"And I," said the Prince, "am no lover of these men. For when Achilles was dead—"
"How sayest thou? Is the son of Peleus dead?"
"Yea; but it was the hand of a God and not of a man that slew him."
"A mighty warrior slain by a mighty foe! But say on."
"Ulysses, and Phœnix who was my sire's foster-father, came in a ship to fetch me; and when I was come to the camp they even greeted me kindly, and sware that it was Achilles' self they saw, so like was I to my sire. And, my mourning ended, I sought the sons of Atreus and asked of them the arms of my father, but they made answer that they had given them to Ulysses; and Ulysses, chancing to be there, affirmed that they had done well, seeing that he had saved them from the enemy. And when I could prevail nothing, I sailed away in great wrath."
"'Tis even," Philoctetes made reply, "as I should have judged of them. But I marvel that the Greater Ajax endured to see such doings."
"Ah! but he was already dead."
"This is grievous news. And how fares old Nestor of Pylos?"
"But ill, for his eldest born, Antilochus, is dead."
"I could have spared any rather than these two, Ajax and Antilochus. But Patroclus, where was he when thy father died?"