Then Priam said, “Let me sleep, great Achilles. I have not slept since my son fell by thy hand. Now I have eaten and drunk, and my eyes are heavy.”
So the comrades of Achilles made him a bed outside, where no one might see him, should it chance that any of the chiefs should come to the tent of Achilles to take counsel, and should espy him, and tell it to King Agamemnon.
But before he slept King Priam said, “If thou art minded to let me bury Hector, let there be a truce between my people and the Greeks. For nine days let us mourn for Hector, and on the tenth will we bury him and feast the people, and on the eleventh raise a great tomb above him, and on the twelfth we will fight again, if fight we must.”
And Achilles answered, “Be it so: I will stay the war for so long.”
But while Priam slept there came to him Mercury, the messenger of Jupiter, and said: “Sleepest thou, Priam, among thy foes? Achilles has taken ransom for thy Hector; but thy sons that are left would pay thrice as much for thee should Agamemnon hear that thou wert among the ships.”
The old man heard and trembled, and roused the herald, and the two yoked the horses and the mules. So they passed through the army, and no man knew. And when they came to the river, Mercury departed to Olympus, and the morning shone over all the earth. Wailing and weeping, they carried the body to the city.
It was Cassandra who first espied them as they came. Her father she saw, and the herald, and then the dead body on the litter, and she cried, “Sons and daughters of Troy, go to meet Hector, if ever ye have met him, with joy as he came back from the battle.”
And straightway there was not man or woman left in the city. They met the wagon when it was close to the gates; his wife led the way, and his mother and all the multitude followed. And in truth they would have kept it thus till evening, weeping and wailing, but King Priam spake—“Let us pass; ye shall have enough of wailing when we have taken him to his home.”
So they took him to his home and laid him on his bed. And the minstrels lamented, and the women wailed.
Then first of all came Andromaché, his wife, and cried—“O my husband, thou hast perished in thy youth, and I am left in widowhood, and our child, thy child and mine, is but an infant. I fear me he will not grow to manhood. Ere that day this city will fall, for thou art gone who wast its defender. Soon will they carry us away, mothers and children, in the ships, and thou, my son, perchance wilt be with us, and serve the stranger in unseemly bondage; or, it may be, some Greek will slay thee, seizing thee and dashing thee from the wall; some Greek whose brother, or father, or son, Hector has slain in the battle. Many a Greek did Hector slay; no gentle hand was his in the fray. Therefore do the people wail for him to-day. Sore is thy parents’ grief, O Hector, but sorest mine. Thou didst stretch no hands of farewell to me from thy bed, nor speak any word of comfort for me to muse on while I weep night and day.”