The Aeneid (38 page)

190         ‘First of all, look at this vaulted cavern among the rocks. You
                see how this great massive home inside the mountain has been
                torn apart and is now abandoned, with boulders lying everywhere
                in ruins. Here, deep in the vast recesses of the rock, was
                once a cave which the rays of the sun never reached. This was
                the home of a foul-featured, half-human monster by the name
                of Cacus. The floor of the cave was always warm with freshly
                shed blood, and the heads of men were nailed to his proud doors
                and hung there pale and rotting. The father of this monster was
                Vulcan, and it was his father’s black fire he vomited from his
                mouth as he moved his massive bulk. Long did we pray and in
200         the end we too were granted the help and the presence of a god.
                For the great avenger was at hand. Exulting in the slaughter
                of the triple-bodied Geryon and the spoils he had taken, the
                victorious Hercules was driving the huge bulls through our land
                
and the herd was grazing the valley and drinking the water of
                the river. But Cacus was a robber, and thinking in the savagery
                of his heart not to leave any crime or treachery undared or
                unattempted, he stole from pasture four magnificent bulls and
                as many lovely heifers. So that there would be no hoof prints
210         pointing forwards in the direction of the cave, he dragged them
                in by their tails to reverse the tracks, and was now keeping his
                plunder hidden deep in the darkness of the rock. There were no
                tracks leading to the cave for any searcher to see.

                ‘Meanwhile, when his herd had grazed its fill, and the son of
                Amphitryon was moving them out of pasture and preparing to
                go on his way, the cows began to low plaintively at leaving
                the place, filling the whole grove with their complaints, and
                bellowing to the hills they were leaving behind them. Then, deep
                in the cave, a single cow lowed in reply. Cacus had guarded her
                well, but she thwarted his hopes. At this Hercules blazed up in
220         anger. The black bile of his fury rose in him, and snatching up
                his arms and heavy knotted club, he made off at a run for
                the windswept heights of the mountain. Never before had our
                people seen Cacus afraid. Never before had there been terror in
                these eyes. He turned and fled, running to his cave with the
                speed of the wind, fear lending wings to his feet. There he shut
                himself up, dropping a huge rock behind him and breaking the
                iron chains on which it had been suspended by his father’s art,
                so that its great mass was jammed against the doorposts and
                blocked the entrance. There was Hercules in a passion, trying
230         every approach, turning his head this way and that and grinding
                his teeth. Three times he went round the whole of Mount
                Aventine in his anger. Three times he tried to force the great rock
                doorway without success. Three times he sat down exhausted in
                the valley.

                ‘Above the ridge on top of the cave, there stood a sharp needle
                of flint with sheer rocks falling away on either side. It rose to a
                dizzy height and was a favourite nesting-place of carrion birds.
                Hercules put his weight on the right-hand side of it where it
                leaned over the ridge towards the river on its left. He rocked it,
                loosened it, wrenched it free from its deep base and then gave a
                sudden heave, a heave at which the great heavens thundered,
240         
the banks of the river leapt apart and the river flowed backwards
                in alarm. The cave and whole huge palace of Cacus were unroofed
                and exposed to view and his shadowy caverns were
                opened to all their depths. It was as though the very depths of the
                earth were to gape in some cataclysm and unbar the chambers of
                the underworld, the pale kingdom loathed by the gods, so that
                the vast abyss could be seen from above with the shades of the
                dead in panic as the light floods in.

                ‘So Cacus was caught in the sudden rush of light and trapped
                in his cavern in the rock, howling as never before, while Hercules
250         bombarded him from above with any missile that came to hand,
                belabouring him with branches of trees and rocks the size of
                millstones. There was no escape for him now, but he vomited
                thick smoke from his monstrous throat and rolled clouds of it
                all round his den to blot it from sight. Deep in his cave he
                churned out fumes as black as night and the darkness was shot
                through with fire. Hercules was past all patience. He threw
                himself straight down, leaping through the flames where the
                smoke spouted thickest and the black cloud boiled in the vast
                cavern. There, as Cacus vainly belched his fire in the darkness,
260         Hercules caught him in a grip and held him, forcing his eyes out
                of their sockets and squeezing his throat till the blood was dry
                in it. Then, tearing out the doors and opening up the dark house
                of Cacus, he brought into the light of heaven the stolen cattle
                whose theft Cacus had denied, and dragged the foul corpse out
                by the feet. No one could have enough of gazing at his terrible
                eyes and face, at the coarse bristles on his beastly chest and the
                throat charred by fires now dead.

                ‘Ever since that time we have honoured his name and succeeding
                generations have celebrated this day with rejoicing. This
270         altar was set up in its grove by Potitius, the first founder of these
                rites of Hercules, and by the Pinarii, the guardians of the rites.
                We shall always call it the Greatest Altar, and the greatest altar
                it will always be. Come then warriors, put a crown of leaves
                around your hair in honour of this great exploit, and hold out
                your cups in your right hands. Call upon the god who is a god
                for all of us and offer him wine with willing hearts.’ No sooner
                had he spoken than his head was shaded by a wreath and
                
pendant of the green-silver leaves of Hercules’ poplar woven
                into his hair, and the sacred goblet filled his hand. Soon they
                were all pouring their libations on the table and praying to
                the gods.

280         Meanwhile the Evening Star was drawing nearer as the day
                sank in the heavens and there came a procession of priests led by
                Potitius, wearing their ritual garb of animal skins and carrying
                torches. They were starting the feast again with a second course
                of goodly offerings, and they heaped the altar with loaded
                dishes. Then the Salii, the priests of Mars, their heads bound
                with poplar leaves, came to sing around the altar fires. On one
                side was a chorus of young warriors, on the other a chorus of
                old men, hymning the praise of Hercules and his great deeds:
                how he seized the two snakes, the first monsters sent against
                him by his stepmother, and throttled them, one in each hand;
290         how too he tore stone from stone the cities of Troy and Oechalia,
                famous in war; how he endured a thousand labours under king
                Eurystheus to fulfil the fate laid upon him by the cruel will of
                Juno. ‘O unconquered Hercules,’ they sang, ‘you are the slayer
                of the half-men born of the cloud, the Centaurs Hylaeus and
                Pholus; of the monstrous Cretan bull and the huge lion of Nemea
                in its rocky lair; the pools of the Styx trembled at your coming,
                and the watchdog of Orcus cringed where he lay in his cave
                weltering in blood on heaps of half-eaten bones. But nothing
                you have seen has ever made you afraid, not even Typhoeus
300         himself, rising up to heaven with his weapons in his hands. Nor
                did reason fail you when the hundred heads of the Lernaean
                Hydra hissed around you. Hail, true son of Jupiter, the latest
                lustre added to the company of the gods, come to us now, to
                your own holy rite, and bless us with your favouring presence.’
                To end their hymn they sang of the cave of Cacus, and Cacus
                himself breathing fire, till the whole grove rang and all the hills
                re-echoed.

                As soon as the sacred rites were completed, they all returned
                to the city. The king, weighed down with age, kept Aeneas and
                his son Pallas by his side as he walked, and made the way
310         seem shorter by all the things he told them. Aeneas was lost in
                admiration and his eyes were never still as he looked about him
                
enthralled by the places he saw, asking questions about them
                and joyfully listening to Evander’s explanations of all the relics
                of the men of old. This is what was said that day by Evander,
                the founder of the citadel of Rome: ‘These woods used to be the
                haunt of native fauns and nymphs and a race of men born from
                the hard wood of oak-tree trunks. They had no rules of conduct
                and no civilization. They did not know how to yoke oxen for
                ploughing, how to gather wealth or husband what they had,
                but they lived off the fruit of the tree and the harsh diet of
320         huntsmen. In those early days, in flight from the weapons of
                Jupiter, came Saturn from heavenly Olympus, an exile who had
                lost his kingdom. He brought together this wild and scattered
                mountain people, gave them laws and resolved that the name of
                the land should be changed to Latium, since he had
lain
hidden
                within its borders. His reign was what men call the Golden Age,
                such was the peace and serenity of the people under his rule.
                But gradually a worse age of baser metal took its place and with
                it came the madness of war and the lust for possessions. Then
                bands of Ausonians arrived and Sicanian peoples, and the land
330         of Saturn lost its name many times. Next there were kings,
                among them the cruel and monstrous Thybris, after whom we
                Italians have in later years called the river Thybris, and the old
                river Albula has lost its true name. I had been driven from my
                native land and was setting course for the most distant oceans
                when Fortune, that no man can resist, and Fate, that no man
                can escape, set me here in this place, driven by fearsome words
                of warning from my mother, the nymph Carmentis, and by the
                authority of the god Apollo.’

                He had just finished saying this and moved on a little, when
                he pointed out the Altar of Carmentis and the Carmental Gate,
                as the Romans have called it from earliest times in honour of
340         the nymph Carmentis. She had the gift of prophecy and was the
                first to foretell the future greatness of the sons of Aeneas and
                the future fame of Pallanteum. From here he pointed out the
                great grove which warlike Romulus set up as a sanctuary – he
                was to call it the Asylum – and also the Lupercal there under its
                cool rock, then called by Arcadian tradition they had brought
                from Parrhasia, the cave of Pan Lycaeus, the wolf god. He also
                
pointed out the grove of the Argiletum, and, calling upon that
                consecrated spot to be his witness, he told the story of the killing
                of his guest Argus.

                From here he led the way to the house of Tarpeia and the
                Capitol, now all gold, but in those distant days bristling with
350         rough scrub. Even then a powerful sense of a divine presence in
                the place caused great fear among the country people, even then
                they went in awe of the wood and the rock. ‘This grove,’ said
                Evander, ‘this leafy-topped hill, is the home of some god, we
                know not which. My Arcadians believe they have often seen
                Jupiter himself shaking the darkening aegis in his right hand to
                drive along the storm clouds. And then here are the ruined walls
                of these two towns. What you are looking at are relics of the
                men of old. These are their monuments. One of these citadels
                was founded by Father Janus; the other by Saturn. This one
                used to be called the Janiculum; the other, Saturnia.’

360         Talking in this way they were coming up to Evander’s humble
                home, and there were cattle everywhere, lowing in the Roman
                Forum and the now luxurious district of the Carinae. When
                they arrived at his house, Evander said: ‘The victorious Hercules
                of the line of Alceus stooped to enter this door. This was a
                palace large enough for him. You are my guest, and you too
                must have the courage to despise wealth. You must mould
                yourself to be worthy of the god. Come into my poor home and
                do not judge it too harshly.’ With these words he led the mighty
                Aeneas under the roof-tree of his narrow house and set him
                down on a bed of leaves covered with the hide of a Libyan bear.
                Night fell and its dark wings enfolded the earth.