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.’