SWIFT AND OLD-GOLD 20I 



for never before had he heard aught of speech 

 from the Hps of the horse. "Xanthos," he cried, 

 " why do you tell me of my death ? I know that 

 I shall never return to my old father and beautiful 

 mother and dear native land; and therefore I 

 will not hold my hand until I have avenged my 

 friend." And having spoken, he rode onward, 

 leading his Myrmidons and the hosts of the 

 Greeks into the battle. 



I need not follow the events of this day, a day in 

 which the tide of war was turned and the Trojans 

 forced to flee into the city for their lives. It was 

 with downcast heads that ^thon and Galathe 

 dragged their master's chariot within the gates 

 that afternoon, and their eyes no longer flashed 

 with joy and pride. The terror of Achilles had 

 cowed them utterly, as it had the entire Trojan 

 host, and they knew that they had borne their 

 master into the fight for the last time. 



On the high battlements of Troy a sorrowful 

 company was gathered— the king, the queen, and 

 such of the Trojan princes as the fortunes of 

 war had spared— and they wept and wailed and 

 tore their garments for grief at the sad sight 

 which they beheld outside of the walls. For Hec- 

 tor, the flower and hope of Troy, had been slain 



