“Let us make a bargain,” said Odysseus. “If your master really returns, you shall give me a tunic and mantle and send me to Dulichium, where I want to go. If he does not, bid your helpers cast me from a cliff into the sea, as an example to other beggars given to lying.”
“That would be small glory for me!” the swineherd objected. “How could I kill the guest I took into my own hut? If I did that, I could never pray to Zeus any more. But it is time for our supper. The rest will soon be here, and then we shall make merry together.” Shortly after this the other herdsmen arrived, and Eumaeus had them slaughter a five-year-old boar in honor of his guest. Part of it was offered up to the nymphs and the god Hermes. The men had an ample share, but the best piece, cut from the back, was given to the guest, even though he looked like a beggar to his host.
This moved Odysseus, and he cried out gratefully: “May Zeus cherish you, Eumaeus, as you have cherished me, though I am sorry enough to look at!” The swineherd thanked him and pressed him to eat. While they feasted, clouds drove across the moon, the west wind howled around the hut, and rain began to fall in torrents. Odysseus felt cold in his beggar’s rags, and, in order to attract his host’s attention to his plight and induce him to offer his own warm mantle, he began to tell a story he invented on the spur of the moment.
“Listen, Eumaeus, and you other herdsmen,” he said. “Your wine has loosened my tongue, and I am tempted to relate what had perhaps better be left unsaid. Once, during the siege of Troy, when the three of us, Odysseus, Menelaus, and myself, together with our warriors, lay in ambush in a reedy swamp close to the walls of the city, night fell, and it became very cold. The north wind blew flurries of snow about us, and soon our shields were rimmed with ice. This did not matter to my friends. They wrapped themselves in their mantles and slept warmly enough. But I had left my mantle behind in the camp, since I had not counted on such weather. Now a good part of the night was still to come, and I knew that it would be coldest just before dawn. So I nudged Odysseus, who lay beside me, with my elbow and said to him: ‘If this cold keeps up, I shall freeze to death! An evil god prompted me to set out in nothing but my tunic.’ When Odysseus heard this, he whispered back: ‘Don’t let anyone hear you! You shall soon have what you need!’ He crooked his elbow, raised his head a little, and called softly to the others: ‘Friends, the gods have sent me a warning dream! It seems we have ventured too far from our ships. Will not one of you go and ask Agamemmon to send us more men?’ At his words Thoas, son of Andraemon, jumped up, eager to do his bidding, flung his mantle to the ground, and ran off to the camp. I picked it up, wrapped it around me, and slept comfortably until morning. If I were as young and strong now as I was then, perhaps some herdsman here would lend me his mantle to shelter me from the cold of night. But old and poor as I am, no one cares how much I freeze in these rags of mine!”
“That was a fine hint you gave us in your tale,” said Eumaeus laughing. “We shall certainly take it, and you shall lack neither clothing nor anything else. Tomorrow you must put on your rags again, though, for we have no mantles to spare. But should the son of Odysseus return safely, he will surely give you a tunic and mantle and have you conducted wherever you wish to go.” And with that, Eumaeus took soft fleeces and heaped them near the hearth. When Odysseus lay down on them the swineherd covered him with his own thick mantle. While the others also settled down to sleep, he himself took his weapons in hand and prepared to spend the night near the pens. He took a shaggy goat-skin to shield him from the wind, and another to serve as bedding. In his hand he carried a sharp spear to fend off thieves or dogs. Odysseus watched him leave the hut and felt glad that he had a faithful servant who cared for his master’s possessions so conscientiously, even though he thought him dead.
TELEMACHUS LEAVES SPARTA
In the meantime Pallas Athene flew to Sparta, where she found the two youths from Pylos and Ithaca on couches in the palace of King Menelaus. Peisistratus, son of Nestor, was sound asleep, but Telemachus lay awake, worrying about his father. Suddenly he saw the daughter of Zeus standing at the foot of his bed. “Telemachus,” she said, “you do not do well in staying away from home while wanton suitors are feasting and drinking in your palace. Do not delay any longer, but ask Menelaus to let you return to Ithaca before your mother is compelled to marry against her will. For her father and brothers are urging her to choose Eurymachus for her husband. He has outdone all the rest in bringing splendid gifts and has promised a large marriage settlement besides. Hasten home, and—if worst comes to worst—entrust your property to a loyal servant until such a time as the gods help you find a wife worthy of you. And one more thing: the strongest of the suitors are lying in wait for you in the strait between Ithaca and Same. They intend to kill you before you can reach your country. So steer away from there and travel only by night. A god will provide you with a fair wind. When you reach Ithaca, tell your companions to go to the city, but you yourself first visit Eumaeus who tends your swine. Stay with him until the following morning and from there send word of your safe arrival to Penelope, your mother.”
When she had spoken thus, the goddess returned to high Olympus. But Telemachus touched his friend’s boot with his heel and said: “Wake up, Peisistratus! Let us yoke the horses and start for home!”
“What was that?” the other answered drowsily. “You surely don’t want to leave now, at dead of night? Wait until morning. King Menelaus will give us gifts in parting and speed us on our way with words of friendship.” They were still discussing their journey when dawn came. Menelaus was up even before his guests. When Telemachus saw him walking through the hall, he quickly put on his tunic, slung his mantle over his shoulder, approached the king, and begged him to let him leave for home that very day.
“I shall not keep you if you long for your country,” Menelaus replied. “A host who burdens his guest with too insistent hospitality is a foe rather than a friend. It is just as discourteous to hold back one who wishes to hasten away as to remind one who lingers of departure. Wait just long enough for me to put gifts into your chariot, and for the women to prepare a meal for you.”
“Noble Menelaus,” said Telemachus, “the only reason I wish to return to Ithaca is that I myself may not be killed while I am making inquiries about my father. It seems that dangers are in store for me, and that I am much needed in my palace.”
When Menelaus heard this, he hurried to have the food made ready, and went to his storeroom together with Helen and his son Megapenthes. Here he selected a cup of gold and a silver pitcher. Helen looked through her chest and fetched out the most beautiful of the garments she herself had woven. With these gifts the three returned to their guest. Menelaus offered him the cup, Megapenthes set the pitcher before him, and Helen went up to him, carrying the garment, and said: “Take this gift, dear Telemachus, as a remembrance of Helen’s art. Your bride shall wear it on her wedding day. Until then, let it lie in your mother’s chest. But for you I wish a glad heart and a safe return to your father’s house.”
Telemachus accepted the gifts with courteous words of thanks, and his friend Peisistratus admired them and stowed them away in the chariot. Then Menelaus feasted with the two youths for the last time. When they had already mounted the chariot, the king came with a full cup, poured a libation to the gods, imploring them to give the youths a happy homecoming, and bade them farewell and sent his greetings to his old friend Nestor. While Telemachus was still thanking his host, an eagle flew up from the court, to the right of the horses, carrying a white goose in his talons, and a crowd of men and women followed shouting. All rejoiced in this sign of good omen, and Helen said: “Listen to my prophecy, my friends! As the eagle flew from his mountain aerie and snatched the goose fattened on the food of our house, so Odysseus will return from his long wanderings and avenge the wrong done him by the suitors who have grown fat on his provisions.”
“May Zeus make this come true!” cried Telemachus. “And if he does, we shall pray to you as to a goddess,
Queen Helen.”
And now the two set out in their chariot. They spent the night with Diocles in Pherae, who again received them with warm hospitality, and on the second day reached the city of Pylos. As they approached the gates, Telemachus turned to his young friend and said: “Dear Peisistratus, even though our fathers know and value each other, and though this journey we have taken together has made us such good friends, I do not want to enter the city with you. Do not be angry with me for this! It is only that I fear your father will want to keep me as his guest out of the kindness of his heart, and you know yourself how important it is for me to get home as quickly as possible.”
Peisistratus agreed that this would be the better course, and he guided the horses around the city confines and straight to the shore and the ship of Telemachus. Here he bade his friend a tender farewell and said: “Now board your ship and leave as soon as you can, for if my father heard you were here, he would come and urge you to spend the night in our palace.” Telemachus did as Nestor’s son had bidden him. His companions boarded the ship and seated themselves at the oars. He himself stayed ashore near the stern just long enough to make an offering to Athene, his protectress.
While he was still praying to the goddess, a man came toward him in great haste, stretched his hands out toward him, and cried: “By your offering, O youth, by the gods, and by the welfare of your house and your people, tell me who you are and where you live!” When Telemachus briefly told him what he wanted to know, the stranger continued: “I too am on a journey. I am Theoclymenus, the soothsayer. My family comes from Pylos, but I myself lived in Argos. There I slew a man in a fit of anger. He has powerful kinsmen, and I am fleeing from his brothers and other male relatives, who have sworn to kill me. Henceforth I have no choice but to roam through the world as an exile. Regard me as a suppliant, and let me board your ship with you, for my pursuers are at my heels!”
Telemachus, who was of a kindly disposition, gladly asked the stranger into his ship and promised to see to it that he wanted for nothing when they reached Ithaca. He took the spear from the soothsayer’s hands and laid it on the deck. Then he went aboard with Theoclymenus and sat down beside him in the stern. The ropes which bound the ship to the shore were loosed, the mast, carved of pine, was fitted into its socket, and the white sails were fastened to the yards. A fair wind bellied out the cloth, and through the rushing waves the ship sped out to sea.
WITH THE SWINEHERD
On the evening of that very day Odysseus had his meal with Eumaeus and the other herdsmen. To try his host and to find out how long he would give shelter to a poor beggar, Odysseus said to him after they had finished eating: “Tomorrow, my friend, I shall take my beggar’s staff and set out for the town, for I do not want to be a burden to you. Tell me the best way to go, and give me a guide as far as the gates; then I shall wander about and see where I can get a little bread and wine. I should also like to go to the palace and tell Penelope what I know about Odysseus. Who knows but that the suitors may give me food and shelter in return for a little work? For I am very good at splitting wood, making a fire, turning the spit, serving meat and wine, and doing other things the rich expect from the poor.”
But Eumaeus frowned and replied: “What talk is this! Do you want to walk straight to your own destruction? Do you really think those arrogant suitors want such as you for servants? They have quite other persons to see to their needs. Boys with blooming faces, with perfumed hair and dainty tunics walk among the tables loaded with meat, bread, and wine, and pass the platters. Better stay with us—you are no burden—and wait until Telemachus returns and supplies you with clothing and food.”
Odysseus accepted this offer with thanks and then begged the herdsman to tell him about his master’s parents—whether they were still living or had gone the dark path to Hades. “Laertes, his father, is still alive,” said Eumaeus. “But he mourns Odysseus and Anticlea, his own wife, who died of sorrow for her lost son. I too lament the death of that good woman, for it was she who brought me up with her daughter Ctimene, almost as if I had been her own child. Later, when her daughter married a man from Same, the mother fitted me out and sent me here, to the country. Now, to be sure, I have been deprived of many things, and live by my work as well as I can. Penelope, who is queen now, can do nothing at all for me. She is surrounded and spied on by her suitors, and an honest servant is not even admitted to her presence.”
“But where do you come from, and how did you happen to get to the palace in Ithaca?” Odysseus asked.
The swineherd filled his guest’s bowl and answered: “Drink, old man, while I tell you a story which I hope will not tire you. This is the season when the nights are long, and there is time both for talk and for sleep. Beyond Ortygia lies the island of Syria. It has not a large population, though the soil is fertile. Two cities are on it. Both were governed by a mighty king, by my father Ctesius, son of Ormenus. When I was quite a small boy, dishonest seamen from Phoenicia landed there. They had all sorts of fine wares for sale on their ship and stayed near our coast for a long time. Now in our palace was a woman from Phoenicia. My father had bought her as a slave. She was slender and lovely, skilled in crafts, and well-liked by everyone in our household. She fell in love with one of the traders from her own country, and the man promised to take her to Sidon. The faithless slave, on her part, pledged him certain things in return. Not only would she bring him gold to pay her passage, but something better! For—so she told him—she was the nurse of the little prince! He was bright for his age and went with her whenever she had to do errands for the house. It would be easy to get him to come to the ship, and he should sell well enough to fetch the trader a substantial profit.
“So the woman made a bargain with him and returned to the palace. The traders remained on our island for a full year. When they finally loaded their ship and prepared to sail for home, one of them came to the palace with a necklace of gold and amber beads for sale. My mother and her tirewomen were grouped around him, passed the charming trinket from hand to hand, examined it, and offered him their price. While this was going on, the man nodded to the Phoenician, and hardly had he left the house before she took me by the hand and led me out. As we passed through the room which lay before the great hall, she saw the board spread for my father’s guests. I watched her take three gold cups and hide them in the folds of her mantle, but I was too unsuspecting to give it a thought and followed her. The sun was just setting when we reached the harbor and boarded the ship with the rest of the crew.
“We left with a favorable wind, but when we were about six days out at sea, the false woman fell dead, struck by an arrow of Artemis, so they said, dead as a sea-fowl shot by the hunter. They threw her overboard as food for the fish, and I, a little child, was left alone among strangers, not one of whom had pity on me. After a time they landed in Ithaca, where Laertes bought me from the traders. That was the first time I ever saw this island.”
“Well,” said Odysseus, “you need not lament your fate too bitterly! For along with the bad, Zeus gave you much good. He put you into the hands of a good man who took care of your needs and on whose land you are still living well. I, on the other hand, am a beggar, wandering about in eternal exile.”
While they were talking, the hours had sped. There was only a little time left to sleep before the dawn woke them.
TELEMACHUS RETURNS
That very morning Telemachus and his companions landed on the coast of Ithaca. Following Athene’s advice he ordered them to row on to the city, while he himself went ashore to visit the swineherd. He promised the men their pay and a merry feast on the following day. “But where shall I go, my son?” asked Theoclymenus. “Who will give me shelter in the city? Shall I go straight to your mother’s palace?”
“If things at home were as they should be,” Telemachus replied, “I should urge you to go there without more ado. But as it is, the suitors would never admit you, and my mother keeps to her room. It would be wiser for you to go to the house of E
urymachus, son of Polybus of Ithaca, a man highly esteemed by his countrymen. Besides, Eurymachus is the most reasonable of my mother’s suitors.”
While he was speaking, a hawk flew by on his right. In its talons was a dove whose feathers it was plucking as it flew. When the soothsayer saw this, he took the young man aside and whispered to him: “If my knowledge of signs does not trick me, this is a happy omen for your house! Never will another line rule in Ithaca. It is you and yours who will govern this land forever!”
Before bidding farewell to Theoclymenus, Telemachus commended him to the care of his best friend, Peiraeus, son of Clytius, to whom he sent word to take the seer into his house until he, Telemachus, came to the city. Then he left the ship and went his way on foot.
In the meantime Odysseus and the swineherd were preparing the morning meal, while the helpers drove the herd to pasture. They had just begun to eat when they heard steps and the dogs jumped up. They did not snarl, but rather seemed to bark a joyful welcome. “A friend must be coming to see you,” said Odysseus. “The dogs would not act this way toward strangers.”
Hardly had the last word left his lips when he saw his own dear son Telemachus standing on the threshold. The herdsman dropped his bowl in glad excitement and ran to his young master. He embraced him and covered his head, his eyes, and his hands with kisses, weeping with joy, as though he were seeing some-one he loved who had escaped from death. An old father welcoming his late-born son when he comes home after ten years in foreign lands could not have been happier! Telemachus did not enter the hut until Eumaeus had told him that nothing of importance had happened in the palace during his absence. Then he handed the swineherd his lance and went in. Odysseus wanted to give him his seat, but Telemachus waved him back with kindly words: “Stay where you are, stranger,” he said. “Eumaeus will find a place for me.” And the herdsman was, indeed, already heaping a pile of twigs and leaves and spreading over these a soft fleece. And now Telemachus sat down, and the swineherd served him with roast meat and bread, and mixed wine and water in a wooden bowl. While the three ate, Telemachus asked Eumaeus about the stranger, and the old man gave him a brief outline of the long tale Odysseus had invented about himself. “And now,” he concluded, “he has fled from a Thesprotian ship and taken shelter with me. I shall put him in your hands. Do with him as you please.”
Gods and Heroes of Ancient Greece Page 75
