HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE
From where the battle still raged went Hector, son of Priam. At the
oak tree by the gates of Troy there came running to meet him wives and
daughters of those who fought. For eagerly did they long for tidings of
many a warrior who now lay dead on the field.
When he reached the beautiful, many-pillared palace of his father, his
mother came to meet him.
His hand she took in hers, and gently spoke she to him.
‘Art thou wearied that thou hast left the battle, Hector, my son?’ she
said. ‘Let me bring thee wine that thou may’st be refreshed and yet
gain strength.’
‘Bring me no wine, dear mother,’ said Hector, ‘lest it take from me
the strength and courage that I have. Rather go thou to the temple of
Athene and offer her sacrifices, beseeching that she will have mercy on
Troy and on the wives of the Trojans and their little children. So may
she hold back Diomedes the destroyer. I go to Paris--would that he were
dead!’
And the mother of Hector straightway, with other old women, the mothers
of heroes, offered sacrifices and prayers to Athene. But Athene paid no
heed.
To the palace of Paris, his mighty bronze spear in his hand, then
strode Hector.
Paris, the golden-haired, sat in a room with Helen, idly handling his
shining shield and breastplate and curved bow.
In bitter scorn spoke Hector to his brother.
‘Our people die in battle for thy sake!’ he cried, ‘while here thou
sittest idle. Up then, ere the enemies that thou hast made for us burn
our city to the ground!’
And Paris answered:
‘Justly dost thou chide me, Hector. Even now hath Helen urged me to
play the man and go back to battle. Only let me put on my armour, and
soon will I overtake thee.’
Never a word did Hector answer him.
But to Hector did Helen then speak.
‘Brother Hector,’ she said, ‘unworthy am I to be sister of thine. Would
that I had died on the day I was born, or would that the gods who have
brought me this evil had given me for a husband one who was shamed by
reproach and who feared dishonour. Rest thee here, my brother, who hast
suffered so much for the sake of wretched me and for the sin of Paris.
Well I know that for us cometh punishment of which men will sing in the
far-off years that are yet to come.’
‘Of thy love, ask me not to stay, Helen,’ answered Hector. ‘For to help
the men of Troy is my whole heart set, and they are now in want of me.
But rouse this fellow, and make him hasten after me. I go now to see my
dear wife and my babe, for I know not whether I shall return to them
again.’
In his own house Hector found not his fair wife Andromache, nor their
little babe.
‘Whither went thy mistress?’ he asked in eagerness of the serving-women.
‘Truly, my lord,’ answered one, ‘tidings came to us that the Trojans
were sorely pressed and that with the Greeks was the victory. So then
did Andromache, like one frenzied, hasten with her child and his nurse
to the walls that she might see somewhat of what befell. There, on the
tower, she stands now, weeping and wailing.’
Back through the streets by which he had come then hastened Hector. And
as he drew near the gates, Andromache, who had spied him from afar, ran
to meet him.
As, hand clasped in hand, Andromache and Hector stood, Hector looked
silently at the beautiful babe in his nurse’s arms, and smiled.
Astyanax, ‘The City King,’ those of Troy called the child, because it
was Hector his father who saved the city.
Then said Andromache:
‘Dear lord, thy courage will bring thee death. Hast thou no pity for
this babe nor for thy wife, who so soon shall be thy widow? Better
would it be for me to die if to thee death should come. For if I lose
thee, then sorrow must for evermore be mine. No father nor mother have
I, and on one day were my seven brothers slain. Father and mother and
brother art thou to me, Hector, and my dear loved husband as well. Have
pity now, and stay with thy wife and thy little child.’
‘All these things know I well, my wife,’ answered Hector, ‘but black
shame would be mine were I to shrink like a coward from battle. Ever it
hath been mine to be where the fight was fiercest, and to win glory for
my father’s name, and for my own. But soon will that glory be gone, for
my heart doth tell me that Troy must fall. Yet for the sorrows of the
Trojans, and of my own father and mother and brethren, and of the many
heroes that must perish, grieve I less bitterly than for the anguish
that must come upon thee on that day when thou no longer hast a husband
to fight for thee and a Greek leads thee away a prisoner. May the
earth be heaped up high above me ere I hear thy crying, Andromache!’
So spake Hector, and stretched out his arms to take his boy.
But from his father’s bronze helmet with its fiercely nodding plume
of horse-hair the babe shrank back in terror and hid his face in his
nurse’s breast. Then did the little City King’s father and his sweet
mother laugh aloud, and on the ground Hector laid his helmet, and
taking his little son in his arms he kissed him and gently dandled him.
And as he did so, thus Hector prayed to Zeus and all the gods:
‘O Zeus and all ye gods, grant that my son may be a brave warrior and a
great king in Troyland. Let men say of him when he returns from battle,
“Far greater is he than his father,” and may he gladden his mother’s
heart.’
Then did Hector lay his babe in Andromache’s arms, and she held him to
her bosom, smiling through her tears.
Full of love and pity and tenderness was the heart of Hector, and
gently he caressed her and said:
‘Dear one, I pray thee be not of over-sorrowful heart. No man shall
slay me ere the time appointed for my death hath come. Go home and busy
thyself with loom and distaff and see to the work of thy maidens. But
war is for us men, and of all those who dwell in Troyland, most of all
for me.’
So spake Hector, and on his head again he placed his crested helmet.
And his wife went home, many times looking back to watch him she loved
going forth to battle, with her eyes half blinded by her tears.
Not far behind Hector followed Paris, his armour glittering like the
sun, and with a laugh on the face that was more full of beauty than
that of any other man on earth. Like a noble charger that has broken
its bonds and gallops exultingly across the plain, so did Paris stride
onward.
‘I fear I have delayed thee,’ he said to his brother when he overtook
him.
‘No man can speak lightly of thy courage,’ answered Hector, ‘only thou
hast brought shame on thyself by holding back from battle. But now let
us go forward, and may the gods give the Greeks into our hands.’
So went Hector and Paris together into battle, and many a Greek fell
before them on that day.