The duel; the killing of Turnus

Turnus accepts that the war must be settled in single combat. Latinus and Amata beg him not to fight; he is unmoved. Lavinia listens without speaking — Virgil shows her face going red, the only thing she does in the entire poem. The terms are arranged. The kings swear oaths at dawn. Aeneas swears that whoever wins, he will not impose Trojan rule. Juno cannot bear the cleanness of the settlement. She sends Turnus's divine sister Juturna into the field in disguise; Juturna rouses the Italian troops, an omen is read in their favor, the Italians attack. Aeneas is hit by an arrow from no one Virgil names, and led from the field. Venus heals the wound with a magical herb.

Aeneas takes the field again. He pursues Turnus; Juturna takes the reins and drives him in circles to keep him from his pursuer. Aeneas, frustrated, turns the army on the city itself. The walls are stormed. The queen Amata, watching from the palace and believing Turnus dead, hangs herself. The city is in flames. Turnus hears the wail and finally understands. He sends his sister away — sister, even you cannot keep me from this — and rides into the open ground before the walls. He calls Aeneas's name. The two armies stand back. On Olympus, Juno finally yields to Jupiter, on one condition: the Trojans must give up their name and their language; Italy must remain Italy. Jupiter agrees gladly. Juno smiles for the first time in the poem and withdraws.

The duel begins. Turnus's borrowed sword shatters on Aeneas's divine armor. He runs; Aeneas pursues; they run five circles in the dust. Turnus throws a great boundary stone; it goes wide. Aeneas's spear goes through Turnus's shield and into his thigh. Turnus falls. He raises his right hand. He has earned this, he says, and asks no quarter for himself; only that his body be given to his old father, or that Aeneas return him alive. You have won. Lavinia is yours. Hate me no further. Aeneas hesitates. The poem says clearly he is on the point of sparing him. Then his eyes fall on Turnus's shoulder. The sword-belt is there — the polished belt of young Pallas. Aeneas, kindled by furies, says, "Pallas it is — Pallas — who strikes this blow," and drives the spear through Turnus's chest. Turnus's limbs go cold; his life flees, with a groan, indignant, into the shadows below. The poem ends.