and stood beside her,
and she beckoned him to follow after. Then she took him to the grove of
olive-trees in the garden, and burned incense upon the altar she had set
up, and laid her hand upon the altar of Artemis the Bright. "So do that
quick Avenger to me," she said, "as she did to Amphion's wife, whenas
her nostrils were filled with the wind of her rage, if I play false to
thee, Odysseus." And Odysseus praised her. Then stooping, with her
finger she traced the lines of Troy in the sand, and all the gates of
it; and told over the number of the guard at each; and revealed the
houses of the chiefs, where they stood, and the watches set.

Odysseus marked all in his heart. But he asked, "And which is the golden
house of King Priam?"

She said, "Nay, but that I will not tell thee. For he has been always
kind to me from the very first; and even when Hector, his beloved, was
slain, he had no ill words for me, though all Troy hissed me in the
shrines of the Gods, and women spat upon the doors of Paris' house as
they passed by. Him, an old man, thou shalt spare for my sake who am
about to betray him."

Odysseus said, "Be it so. One marvel I have, lady, and it is this: If
now, in these last days, thou wilt help thy people, why didst thou not
before?"

She was silent for a while. Then she said, "I knew not then what now I
know, that my lord, the King, loves me."

Odysseus marvelled. "Why," said he, "when all the hosts of the Achaeans
were gathered at his need, and out of all the nations of Hellas arose
the cry of women bereaved and children fatherless, so that he might have
thee again! And thou sayest, 'He loved thee not!'"

"Nay," said she quickly, "not so. But I knew very well that he desired
me for his solace and delight, as other men have done and still do: but
to be craved is one thing and to be loved is another thing. I am not all
fair flesh, Odysseus: I am wife and mother and I would be companion and
comforter of a man. Now I know of a truth that my husband loveth me
dearly; and I sicken of Paris, who maketh me his delight. Hateful to me
are the ways of men with women. Have I not cause enough to hate them,
these long years a plaything for his arms, and a fruit to allay the
drouth of his eyes? Am I less a woman in that I am fair, or less woman
grown because I can never be old? Now I loathe the sweet lore of
Aphrodite, which she taught me too well; and all my hope is in that
Blessed One whom men call Of Good Counsel