The board is set, the pieces are moving,
War, but a reason for minstrels to sing.
If death be a haven, why must we fight?
Hector of Troy must now see that blunt light.
How swift he rides for the glory of Troy,
Alas! He meets a 'brotherly' decoy.
'A Trojan coward!' Achilles he said.
'Brother fight with me! Achilles be dead!'

Shrill cries heard, Deiphobus was not there,
Hector feared not death, but his 'blood-stained' hair.
'Promise me something,' Hector he did pray.
'Bring me to father so to thwart decay!'
He shows no mercy, he laments his friend,
How he decides is how Hector shall end!
And end he shall: father, brother and prince.
Leave blood-stained hair without final rinse.

One spiteful blow where not Hector bore mail,
But where once white, raw flesh had now turned pale.
This prince has not life, but shameful demise,
Passing to shadow, passing lonely skies.

Hector, slain out of malice and vengeance.
Achilles owed Hector much allegiance
No shame bound in a citadel of guilt,
Protected by water, by sand and silt.
Sand and silt filled Hector's lifeless eyes,
Priam, preserved in awe; hear how he cries.
No funeral rites, no coins over lids,
Tattered dragging as Apollo forbids.

Achilles the great, Hector much greater,
Hector loved, Achilles the hater!
To move thy pieces on the forlorn board
Is to decide one's fate by strike of sword.