“But then first a chill besets me; I picture my dear father, the same age as the King I had seen, cruelly wounded, breathing his last, and Creusa, deserted, my house plundered, and the plight of little Iulus. I look round to see what forces I have: all had fallen away, had jumped to the ground below or yielded their exhausted bodies to the flames. Only I remain. The brightness of the fires lights me as I go, casting my eyes all about me, and I spy Helen, keeping to the temple of Vesta and quietly lurking there in a hidden spot, sitting at the altars. The nemesis both of Troy and her homeland, detested by all, she had hidden away in fear of the Trojans, who would hold the fall of the city against her, of punishment at the hands of the Greeks and of the anger of her deserted husband. Burning anger blazed in my soul, with the impulse to avenge my falling land by punishing her guilt. ‘Shall this woman look again on Sparta and her native Mycenae in safety, go there in triumph, see husband, home, parents and children, attended by a crowd of Trojan women and Trojan servants? When Priam has perished by the sword and Troy by fire? When the shore of Troy has been wet so often with blood? No! Though punishing a woman is a victory that brings no reputation, I will be praised for eradicating a scourge and exacting a just penalty, and it will be joy to have filled my soul with avenging fire and appeased the ashes of my friends!’ So I thought, but as I pressed on in fury, my loving mother came, shining with a pure radiance through the dark, clearer to my sight than ever before, an unconcealed Goddess, of the nature and stature as seen by Gods, held me back and spoke these words from her rosy lips: … ”