- moil is at its height, see, as a crowning blow, comes back the
sorrowing embassy with tidings from Diomede's mighty
town: the cost of all their labours has gained them nought:
gifts and gold and earnest prayers are alike in vain: the
Latians must look for arms elsewhere, or sue for peace 5
from the Trojan chief. King Latinus himself is crushed
to earth by the weight of agony. The wrath of the gods,
the fresh-made graves before his eyes, tell him plainly that
Æneas is the man of destiny, borne on by heaven's manifest
will. So he summons by royal mandate a mighty 10
council, the chiefs of his nation, and gathers them within
his lofty doors. They have mustered from all sides, and
are streaming to the palace through the crowded streets.
In the midst Latinus takes his seat, at once eldest in years
and first in kingly state, with a brow that knows not joy. 15
Hereupon he bids the envoys returned from the Ætolian
town to report the answers they bear, and bids them repeat
each point in order. Silence is proclaimed, and Venulus,
obeying the mandate, begins to speak:
"Townsmen, we have looked on Diomede and his Argive 20
encampment: the journey is overpast, and every chance
surmounted, and we have touched the hand by which the
realm of Ilion fell. We found him raising his city of Argyripa,
the namesake of his ancestral people, in the land of
Iapygian Garganus which his sword had won. Soon as 25
the presence was gained and liberty of speech accorded, we
proffer our gifts, inform him of our name and country,
who is our invader, and what cause has led us to Arpi.
He listened, and returned as follows with untroubled mien:
'O children of fortune, subjects of Saturn's reign, men of 30
old Ausonia, what caprice of chance disturbs you in your
repose, and bids you provoke a war ye know not? Know
that all of us, whose steel profaned the sanctity of Ilion's
soil—I pass the hardships of war, drained to the dregs
under those lofty ramparts, the brave hearts which that 35
fatal Simois covers—yea, all of us the wide world over
have paid the dues of our trespass in agonies unutterable,
a company that might have wrung pity even from Priam:
