BOOK XVII

The Return of Telemachus to Ithaca

Soon as the early rosy-fingered dawn appeared, Telemachus, the son of princely Odysseus, bound to his feet his goodly sandals, took the heavy spear which fitted well his hand, and setting off to town, addressed his swineherd thus:

“Father, I go to the city to let my mother see me; for I know she will not cease from gloomy grief and crying until she sees me myself. This charge I lay on you: bring the poor stranger to the city, to beg his living there; and whosoever will shall give a cup and crust. I cannot put up all; my heart is full of trouble. And if the stranger chafes at this, so much the worse for him. I like to speak the truth.”

But wise Odysseus answered him and said: “Friend, I do not care to tarry here. Better a beggar should beg his living in the town than in the fields; and he who will may give; for I am now too old to stay about a farm and answer all the orders of an overseer. Go then your way; this man shall be my guide, even as you bid, when I have warmed me at the fire and when the sunshine comes. The clothes I wear are miserably bad, and the early frost may harm me; the town is far, they say.”

He spoke, and through the farm-stead passed Telemachus, moving with rapid stride and sowing seeds of evil for the suitors. And when he reached his stately dwelling, he took his spear and set it up by a tall pillar, while he himself went farther in and over the stone threshold.

His nurse was first to see him, Eurycleia, now busy spreading fleeces on the carven chairs. With a burst of tears she came straight forward; and other slave-maids of hardy Odysseus gathered round and fondly kissed his face and neck. Then from her chamber came heedful Penelope, like Artemis or golden Aphrodite. Round her dear son, weeping, she threw her arms, and kissed his face and both his beauteous eyes, and sobbing said to him in winged words:

“So you are come, Telemachus, dearer than light to me! I said I should not see you any more after you went away by ship to Pylos, so secretly, without consent of mine, to hear about your father. Come then and tell me all you chanced to see.”

But wise Telemachus made answer: “My mother, do not stir my tears nor move my heart within, for I am only now escaped from utter ruin. But bathe, and putting on fresh garments, go to your upper chamber with your maids, and vow to pay full hecatombs to all the gods if Zeus some day will grant us deeds of vengeance. But I will go to the market-place to find a stranger who joined me on my journey here from Pylos. I sent him forward with my gallant crew and bade Peiraeus take him home and entertain him well and give him honor till the time that I should come.”

Such were his words; unwinged, they rested with her. Bathing, and putting on fresh garments, she vowed to all the gods to pay full hecatombs if Zeus some day would grant her deeds of vengeance.

Presently through the hall forth went Telemachus, his spear in hand, two swift dogs following after; and marvelous was the grace Athene cast about him, that all the people gazed as he drew near. And round him flocked the haughty suitors, kind in their talk but in their hearts brooding on evil. He turned aside from the great company of these and off where Mentor sat with Antiphus and Halitherses, who were of old his father’s friends, he went and sat him down; and much they questioned. Peiraeus, the famous spearman, now drew near, leading the stranger through the city to the market-place. Not long then from his guest delayed Telemachus, but came to meet him; though Peiraeus was the first to speak and say:

“Telemachus, quickly send women to my house, and let me send to you what Menelaus gave.”

Then answered him discreet Telemachus: “Peiraeus, as yet we do not know how matters here will be. Suppose the haughty suitors at the palace should slay me privily and share my father’s goods, I had rather you yourself should keep and enjoy the gifts than any one of these. But if I sow for these men death and doom, when I am gladdened merrily fetch all here.”

So saying, he led the way-worn stranger home. And entering the stately buildings, they threw their coats upon the couches and the chairs, and went to the polished baths and bathed. And when the maids had bathed them and anointed them with oil, and put upon them fleecy coats and tunics, out of the baths they came and sat upon the couches. And water for the hands a slave-maid brought in a beautiful pitcher made of gold, and poured it out over a silver basin for their washing, and spread a polished table by their side. Then the grave housekeeper brought bread and placed before them, setting out food of many a kind, freely giving of her store. The mother of Telemachus sat on the farther side, by a column of the hall, resting upon a couch, spinning fine threads of yarn. So on the food spread out before them they laid hands. And after they had stayed desire for drink and food, then thus began heedful Penelope:

“Telemachus, I go to my upper chamber and lie on my bed,—which has become for me a bed of sorrows, ever watered with my tears since Odysseus went away to Ilios with the Atreidae,—because you did not deign before the haughty suitors entered, plainly to tell what tidings you have heard about your father’s coming.”

Then answered her discreet Telemachus: “No, mother, I will tell you all the truth. We went to Pylos, to Nestor, the shepherd of the people. And he, receiving me within his lofty palace, gave me such hearty welcome as a father gives his child when lately come from far, after long time away; so heartily he entertained me, he and his noble sons. Of hardy Odysseus, he said he had not heard from any man on earth, if he were alive or dead. But with horses and a strong-built chariot he sent me to the son of Atreus, to the spearman Menelaus. There I saw Argive Helen, her in behalf of whom Argives and Trojans bore so much at the gods’ bidding. And Menelaus, good at the war-cry, soon asked me on what errand I came to royal Lacedaemon. I told him all the truth. And then he answered thus and said to me: ‘Heavens! In a very brave man’s bed they sought to lie, the weaklings! As when in the den of a strong lion a hind has laid asleep her new-born sucking fawns, then roams the slopes and grassy hollows seeking food, and by and by into his lair the lion comes and on both hind and fawns brings ghastly doom; so shall Odysseus bring a ghastly doom on these. Ah father Zeus, Athene, and Apollo! if with the power he showed one day in stately Lesbos, when he rose and wrestled in a match with Philomeleides, and down he threw him heavily while the Achaeans all rejoiced,—if as he was that day Odysseus now might meet the suitors, they all would find quick turns of fate and bitter rites of marriage. But as to what you ask thus urgently, I will not turn to talk of other things and so deceive you; but what the unerring old man of the sea told me, in not a word will I disguise or hide from you. He said he saw Odysseus on an island, in great distress, at the hall of the nymph Calypso, who holds him there by force. No power has he to reach his native land, for he has no ships fitted with oars, nor crews to bear him over the broad ocean-ridges.’ So said the son of Atreus, the spearman Menelaus. And this accomplished, back I sailed; the gods gave breezes and brought me swiftly to my native land.”

So he spoke, and stirred the heart within her breast. But godlike Theoclymenus addressed them thus: “O honored wife of Laeärtes’ son Odysseus, certainly Menelaus did not know the truth. Listen instead to words of mine; for I will plainly prophesy and not conceal. First then of all the gods be witness Zeus, and let this hospitable table and the hearth of good Odysseus whereto I come be witness; Odysseus is already within his native land,—biding his time or moving, —and, understanding all these wicked deeds, is sowing seeds of ill for all the suitors. As proof, while on the well-benched ship I marked a bird of omen, and I announced it to Telemachus.”

Then said to him heedful Penelope: “Ah stranger, would these words of yours might be fulfilled! Soon should you know my kindness and many a gift from me, and every man you met would call you blessed.”

So they conversed together. Meanwhile before the palace of Odysseus the suitors were making merry, throwing the discus and the hunting-spear upon the level pavement, holding riot as of old. But now when it was dinner-time, and from the fields around the flocks returned,—the shepherds leading who were wont to lead,—then Medon spoke; a man most loved of all the pages, one who was ever present at their feasts:

“Now, lads, since all your hearts are cheered with sports, come to the house and let us lay the table. One’s dinner at the proper time is no bad thing.”

He spoke, and up they sprang and went to heed his words. And entering the stately buildings, they threw their coats upon the couches and the chairs, and they began to kill great sheep and fatted goats, to kill sleek pigs and the heifer of the herd, and so to make their meal.

Meanwhile at the farm Odysseus and the noble swineherd were making ready to depart to town. And thus began the swineherd, the overseer: “Stranger, so you desire to go to town today, just as my master ordered, though I myself would rather leave you as a watchman for the farm; but of him I stand in fear and awe, lest he hereafter chide me. Hard is a master’s censure. Come then and let us go. The day is passing. It will be colder by and by toward night.”

Then wise Odysseus answered him and said: “I see, I understand; you speak to one who knows. Let us go on, and all the way be my guide. But give me a stick, if you have one cut, to lean upon; for you said the road was rough.”

He spoke, and round his shoulders slung his miserable wallet, full of holes, which hung upon a cord. Eumaeus gave the staff desired, and so the two set forth; but dogs and herdsmen stayed behind to keep the farm. On to the town Eumaeus led his lord, like an old and wretched beggar, leaning upon a staff. Upon his back were miserable clothes.

Now as they walked along the rugged road, nearing the city, they reached a stone-built fountain, running clear, from which the townsfolk draw their water, a fountain made by Ithacus, by Neritus and Polyctor. There was a grove of stream-fed poplars, encircling it, and from the rock above ran the cool water, while at the top was built an altar to the nymphs, where all who passed made offerings. Here the son of Dolius, Melanthius, met them, driving the goats that were the best of all the flock, to make the suitors’ dinner. Two herdsmen followed after. Seeing Eumaeus and Odysseus, he broke into abuse; and speaking to them, used rude and indecent words, which stirred Odysseus’ blood:

“Now sure enough the vile man leads the vile! As ever, the god brings like and like together! Where are you carrying that glutton, you good-for-nothing swineherd, that nasty beggar to make mischief at our feasts? A man to stand and rub his back on many doors and tease for scraps of food, but not for swords and caldrons. If you would let me have him for a watchman at my farm, to be a stable-cleaner and fetch fodder to the kids, he might by drinking whey grow a big thigh. But no! For he has learned bad ways and will not turn to work. He will prefer to beg about the town, grubbing for stuff to feed his greedy maw. But this I tell you, and it shall be done: if he comes near the house of princely Odysseus, many a footstool from men’s hands flying around his head his ribs shall thump, as he is knocked about the house.”

He spoke and as he passed recklessly kicked Odysseus on the hip, but did not force him from the pathway. Fixed he stood. Odysseus doubted whether to spring and with his cudgel take his life, or to lift him in the air and dash his head upon the ground. But he was patient, and by thought restrained himself. And now the swineherd, looking him in the face, rebuked the man and stretching forth his hands prayed thus aloud:

“Nymphs of the fountain, daughters of Zeus, if ever Odysseus burned on thy altars thighs of lambs and kids, and wrapped them in rich fat, grant this my prayer! May he return and Heaven be his guide! Then would he scatter all the pride you now recklessly assume, roaming continually around the town, while careless herdsmen let the flock decay.”

Then answered him Melanthius the goatherd: “So, so! How the cur talks, as if he knew some magic arts! Some day I’ll take him on a black and well-benched ship far off from Ithaca, and get me a great fortune. Oh that Apollo of the silver bow would smite Telemachus at home today, or let him fall before the suitors, as certainly as for Odysseus, far in foreign lands, the day of coming home is lost!”

So saying, he left them slowly plodding on, and off he went and soon he came to the king’s palace. Entering at once, he took his seat among the suitors over against Eurymachus, for he liked him best of all. Then those who served passed him a portion of the meat, while the grave housekeeper brought bread and set before him, for him to eat. Meantime Odysseus and the noble swineherd halted as they drew near, while round them came notes of the hollow lyre; for Phemius lifted up his voice to sing before the suitors. And taking the swineherd by the hand, Odysseus said:

“Surely, Eumaeus, this is the goodly palace of Odysseus, easy to notice even among many. Building joins building here. The court is built with wall and cornice, and a double gate protects. No man may scorn it. I notice too that a great company are banqueting within; for the savory steam mounts up, and in the house resounds the lyre, made by the gods the fellow of the feast.”

And, swineherd Eumaeus, you answered him and said: “You notice quickly, dull of thought in nothing. Come then and let us plan what we must do. You enter the stately buildings first and mingle with the suitors, while I stay here behind; or if you like, wait you, and I will go. But do not linger long, or somebody may spy you at the door and throw a stone or strike you. Take care, I say!”

Then long-tried royal Odysseus answered: “I see, I understand; you speak to one who knows. But go you on before, I will stay here behind: for I am not unused to blows and missiles. Staunch is my soul; for many dangers have I borne from waves and war. To those let this be added. Yet I cannot disregard a gnawing belly, the pest which brings so many ills to men. To ease it, timbered ships are fitted and carry woe to foemen over barren seas.”

So they conversed together. But a dog lying near lifted his head and ears. Argos it was, the dog of hardy Odysseus, whom long ago he reared but never used. Before the dog was grown, Odysseus went to sacred Ilios. In the times past young men would take him on the chase, for wild goats, deer, and hares; but now he lay neglected, his master gone away, upon a pile of dung which had been dropped before the door by mules and oxen, and which lay there in a heap for slaves to carry off and fertilize the broad lands of Odysseus. Here lay the dog, this Argos, full of fleas. Yet even now, seeing Odysseus near, he wagged his tail and dropped both ears, but toward his master he had not strength to move. Odysseus turned aside and wiped away a tear, swiftly concealing from Eumaeus what he did; then at once thus he questioned:

“Eumaeus, it is strange this dog lies on the dung-hill. His form is good; but I am not sure if he has speed of foot to match his beauty, or if he is merely what the table-dogs become which masters keep for show.”

And, swineherd Eumaeus, you answered him and said: “Aye truly, that is the dog of one who died afar. If he were as good in form and action as when Odysseus left him and went away to Troy, you would be much surprised to see his speed and strength. For nothing could escape him in the forest-depths, no creature that he started; he was keen upon the scent. Now he has come to ill. In a strange land his master perished, and the indifferent women give him no more care; for slaves, when masters lose control, will not attend to duties. Ah, half the value of a man far-seeing Zeus destroys when the slave’s lot befalls him!”

So saying, he entered the stately house and went straight down the hall among the lordly suitors. But upon Argos fell the doom of darksome death when he beheld Odysseus, twenty years away.

By far the first to see the swineherd as he walked along the hall was princely Telemachus, and he quickly gave a nod to call him to his side. Glancing around, Eumaeus took a stool which stood at hand, where the carver sat at feasts within the hall when carving for the suitors the many joints of meat; carrying the stool to the table of Telemachus, he placed it on the farther side and there sat down. And then a page took up a dish of meat and passed it, and from the basket gave him also bread.

Close following after, Odysseus entered the palace, like an old and wretched beggar leaning upon a staff. Upon his back were miserable clothes. He sat down on the ash-wood threshold just within the door, leaning against the cypress post which long ago the carpenter had smoothed with skill and leveled to the line. But to the swineherd said Telemachus, calling him to his side and taking a whole loaf from the goodly basket and also all the meat his hands stretched wide would hold:

“Take this and give the stranger, and bid him move about and beg of all the suitors. Shyness is no good comrade for a needy man.”

He spoke, and the swineherd went as soon as he heard the order, and standing by Odysseus said in winged words: “Stranger, Telemachus gives this, and bids you move about and beg of all the suitors. Shyness, he says, is no good comrade for a beggar man.”

Then answering him, said wise Odysseus: “O Zeus above, may Telemachus be blessed among mankind, and may he get whatever in his heart he longs for!”

He spoke, and took the food with both his hands and laid it down before his feet on his mean wallet, and so ate, the while within the hall the bard was singing. But when the meal was ended and the sacred bard had ceased, the suitors raised an uproar in the hall. And now Athene, drawing near Laeärtes’ son, Odysseus, urged him to gather crusts among the suitors, and learn who were the righteous ones and who the lawless; though not even thus would she preserve a man of them from ruin. So off he went to beg of all from left to right, stretching his hand around as if he had been long a beggar. They pitied him and gave, and wondering at the man asked one another who he was and whence he came; and Melanthius, the goatherd, said:

“Hear from me, suitors of the illustrious queen, something about the stranger. I saw him a while ago; and certainly it was the swineherd brought him here. The man himself I do not really know, nor of what tribe he boasts himself to be.”

When he had spoken, Antinouäs rebuked the swineherd thus: “Infamous swineherd, why bring this man to town? Have we not here already plenty of vagabonds and nasty beggars to make mischief at our feasts? Do you not mind that men devour the living of their lord by gathering here? And do you ask this fellow too to come?”

Then, swineherd Eumaeus, you answered him and said: “Antinouäs, you speak but ill, noble although you are. Who ever goes and calls a stranger from abroad? Unless indeed the stranger is a master of some craft, a prophet, healer of disease, or builder, or else a wondrous bard who pleases by his song; for these are welcomed by mankind the wide world through. A beggar, who would ask to be a torment to himself? But you are always harsh—more than the other suitors—to the servants of Odysseus, especially to me. And yet I do not care, so long as heedful Penelope is living in the palace, Penelope and prince Telemachus.”

Then said discreet Telemachus: “Hush! Do not make him a long answer. It is Antinouäs’ way ever to insult with ugly talk. He stirs up others too.”

He spoke, and to Antinouäs in winged words he said: “Antinouäs, finely you care for me, as a father for his son, bidding me drive this stranger forth by a commanding word! The gods let that never be! Take of the food and give him. I do not grudge it; indeed I bid you give. Be not disquieted about my mother or any servant of the house of great Odysseus. But in your breast there is no thought of giving. Far better you like to eat than give to others.”

Then answering said Antinouäs: “Telemachus, of the lofty tongue and the unbridled temper, what do you mean? If every suitor gave as much as I, for three months’ space at least the house would miss him.”

So saying, he seized his stool and drew it out from under the table where it lay. On it he used to set his dainty feet while feasting. Now all the rest had given food and filled with bread and meat the beggar’s wallet. A moment and Odysseus would go back to the threshold to taste the Achaeans’ bounty. Before Antinouäs he paused, and said:

“Give me some food, kind sir! You do not seem the poorest of the Achaeans; rather, the chief; for you are like a king. So you shall give me bread more generously than others, and I will sing your praise the wide world through. For once I lived in luxury among my mates, in a rich house, and often gave to wanderers, careless who they might be or with what needs they came. Servants I had in plenty, and everything besides by which men live at ease and are reputed rich. But Zeus, the son of Kronos, brought me low. His will it was. He sent me with a roving band of plunderers to Egypt, a long voyage, to my ruin. In Egypt’s stream I anchored my curved ships; then to my trusty men I gave command to stay there by the ships and guard the ships, while I sent scouts to points of observation. But giving way to lawlessness and following their own bent, they presently began to pillage the fair fields of the Egyptians, carrying off wives and infant children and slaughtering the men. Soon the din reached the city. The people there, hearing the shouts, came forth at early dawn, and all the plain was filled with footmen and with horsemen and with the gleam of bronze. Then Zeus, the Thunderer, brought on my men a cruel panic, and none dared stand and face the foe. Danger encountered us on every side. So the Egyptians slew many of our men with the sharp sword, and carried others off alive to work for them in bondage. They gave me to a friend who chanced to meet them, upon his way to Cyprus, to Dmetor son of Iasus, who ruled with power in Cyprus. Thence I am now come hither, sore distressed.”

Then answered him Antinouäs and said: “What god has brought us this pest to spoil our feast here? Stand off there in the middle, back from my table, or you shall find a bitter Egypt and a bitter Cyprus too, brazen and shameless beggar that you are! You go to all in turn, and they give lavishly. No scruple or compunction do they feel at being generous with others’ goods, while there remains abundance for themselves.”

Then stepping back said wise Odysseus: “Indeed! In you then wisdom does not go with beauty. From your own house you would not give a suppliant salt, if sitting at another’s table you will not take and give me bread. Yet here there is abundance.”

As he thus spoke, Antinouäs was angered in his heart the more, and looking sternly on him said in winged words: “Now you shall never leave the hall in peace, I think, now you have taunted me.”

So saying, he seized his footstool, flung it and struck Odysseus on the back of the right shoulder, near the spine. Firm as a rock he stood; the missile of Antinouäs did not move him. Silent he shook his head, brooding on evil. Then once more walking toward the threshold, down he sat, laid down his well-filled wallet, and thus addressed the suitors:

“Hearken, you suitors of the illustrious queen, and let me tell you what the heart within me bids. One feels no smart or indignation in his mind if struck while fighting for his own possessions, his oxen, say, or white-wooled sheep; but Antinouäs gave this blow because of my poor belly, that wretched part which brings to men such ills. If then for beggars there be gods and furies, may death’s doom seize Antinouäs before his marriage.”

Then said Antinouäs, Eupeithes’ son: “Stranger, sit still and eat, or go off elsewhere; or for such talk as this young men will drag you through the house by hand and foot, and strip off all your skin.”

At these his words all were exceeding wroth, and a rude youth would say: “Antinouäs, it was not well done to assault the wretched wanderer. A doomed man you, if he should be a god come down from heaven. And gods in guise of strangers from afar in every form do roam our cities, marking the sin and righteousness of men.”

So said the suitors; Antinouäs did not heed their words. But Telemachus nursed in his heart great indignation at the blow, yet let no tear fall from his eyelids to the ground. Silent he shook his head, brooding on evil.

When heedful Penelope heard how in the hall a man was struck, she said to her slave-maids: “May the archer-god Apollo strike you even so!” Whereat Eurynome the house-keeper made answer: “If only prayers of ours might be fulfilled, no one of them should see another bright-throned dawn.”

And heedful Penelope replied: “Nurse, hateful are they all; their ways are evil; but Antinouäs is like dark doom itself. Into the house strays some poor stranger, and begs for bread, as need compels; then while all others gave and filled his wallet, Antinouäs struck him with a footstool on the back of the right shoulder.”

So talked Penelope with her maids as she sat within her chamber, while royal Odysseus was busied with his meal. Then calling the noble swineherd, thus she spoke: “Go, noble Eumaeus, go bid the stranger come to me. I wish to greet him and to ask if he has heard of hardy Odysseus or with his own eyes seen him. He looks a traveled man.”

Then, swineherd Eumaeus, you answered her and said: “Would, queen, the Achaeans would be still! What he can tell would charm your very soul. Three nights I had him; three days I kept him at the lodge; he came to me at once on escaping from his vessel. Yet all that time he never ended telling me his troubles. And just as when men gaze upon a bard who has been taught by gods to sing them moving lays, and they long to listen endlessly so long as the bard will sing; even so he held me spell-bound as he sat within my room. He calls Odysseus his ancestral friend, and says his home is Crete, where the race of Minos dwell. Thence he is now come here, deeply distressed and onward driven ever. He declares he has heard that Odysseus is at hand, in the rich land of the Thesprotians, a living man, and that he brings a mass of treasure home.”

Then said to him heedful Penelope: “Go call him here, to tell his story here before my face. Let men make merry, sitting before the door, or here within the house. Their hearts are gay. Untouched at home their goods are lying, their bread and their sweet wine. On these their servants feed. But haunting this house of ours day after day, killing our oxen, sheep and fatted goats, these suitors hold high revel, drinking sparkling wine with little heed. Much goes to waste; for there is no man here fit, like Odysseus, to keep damage from our doors. But if Odysseus should return, home to his native land, soon with his son’s help he would punish these men’s crimes.”

As she spoke thus, Telemachus loudly sneezed, and all the hall gave a great echo. Penelope laughed, and to Eumaeus straightway said in winged words: “Pray go and call the stranger before me, as I bade. Do you not notice how my son sneezed at my words? Therefore no partial death shall strike the suitors. On all it falls; none shall escape from death and doom. Nay, this I will say farther; mark it well: if I shall find that all the stranger tells is true, I will clothe him in a coat and tunic, goodly garments.”

She spoke, and the swineherd went as soon as he heard the order, and standing near the stranger said in winged words: “Here, good old stranger, heedful Penelope is calling, the mother of Telemachus. Her heart inclines her to ask for tidings of her husband, so full of grief is she. And if she finds that all you tell is true, she will clothe you in a coat and tunic, things that you greatly need. Moreover, you shall beg your bread about the land and fill your belly. Whoever will shall give.”

Then said to him long-tried royal Odysseus: “Eumaeus, I would straightway tell my whole true story to the daughter of Icarius, heedful Penelope; for well I know about Odysseus. We have borne the self-same sorrows. But I have fears about this crowd of cruel suitors, whose arrogance and outrage reaches the iron heavens; for even now when, as I walked along the hall doing no harm, this person struck and hurt me, neither Telemachus nor others interfered. Bid then Penelope, however eager, wait in the hall till sunset; then let her ask about her husband’s coming, after giving me a seat beside the fire; for the clothes I wear are poor. That, you yourself well know; because it was of you I first sought aid.”

He spoke, and the swineherd went as soon as he heard the order. But as he crossed the threshold, thus spoke Penelope: “Are you not bringing him, Eumaeus? What does the wanderer mean? Is he afraid of some bad man, or simply shy at being in the palace? To be a homeless man and shy is bad.”

Then, swineherd Eumaeus, you answered her and said: “Rightly he speaks, as any man must think, if he would shun the violence of these audacious men. He bids you wait till sunset. And it is better too for you, my queen, to speak to the stranger privately and listen to his tale.”

Then said to him heedful Penelope: “Not without wisdom thinks the stranger thus, whoever he may be; for mortal men have never yet so wantonly wrought outrage.”

She spoke, and the noble swineherd entered the throng of suitors, when he had told her all; and at once to Telemachus he spoke these winged words,—his head bent close, that others might not hear:

“My dear, I go to guard the swine and matters there, your livelihood and mine; do you mind all things here. Above all else, keep yourself safe and see that nothing happens. Many of the Achaeans are forming wicked plans, whom Zeus confound before harm falls on us!”

Then answered him discreet Telemachus: “So be it, father! Go when you have supped; and in the morning come and bring us goodly victims. To me and the immortal gods leave all things here.”

He spoke, and once more down Eumaeus sat upon a polished bench. Then, after having satisfied desire for food and drink, he departed to his swine, leaving the courts and hall crowded with feasters, who with dance and song were making merry; for evening now drew near.