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The houses, almost all rental properties, were nothing but little cracker-boxes with school year was over and she would not be tormented again until September. One hot June morning after her mother had left for work, Luna was lying on the.
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But his wife cried out in answer, "No, no— where have your senses gone? How can you think of going down to the ships, alone, and face the glance of the man who killed your sons, so many fine brave boys? You have a heart of iron! If he gets you in his clutches, sets his eyes on you— that savage, treacherous man-he'll show no mercy, no respect for your rights! Come, all we can do now is sit in the halls, far from our son, and wail for Hector.

So this, this is the doom that strong Fate spun out, our son's life line drawn with his first breath— the moment I gave him birth— to glut the wild dogs, cut off from his parents, crushed by the stronger man. Oh would to god that I could sink my teeth in his liver, eat him raw! That would avenge what he has done to Hector— no coward the man Achilles killed—my son stood and fought for the men of Troy and their deep-breasted wives with never a thought of flight or run for cover!

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But the old and noble Priam answered firmly, "I will go. My mind's made up. Don't hold me back. And don't go flying off on your own across the halls, a bird of evil omen—you can't dissuade me now. If someone else had commanded me, some mortal man, some prophet staring into the smoke, some priest, I'd call it a lie and turn my back upon it. Not now. I heard her voice with my own ears, I looked straight at the goddess, face-to-face.

So I am going—her message must not come to nothing. And if it is my fate to die by the beaked ships of Achaeans armed in bronze, then die I shall. Let Achilles cut me down straightway— once I've caught my son in my arms and wept my fill! He raised back the carved lids of the chests and lifted out twelve robes, handsome, rich brocades, twelve cloaks, unlined and light, as many blankets, as many big white capes and shirts to go with them.

He weighed and carried out ten full bars of gold and took two burnished tripods, four fine cauldrons and last a magnificent cup the Thracians gave him once— he'd gone on an embassy and won that priceless treasure— but not even that did the old man spare in his halls, not now, consumed with desire to ransom back his son. Crowds of Trojans were mobbing his colonnades— he gave them a tongue-lashing, sent them packing: "Get out—you good-for-nothings, public disgraces! Haven't you got enough to wail about at home without coming here to add to all my griefs?

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You think it nothing, the pain that Zeus has sent me? You'll learn too, in tears— easier game you'll be for Argive troops to slaughter, now my Hector's dead. But before I have to see my city annihilated, laid waste before my eyes— oh let me go down to the House of Death! He herded them off with his staff—they fled outside before the old man's fury. So he lashed out at his sons, cursing the sight of Helenus, Paris, noble Agathon, Pammon, Antiphonus, Polites loud with the war cry, Deiphobus and Hippothous, even lordly Dius— the old man shouted at all nine, rough commands: "Get to your work!

My vicious sons—my humiliations! If only you'd all been killed at the fast ships instead of my dear Hector. But I—dear god, my life so cursed by fate! Mestor the indestructible, Troilus, passionate horseman and Hector, a god among men—no son of a mortal man, he seemed a deathless god's.

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But Ares killed them all and all he left me are these, these disgraces—liars, dancers, heroes only at beating the dancing-rings, you plunder your own people for lambs and kids! Why don't you get my wagon ready—now, at once? Pack all these things aboard! We must be on our way! Terrified by their father's rough commands the sons trundled a mule-wagon out at once, a good smooth-running one, newly finished, balanced and bolted tight, and strapped a big wicker cradle across its frame.

They lifted. Then the priceless ransom for Hector's body: hauling it up from the vaults they piled it high on the wagon's well-made cradle, then they yoked the mules— stamping their sharp hoofs, trained for heavy loads— that the Mysians once gave Priam, princely gifts. And last they yoked his team to the king's chariot, stallions he bred himself in his own polished stalls. No sooner were both men harnessed up beneath the roofs, Priam and herald, minds set on the coming journey, than Hecuba rushed up to them, gaunt with grief, her right hand holding a golden cup of honeyed wine so the men might pour libations forth at parting.

She stood in front of the horses, crying up at Priam, "Here, quickly—pour a libation out to Father Zeus! Pray for a safe return from all our mortal enemies, seeing you're dead set on going down to the ships— though you go against my will. But if go you must, pray, at least, to the great god of the dark storm cloud, up there on Ida, gazing down on the whole expanse of Troy!

Pray for a bird of omen, Zeus's wind-swift messenger, the dearest bird in the world to his prophetic heart, the strongest thing on wings-clear on the right so you can see that sign with your own eyes and trust your life to it as you venture down to Achaea's ships and the fast chariot-teams. But if farseeing Zeus does not send you that sign— his own messenger—then I urge you, beg you, don't go down to the ships— not for all the passion in your heart!

The old majestic Priam gave his answer: "Dear woman, surely I won't resist your urging now. It's well to lift our hands and ask great Zeus for mercy. And the old king motioned a steward standing by to pour some clear pure water over his hands, and she came forward, bearing a jug and basin. He rinsed his hands, took the cup from his wife and taking a stand amidst the forecourt, prayed, pouring the wine to earth and scanning the high skies, Priam prayed in his rich resounding voice: "Father Zeus!

Ruling over us all from Ida, god of greatness, god of glory! Send me a bird of omen, your own wind-swift messenger, the dearest bird in the world to your prophetic heart, the strongest thing on wings—clear on the right so I can see that sign with my own eyes and trust my life to it as I venture down to Achaea's ships and the fast chariot-teams!

And Zeus in all his wisdom heard that prayer and straightaway the Father launched an eagle— truest of Zeus's signs that fly the skies— the dark marauder that mankind calls the Black-wing. Broad as the door of a rich man's vaulted treasure-chamber, well-fitted with sturdy bars, so broad each wing of the bird spread out on either side as it swept in through the city flashing clear on the right before the king and queen.

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All looked up, overjoyed—the people's spirits lifted. And the old man, rushing to climb aboard his chariot, drove out through the gates and echoing colonnades. The mules in the lead hauled out the four-wheeled wagon, driven on by seasoned Idaeus. The horses came behind as the old man cracked the lash and urged them fast throughout the city with all his kinsmen trailing.

But once the two passed down through crowded streets and out into open country, Priam's kin turned back, his sons and in-laws straggling home to Troy. But Zeus who beholds the world could hardly fail to see the two men striking out across the plain.


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As he watched the old man he filled with pity and quickly summoned Hermes, his own dear son: "Hermes—escorting men is your greatest joy,, you above all the gods, and you listen to the wish of those you favor. So down you go. Down and conduct King Priam there through Achaea's beaked ships, so none will see him, none of the Argive fighters recognize him now, not till he reaches Peleus' royal son.

Under his feet he fastened the supple sandals, never-dying gold, that wing him over the waves and boundless earth with the rush of gusting winds.


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He seized the wand that enchants the eyes of men whenever Hermes wants, or wakes them up from sleep. That wand in his grip he flew, the mighty giant-killer touching down on Troy and the Hellespont in no time and from there he went on foot, for all the world like a young prince, sporting his first beard, just in the prime and fresh warm pride of youth.

And now, as soon as the two drove past the great tomb of Ilus they drew rein at the ford to water mules and team. A sudden darkness had swept across the earth and Hermes was all but on them when the herald looked up, saw him, shouted at once to Priam, "Danger, my king—think fast! I see a man— I'm afraid we'll both be butchered on the spot— into the chariot, hurry!

Run for our lives or fling ourselves at his knees and beg for mercy! The old man was stunned, in a swirl of terror, the hairs stood bristling all over his gnarled body— he stood there, staring dumbly. Not waiting for welcome the running god of luck went straight up to Priam, clasped the old king's hands and asked him warmly, "Father—where do you drive these mules and team through the godsent night while other mortals sleep?

Have you no fear of the Argives breathing hate and fury? Here are your deadly enemies, camping close at hand. Now what if one of them saw you, rolling blithely on through the rushing night with so much tempting treasure— how would you feel then? You're not so young yourself, and the man who attends you here is far too old to drive off an attacker spoiling for a fight.

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But I would never hurt you—and what's more, I'd beat off any man who'd do you harm: you remind me of my dear father, to the life. And the old and noble Priam said at once, "Our straits are hard, dear child, as you say. But a god still holds his hands above me, even me. Sending such a traveler here to meet me— what a lucky omen! Look at your build. And such good sense— your parents must be blissful as the gods!

The guide and giant-killer answered quickly, "You're right, old man, all straight to the mark. But come, tell me the truth now, point by point: this treasure—a king's ransom—do you send it off to distant, outland men, to keep it safe for you? Or now do you all abandon sacred Troy, all in panic-such was the man who died, your finest, bravest man. But the old majestic Priam countered quickly, "Who are you, my fine friend? How can you speak so well of my doomed son's fate?

And the guide and giant-killer answered staunchly, "You're testing me, old man—asking of noble Hector.