Thus spoke the goddess, and Helen’s heart yearned
after her former husband, her city, and her parents. She
threw a white mantle over her head, and hurried from her
room, weeping as she went, not alone, but attended by
two of her handmaids, Aethrae, daughter of Pittheus, and
Clymene. And straightway they were at the Scaean gates.
The two sages, Ucalegon and Antenor, elders of the
people, were seated by the Scaean gates, with Priam,
Panthous, Thymoetes, Lampus, Clytius, and Hiketaon of
the race of Mars. These were too old to fight, but they
were fluent orators, and sat on the tower like cicales that
chirrup delicately from the boughs of some high tree in a
wood. When they saw Helen coming towards the tower,
they said softly to one another, ‘Small wonder that Trojans
and Achaeans should endure so much and so long, for the
sake of a woman so marvellously and divinely lovely. Still,
fair though she be, let them take her and go, or she will
breed sorrow for us and for our children after us.’