilles, who hated the lot of them. He is drawn to the paintings, stops and begins to weep, completely overwhelmed by the depictions on stone and he says, Is there any place, Achates, any region so remote that it has not yet heard the saga of our woes? For behold, Priam of Troy has a place of honor here on this wall. Such famous laceration as ours wrings tears of compassion from mortals by its finality. And so must we lay aside our fears. Troy’s renown will inspire men to deliver us from further harm. (463)

So he speaks and his tearful eyes graze among the still figures and he relives battles long since won or lost. Here along Troy’s walls, Greeks flee and Trojans attack; there, Trojans flee while crested Achilles charges in his chariot. Here, the white canvas tents and war horses of Rhesus on the night he arrived to assist Troy; there, Diomedes that night burning Rhesus’ tents and stealing the warhorses away lest they fulfill a prophesy that if the horses fed on Trojan grass or drank the waters of Troy’s Xanthus River, the Greeks were doomed. Then there is unlucky young Troilus, unequal in his match against Achilles. He has lost his armor, and his leg is caught in the reins of his runaway chariot, being dragged on his back, his hair and head bouncing in the dirt and his trailing spear scraping a long line in the ground as he dies. In another, Trojan women with disheveled hair beat their breasts and bring offerings to hostile Pallas Athena who has turned Her eyes away. And then Achilles again in his chariot, dragging lifeless Hector three times around the walls of the city, and later selling the body to Priam for gold. Aeneas moans at unarmed Priam, feebly extending a supplicant’s hand to Achilles for the body of his son Hector, stripped of his armor and his chariot. Further on, Aeneas recognizes himself fighting among Greek warlords, and then warriors from the East, and black Memnon with his troops, as well as legions of Amazons with moon-shaped shields, led by fearless Penthesilea, a golden belt fastened under her naked breast, as the warrior-virgin shouts and encourages her maids to attack the men. (493)

As Aeneas stands rooted before the paintings, lost in amazement of the works, Queen Dido in all her elegant beauty arrives at the temple with a retinue of eager youths. She is like the Huntress Goddess Diana on the banks of the Eurotas or the craggy slopes of Cynthus, glowing as She swings Her hands to lead Her troupe of dancers from many lands, tallest of all Goddesses with Her great bow and quiver slung from Her shoulder, swaying above the gleeful throngs of thousands of nymphs while the heart of Her mother Latona beats in silent ecstasy. And so Dido raises her arms to her people in great triumph as they crowd around her. She climbs the long stairway and enters the temple, leading her adoring subjects as she promenades under the Temple’s great dome to take her place on the raised throne with her guards nearby. Everyone crowds inside, including Aeneas and Achates who are still invisible. As she outlines new laws,