The second day of the truce began beneath the sound of bells.
They had been ringing since dawn.
Their voices moved through Troy in slow waves, rising above the palace roofs, crossing the inner streets, and fading against the walls. Each time the sound disappeared, another bell answered from farther away.
Hecuba was being carried from the harbour room.
The procession moved toward the inner city through streets crowded with mourners. Black cloth hung from windows. Oil lamps burned beside doorways despite the daylight. People stood with their heads lowered as the queen passed, and many reached toward the bier without touching it.
Hector walked beside the body.
He had refused a horse. He had refused the shelter of a carriage. His hand remained on the edge of the bier as if he could still protect her from the men carrying it.
Paris walked on the other side.
He did not look at the sword wound. He kept his eyes on Hecuba's face, though even that was becoming difficult.
