Book XV

Then Pallas Athene went to the wide dancing-lawns of Lacedaemon, seeking the glorious son of great-hearted Odysseus, to stir his thoughts of home and urge his swift return. She found Telemachus there, and Nestor’s noble son, asleep in the portico of glorious Menelaus. Nestor’s son, it is true, was bound fast in gentle slumber, but sweet sleep did not hold Telemachus; in his heart, through all the ambrosial night, care for his father kept him waking. Standing beside him, the bright-eyed goddess Athene spoke:

“Telemachus, it is no longer well to wander so far from home, leaving your wealth behind and in your halls those men of such high insolence. Beware, lest they devour it all, carving up your estate, and your journey come to nothing. No, rouse Menelaus, master of the war-cry, with all speed to send you on your way, that you may find your noble mother still within your halls. For now her father and her brothers are pressing her to wed Eurymachus; for he outdoes all the suitors with his gifts and swells his offered bride-price. Take care she does not carry treasure from your house against your will. For you know the turn of a woman’s heart in her breast: she longs to build the house of the man who takes her as his wife, but of her former children and the dear husband of her youth, once he is dead, she thinks no more, nor asks for him again. So go, and in person entrust all that you own to the one serving-woman who seems to you most loyal, until the gods themselves reveal a noble bride for you.

And I will tell you something else; take it to heart. The best of the suitors are lying in ambush for you now in the strait between Ithaca and rugged Samos, intent on killing you before you reach your native land. But I do not think they will. Sooner the earth will cover some of those very suitors who devour your livelihood. Still, keep your well-built ship far from those islands, and sail on through the night; one of the immortals who guards and protects you will send a following wind behind you. But when you reach the first shore of Ithaca, send the ship and all your comrades on to the city, but you yourself go first to the swineherd, the guardian of your pigs, whose heart is loyal to you. Spend the night there; and send him into the city to bear a message to prudent Penelope, that you are safe, and have returned from Pylos.”

So she spoke, and departed for the heights of Olympus. But he roused Nestor’s son from his sweet sleep, stirring him with a kick of his foot, and spoke a word to him: “Wake up, Peisistratus, son of Nestor! Bring the single-hoofed horses and yoke them to the chariot, so we can press on with our journey.”

But Peisistratus, son of Nestor, answered him in turn: “Telemachus, eager as we are to travel, we cannot drive through the murky night; soon it will be dawn. Wait, then, until the hero, Atreus’ son, spear-famed Menelaus, brings gifts and places them upon the chariot, and with gentle words of farewell sends you on your way. For a guest remembers all his days the host who showed him kindness and the gift of friendship.”

So he spoke, and at once the golden-throned Dawn arrived. And Menelaus, master of the war-cry, came toward them, rising from his bed beside fair-haired Helen. When the dear son of Odysseus saw him, he hurried to pull a gleaming tunic over his skin, and threw his great cloak across his powerful shoulders, a hero, and went to the door. Standing before him, he spoke, Telemachus, dear son of godlike Odysseus: “Son of Atreus, Menelaus, Zeus-reared, marshal of armies, send me now on my way to my own dear native land, for my heart now yearns to be home again.”

Then Menelaus, master of the war-cry, answered him: “Telemachus, I for my part will not keep you here long, now you are keen to return. I myself condemn the host who loves too much, or who hates too much; moderation is best in all things. It is equally wrong to urge a guest onward who wants to stay, and to hold one back who is keen to depart. A host must cherish the guest who is here, and send him off when he wishes. But wait, until I can bring fine gifts and place them on your chariot for you to see with your own eyes, and tell the women to prepare a meal in the halls from the stores within. There is honor, and glory, and good advantage too, in dining before you travel over the vast and boundless earth. And if you wish to journey through Hellas and the heart of Argos, I will accompany you myself, and yoke the horses for you, and guide you to the cities of men. No one will send us away empty-handed, but will give at least one thing to take, a tripod of fine bronze, perhaps, or a cauldron, or two mules, or a golden cup.”

Then the wise Telemachus answered him in turn: “Son of Atreus, Menelaus, Zeus-reared, marshal of armies, I wish now to return to my own estate. For when I left, I set no guardian to watch over my possessions. Lest, while I seek my godlike father, I myself be lost, or some fine treasure from my halls be stolen.”

When Menelaus, master of the war-cry, heard this, he at once commanded his wife and her serving-women to prepare a meal in the halls from the stores within. And Eteoneus, son of Boethous, came near him, risen from his bed, for he did not live far away. Menelaus, master of the war-cry, told him to kindle a fire and roast the meats, and he heard and did not disobey. Then the king himself went down to his fragrant, vaulted chamber, not alone; Helen went with him, and Megapenthes. And when they came to the place where the treasures lay, the son of Atreus took up a two-handled cup, and told his son Megapenthes to bring a mixing bowl of silver, while Helen stood beside the chests that held her richly embroidered robes, her own handiwork. Lifting one of these, Helen, divine among women, brought it forth, the one that was most beautiful in its patterns, and the largest; it shone out like a star, and lay beneath all the others. They went on through the palace until they came to Telemachus, and fair-haired Menelaus spoke to him: “Telemachus, may your homecoming be just as your heart desires, and may Zeus, the loud-thundering husband of Hera, bring it to pass. Of all the gifts that lie as treasures in my house, I will give you the one that is most beautiful and highest in worth. I will give you a finely wrought mixing bowl. It is solid silver, but its rim is finished in gold, the work of Hephaestus. The hero Phaedimus, king of the Sidonians, gave it to me, when his own house sheltered me on my journey home. And now, to you I wish to give it.”

So he spoke, and the hero, son of Atreus, placed the two-handled cup in his hands. And the shining mixing bowl of silver strong Megapenthes brought and set down before him. Then fair-cheeked Helen stood beside him, holding the robe in her hands, and she spoke his name and said: “I too have a gift for you, dear child, this token, a remembrance of Helen’s hands, for the day of your longed-for wedding, for your bride to wear. Until then, let it lie in your halls with your dear mother. And may you return in joy to your well-built home and your own native land.”

So she spoke, and placed it in his hands, and he received it gladly. The hero Peisistratus took the gifts and stowed them in the chariot-box, marveling at them all in his heart. Then fair-haired Menelaus led them back to the house, and they sat down on the high-backed chairs and thrones. A serving-woman brought water in a beautiful golden pitcher and poured it over a silver basin for them to wash their hands, and drew a polished table up beside them. The revered housekeeper came, bearing bread which she set down, adding many dainties, giving generously from her stores. The son of Boethous carved the meat and served the portions, and the son of glorious Menelaus poured the wine. And they reached out their hands to the good food spread before them.

But when they had put aside their desire for food and drink, Telemachus and Nestor’s noble son yoked the horses, mounted the ornate chariot, and drove out from the gateway and the echoing portico. Behind them went Atreus’ son, fair-haired Menelaus, holding honey-hearted wine in his right hand, in a golden cup, for a parting libation. He stood before the horses, and saluting them, he said: “Farewell, you two young men, and give my greetings to Nestor, shepherd of the people. For he was as gentle as a father to me, while we sons of the Achaeans were warring in Troy.”

And the wise Telemachus answered him in turn: “Indeed, Zeus-reared king, when we arrive we shall tell him all that you say. And I wish that I, returning so, to Ithaca, and finding Odysseus in his house, could tell him how I come from you, having met with every kindness, bringing with me many fine and precious treasures.”

As he was speaking, a bird flew on his right: an eagle, clutching in its talons a great white goose, a fattened goose from the yard, and men and women followed, shouting. The eagle, drawing near them, darted to the right, in front of the horses. Seeing it, they were glad, and the hearts in all their breasts were warmed. Then Nestor’s son, Peisistratus, was the first to speak: “Consider now, Menelaus, Zeus-reared, marshal of armies, did the god show this sign for us, or for you yourself?”

So he spoke, and war-loving Menelaus pondered how he might read the sign and answer with the truth. But long-robed Helen spoke before him, saying: “Listen to me. I shall be your prophet, as the immortals cast it in my heart, and as I think it will be fulfilled. Just as this eagle, swooping from the mountains, its wild home and birthplace, seized this goose fattened in the house, so Odysseus, after many hardships and long wanderings, will return to his home and take his vengeance. Or he is already at home, and is planting a doom for all the suitors.”

Then the wise Telemachus answered her in turn: “May Zeus so ordain it, loud-thundering husband of Hera! Then even there, in my own land, I would pray to you as to a goddess.”

He spoke, and laid the whip to the horses, and they shot forward eagerly through the city and out onto the plain. All day long they shook the yoke they shared between them. The sun went down and all the roads were shadowed. They came to Pherae, to the house of Diocles, son of Ortilochus, whose father was the river Alpheius. There they spent the night, and he gave them gifts of welcome.

And when early-born, rosy-fingered Dawn appeared, they yoked the horses and mounted the ornate chariot, and drove out from the gateway and the echoing portico. He whipped them onward, and the pair flew on, nothing loath. Soon they came to the steep citadel of Pylos, and then Telemachus spoke to the son of Nestor: “Son of Nestor, could you promise me this, and bring it to pass? We claim to be friends from our fathers’ time, and we are of an age, and this journey will bind our hearts still closer. Do not lead me past my ship, Zeus-reared friend, but leave me there, lest the old man, in his kindness, hold me here against my will. For I must hasten home.”

So he spoke, and the son of Nestor considered in his heart how he might rightly promise this and fulfill it. And as he pondered, this seemed the better way: he turned his horses toward the swift ship and the sea-shore, and from the ship’s stern he took the beautiful gifts, the clothing and the gold that Menelaus had given. Then urging Telemachus on, he spoke with winged words: “Board now with all speed, and call your comrades, before I reach home and bring word to the old man. For this I know well in my mind and in my heart: such is his forceful spirit, he will not let you go, but will come here himself to call you, and I do not think he will go back empty-handed. He will be furious, one way or another.”

So he spoke, and drove the fair-maned horses back to the city of the Pylians, and swiftly reached the palace. But Telemachus, calling out to his companions, commanded: “Set the ship’s gear in order, friends, in the black ship, and let us go aboard ourselves, so we can press on with our journey.”

So he spoke, and they listened well and obeyed him, and at once they embarked and sat down at the benches. He was busy with these things, praying and sacrificing to Athene beside the ship’s stern, when a man came near him, a stranger from afar, a fugitive from Argos, for he had killed a man. He was a seer, and by lineage a descendant of Melampus, who in former times had lived in Pylos, mother of flocks, a wealthy man, whose house stood out among the Pylians. But then he had fled his country for another land, escaping great-hearted Neleus, the proudest man alive, who for a full year held his great wealth by force. Meanwhile Melampus lay in the halls of Phylacus, bound in harsh chains, suffering terrible pains for the sake of Neleus’ daughter and a blinding folly the dread Fury, a goddess, had put into his mind. But he escaped his doom, drove the loud-bellowing cattle from Phylace to Pylos, avenged the shameful deed of godlike Neleus, and brought a bride for his brother. Then he came to another land, to horse-pasturing Argos, for there it was his destiny to dwell and rule over many Argives. There he married a wife and built a high-roofed house, and fathered Antiphates and Mantius, two mighty sons. Antiphates fathered great-hearted Oicles, and Oicles in turn fathered Amphiaraus, rouser of the host, whom aegis-holding Zeus and Apollo loved with all their hearts and with every kind of favor. Yet he did not reach the threshold of old age, but died in Thebes for the sake of a woman’s bribe. His sons were Alcmaeon and Amphilochus. Mantius, in his turn, fathered Polypheides and Cleitus. But golden-throned Dawn snatched Cleitus away for his beauty’s sake, to live among the immortals. And proud Polypheides was made a seer by Apollo, by far the best of mortals after Amphiaraus was dead. Angered with his father, he moved to Hyperesia, and dwelling there he prophesied for all mankind.

It was his son who now approached, Theoclymenus by name, and stood beside Telemachus. He found him pouring libations and praying by the swift black ship, and speaking to him, he uttered winged words: “Friend, since I find you making offerings in this place, I implore you by these rites, by the god you honor, and then by your own life and the lives of the comrades who follow you, tell me the truth to my question; do not conceal it. Who are you? From what people? Where is your city, and your parents?”

And the wise Telemachus answered him in turn: “Then I will tell you, stranger, the whole truth. I am from Ithaca by birth, and my father is Odysseus— if ever he lived. But now he has perished by a bitter death. For that reason I have taken companions and a black ship and come to seek news of my father, so long departed.”

And godlike Theoclymenus answered him in turn: “I too am far from my own country, for I killed a man of my own clan. In horse-pasturing Argos he has many brothers and kinsmen, who hold great power over the Achaeans. To escape death and the black doom they threaten, I am a fugitive, for my destiny is to be a wanderer among men. But take me on your ship, for I come to you a fugitive and a suppliant, lest they kill me. I think they are in pursuit.”

And the wise Telemachus answered him in turn: “I will not turn you away from my well-benched ship if you wish to come. Follow me, then. There you shall have such welcome as we can give.”

So he spoke, and took from him his bronze-tipped spear, and laid it down on the deck of the curved ship. Then he himself boarded the sea-faring vessel. He sat down in the stern, and beside him he seated Theoclymenus, and the crew cast off the stern-cables. Telemachus called to his companions, urging them to lay hands on the rigging, and they obeyed with eager speed. They raised the firwood mast, set it in the hollow mast-step, and made it fast with forestays, then hauled the white sails up with well-twisted ropes of oxhide. And for them bright-eyed Athene sent a following wind, a strong gale whistling through the sky, so that the ship might make swift passage, running over the salt water of the sea. They passed Crouni and Chalcis of the fair-flowing streams. The sun went down and all the roads were shadowed. Driven by the wind of Zeus, the ship drew near to Pheae, and past divine Elis, where the Epeians rule. From there he sent her on toward the pointed isles, torn between escape from death and being taken.

But in the hut, Odysseus and the divine swineherd were taking their supper, and with them dined the other men. When they had put aside their desire for food and drink, Odysseus spoke among them, to test the swineherd’s heart, to see if he would still befriend him with true kindness and bid him stay there in the steading, or would urge him toward the city: “Listen now, Eumaeus, and all you other companions. In the morning I long to be on my way to the town to beg, so I am not a burden to you and your men. Advise me well, and give me a good guide to lead me there. Through the city I must wander by myself, hoping someone might offer me a cup and a crust of bread. And I might go to the house of godlike Odysseus and give my news to prudent Penelope, and mingle with the arrogant suitors, to see if they might give me a meal from their boundless stores. I could serve them well in whatever they might wish. For I will tell you—mark my words and listen well— by the grace of Hermes the Guide, who gives to all the works of men their grace and glory, in the arts of service no mortal man could rival me: in piling a fire well, in splitting dry wood, in carving and roasting meat, and pouring wine— such tasks as humble men perform for their lords.”

Deeply troubled, you answered him, Eumaeus, my swineherd: “Ah, my friend, why has such a thought as this entered your mind? You must be altogether eager to perish there, if you truly wish to enter the throng of the suitors, whose insolence and violence reach the iron heavens. Their attendants are not men like you, but young men, well-dressed in cloaks and tunics, their heads always sleek with oil, their faces fair, who serve them. The polished tables groan with bread and meat and wine. No, stay here. No one is burdened by your presence, not I, nor any of the other men who are with me. But when the dear son of Odysseus comes, he will give you a cloak and tunic to wear, good garments, and send you wherever your heart and spirit bid you go.”

Then much-enduring, godlike Odysseus answered him: “Eumaeus, may you be as dear to Father Zeus as you are to me, for you have saved me from wandering and bitter hardship. There is nothing worse for mortals than a wanderer’s life. But for the sake of this cursed belly, men endure evil cares, when wandering and pain and sorrow come upon them. Now, since you hold me here and bid me wait for him, come, tell me of the mother of godlike Odysseus, and of his father, whom he left on the threshold of old age— are they still living, perhaps, under the rays of the sun, or are they already dead and in the house of Hades?”

Then the swineherd, a leader of men, replied to him: “Then I will tell you, stranger, the whole truth. Laertes is still alive, but he prays to Zeus constantly that the life might drain from his limbs in his own halls. For he grieves terribly for his son who is gone, and for his wise-hearted, wedded wife, whose death grieved him most of all and thrust him into a raw old age. She died of grief for her glorious son— a miserable death. May no one who lives here as my friend, and who does me kindness, ever die so. As long as she was alive, though she was grieving still, it was a pleasure for me to ask after her and inquire, for she herself raised me with long-robed Ctimene, her strong daughter, the youngest child she bore. I was raised with her, and she honored me little less than her own. But when we both reached the grace of youth, they gave her in marriage to a man of Same, and received a bride-price beyond counting. But her mother dressed me in a fine cloak and tunic, and giving me sandals for my feet, sent me out to the country; and in her heart she loved me all the more. Now I lack these things. But the blessed gods themselves have made the work I stick to prosper. From it I have eaten and drunk and given to those I revere. But from my mistress there is nothing gentle to be heard, no word or deed, since this evil fell upon the house— these arrogant men. And servants greatly long to speak before their mistress, to learn what is happening, to eat and drink, and then to take something back to the country—the things that always warm a servant’s heart.”

And resourceful Odysseus answered him in turn: “O heavens, Eumaeus, so as a small child you wandered far from your country and your parents. But come, tell me this and relate it truly. Was the wide-wayed city of men where your father and revered mother lived utterly sacked? Or did hostile men find you alone with your sheep or cattle, seize you, carry you off in their ships, and sell you to this man’s house, where he paid a fair price?”

Then the swineherd, a leader of men, replied to him: “Stranger, since you ask and question me of this, listen now in silence, enjoy your ease, and drink your wine, sitting here. These nights are long beyond all measure. There is time for sleeping, and time for taking pleasure in stories. You need not lie down before it is time; even too much sleep can be a burden. As for the others, let any man whose heart and spirit move him go out and sleep. Then, as soon as dawn appears, he can eat his meal and follow our master’s pigs. But we two, here in the hut, drinking and feasting, let us delight in recalling our old sorrows to each other. For a man who has suffered much and wandered far finds pleasure, in after times, even in his pain. So I will tell you what you ask and question me.

There is an island called Syrie, if you have heard of it, above Ortygia, where the sun has its turning-place. It is not over-crowded, but it is a good land, rich in cattle, rich in sheep, full of wine, and heavy with wheat. Famine never enters that country, nor does any other hateful sickness come upon its wretched mortals. But when the tribes of men in that city grow old, silver-bowed Apollo comes with Artemis, and with his painless arrows he attacks and kills them. There are two cities, and all things are divided between them. Over both of them my father was king, Ctesius, son of Ormenus, a man like the immortals.

One day, Phoenicians came there, men famed for their ships, rogues, with countless trinkets in their black ship. Now in my father’s house there was a Phoenician woman, beautiful and tall and skilled in glorious handiwork. And the wily Phoenicians seduced her. One of them first lay with her by the hollow ship, where she was washing clothes, in love and in the bed—things that steal the wits of womenfolk, even one who is virtuous. Then he asked her who she was and where she came from, and at once she pointed out her father’s high-roofed house: ‘I claim to be from Sidon, rich in bronze,’ she said, ‘and I am the daughter of Arybas, a man rolling in wealth. But Taphian sea-raiders seized me as I was coming from the fields, and brought me here and sold me to this man’s house, where he paid a fair price.’

The man who had secretly lain with her answered in turn: ‘Would you be willing now to come back home with us, to see your father’s and your mother’s high-roofed house, and see them, too? For they are still alive and are called wealthy.’

And the woman answered him and said in reply: ‘That might be done, if you sailors are willing to swear a binding oath to bring me home unharmed.’

So she spoke, and they all swore the oath as she commanded. And when they had sworn and completed the oath, the woman spoke to them again and answered with a word: ‘Be silent now. Let none of your companions speak to me if he should meet me in the street or at the spring, lest someone go to the old man’s house and tell him, and he, growing suspicious, bind me in harsh chains and plot destruction for you. Keep my words in mind, and make haste to buy your cargo. When your ship is fully laden with goods, let a message come quickly to me at the house. For I will bring gold, too, whatever comes to hand. And I would gladly give something else for my passage. I am nursing in the halls the son of my good master, a clever little boy, who trots along beside me when I go out of doors. I could bring him on board, and he would fetch a boundless price for you, wherever you might sell him among foreign-speaking men.’

So she spoke, and went away to the beautiful palace. And they, remaining with us for a full year, traded for a great cargo for their hollow ship. But when the hollow ship was loaded for their departure, they sent a messenger to give word to the woman. A man of great cunning came to my father’s house, holding a golden necklace, strung with amber beads. In the hall, my lady mother and her serving-women were handling it and gazing at it with their eyes, offering a price. But he gave a silent nod to the woman. Having nodded, he went back to the hollow ship, and she took me by the hand and led me out of the house. In the fore-hall she found the cups and tables of the feasting men who served as my father’s retainers. They had gone out to the people’s assembly and the place of speaking. She quickly hid three goblets under her tunic and carried them out, and I, in my childish folly, followed. The sun went down and all the roads were shadowed. Moving quickly, we came to the famous harbor, where the swift-sailing ship of the Phoenician men was waiting. They went aboard at once and sailed the watery paths, taking the two of us with them. And Zeus sent a following wind. For six days we sailed, day and night alike. But when Zeus, son of Cronos, brought on the seventh day, Artemis of the showering arrows struck the woman, and she fell with a thud into the bilge, like a sea-mew. They cast her overboard, a feast for the seals and fish, but I was left behind, my heart aching with grief. The wind and the water carried them and brought them to Ithaca, where Laertes bought me with his own possessions. And that is how I came to see this land with my own eyes.”

And Zeus-born Odysseus answered him in turn: “Eumaeus, you have deeply stirred the heart within my breast, telling me all these things, all the sorrows you have suffered. But surely Zeus has set a blessing for you beside your sorrow, since after much hardship you came to the house of a kind man, who provides you with food and drink with diligent care, and you live a good life. But I have come here wandering through the many cities of mortal men.”

So they spoke these things to one another. They lay down to rest, but not for long, only for a little, for soon fair-throned Dawn arrived. On the shore, Telemachus’s companions were loosing the sails. They took down the mast swiftly, and rowed the ship to its mooring-place. They cast out the anchor stones and made fast the stern-cables. Then they themselves disembarked upon the breaking surf, prepared their meal, and mixed the sparkling wine. When they had put aside their desire for food and drink, the wise Telemachus was the first to speak among them: “You men, drive the black ship now to the city, while I go to visit the fields and the herdsmen. In the evening, when I have seen to my lands, I will come down to the city. In the morning I will set before you a parting feast, a good meal of meat and sweet-drinking wine.”

Then godlike Theoclymenus answered him in turn: “And where shall I go, dear child? To whose house shall I turn among the men who hold power in rocky Ithaca? Or shall I go straight to your mother and your own house?”

And the wise Telemachus answered him in turn: “At another time, I would bid you come to our own house; there is no lack of guest-gifts. But for you yourself it would be worse, since I will be away, and my mother will not see you. She does not often appear before the suitors in the hall, but weaves her loom in an upper room, away from them. But I will name another man for you, to whom you might go: Eurymachus, the glorious son of wise-hearted Polybus, whom the men of Ithaca now look upon as a god. For he is by far the best man, and is most eager to marry my mother and take the royal power of Odysseus. But Olympian Zeus, who dwells in the heavens, knows whether he will bring on their day of doom before the wedding.”

As he was speaking, a bird flew on his right: a hawk, Apollo’s swift messenger. Clutching a dove, it was tearing it with its talons, and the feathers drifted down to earth midway between the ship and Telemachus himself. Theoclymenus called him aside from his companions, clasped his hand, and spoke his name and said: “Telemachus, not without a god’s will did that bird fly on your right. I knew it for a bird of omen the moment I saw it. In all the land of Ithaca there is no line more kingly than yours; you shall hold your power for all time.”

And the wise Telemachus answered him in turn: “Stranger, if only this word might be fulfilled! Then you would quickly know my friendship and many gifts from me, so that any man who met you would call you blessed.”

He spoke, and addressed Peiraeus, his faithful companion: “Peiraeus, son of Clytius, you who obey me most of all my companions, those who followed me to Pylos, now take this stranger to your house and welcome him with kindness and with honor, until I come.”

And Peiraeus, famed with the spear, answered him in turn: “Telemachus, even if you should stay here for a long time, I will look after him, and he will have no lack of hospitality.”

So saying, he boarded the ship, and ordered his companions to embark themselves and to loose the stern-cables. They at once went aboard and sat down at the benches. But Telemachus bound his beautiful sandals under his feet, and took up his mighty spear, honed with piercing bronze, from the ship’s deck. The crew cast off the stern-cables. They pushed off and sailed to the city, as he commanded, Telemachus, the dear son of godlike Odysseus. But his own feet carried him swiftly onward, until he reached the courtyard where his countless swine were kept, and where the swineherd, a good man, loyal in his heart to his masters, made his bed.