And now the brave son of Evander with his utmost force hurled his spear, and then hastened to draw his sword from its scabbard.  The weapon struck Turnus where the shoulder was protected by the corselet, and piercing through the solid brass, slightly grazed the hero’s body.  Then Turnus, poising a steel-tipped javelin, darted it at Pallas, exclaiming, “See whether mine be not the more penetrating shaft.”  Cast with irresistible might, it tore its way through the youth’s shield, composed though it was of thick plates of brass and iron, and through his cuirass, and inflicted a ghastly wound in his breast.  In vain he wrenched out the deadly missile from his body; even as he withdrew it life deserted his quivering form, and he fell to the ground.  Bestriding the corpse, Turnus cried, “Ye Arcadians, faithfully report to Evander this message,—­I send him back his Pallas in such a plight as he deserved.  Whatever honor is in a tomb, whatever solace in the performance of funeral rites, I freely grant him.  His league with the Trojan intruder shall cost him dear.”  So saying, he pressed his foot on the body, and tore away a massive belt, adorned with figures richly carved in gold.  This spoil Turnus exultingly clasped around his own body, little dreaming that the time would come when he would wish that he had never taken it, and that he and Pallas had never met.  But now the lifeless corpse of the youth, stripped of its arms and still bleeding from the fatal wound inflicted by the Rutulian chief, was laid on a shield and borne away by his weeping followers.  Thus the first day on which he took a part in war saw also the young hero’s death, though not, indeed, before he had strewn the plain with Rutulian corpses.

Speedily the news of this sad disaster, and of the consequent retreat of his forces in that part of the field, was borne to AEneas.  Rendered furious by the event, he impetuously mowed with his sword a bloody passage through the hostile ranks in search of Turnus, on whom he was eager to avenge the death of his friend.  The thought of the bright youth who had thus perished in his cause, of the hoary father bereaved of all that made life dear to him, filled his heart with sorrow as he recalled the kindness which both had shown to him, and the pledges of enduring friendship he had exchanged with them.  Eight Rutulian warriors he struck down, and captured them alive, destining them as victims to be offered to the shade of Pallas, and to drench with their blood the flames of the hero’s funeral pyre.  Next, AEneas having hurled a javelin at a Latian named Magus, the trembling wretch evaded the dart by stooping, and as AEneas rushed upon him with uplifted sword, he clasped his knees, and implored him to spare his life, proffering a large ransom of silver and gold which lay concealed underground in his house.  Sternly the Trojan chief bade him keep his treasures for his sons; as for showing mercy, that was forbidden to him from the moment that Pallas fell by the hand