It does not seem long ago, my dearest friend, when we met for the first time at Troy, where you had come looking for assistance to clean the Thracian countryside, then plundered by savage horsemen. It was an easy task for the well-trained Trojan soldiers to restore peace and security and help you build up one of the best cavalry forces of the region. For in the course of many years my husband, by means of well planned military campaigns throughout the whole of Phrygia, had transformed that once dangerous landscape into a flourishing garden traversed by safe roads, which, encouraging trade, enriched all subjects living both in the countryside and in the cities.

The gods know, and so do you, Great King, how eager the Trojan House has been, at all times, to share its prosperity with its neighbours, believing that riches and great treasures, when obtained by honorable means, may become a benefit to all. This is not, of course, how those who have a propensity to piracy think. But I will not burden you, or compromise your official neutrality in the war that has destroyed us, even less while the Achaeans are still camping in your territory. The honour of the Trojan House does not need to be defended; for it is known by all that my husband, whatever the circumstances, never approved of theft nor encouraged betrayal. And everyone has for certain that this war was rather caused by the internal disputes between Perseids and Pelopides in Mycenae and Sparta, than by the defection of the Spartan queen.

But enough of all that! I am now a slave, some would say, and should not be talking as a queen. Yet royal blood still flows in my veins, and always will, and that is why even King Agamemnon treats me with deference, surrounding me with all kinds of comforts and privileges in his camp, and now granting a safe-conduct for the messenger bringing this letter to you. For he knows in his wisdom that now that he is the victor, his name has everything to win by exercising clemency. And although he is the baneman of my house, I find it difficult to resist his courtesy and his warmth; for he talks to me, his former enemy, as if I were his aunt, confiding in me his decisions and revealing to me, both the secrets of his heart and those of the state. And how wise of him to do so! For he gets in return the experienced counsel of an old queen who, having nothing to lose, is closer than ever to the gods, who do not fail to inspire her and guide her day by day.

Defeat can be bitter, dear friend. But only for those with short understanding, as those Trojan women who roam around in the camp as shadows in Hades, groaning and lamenting their fate. Well, not myself! I am too old to give way to bitterness and sorrow and I will die a queen whatever they make of me. Yet there are those who go around saying "Hecabe languishes away out of grief", or "Hecabe has lost everything and sobs and weeps and complains all day long". But have I not known that my children were mortal since the very moment I gave them birth? How could I now be desperate or drowning in tears because they are dead? Did they not seek death themselves against their wives' prayers? Likewise "the queen" has been now renamed "the bitch" among the Achaean soldiers; and what do I care for the malice that rules the ignorant populace? Would I let vulgarity offend me, just because only yesterday I was cherished by reverence? Is he wise who, wounded by misfortune, let reproaches fall upon the gods, abandoning gratitude for what they cared to provide in the past? No; I say that blindness has a grip on him, who lets the soul be shaken and fall ill because of transient circumstances. For what is adverse and what propitious? Do not the gods exalt the small, raise them high, and, if they wish, bring them back low again? Even Polyxena, before dying, hoped that I would hide a dagger in my clothes and stab Odysseus to death, when he came to fetch her to be executed. Poor child! How little she knew her own mother, thinking that I could debase myself and act as if I were a murderer in the dark corner of some dirty street! Certainly it is not diadems on the head, nor Sidonian robes, that make a queen, but the confidence that her soul will endure adversity without even the semblance of a change in her royal posture.

That is the sign of true nobility, which honours serenity, peace and reconciliation, even when everything around falls apart. For the chief battlefield, and this we know since childhood, is not where the too short-sighted warriors who do not listen to their wives believe it to be, but inside the heart of mortal men. For the blood that is shed in plains and cities, when men fight each other, dries too fast and turns quickly into dust. But the blood that flows, by the power of affection inside the heart of mortals, besides nourishing the body, keeps the soul fresh; if it comes with the proper amount of moisture, that is. For when the heart is poisoned by desires of vengeance, deceit, bitterness, envy, greed, hatred, ignorance or betrayal, the blood flowing through it thickens, and on account of the passions' excessive fire, it dries out, forming clusters in its midst. In such a poisoned heart the soul, suffocated by the dry blood, faints or even flies away, leaving the body alone to live out, without her, its corrupted life. These are the living dead whom old Dardanus, born in the stars, described long ago, urging us to fight first of all in the battlefield of our hearts for the sake of the soul, which is the softest and most delicate of all things that are in the world and the only capable of contemplating the immortals. For if the battle were lost in the heart, he said, men would turn into statues which, like some inventions of Daedalus, are able to move around, being still senseless and blind; or like the wonderful Talos that Jason and his pirates destroyed in Crete, which had a blood of his own, called ichor by the ignorant, and oil by those who know. These living dead, Dardanus taught us, might go on attending their businesses as usual but, having no soul, are destroyed forever when their time is up.

Oh! How I long to talk to you, beloved friend! Not that my words are wasted with Agamemnon who, although my foe in the world by the will of fate, is now my friend at heart by the will of the gods, and even finds pleasure dining with his prisoner. But you have always known, better than many men, how to listen to a woman, allowing your magnanimity to pardon the shortcomings that cling to our gender. I have not forgotten how, during one of your visits to Troy, seeing me embarrassed for having talked too many words among men, you comforted me, saying: "Lady, do not feel sad; the highest rank is for men, and that is why Zeus rules in heaven. But, you see, he is surrounded by goddesses, whom he loves and listens to. For they too have a share in wisdom, and so do you here on earth among mortal men." These were your warm and most welcome words; and from that day I knew that no other man could take care of our little Polydorus better than you, who know how to enjoy your own quietly, and that, fearing the gods, are gentle and just towards everybody, showing generous indulgence even towards the inborn weaknesses of the female race.

Imagine therefore my happiness, when I learned that Agamemnon had allowed me to see you again, my dearest, and your sons, who remind me of my own Polydorus, safe in your care. In addition I will have the joy, during your visit, of sealing our friendship for all times to come: I wish to transfer to you, now my nearest heir, and your estate the remains of the Trojan treasure, which Agamemnon's wisdom has allowed me to keep, not wishing to deprive a queen of all royal rights. For, as he told me just a few days ago, when a royal person is humiliated, whoever he or she might be, royalty itself suffers and is weakened, and with it authority, and property, and order and peace and prosperity decay. Yes, you, dear Polymestor, are my heir, not by blood as we both know, but instead by the lasting works of friendship, which I hold higher than blood. I will also officially release you from all your oaths concerning Polydorus; he is now your son more than mine, and if you find him disobedient, you should let him know which rights are a father's. Nothing could be more fair towards both of you.

The agreement transferring to you these by no means negligible riches will be signed by all of us in the presence of a Mycenaean auditor, who has warned me that the treasure will revert to Mycenae once you have left the light of this world, unless also signed by your sons; this is the reason why you must take them both with you.

My dear friend, I have no words to express in this, by the will of necessity, short message, how high an esteem I feel for your loyalty and hospitality, which I intend to reward as soon as we meet; for I do not think Polydorus could ever repay all what you have done for him. But I promise, as mother and queen, and call upon the gods as my witnesses, that I will put our debt aright, on his and my behalf, the very day of your arrival. You, more than anyone else, deserve a just reward. May the gods bestow you your due.

Carlos Parada
Lund, February 2000