the others fell back, he cut off the retreat of an Etrurian chief, Orodes, forced him to engage hand to hand, and speedily slew him.  Pressing his foot on the expiring warrior to draw out his lance from his body, Mezentius cried to his followers, “Behold, friends!  Orodes has fallen—­not the meanest of our foes.”  The Rutulians raised a joyful shout, but the dying Orodes faintly answered, “Not long shall thou rejoice with impunity over me; a similar fate awaits thyself, and soon shalt thou also be stretched lifeless on this same field.”  Smiling scornfully, Mezentius returned, “Die thou, and leave my fate to the Gods, in whose hands it rests.”  His example inspired other of the Rutulians; they pressed fiercely forward and drove back the troops of AEneas.  Mezentius advanced at their head, and as he strode along, the Trojan hero espied him, and hastened towards him.  Unawed by the prospect of an encounter even with so terrible a foe, Mezentius stood firm, and poising a huge spear in his hand, exclaimed,—­for he was a contemner of the Gods, and never offered invocations to them,—­“Now let this right hand and this good dart be my aid; and then I vow that my son, my dear Lausus, shall be clad in the bright arms torn from the body of yon Trojan pirate.”  With these words he drew the spear.  Sent with a true aim, it struck the shield of AEneas, but glanced from the hardened surface, and turning aside, pierced the side of Antores, a faithful follower of Evander, who had come with Pallas to the war.  Thus died Antores, by a weapon never aimed at him, but he was speedily avenged.  AEneas, putting all his might into the cast, now in his turn hurled his spear.  It tore its way through the triple plates of Mezentius’ shield, through his corselet, and inflicted a severe wound in his groin, though its force was so far spent that the injury was not mortal.

Overjoyed at the sight of his enemy’s blood, AEneas drew his sword from its sheath, and rushed upon Mezentius, who was as yet bewildered by the blow.  When Lausus saw his father in such peril he sprang forward and stood before AEneas, while Mezentius fell back among his friends, the Trojan lance still trailing in his armor.  Lausus received the first stroke of AEneas’ sword on his buckler, while the Rutulians with loud shouts applauded him, and poured on the Trojan hero a tempest of darts.  Against this he protected himself with his shield, and meanwhile, pitying the youth and courage of Lausus, spoke to him in words of warning:  “Why do you thus rush on your own destruction, and attempt what is beyond your strength?  Your filial devotion blinds you to your danger.”  But Lausus, resolute to defend his wounded sire, returned a haughty defiance.  Then AEneas could no longer control his wrath; he exerted all his strength, and thrust his terrible sword up to the hilt through the body of the youth, who sank lifeless on the blood-steeped ground.  When AEneas saw the comely young warrior stretched dead before him, his heart was filled with pity.