He clasped the old man’s wrist to assure him of good faith, then accompanied the chariot as far as the gate in the wall, taking care that none of the Achaians should harm the old man. Priam drove once more through the well-known fields, past the ford of the flowing Scamander, where yesterday the friendly youth had appeared. And now, just as he was watering his horses there, the sun rose. Cassandra, Priam’s favorite daughter, who had been standing on the watch tower since dawn awaiting the return of her father with beating heart, recognized the travellers. She waited until she could discern all plainly, even the covered body of her brother on the chariot. Then she ran down the stairs to the palace, calling her mother and sisters loudly. “Only look, they are coming! Hasten, Trojans, to look upon the body of Hector, if ye have ever rejoiced over him alive as he returned from the battlefield. For he was the pride of the city and of all the people!” All who heard her voice hurried forth, men and women, all hearts filled with boundless sorrow. But first of all came the old mother and Andromache. They went out to meet the chariot and stopped it at the city gate with loud cries. Mother and wife threw themselves on the body and wet it with their tears, tore their hair, touched his head, and lifted up the cloths to look upon his wounds. The crowd gathered, weeping, about them. But the king cried: “Stand back and let the horses pass! Ye may weep your fill when I have carried him into the house.” They all stood aside and the king entered the city, the crowd following him to the palace. When the corpse was lifted from the chariot the universal lament began afresh. Singers were brought to chant the hymn of mourning and round about the women sobbed, especially Andromache, the beautiful princess. She held the dead man’s head in her hands and moaned: “Beloved, thou hast lost thy life, but the widow, alas, is left behind and thy young son. How shall he grow to manhood? For before that Troy will fall, as thou art dead, who didst defend the walls, the women, and lisping children. Soon they will be carried away to bondage, myself among them. And thou, my dear son, wilt go hence to endure ignominy with thy mother, if indeed some cruel Achaian entering the conquered city does not seize thee by thy tender neck and hurl thee down from the tiles into the streets below. Thy valiant father hath slain many Achaians; therefore the people mourn. O Hector, what unspeakable sorrow thou hast caused thy parents, but I am unhappy above all others! Dying, thou couldst not give me thy hand nor speak words of wisdom which I might have cherished.” Thus she spake, weeping, fathomless sorrow in her heart.