WEBVTT
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Episode 7 – Triumph for the Trojans?
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[Opening music]
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On the rocky crag on Mount Ida,
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Zeus looked at his golden scales and he saw the Greek luck sinking down towards Hades’ halls,
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and he saw the Trojan luck soaring up into the skies.
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And, in that moment, in the city of Troy,
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Hector, the eldest son of King Priam,
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woke up with his heart soaring in his breast.
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He leapt out of bed.
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He kissed his wife Andromache,
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still asleep on the bed.
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He pulled on his clothes and his armour.
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He ran out of his palace.
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He sent lieutenants to all corners of the city, waking warriors,
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and soon the air was thick with the sound of the sharpening of swords,
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the greasing of axles,
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the harnessing of horses to chariots,
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the seizing of helmets and shields,
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the buckling of breastplates and belts and greaves.
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And, if I could sing,
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I would sing of Hector himself,
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striding this way and that way.
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The leather rim of his bossed shield slung onto his back,
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tapping the nape of his neck and the backs of his ankles,
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as he exalts and encourages his men.
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And soon the whole city was humming.
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And Hector made his way down towards the city gates
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and, as he was walking,
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he saw coming towards him his wife, Andromache,
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and, walking behind her,
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a nursemaid with their little son, Astyanax, in her arms.
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And, when Andromache saw Hector,
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she ran forwards and she threw her hands around his neck, and she said,
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“Sweet Hector,
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this courage will be the death of you.
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Achilles is a wild animal.
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He is a savage beast.
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In his ravaging the coast from the Black Sea to the Nile,
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he has killed all seven of my brothers.
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He has killed my father.
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He has killed my mother.
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The city that gave me birth is nothing more than a pile of crumbling, blood-soaked rubble.
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Hector, do not make me a widow as well as an orphan.”
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And Hector said,
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“Andromache, what can I do?
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If a man is guarding his sheep on the slopes of Mount Ida and he finds himself surrounded by wolves or by thieves,
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does he turn tail and run?
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Or does he stand firm and fight?
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I am my father’s son.
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I am our son’s father.
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This land from Mount Ida to the sea,
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from the river Scamander to the river Xanthus,
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is my inheritance.
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As I am father of this family,
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one day I will also be father of this land.”
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And Andromache looked at him and she said,
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“Then who are you married to?
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Me or the land?”
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And Hector said,
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“Both, my love.”
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And he reached and he took the baby from the nursemaid’s hand,
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his little son, Astyanax.
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But, as he lifted him,
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the baby wrinkled up his face,
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and he opened his mouth and he screamed,
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and tears were spurting out of his eyes.
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And Andromache smiled through her tears and she said,
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“Sweet Hector, it is your helmet that frightens him.”
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And she reached and she lifted the great bronze helmet,
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with its nodding plume of horsehair,
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from Hector’s head,
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and she set it onto the ground at his feet.
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And Hector lifted his little baby son and he pressed his nose against the baby’s nose,
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and the tears turned to bubbling laughter.
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And Hector lifted his son high above his head and he said,
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“Great father Zeus,
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may this child grow up to be greater than his father!”
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And Zeus, on the rocky crag on Mount Ida,
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was watching and smiling fondly.
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But he did not bow his head in assent.
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And Hector gave the baby to Andromache and he reached down,
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and he picked up his helmet and he put it onto his head.
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And he said, “Andromache,
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nobody, whether hero or coward,
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can avoid his fate.
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Even Zeus can only watch as the scales of luck either rise or fall.”
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And he made his way down towards the gate.
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And he hadn’t gone far when his brother, Paris,
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caught up with him,
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like some great bull that’s been locked in the barn all winter and with the first strength of spring,
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when the barn doors are thrown open,
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the bull goes dancing and skipping across the flowery fields.
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So it was that Paris caught up with Hector,
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and Hector put his arm around his brother’s neck and kissed him.
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And then he went down to his golden chariot and there were his horses,
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stamping and steaming and champing at the bit.
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And he stroked the horses’ faces with the back of his hand
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and he said, “My beauties,
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today is your chance to repay me for all those mornings when my wife, Andromache,
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has given you honeyed wheats before she brought me my own breakfast.”
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And he climbed up into the car of his chariot,
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and he turned and he faced the great Trojan army,
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massed inside the city walls.
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He said,
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“Today we ride against the Greeks.
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Great father Zeus is on our side.
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I feel it in my bones.
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We will drive them before us and,
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when we reach their flimsy, futile palisade,
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our horses’ hooves will kick it down and,
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when we reach their hollow ships,
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the watchword will be fire!”
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And there was a tremendous cheer from the Trojan army.
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The great bronze Scaean gates were thrown open
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and, with a whirring of wheels and a creaking of chariots,
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a neighing of horses, a shouting of men,
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a thundering of hooves and feet,
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the Trojan army poured across the plain
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and, with a crash of bronze against bronze,
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the Trojans met the Greeks.
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And, if I could sing now,
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I would sing of Hector,
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as his charioteer whipped the horses to a gallop,
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every cell of his body poised, immaculate.
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I would sing of Hector,
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cutting down Greeks like ripe corn,
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leaving them in swathes six deep, twelve deep, behind him.
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And behind Hector,
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the Trojan army driving the Greeks before them.
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And, when they reached the palisade,
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the Trojan horses kicked it down,
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as a little boy on the seashore might kick down a sandcastle.
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And the Greek hearts turned to water and they fled.
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And, if I could sing now,
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I would sing of the menace in Hector’s eyes,
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flickering beneath the bronze rim of his helmet.
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I would sing of the menace in the tilt of his helmet on his temples,
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as he fought.
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The Greeks, to their horror,
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saw their palisade, their wooden fence, come toppling down,
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as though some god had stomped on it.
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And, through the breach, there came a chariot.
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Behind the chariot, a surge of brazen Trojans,
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each one brandishing a flaming torch.
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Those Trojans, they kicked over the burial mounds they found.
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They gutted the Greeks who could not run away, the Greek wounded.
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They threw spears at fleeing Greek backs.
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The Greeks, they formed a line in front of their ships.
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They fought with whatever they could find,
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with sticks, with staves, with stones, with rocks.
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Menelaus was aboard one of the ships,
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cracking Trojan heads with a great oar.
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But soon there arose from one of those ships black smoke.
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Not far away, in his hut,
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Achilles listened to the crackling flames.
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He listened to the screams of the dying Greeks.
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He smiled to himself.
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He picked up a silver harp and he began to play.
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On the high slopes of Mount Olympus,
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Hera and Athene watched the smoke rising from the Greek ships,
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and the blood drained from their faces.
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Something had to be done.
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The ox-eyed queen of heaven made her way into her palace.
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She closed the door behind herself.
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She took off her clothes.
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She washed herself from head to foot,
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and then she rubbed scented oils into her skin,
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and she found a shimmering robe.
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She threw it over her shoulders;
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she clasped it at the throat with a golden clasp.
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And then she set off in search of Aphrodite, the goddess of love.
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And when she found her, she said,
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“Aphrodite, dear child,
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I wonder if you would do me a favour,
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if you’re not too angry with me for siding with the Greeks.”
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And Aphrodite said,
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“What favour?”
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And Hera said,
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“I wonder if you would be kind enough to lend me your belt of love and desire
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because, you see,
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the sky and the earth have fallen out with one another.
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They do nothing but argue and bicker and quarrel and fight.
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Maybe, if I could lend them your belt,
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I could make peace between them.”
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And Aphrodite said,
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“Well, it would be unkind of me not to lend you my belt for such an important task.”
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And she unclasped it and she gave it to Hera.
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And Hera took it from her.
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And, as soon as Hera was out of sight,
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she tied it around her own waist and she descended from the heavens,
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down and down and down to the rocky crag where Zeus was sitting,
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watching the smoke rising from the Greek ships.
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And suddenly, out of the corner of his eye,
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he saw his wife and he said,
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“Hera, never have I been filled with such desire,
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such longing for a mortal or an immortal.”
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And he drew her towards him and he unclasped the golden clasp.
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And Hera said,
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“Zeus! What? Here? Now?
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But we might be seen!
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Think how gossiping tongues would wag!”
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And Zeus said, “Hera,
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I will cover us with a golden cloud.”
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And he brought down a cloud that dripped golden dew onto the grass.
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And there they lay down together and they wrapped their arms around each other,
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and they kissed.
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And Zeus, smiling, relaxed, fell asleep in her arms.
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And, as soon as he was asleep,
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Hera laid him tenderly down onto the grass.
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She leapt to her feet;
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she drew the shimmering robe over her shoulders;
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she clasped it with the golden clasp and, invisible,
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she made her way down from the mountain,
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straight to the Greek camp.
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Invisible, she moved through the Greek camp,
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until she found Patroclus.
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And she filled Patroclus with sudden courage.
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Patroclus ran through the screams and smoke down to where the breakers crash and drag,
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down to Achilles’ hut.
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He ran inside.
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There was Achilles strumming a harp,
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as though this day was like any other.
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Patroclus said,
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“Achilles, listen.
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The ships are burning.
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Agamemnon, Menelaus, Odysseus –
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all of them have been wounded.
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Prince Hector of Troy is unstoppable!
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If you will not fight today,
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lend me your armour.
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Let me wear it.
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You know, the very sight of it will put the Trojans to flight.”
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And so Patroclus begged to bring about his own death.
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Achilles smiled.
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He said,
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“Very well then.
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Wear my armour!
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Ride in my chariot!
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Lead my army!
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You can be Achilles today.
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Drive the Trojans out of the camp.
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But be careful.
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You know Apollo loves this city.
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If you were to threaten it,
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he would punish you and his punishments are awful and swift.”
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And so, for the first time,
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Patroclus took Achilles’ well-made greaves and strapped them onto his legs.
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He put on Achilles’ golden breastplate,
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covered in shimmering, silver stars.
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He put on Achilles’ helmet with its black, nodding horsehair plume,
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bristling with terror.
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And then he said,
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“My friend,
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you have entrusted these precious things to me.
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I will give that thing that I value most to you for safekeeping, until I return.”
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And then Patroclus took from his finger the wonderful golden ring.
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The golden ring, carved in the shape of a curling arrow,
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whose sharp point touched its feathered tail.
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That ring, Achilles had given him years before.
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Patroclus took it off and gave it to Achilles.
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Achilles put it onto his finger.
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Patroclus climbed into the car of Achilles’ chariot,
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and he set forth.
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And the Trojans, torching the Greek ships,
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suddenly saw Achilles.
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They saw Achilles in his golden armour.
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They saw Achilles with his matchless Myrmidons behind him,
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and they were terrified.
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They dropped the torches they were holding.
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They ran in all directions.
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No word of Hector’s would rally them.
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They climbed over the shattered palisade.
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They escaped to save their own skins.
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[Closing music]