t last he stole a gold cup, a very large cup, with two
handles, and a dove sitting on each handle, from the hut of Nestor. The
old chief was fond of this cup, which he had brought from home, and, when
it was found in the beggar's dirty wallet, everybody cried that he must
be driven out of the camp and well whipped. So Nestor's son, young
Thrasymedes, with other young men, laughing and shouting, pushed and
dragged the beggar close up to the Scaean gate of Troy, where Thrasymedes
called with a loud voice, "O Trojans, we are sick of this shameless
beggar. First we shall whip him well, and if he comes back we shall put
out his eyes and cut off his hands and feet, and give him to the dogs to
eat. He may go to you, if he likes; if not, he must wander till he dies
of hunger."

The young men of Troy heard this and laughed, and a crowd gathered on the
wall to see the beggar punished. So Thrasymedes whipped him with his
bowstring till he was tired, and they did not leave off beating the
beggar till he ceased howling and fell, all bleeding, and lay still. Then
Thrasymedes gave him a parting kick, and went away with his friends. The
beggar lay quiet for some time, then he began to stir, and sat up, wiping
the tears from his eyes, and shouting curses and bad words after the
Greeks, praying that they might be speared in the back, and eaten by
dogs.

At last he tried to stand up, but fell down again, and began to crawl on
hands and knees towards the Scaean gate. There he sat down, within the
two side walls of the gate, where he cried and lamented. Now Helen of
the fair hands came down from the gate tower, being sorry to see any man
treated so much worse than a beast, and she spoke to the beggar and asked
him why he had been used in this cruel way?

At first he only moaned, and rubbed his sore sides, but at last he said
that he was an unhappy man, who had been shipwrecked, and was begging his
way home, and that the Greeks suspected him of being a spy sent out by
the Trojans. But he had been in Lacedaemon, her own country, he said,
and could tell her about her father, if she were, as he supposed, the
beautiful Helen, and about her brothers, Castor and Polydeuces, and her
little daughter, Hermione.

"But perhaps," he said, "you are no mortal woman, but some goddess who
favours the Trojans, and if indeed you are a goddess then I liken you to
Aphrodite, for beauty, and stature, and shapeliness." Then Helen wept;
for many a y