Let her be, King! She is thinking ever of her Hector, and Astyanax whom you slew!
ANDROMACHE.
My lord----
PYRRHUS.
Peace, peace! She knows well enough that Hector is dead--and beyond the seas too. Though I were shamed to the dirt in mine own hall, Hector would not hear of it!
HERMIONE.
Are you sure?
PRIEST.
Hector himself is buried beyond the seas, but his ghost may have followed your ships to Phthia. [_Coming up to the throne._] Yea, son of Achilles, though you like not my counsel, there be witches in Phrygia that can wake the dead, and tell them of shame come to their enemies, or of----
ALCIMUS.
There be none such in Phthia, old man! And if the dead _should_ wake, your prating would even set them to sleep again.
[_Laughter, in which_ PYRRHUS _slightly joins_.
PYRRHUS.
'Tis well said, Alcimedon! These women and priests!
PRIEST.
Nay, but I _will_ speak!
[_Talks to_ PYRRHUS, _round whom a group gathers, leaving_ ANDROMACHE _alone, and_ ORESTES _near_ ALCIMEDON.
ORESTES.
[_Apart to_ ALCIMEDON.] Old man, you have seen Helen. Was she more beautiful than your Queen?
ALCIMUS.
[_Looking towards_ HERMIONE, _then brightening_.] Nay, this is a woman like another; Helen was goddesslike, deathless and ageless for ever!
ORESTES.
[_To himself._] For Helen I could have done it! Alcimedon, did yonder woman ever do Helen any great wrong, anything meet for vengeance?
ALCIMUS.
Andromache? Why, 'twas Helen did _her_ all the wrong!
ORESTES.
Even so; and therefore she must have hated her. Did she never seek, think you, to have Helen slain?
ALCIMUS.
I trow not! Why, she gave her home and shelter when the folk of Troy sought to stone her.
ORESTES.
[_Brooding._] If she had ever plotted against Helen, I could have done it.
PYRRHUS.
[_Shaking off the_ PRIEST.] Enough, enough!--Is your stranger in the hall, Andromache?
ANDROMACHE.
He is here, my lord; a man of good counsel, methinks, and like to be faithful to his guest-oath.
PYRRHUS.
He is happily come to a night of festival.--Stranger, you stand far from the fire.
[ORESTES _and_ HERMIONE _have been trying to read one another's faces. Here_ ORESTES _turns bitterly, looks to the suits of armour on the wall, and chooses a seat near one_.
ORESTES.
Nay, I have a good seat.
PYRRHUS.
We will call the bard and be merry.
ORESTES.
[_Gloomily._] I have heard your bard but now.
PRIEST.
The stranger makes minstrelsy himself, as many chieftains may.
ORESTES.
Ay, give me a goblet, and I will sing. I am but a rude singer, but my songs may perchance be new.
PYRRHUS.
Take him the wine. [_They bring wine and a lyre._