Listen! He asks after the father from whom he parted when quite a child;
after the son, whom he never saw; but not one word of his fair
first-love--not one of her who was the passion of his manhood, whom he
bucklered once against ten thousand. He had rather hear of Peleus and
Neoptolemus than of Deidamia or Briseis. Of Polyxena, be sure that he
remembers nothing but that he was holding her hand when her brother slew
him. Will he ever forgive her that? Not if she could have made amends by
the sacrifice of ten lives instead of that one which she gave,
willingly, on Sigaeum. Has ambition any hold on him either? Only to
breathe the fresh clear air above instead of that murky, heavy
atmosphere, he would resign the empire of the dead, and be a drudge to
the veriest boor. Yet once, if we remember right, he chafed fiercely
enough at a word of authority uttered by the King of Men. One of his old
tastes clings to him still--a very simple one. He has forgotten the
savor of Sciote and Chian wine; but--were it only for the sake of the
carouses they have had together--Odysseus will not grudge him another
draught out of the black trench. It is so long since be tasted blood!
Guy was no more like his former self than the shadow was like the
substance of Pelides.
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