Inside Troy, by a window. Helen and Paris present.

Paris: Helen, my love! I’ve returned from the glorious battlefield!

Helen: Hello, Paris. How was the skirmish?

Paris: Not bad. I got to sneak around and shoot people with my arrows!

Helen: Did you kill anyone?

Paris: No, they keep falling short and hitting soldiers in the ankle. It’s no good.

Helen: There, there! I’m sure the Greeks are very happy to have you.

Paris: You mean the Trojans.

Helen: Oh, I’m sure the Trojans are delighted in their own way, too.

Enter Hector.

Hector: Where is he? Where’s that slimy little worm? Where’s that woman of a fighter? O Princess Paris, where art thou?

Paris: Hail, sir.

Helen: Hector, what’s wrong?

Hector: Didn’t the snot-coated weasel tell you about his duel?

Helen: Paris! You didn’t tell me you had a duel.

Paris: Yeah, well.

Hector: With Menelaus, to the death. It was agreed that if Paris killed, the Achaians would set sail for home, and if Menelaus conquered, we would relinquish you.

Helen looks up, stricken.

Helen: Paris, you... you beat him?

Hector: No, the worthless pile of horse-dung. No, nobody won. He ran away! The war goes on.

Helen: Tell me everything!