by Homer
Phoinikians, gave them prizes to gladden their spirits
and asked them to set me down on Pulos or land me
in God-bright Elis, the country ruled by Epeians.
Unlikely Landing at Night
“But powerful gales thrust them away from that quarter—
against their will—they never wanted to trick me.
Wandering off from there, at nighttime we came here
and rowed in the harbor fast, none of us mindful
of food although we badly needed to take some.
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We stepped from the ship just so and all of us lay down.
I was limp. A honeyed sleep overcame me.
“They took my wealth from the hollow vessel in good time
and placed it all to one side as I lay on the beach-sand.
They boarded again and sailed for well-settled Sidon.
I was left behind though, my heart in its deep stress.”
The Goddess and Man Revealed
After he said all that the glow-eyed Goddess Athene
smiled and gently stroked him. She changed to a woman,
tall and beautifully shaped, skilled in the best crafts.
She answered him now and her words had a feathery swiftness,
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“A man must be sneaky and smart to beat you at all your
wiles—not even a God could, chancing to meet you—
so richly thoughtful and stubborn! It seems you will never
stop your lying, not even here in your own land.
You love such guile and fakery, right from your feet up!
Come on now, stop such talk. Both of us know well
how you’re shrewd, the best by far among all men
with words and plans. And I’m well known among all Gods
for wisdom and counsel. Yet you’re failing to know me:
Pallas Athene, daughter of Zeus. I am always
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there beside you, I guard you through every struggle
and made you dearly loved by all the Phaiakians.
The Final Plot
“I came here now in order to weave you a good plan.
I’ll hide this wealth which the high-born Phaiakians gave you
leaving for home—they followed my knowing counsel.
Then I’ll tell you of all the doom you will go through,
the plight in your well-built house. Your need is to bear up.
Don’t tell anyone now you wandered and came home,
not one woman or man of them all. You should keep still,
undergo pain, men’s force and plenty of hardship.”
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Doubting the Goddess
Odysseus answered her then, full of his own plans.
“Goddess, it’s hard for a man to know when he’s met you,
however shrewd: you take on many disguises.
I do know well the way you were kind in a former
time at Troy when sons of Akhaians were battling.
But after we looted the high city of Priam
and left in our ships, when a God scattered Akhaians,
I never saw you, daughter of Zeus, nor did I catch you
boarding my ship in order to save me from torment.
I only wandered, my heart always inside me
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piecemeal. At last the Gods freed me from trouble,
but not till I came to the fruitful land of Phaiakians.
You braced me with words, you led me yourself to the city.
Now I beg you before your Father—I don’t think
♦ I’ve sailed to clear-view Ithaka—no, it’s some other
land to be roamed and you, I think, have been teasing,
saying all this in order to muddle my own mind.
Tell me, have I arrived in my fatherland truly?”
Ithaka Surely
The glow-eyed Goddess Athene answered by saying,
“Surely those are always the thoughts in your own chest,
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so I cannot abandon you now in your sadness,
because your wits are sharp, you’re kindly and thoughtful.
Another warrior wandering home would have gladly
rushed off to see his children and wife in the great hall.
It’s not your way, not yet, to learn or to know much
before you’ve tested your wife. Well, but the lady’s
waiting still in the great hall, forever unhappy,
her days and nighttimes wasting. Often the tears fall.
I never doubted myself, though: I knew in my own heart
you’d come back home when all your crewmen had perished.
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Yet I hardly wanted a war with Poseidon,
my Father’s brother. He thrust rage in his own heart,
a killing spite, because you blinded his own son.
“Come on then, I’ll show you Ithakan sites to persuade you.
There’s the harbor of old Phorkus the sea-lord.
The olive-tree dense with leaves is close to the harbor’s
head not far from the charming cave, misted and sea-gray,
sacred to Nymphs called Neiades—Nymphs of the Water.
You offered many flawless hecatombs often
inside that overarching cave to Nymphs of the Water.
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And there’s Neriton Mountain, wearing its green woods.”
A Kiss for the Land
The Goddess cleared off haze when she spoke and the country
was right there. Long-suffering, godlike Odysseus gladly
hailed and kissed his land, a giver of good grain.
He called on the Nymphs at once, raising his two hands:
“You Water-Nymphs, Zeus’s daughters! I thought I would never
see you again. But now I hail you with loving
vows and I’ll bring you presents the way that I once did,
if Zeus’s daughter, the war-prize bringer, will freely
allow me to live, and my own son to become tall.”
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But How to Kill?
The glow-eyed goddess Athene answered by saying,
“Take heart: don’t let your mind be troubled by those things.
Instead we should hurry and place your goods in the wondrous
cave’s innermost corner. They’ll keep for you safely.
Then let’s ponder together which is the best way.”
So with that word the Goddess entered the misty
cave and searched for a nook. Meanwhile Odysseus
brought it all inside—the gold and tireless
bronze and well-styled clothes—Phaiakian presents.
He carefully set them down and a stone was placed at the entrance
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by Pallas Athene, daughter of Zeus, who carries the great shield.
Then the two sat down at the base of the holy
olive to plan death for the pride-smitten suitors.
The glow-eyed Goddess Athene started by saying,
“Son of Laertes, bloodline of Zeus, my wily Odysseus,
think about how you can get your hands on the shameless
men who’ve ruled for three long years in your great hall.
They dote on your godlike wife, they load her with her presents.
While her heart pines for your homecoming each day,
she pledges hope for them all—some promise for each man,
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a message to send him—her mind is pondering elsewhere.”
The Man Cannot Do It Alone
An answer came from Odysseus, full of the best plans:
“Look at this! Just like Atreus’s son Agamemnon
I might have gone to an evil end in my own hall
unless you told me, Goddess, the truth about all this.
Come on then, weave me a plan, help me repay them.
Stand close to me too, the strength and courage inside me,
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br /> the way we loosened the fire-lit heights of the Trojans.
My glow-eyed Goddess, if only you’d eagerly stand close,
I’d battle three hundred men myself in the great hall.
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So my queenly Goddess, I pray you will help me gladly.”
The Look of a Beggar
The glow-eyed Goddess Athene answered by saying,
“I’ll surely be with you there and then: I’d hardly forget you
the hour that work’s to be done. Yes, and I think some
blood and brains will spatter the floor of your large hall—
suitors’ blood, the men who devour your resources.
♦ Come on then: I’ll make you unknown to all of your people.
I’ll parch your limber arms and beautiful skin-tone.
I’ll blight your head’s bright hair and dress you in poor clothes
making men feel disgust when they see you.
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I’ll also blur your eyes, quite handsome before this,
to make you appear shameful to all of the suitors,
then to the son and wife you left in the great hall.
Help from a Swineherd
“But go up first yourself to the man who has guarded
and cared for your swine. Always kindly and loyal,
he loves your son and thought-full Penelopeia.
You’ll find him close to the hogs. The herd has been feeding
by Korakos Rock not far from the spring, Arethousa,
taking their fill of acorns and drinking the shade-black
water that helps those hogs fatten and flourish.
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Sit and stay there. Ask the man about each thing.
I’ll go to Sparte myself, known for its beautiful women,
to call Telemakhos back, the son you cherish, Odysseus.
He went to the dancing places of wide Lakedaimon
to ask Menelaos for news, whether you still lived.”
Help for the Son Too
Odysseus, full of designs, answered by asking,
“Why not tell him then? Your heart knows everything surely.
Or maybe the son should also wander the restless
sea and suffer pain while others devour his resources.”
The glow-eyed Goddess Athene answered by saying,
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“Don’t be too afraid for the man in your heart now.
I guided your son myself to win him a good name
by going there. He does no work and he sits down,
relaxed in the home of Atreus’s son, its bounty before him.
Another Death Threat
“Young suitors though in a black ship have been waiting,
anxious to kill him before he returns to the land of his fathers.
I think they won’t. Before then Earth will have covered
a few more suitors, the men who devour your resources.”
An Old Man Suddenly
She spoke that way and touched him. The wand of Athene
parched his limber arms and beautiful skin-tone.
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She blighted the brown hair on his head and she covered
his whole body with age, the skin of an old man.
She also blurred his eyes, quite handsome before that,
and threw some old and tattered clothing around him,
a ragged and coarse tunic, grimy from bad smoke.
She flung the hairless and bulky hide of a once-quick
stag around him. She gave him a staff and beggarly knapsack,
dotted with holes. Its carrying strap was a plain rope.
So they planned and parted, Athene to God-bright
Lakedaimon to bring back home the son of Odysseus.
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BOOK 14 The House of the Swineherd
A Long Hike to the Front Yard
The man walked from the harbor now on a stony
trail uphill through woods to the heights shown by Athene,
the path to his godlike hog-man. He’d cared for Odysseus’s
livestock most among slaves acquired by his master.
He found him sitting down out front where the forecourt
♦ was well built up, a handsome place with a broad view
and plenty of space around it. Built by the swineherd
himself to care for the hogs of his king who was long gone,
his work unknown to Penelopeia and aging Laertes,
he’d dragged big stones and topped them with thorn-limbs.
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Around it he drove in stakes that way and this way,
all set close, black oakwood, its bark stripped.
The Dwindling Herd
Inside the forecourt twelve sties had been built up
next to each other. The sows used them for sleeping,
fifty penned in each sty to wallow or doze there—
breeding females. The males who slept on the outside
were far fewer: godlike suitors had killed them
for feasts and lowered their numbers. The swineherd would always
send them a fattened boar, the best of the whole herd
whose number now was three hundred and sixty.
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