Allecto, meanwhile, took a new direction, To the Trojans now; she had found a place for mischief Along the shore, she had seen Iulus hunting; His hounds were driven to madness; the scent was rank, Hot in their nostrils; away they went, the pack In full cry after the deer, and that pursuit Was the first cause of trouble; that first kindled The countryside to violence. That deer, A handsome animal, with mighty antlers, Belonged, a pet, to Tyrrhus and his children, Who had raised him from a fawn. Tyrrhus, the father, Was keeper of the royal herds, and Silvia, The daughter, used to comb the beast, and wash him, Twine garlands in his horns, caress and love him, And he, grown used to her, would wander freely Over the woods and meadows, and come home At nightfall to the friendly door and stable. This was the deer Iulus’ hounds had started Floating downstream, reclining by the river For coolness’ sake, where young Ascanius, burning For a huntsman’s praise, saw him, and loosed the arrow That pierced the belly and side, so the poor creature Came wounded to the house he knew, and moaning Crept into his stall, bleeding, and like a person Asking for help, filled all the house with sorrow. First Silvia came, beating her arms, and others, Summoned for help, equipped themselves for vengeance, With Allecto lurking in the silent forest. A knotted club, a sharpened stake, a firebrand, Whatever comes to hand will serve, when anger Is looking for a weapon. Tyrrhus calls them, They are warriors now, not farmers; they leave the logging, The quartered oak, the wedges; in breathless anger Tyrrhus grabs up the axe. A perfect moment For the goddess on her watch-tower!--she comes flying To the stable roof; she sounds the shepherds’ call, Straining her hellish voice on the curved horn Till grove and woodland echo. Diana’s lake Hears, and Velinus’ fountain, and white Nar, The spring of sulphur; and mothers, in their panic, Hold their young children close. But swift to the sound, The dire alarum, came the farmers, running; They call no man their master; they snatch up weapons. And on the other side the youth of the Trojans Pour through the open gates to help Iulus. They are drawn up now; no more a rustic quarrel With stakes and clubs, the double-bladed steel Decides the issue, swords are drawn, the harvest Is black and spiky; bronze defies the sunlight, Tossing its luster cloudward. As waves at sea At first are little whitecaps under the wind, And slowly turn to billows, and then great combers, So rose the swell of war. Young Almo fell, Eldest of Tyrrhus’ sons; a whirring arrow, Piercing the throat, choked him in his own blood. And many around him fell, among them one, A good old man, Galaesus, who had come forward To plead for peace, and died; he was most just Of all Ausonia’s men, and wealthy, counting Five flocks of sheep and cattle; a hundred ploughs Furrowed his acres.