Having despatched his mother on that bootless errand, Hector went to
visit Paris in his luxurious home, which was built on the same hill
where stood the palace of Priam. Clad in all his brazen mail, and
carrying in his hand a spear eleven cubits long, he crossed the
threshold, and passed on to Helen's bower, where Paris was sitting,
with his armour strewn around him, fitting new feathers to his arrows.
The great warrior stood awhile, gazing in silence at his unworthy
brother; then smiling bitterly he said: "I perceive that thou art wroth
with thy poor countrymen seeing that thou leavest them to perish, while
thou art dallying here. Rouse thee, Paris," he added, changing his
tone; "the flames of war, which thou hast kindled, are blazing round
our walls. Shake off this unmanly sloth, and play the man for once."
"Hector, I feel the justice of thy reproaches," answered Paris. "But
it was sorrow, not anger, that kept me in my chamber. But away with
regrets! My turn will come, and I am resolved to go back to the
battle, urged thereto both by Helen's entreaties and by thy biting
words. Wait while I don my armour--or go thou first, and I will
overtake thee."
Hector turned to go, without answering a word; but Helen, who was
present with her handmaids, laid her hand upon his arm, and said:
"Leave me not thus, dear brother! Kill me not by thine accusing
silence! Unhappy that I am, the sport and victim of evil powers, given
over to perdition from my birth! And if I needs must sin, could I not
at least have sinned for a man, and not have wrecked my life for a
caitiff like this, without conscience, without heart? But sit thee
down, Hector, and rest awhile, for on thee lies heaviest the burden
which has been laid upon thy city for my sake, and for the sake of
Paris, an ill-starred pair, whose evil fate shall be a theme of song in
days to come."
"Seek not to detain me, Helen," answered Hector gently; "my duty calls
me hence, and I must join my faithful comrades, whom I left in the toil
and heat of the fray. Thither am I bound, when I have taken one
look--it may be for the very last time--at my house, and my wife, and
my little child. Look thou that Paris keeps his word, and joins me
before I quit the town."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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