Book XVI

Meanwhile, within the lodge, Odysseus and the peerless swineherd were readying their breakfast at daybreak, when they had kindled a fire, and they sent out the herdsmen with the droves of the gathered swine; around Telemachus the loud-baying hounds began to fawn, nor did they bark as he approached. And noble Odysseus noticed the dogs fawning, and the sound of footsteps came to his ears.

At once he spoke to Eumaeus with winged words: “Eumaeus, surely some friend of yours is coming this way, now, or some other man you know, since the hounds are not barking but rather fawn about him; and I hear the tread of feet beneath.” Not yet was the whole word spoken when his own dear son stood in the forecourt. The swineherd sprang up astounded, and from his hands the vessels fell that he was busy with, mixing bright-hearted wine.

He went face-to-face with his lord, and kissed his head and both his beautiful eyes and his two hands; and a swelling tear fell from him. And as a father, thinking lovingly, welcomes his own son who has come back after ten years out of a faraway land, his only son, late-born, for whom he has toiled through many sorrows— so then the peerless swineherd kissed godlike Telemachus all over, clinging to him as one who had fled from death;

and weeping aloud he spoke to him with winged words: “You have come, Telemachus, sweet light! No more did I hope to see you, once you were off aboard ship to Pylos. But come inside now, dear child, that in my heart I may take joy in looking on you, newly come from abroad, here at home. For you do not often visit the farm or the herdsmen, but you stay in town;

your heart, it seems, has found pleasure in gazing upon that ruinous throng of suitors.” Then wise Telemachus answered him in turn: “It shall be so, father; but for your sake I have come here, that I may see you with my own eyes and hear your word, whether my mother still remains in the halls, or whether some other man has married her now, and the bed of Odysseus lies somewhere, lacking bedfellows, draped in foul spider-webs.”

And the swineherd, the commander of men, addressed him again: “Indeed, she remains, with an enduring spirit, in your halls; yet ever the weary nights and days waste away for her as she sheds tears.” So speaking, he took from him the bronze spear; and Telemachus entered the lodge and stepped over the stone threshold. To meet him, his father Odysseus rose from his seat; but from the other side Telemachus checked him and said: “Sit, stranger; we shall find another seat, and we ourselves in our own steading. The man here will provide one.

” So he spoke, and the stranger went back and sat down; then the swineherd strewed green brushwood beneath and a fleece on top; and there the dear son of Odysseus took his seat. Then for them the swineherd set out platters of roast meat left over from their eating the day before, and swiftly he heaped bread in baskets, and in a wooden cup he mixed honey-sweet wine;

and he himself sat down opposite the godlike Odysseus. They reached out their hands to the ready food before them. But when they had put aside the desire for drink and for eating, then Telemachus spoke to the peerless swineherd: “Father, where does this stranger come from to you? How did the sailors bring him to Ithaca?

Who did they claim to be? For I do not think he reached this place on foot.” And you, Eumaeus the swineherd, answered him, saying: “Then, child, I will tell you the whole truth. He claims to be of the stock of broad Crete, and he says that he has roamed over many cities of men, wandering; so a god has spun that fate for him.

But now he has escaped from a ship of Thesprotian men and come to my steading; I shall place him in your hands. Act as you wish; he declares he is your suppliant.” Then wise Telemachus answered him in turn: “Eumaeus, truly you have spoken a word that pains my heart. For how shall I receive this stranger in my home? I myself am young and do not yet trust my hands to defend a man when one first grows angry with him.

And in my mother’s breast her heart, divided in thought, ponders whether to stay here beside me and care for the house, and to revere her husband’s bed and the voice of the people, or to go with the man, whoever is the best of the Achaeans who woos her in these halls, the one offering the most gifts. But as for the stranger, since he has reached your dwelling, I will clothe him in a cloak and tunic, fine garments, and give him a two-edged sword and sandals for his feet, and I will send him wherever his heart and spirit bid him go.

Or, if you wish, keep him here and hold him in the steading; I will send clothing here and all the food to eat, so that he does not exhaust you and your companions. But as for going there among the suitors, I will not let him go; for their outrage is overwhelmingly reckless; they might mock him, and my grief would be terrible.

Hard to accomplish is anything, even for a strong man, among more men, since they are far mightier.” Then much-enduring, noble Odysseus answered him: “My friend, since it is right for me to make answer in my turn, truly my heart within is eaten away as I listen, hearing the insolent acts that you say the suitors devise in your halls, against your will, you who are of such a nature.

Tell me, are you willingly subdued, or do the folk hate you throughout the land, following a god’s prompting, or do you find fault with your brothers, in whom a man trusts when he fights, even if a great quarrel arise? Would that I were as young as I feel in this spirit, either a son of blameless Odysseus, or even the man himself;

straightway then let some alien man cut the head from my shoulders if, when I entered the hall of Odysseus, son of Laertes, I did not become a bane to all those men. And if I alone were overwhelmed by their mob, I would rather be slain, killed within my own halls, than forever look on these unseemly deeds— strangers beaten, and serving-women dragged shamefully through the lovely house, and wine drawn off for the lust of it, and men eating bread recklessly, an endless burden, for a work that cannot be finished.”

Then wise Telemachus answered him in turn: “So then, stranger, I will tell you with complete accuracy. Not at all is the whole people hostile and angered against me, nor do I find fault with my brothers, in whom a man trusts when he fights, even if a great quarrel arise. For in this way the son of Cronos has made our line alone: Arceisius begot Laertes, an only son, and Laertes begot Odysseus, an only son;

and Odysseus, begetting me alone in these halls, left me and never had joy of me. Therefore now enemies in countless number are within my house: all the nobles who lord it over the islands, Dulichium and Same and wooded Zacynthus, and all who are chieftains around rugged Ithaca— these many woo my mother and waste my house.

She neither refuses the hateful marriage nor can she bring it about; and they devour my household and waste it away. Soon, truly, they will tear even me apart. But these matters, of course, lie on the knees of the gods. Father, go quickly now, tell prudent Penelopeia that I am safe and have returned from Pylos. I myself will stay here;

but you must come back here after telling her alone. And of the other Achaeans let no one know of it; for many plot evil for me.” And you, Eumaeus the swineherd, answered him, saying: “I mark it, I understand; you command one who is attentive. But come, tell me this and recount it for me truly: shall I go as a messenger on this very road to Laertes, ill-fated man, who while still grieving deeply for Odysseus used to oversee the work among the thralls in the house and would eat and drink, as his heart within his breast bade him?

But now, ever since you went off aboard ship to Pylos, they say he no longer eats or drinks in that fashion, nor looks upon the work, but with sighing and grieving he sits in lamentation, and the flesh wastes away round his bones.” Then wise Telemachus answered him in turn: “Hard to bear, but let us leave him be, grieving as we are.

For if somehow all things were to be grasped by mortals for the taking, first we would choose the day of my father’s return. But you, after announcing, go back; do not wander through the fields after him; rather tell my mother to instruct the housekeeper, the serving-woman, as quickly as possible, in secret; for she could then carry word to the old man.”

He spoke and roused the swineherd, who took up the sandals in his hands, and binding them under his feet he set out for the town. Nor did Athena fail to notice that the swineherd Eumaeus was leaving the steading; she drew near, and her form was made to resemble a woman, beautiful and tall, and skilled in splendid handiwork.

She stood by the inner lintel of the lodge, visible to Odysseus; but Telemachus did not see her face-to-face nor perceive her, for by no means do the gods appear clearly to every man; but Odysseus saw her, and the hounds saw, and they did not bark but with whining fled in fear to the far side of the yard. She nodded with her brows;

and noble Odysseus perceived it, and went out from the hall, passing the great wall of the court, and stood before her; and Athena addressed him: “Zeus-born son of Laertes, ever-resourceful Odysseus, now at last speak out to your son and hide nothing, so that you two, having woven doom and the death-spirit for the suitors, may go forth to the far-famed city;

and I myself will not be long away from you, eager as I am to fight.” She spoke, and with a golden wand Athena touched him. First she put upon his breast a well-washed cloak and tunic, and gave increase to his stature and his youthful bloom. His skin darkened again, his jaws were drawn firm, and a dark beard became full about his chin.

So having done, she went away again; and Odysseus went inside the lodge. His dear son was amazed, and turning his eyes aside in dread, lest this be a god, he spoke to him with winged words: “Stranger, you seem other to me than just now, than before; you wear other garments, and your skin is no longer the same. Surely you are one of the gods who hold the wide heaven.

Be gracious, then, that we may offer you pleasing sacrifice and wrought golden gifts; but spare us.” Then much-enduring, noble Odysseus answered him: “I am not one of the gods; why do you liken me to the immortals? I am your own father, for whose sake you, while grieving, endure so many sorrows, bowing under the violence of men.”

So saying, he kissed his son, and down from his cheeks he let a tear fall to the ground; till then he had held it back unceasingly. But Telemachus—not yet did he believe this was his father— again answered him with words and addressed him: “You are not Odysseus, my father; some spirit beguiles me, that I may weep and grieve yet more.

For no mortal man could contrive these things by his own mind alone, unless a god came in person and, of his own willing, easily made him young or old. Why, just now you were an old man clad in mean rags, but now you are like the gods who hold the wide heaven.” Then resourceful Odysseus spoke in reply: “Telemachus, it is not fitting for you, when your own dear father is here, to marvel exceedingly, nor to be astonished.

For no other Odysseus ever shall come home to you here, but I, just as I am, after suffering evils and much wandering, have come in the twentieth year to my native land. Here is the doing of Athena, driver of spoil, who made me as she willed—for she has the power—, at one time like a beggar, and at another time like a young man, with fine clothes about my body.

Easy it is for the gods who hold the wide heaven both to exalt a mortal man and to abase him.” So speaking, he sat down again; and Telemachus, flinging his arms round his noble father, wept, shedding tears; and in both of them the yearning for lamentation welled up. They wailed piercingly, more incessantly than birds— sea-eagles or crook-taloned vultures whose young the farmers have taken away before they could fly.

Thus then did they let fall piteous tears from under their brows. And now the light of the sun would have set as they mourned, had not Telemachus suddenly addressed his father: “What ship’s crew, dear father, brought you here, then, to Ithaca? Who did they claim to be? For I do not think you came here on foot.” Then much-enduring, noble Odysseus answered him: “So then, child, I shall recount the truth.

The Phaeacians brought me, famous for their ships, who also conduct other men homeward, whoever reaches their shores; and while I slept, they conveyed me over the sea in their swift ship and set me down in Ithaca, and gave me splendid gifts— bronze and gold in abundance and woven clothing. And these, by the will of the gods, lie stored in a cave.

Now I have come here at the promptings of Athena, so that we may plot slaughter against our enemies. But come, count up for me and name the suitors, that I may know how many they are and what men they be. Then I, pondering in my blameless mind, will consider whether we two will be able to pit ourselves against them alone, without others, or shall we seek others as well.”

Then wise Telemachus answered him in turn: “Father, always I used to hear of your great fame, that you were a spearman with your hands and a prudent counsellor; but the word you have spoken is far too great; amazement holds me. It could not be that two men should fight so many and so mighty. The suitors are not a mere ten, nor a mere two tens, but many more.

Soon you shall learn their number here. From Dulichium, fifty-two chosen youths, and there follow with them six serving-men; from Same there are twenty-four men; from Zacynthus there are twenty Achaean youths; and from Ithaca itself there are twelve, all the best, and with them are Medon the herald and the divine bard and two attendants, skilled in carving meat.

If we meet all these while they are within the hall, beware lest, coming among them, you pay a bitter and dreadful price for your might. But you—if you can think of any defender, consider him— speak out, one who might defend us with a ready heart.” Then much-enduring, noble Odysseus answered him: “Then I shall speak, and you listen and take my words to heart;

and consider whether Athena, together with father Zeus, will suffice for us, or shall I think of another defender.” Thenwise Telemachus answered him in turn: “Noble, indeed, are these two defenders you name, though they sit high among the clouds; and they rule over other men as well as the immortal gods.” Then much-enduring, noble Odysseus answered him: “Those two will not stand aloof for a great while from the mighty fray, when the war-strength of Ares is put to test between the suitors and us in my halls.

But you, now, go at the first showing of the dawn to your house, and keep company with the overweening suitors; as for me, the swineherd will lead me to the city later, made like a wretched beggar and an old man. And if they dishonour me in the house, let your own heart endure it in your breast while I suffer cruelly, even if they drag me by the feet through the hall to the door or pelt me with shots.

Look on and bear it. Yet indeed, command them to cease from their follies, speaking with gentle words; but they will pay no heed to you, for by now the day of doom stands at their side. And another thing I will tell you; lay it deep in your mind: when Athena, rich in counsel, puts it in my mind, I will nod to you with my head, and when you notice it, then take all the weapons of Ares that lie within the halls, carry them off and stow them in the recess of the high store-chamber, all of them.

And beguile the suitors with gentle words when they miss the arms and ask about them: ‘I have put them away from the smoke, since they no longer look as they did when Odysseus left them, going off to Troy so long ago, but they are quite disfigured, all that the breath of the fire has reached.’ And even this greater thing the son of Cronos has placed in my mind: lest, once the wine has worked on them, they start a quarrel among you and wound each other, and shame both the feast and the wooing;

for iron itself lures a man on by its own force. For ourselves alone, let us leave two swords and two spears ready, and two ox-hide shields to take up in our hands, so that we may rush upon them and seize them. Then afterwards Pallas Athena and Zeus the counsellor will bewitch them. And another thing I will tell you; lay it deep in your mind: if truly you are my son, and of our blood, let no one hear that Odysseus is within, let not Laertes know of this, nor the swineherd, nor any of the household, nor even Penelopeia herself;

but you and I alone shall discover the temper of the women. And we might test some of the serving men, both where a man respects and fears us in his heart, and who pays no heed, and dishonours you, who are such a man.” Then in answer his splendid son addressed him: “Father, you shall know my spirit, I think, later; for no slackness of thought holds me.

Yet this, I believe, will be no gain for the two of us. I bid you rather consider. Long, indeed, you would go about testing each man, going after the work; while they, at ease within your halls, devour your substance, overweeningly, and there is no sparing. Yet I bid you learn about the women, those who dishonour you and are pitiless;

but as for the men, I would not, for my part, have us test them across the steadings; let these be matters to toil at later, if you truly know some sign from Zeus who bears the aegis.” Such were the words they exchanged with each other; and now the well-wrought ship that had brought Telemachus from Pylos, and all his companions, was drawing down to Ithaca.

When they had reached inside the deep-harboured port, they hauled the black ship up onto the shore; their high-hearted comrades carried away its gear, and straightway took the gorgeous gifts to Clytius’ house. But a herald they sent forward to the house of Odysseus to tell the news to careful Penelopeia, that Telemachus was in the fields, and he had commanded the ship to sail round to the city, so that the mighty queen, fearing in her heart, would not shed a tender tear.

And the herald and the peerless swineherd met on the same errand, to speak to the lady. But when they had come to the house of the godlike king, the herald spoke in the midst of the serving women: “Your son, queen, has now come home!” And Penelopeia spoke to the swineherd as he stood nearby, and he told her all that her dear son had commanded him to say.

But when he had delivered the whole message, he went his way back to the hogs, and left the walled court and the hall. The suitors were dismayed and downcast in spirit; they went out of the hall past the great wall of the court, and there before the doors they took their seats. Then Eurymachus, son of Polybus, began to speak among them: “Friends, a great deed has been accomplished, in overweening fashion, this journey of Telemachus;

we thought he would never accomplish it. But come, let us launch a black ship, the best there is, and gather nautical rowers who will as quickly as possible carry word to our comrades to come home swiftly.” Not yet was the whole word spoken when Amphinomus, turning in his place, saw a ship within the deep-harboured port, with men furling the sails and holding oars in their hands. And with a sweet laugh he spoke to his companions: “Let us urge no message any more; they are here inside. Either some god told this to them, or they themselves saw the ship sailing by, but they could not overtake it.

” So he spoke, and they rose up and went to the shore of the sea, and quickly hauled the black ship up onto dry land, and their high-hearted comrades carried away its gear. They all went in a body to the place of assembly, and permitted no other, neither young men nor elders, to sit among them. Then Antinous, son of Eupithes, addressed them: “Out on it!

How the gods have freed that man from disaster. Day after day, watchers sat on the windy heights in close succession, and at sunset we never passed a night ashore, but on the deep sea, sailing in our swift ship, we waited for bright Dawn, lying in ambush for Telemachus, to catch him and kill him; but in the meantime a god brought him home.

Let us instead now plot a grim destruction for Telemachus, and not let him escape us; for I think that while this man lives, these deeds will not be brought to pass. The man himself is skilled in counsel and thought, and the people no longer bear any favour for us at all. Come, then, before he can assemble the Achaeans in assembly—I think he will not slacken at all, but will be angry, and will rise and declare before them all that we had woven sheer murder for him, and did not catch him;

and when they hear these evil deeds, they will not praise them. They might do us harm and drive us out of our own land, and we might find ourselves among a foreign people. Let us strike first, catching him in the fields away from the city or on the road. His livelihood and possessions we shall keep, dividing them fairly among ourselves, share by share;

and as for the house, let us give it to his mother to keep, and to the man who weds her. But if this plan does not please you, and you wish him to live and to keep all his patrimony, then let us no longer consume his pleasant goods squandered here, gathered together; rather let each man woo her from his own halls with his own bridal gifts, courting her;

and then she will marry whoever offers the most and who comes as her destined husband.” He spoke, and they all fell silent in silence. Then Amphinomus arose and addressed them, the splendid son of Nisus, grandson of lord Aretias, who came from Dulichium, rich in wheat, with its grassy pastures, and was foremost among the suitors, and above all he pleased Penelopeia with his words;

for he used a kindly mind. He, meaning well, spoke to them and addressed them: “Friends, I, for my part, would not wish to kill Telemachus. To slay a royal stock is a terrible thing. First let us inquire of the counsels of the gods. If the decrees of great Zeus consent to it, I myself will slay him and bid all the others do so;

but if the gods turn the matter away, I command that we desist.” So spoke Amphinomus, and his speech pleased them. And straightway they rose up and went to the house of Odysseus, and coming within, they sat down on the polished thrones. Then again the carefully prudent Penelopeia pondered another course— to appear before the suitors with their overwhelming violence.

For she had learned of her son’s plotted destruction within the halls; the herald Medon, who had overheard the counsels, told her. And she went her way to the hall with her attendant women. But when she, the lady among women, reached the suitors, she stood by the doorpost of the tightly built roof, and before her cheeks she held up her glistening head-dress, and she rebuked Antinous, speaking a word and naming him: “Antinous, possessed of outrage, deviser of evil;

yet they say that in the land of Ithaca, among men of your own age, you are the best in counsel and in speech; but you are not, it seems, such a man. Wretch, why do you weave death and doom for Telemachus, and pay no heed to suppliants, to whom Zeus himself is witness? It is not a righteous thing to weave evil one against another.

Do you not know that your father came here once as a fugitive, fleeing before the people? For they were terribly enraged, because he, having joined himself with Taphian raiders, had harmed the Thesprotians, who were friendly to us. They wished to destroy him and tear out his life’s breath and to devour his great and pleasant livelihood;

but Odysseus held them back and restrained them, eager though they were. It is his house you now consume, honourless, while you woo his wife and seek to kill his son, and you cause me great sorrow. But I bid you cease, and command the others.” Then Eurymachus, son of Polybus, answered her: “Daughter of Icarius, prudent Penelopeia, take heart;

let not these matters trouble your mind. There is not that man, nor will he be, nor will he be born, who would lay hands on your son Telemachus while I live and look upon the earth. For I tell you clearly, and it shall be accomplished: his dark blood will spurt about my spear-head— since, you see, Odysseus, sacker of cities, many a time sat me upon his knees, and placed roasted meat in my hands, and held red wine to my lips. Therefore, of all men, Telemachus is far the dearest to me, and I bid him fear no death from the suitors; but from a god there is no escape.

” So he spoke, encouraging her, yet he himself was weaving his own ruin. Penelope, then, went up to her shining upper chamber and wept for Odysseus, her own husband, until grey-eyed Athena cast sweet sleep upon her eyelids. In the evening the peerless swineherd returned to Odysseus and his son; and they set about preparing their evening meal, standing nearby, having sacrificed a yearling boar.

Then Athena, drawing close, touched Odysseus, son of Laertes, and struck him with her wand, making him an old man again, and she dressed him in mean garments about his flesh, lest the swineherd, looking him in the face, might recognise him, and go to prudent Penelopeia and tell her, and not keep it within his mind. And Telemachus first spoke a word to him: “You have come, noble Eumaeus.

What rumour now is in the city? Are the haughty suitors already back, returned from ambush, or are they still lying in wait for me as I go homeward?” And you, Eumaeus the swineherd, answered him, saying: “I did not care to ask closely about these things as I went through the town; my heart urged me quickly to deliver my message and then make my way back here.

A swift messenger from your companions joined me on the road, a herald, who was the first to speak the word to your mother. But one thing I know in addition; I saw it with my own eyes. Already, beyond the city, where the hill of Hermes is, as I went on my way, I noticed a swift ship putting in to our harbour; there were many men aboard her, and she was heavy with shields and two-headed spears; and I thought they might be those men, but I do not know.

” So he spoke, and the hallowed strength of Telemachus smiled, casting a glance with his eyes at his father, but he avoided the swineherd’s notice. But when they had finished their toil and had prepared the feast, they feasted, nor did their hearts lack an equal portion . And when they had put aside the desire for drink and for food, they thought of sleep and took the gift of slumber.