by Homer
He left and hurriedly carried some back to the suitors.
Odysseus’s heart and knees felt loosened and weakened
watching them belt on armor and brandish the lengthy
spears in their hands. His job now struck him as massive.
He spoke to Telemakhos—words with a feathery swiftness—
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“Telemakhos, plainly one of the maids in the great hall
stirs up harmful fighting—or maybe Melanthios.”
Promptly Telemakhos gave him a sensible answer.
♦ “Father, I made the mistake myself—none of the others
made it. I left the handsome, tight-fit door of the arms-room
ajar. The suitors’ watch was better than mine was.
“But go there, godlike Eumaios, close the door of the arms-room
and find out whether one of the women has done this.
I’d guess Melanthios rather, the son of Dolios.”
Catching the Goatherd
Even now as they spoke that way with each other
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Melanthios went to the room again: that driver of goat-flocks
hauled out gleaming armor. But godlike Eumaios
saw him and promptly came back to Odysseus saying,
“Son of Laertes, bloodline of Zeus, wily Odysseus,
that plague-like man has gone again to the arms-room,
the one we supposed ourselves. Answer me plainly:
should I kill him or not if I am his better?
Or haul him to you and make him pay for his many
crimes, for all the schemes he mulled in your own house?”
An answer came from Odysseus, full of his own plans:
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“I and Telemakhos doubtless will hold off the high-born
suitors inside the hall, however they press us.
You two wrench his hands and feet up behind him,
throw him back in the room and tie a plank at his backbone
with twisted rope. Lash his body and raise him
high on one of the posts there, close to the roof-beams.
He’ll stay alive but smart and suffer a long time.”
The Goatherd Strung Up
Those were his words. They listened well and obeyed him,
going off to the room. The man inside did not see them:
he rummaged for arms in the inmost part of the storeroom.
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Both men waited, standing on either side of the doorway.
Soon as the goatherd Melanthios came to the threshold,
one hand holding a very beautiful helmet,
the other a broad old shield dotted with rust-marks—
Laertes, a war-chief when younger, had carried it often,
but now it lay there, stitching and hand-straps loosened—
the two men jumped him, grabbing his hair, and they dragged him
back inside. His heart slumped as they threw him and lashed him
hand and foot on the floor with spirit-destroying
rope. They pulled it behind him, the way they were told to
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by long-suffering, godlike Odysseus, son of Laertes.
Knotting a twisted cord close to his torso,
they raised him high on a column, close to the roofbeams.
Then Eumaios the swineherd, you mocked him by saying,
“Surely, Melanthios, all night long you can watch here,
lying down on a soft bed just as it suits you!
You won’t be missing newborn Dawn as she rises
from Ocean’s flow on her chair of gold when you often
herded goats to suitors and helped them dine in the household.”
They left him there in his tight, punishing bindings.
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The two men donned their armor. Closing the bright door,
they hurried back to their mind-full, crafty Odysseus.
The Odds Against
He stood there breathing rage. Those on the threshold
were four but the rest in the hall were plenty of brave men.
The daughter of Zeus, Athene came to them quite close,
in voice and form taking the likeness of Mentor.
Odysseus felt new joy when he saw her and told her,
“Mentor, keep us from death! Remember a dear friend
who treated you well. And you and I are the same age.”
He stopped and supposed it might be Athene, rouser of armed men.
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Threatening the Goddess
But suitors warned her, raising a cry in the great hall,
Agelaos telling her first, the son of Damastor,
“Mentor, don’t be tricked by any words of Odysseus
telling you to fight with us suitors or rush to his own aid.
I’m thinking our plans will all be realized this way:
after we kill those two, father and son both,
you’ll be killed with them next for the work you were eager
to do in this hall. The price you’ll pay is your own head.
Then after we’ve wrested all your strength with our sharp bronze
all your wealth will be ours, the indoor and outdoor
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wealth to mix with Odysseus’s. Nor will your own sons
then be allowed to live in your house, and your daughters
and splendid wife won’t walk through an Ithakan city.”
Rousing the Leader
Athene became more angry now that he’d spoken.
She turned and hotly scolded Odysseus saying,
“Your strength and courage, Odysseus, are steadfast no longer,
not as they were when you endlessly warred with the Trojans,
fighting for nine years for white-armed, well-fathered Helen.
You took down plenty of men in frightful encounters,
then with your plan the wide-way city of Priam was taken.
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How is it now, when you’ve come back home to your own wealth,
you wail at the thought of bravely facing the suitors?
Come here, old friend. Stand close, witness my war-work
and learn what sort of a man I am with your rivals.
I’m Mentor, Alkinoos’s son, repaying your good work.”
She stopped but gave him no great triumph beyond doubt—
♦ not yet. She wanted to test the vigor and prowess
of both these men, the well-known son and Odysseus.
Suddenly taking the form of a swallow, she fluttered
high in the smoky hall to a rafter and perched there.
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Many Spears at Once
Now Damastor’s son Agelaos heartened the suitors,
Eurunomos urged them, Amphimedon too and Peisandros,
Poluktor’s son; Demoptolemos also, and mind-full
Polubos: those were the best by far and the bravest
suitors alive. They’d fight to stay with the living,
the bow and showering arrows having already
sprawled the rest. Agelaos made things plain for them all there:
“My friends, this man’s relentless hand may be checked now.
Clearly Mentor, that idle braggart, has gone off.
They’re left alone right there in front of the doorway.
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Let’s not hurtle all our long spears at the same time:
you throw first, you six. If only the great Zeus
helps you to strike Odysseus, gaining your fame here!
We don’t care about others if he can be brought down.”
Help from the Goddess
He spoke that way and they all threw as he told them,
eagerly. Yet Athene caused them all to be wasted.
One spear drove in a well-raised post of the great hall.
Another one struck the door fitted with close jambs.
Another of ash and heavy bronze damaged a bright wall.
/> Better Aim
Having avoided all the spears of the suitors,
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long-suffering, godlike Odysseus called out,
“Now my friends! I say we too should be throwing
spears at that crowd of suitors, men who are eager
to maim and strip us, to add to their earlier evils.”
Soon as he’d spoken they all hurtled their sharp spears,
aiming well. Telemakhos killed Euruades.
Odysseus, Demoptolemos. Eumaios cut down Elatos.
The cattle tender, Philoitios, brought down Peisandros.
All the dying gnashed on the broad ground at the same time.
Suitors were moving back to the inmost part of the great hall.
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Men bounded forward to pull out spears from the corpses.
Another Volley
Again the suitors were hurling sharp spears with an eager
aim but Athene caused a lot to be wasted.
One spear drove at a well-raised post in the great hall.
Another one hit the door fitted with close jambs.
A third of ash and heavy bronze damaged a bright wall.
However Amphimedon struck Telemakhos lightly,
grazing his wrist, the bronze tearing some skin off.
Ktesippos’s lengthy spear passed over Eumaios’s
shield and cut his shoulder and bounced on the dirt floor.
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Again those circling a knowing and crafty Odysseus
threw their sharp spears at the crowded suitors.
Odysseus, looter of cities, lanced Eurudamas right there.
Telemakhos pierced Amphimedon. Polubus promptly
was hit by the swineherd. The cattle-man, striking Ktesippos
hard in the chest, gloated over him saying,
“Ah Polutherses’ son, you lover of insults!
No more foolish or big talk: leave to the great Gods
all such speeches—they’re far more powerful truly.
My spear is your guest-gift, matching the ox-hoof you offered
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godlike Odysseus before, when he begged in the household.”
Panic in the Great Hall
The herder of tight-horned cattle ended his boasting.
Odysseus’ long spear transfixed the son of Damastor
now in close. Telemakhos stabbed Leokritos, son of Euenor,
pushing the spear in, driving it straight through his belly.
He crumpled forward, striking the earth flat on his forehead.
Athene raised her shield, breaking their spirits
from high on a roof-beam: the brains of suitors were jangled,
they ran like droves of cattle around in the great hall
as though attacked and chased by a fast-flying gadfly
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for hours in spring when the longer days are arriving.
Prey and Predator
The way that hook-beaked birds of prey with their crooked
talons arrive from the mountains and harry the small birds
flying under a mist or scared on a flat field—
the hawks grapple and kill them, the prey are without some
way to escape or fight and men welcome those hunters—
the four were chasing the suitors through all of the great hall,
striking on every side. Anguished groans were rising
as skulls were cracked and blood heaved on the whole floor.
A Beggarly Plea
Leiodes ran to and grasped the knees of Odysseus
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making a plea, his words with a feathery swiftness,
“I’m holding your knees, Odysseus, spare me, revere me!
I tell you I never spoke or acted without care
regarding your household women. In fact I kept trying
to stop the rest of the suitors from acting in that way.
They failed to obey me, to keep their hands from such evil.
Instead they’ve rushed to a scandalous doom for their brashness.
♦ I was their soothsayer also, doing you no harm.
Shall I lie here thankless later for good work?”
Odysseus, full of designs, glared darkly and told him,
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“Yet if you claim you were their soothsayer truly,
I’m sure you offered a lot of prayers in the great hall
to keep my goal, my honeyed homecoming, far off,
to make my wife join you bearing your children.
Therefore you won’t avoid this punishing death-blow.”
While he spoke his thick-set hand had been grabbing
a sword that lay on the floor—Agelaos had dropped it
while dying. He stabbed Leiodes’ neck in the middle.
That head, pleading its last, mixed with the dust there.
What about the Poet?
Terpis’s poet son had skulked and avoided
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a black doom. Often forced to sing for the suitors,
Phemios held his clear-toned lyre with both hands
close to the far-side door, pondering two paths:
whether to sneak from the hall and sit at the well-built
