Much comforted the king got down, leaving the chariots and the presents outside in the care of his old companion. His heart beat faster as he crossed the threshold of the tent, but after a moment of indecision he entered. He found Achilles still sitting at the table where he had supped. Beside him stood his two favorite companions, the excellent driver Automedon and the skilful spearsman Alkimos. The great hero was leaning on his elbows, sunk deep in moody thought, and was not aware of the entrance of the old man until he had fallen at his feet, clasped his knees, and kissed his hands—those horrible hands which had murdered so many of his sons. Achilles was amazed, for he had been taken completely by surprise. For a moment they gazed into each other’s faces, Achilles puzzled and agitated, Priam imploring and anxious. At length a flood of tears relieved the oppressed heart of the venerable man and in a trembling voice he uttered these beseeching words: “Remember thy father, godlike Achilles, who languishes at home, old and helpless like myself. Ah, perhaps his neighbors are even now oppressing him and there is none to protect him. But he knows that he has a good and faithful son, even though far away, who will make an end of all his troubles when he returns. The old man is full of hope and every day he cherishes sweet thoughts of thee. But woe is me! I was the happiest of fathers. I had raised fifty sons, nineteen of them born of one mother. They were my pride and joy. Then ye came to invest my city and the unhappy war took one of them after the other until but few were left. But among them all, the best one still remained—he who had protected me and all of us thus far; but now he also is no more. Alas, I can no longer beg for his life, but we long to see the dead once more and pay him the honors due my son. At home sisters, wife, and mother mourn for him, and see, here lies his unhappy father at thy feet. Give him back to me. I have brought thee rich gifts. Fear the gods! Bethink thee and imagine thy old father kneeling thus to a younger man. But I suffer as no mortal ere has done before me and press my lips to the hand which slew my children.”