From where the battle still raged went Hector, son of Priam. At the oak-tree by the gates of Troy there came running to meet him wives and daughters of those who fought. For eagerly did they long for tidings of many a warrior who now lay dead on the field.
When he reached the beautiful, many-pillared palace of his father, his mother came to meet him.
His hand she took in hers, and gently spoke she to him.
"Art thou wearied that thou hast left the battle, Hector, my son?" she said. "Let me bring thee wine that thou may'st be refreshed and yet gain strength."
"Bring me no wine, dear mother," said Hector, "lest it take from me the strength and courage that I have. Rather go thou to the temple of Athene and offer her sacrifices, beseeching that she will have mercy on Troy and on the wives of the Trojans and their little children. So may she hold back Diomedes the destroyer. I go to Paris—would that he were dead!"
And the mother of Hector straightway, with other old women, the mothers of heroes, offered sacrifices and prayers to Athene. But Athene paid no heed.
To the palace of Paris, his mighty bronze spear in his hand, then strode Hector.
Paris, the golden-haired, sat in a room with Helen, idly handling his shining shield and breastplate and curved bow.
In bitter scorn spoke Hector to his brother.