The Odyssey

  The respected housekeeper brought in bread and served it

  along with many side dishes, giving freely of what there was,

  while, nearby, Boethoos' son carved helpings of meat,

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  and the son of renowned Menelaos poured out the wine.

  So they reached out their hands to the good things ready for them.

  But when they had satisfied their desire for food and drink,

  Then Telemachos and the splendid son of Nestor

  harnessed the horses and boarded the fine-wrought chariot

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  and drove out from the forecourt and the echoing colonnade.

  With them went Atreus' son, the fair-haired Menelaos,

  his right hand holding enough mind-honeying wine

  in a golden cup, so they might, on leaving, pour libations.

  Now he stood in front of the chariot, and pledged them, saying:

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  "Farewell, young men--and to Nestor, shepherd of the people,

  take my greetings: to me he was like a kindly father

  when we sons of Achaians were warring in the country of Troy."

  Sagacious Telemachos then responded to him, saying:

  "All this indeed, Zeus' nursling, exactly as you say,

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  we'll recount to him on arrival. I only wish that as surely,

  when I return to Ithake, I'd find Odysseus at home,

  and be able to tell him all the kindness I'd had from you

  before coming, all the fine presents that I was bringing home."

  Just as he finished speaking, a bird flew in on the right,

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  an eagle, grasping a great white goose in its talons,

  a tame bird out of the yard, and a crowd of men and women

  ran behind, shouting. The eagle swooped toward them

  from the right, in front of the horses. They rejoiced at the sight,

  and the spirits of all were comforted in their hearts.

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  Peisistratos, Nestor's son, was the first to speak. He said:

  "Consider now, Zeus' nursling, Menelaos, leader of hosts--

  Was it for us that the god showed this sign, or for you yourself?"

  So he spoke. Menelaos the warlike was figuring in his mind

  the right way to think, what might be his best response,

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  when long-robed Helen got in ahead of him, saying:

  "Listen to me! I shall prophesy now, as the immortals

  put it into my heart, how I think it will come to pass.

  As this eagle seized the goose brought up in our household,

  swooping down from the mountain where he was born and bred,

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  so Odysseus--many ills borne, having wandered far--

  will come back home and take vengeance, or maybe is home

  already, and sowing the seeds of trouble for the suitors."

  Then sagacious Telemachos responded to her, saying:

  "So now may Zeus enact it, Here's loud-thundering husband!

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  Then there too I'd pray to you as I would to a god."

  That said,

  he gave the horses a touch of the whip: they at once

  galloped eagerly out of the city toward the plain,

  and strained all day at the yoke set about their necks,

  till the sun went down and all the ways were in shadow,

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  and they came to Pherai, to the dwelling of Diokles

  the son of Ortilochos, whom Alpheios begot, and there

  they spent the night, and he entertained them as guests.

  When Dawn appeared, early risen and rosy-fingered,

  they harnessed the horses and boarded the inlaid chariot,

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  and drove out from the forecourt and echoing colonnade.

  At a touch of the whip the pair, nothing loath, sped forward,

  and soon made their way back to Pylos' steep citadel.

  Then Telemachos spoke to the son of Nestor, saying:

  "Son of Nestor, will you promise to do the thing I'll ask you,

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  and then in fact do it? We're friends of long standing ourselves

  because of our fathers' friendship. Besides, we're the same age,

  so this journey will simply establish our like-mindedness!

  Don't take me on past my ship, Zeus' nursling, but leave me there:

  I'm afraid the old man will detain me in his house against my will,

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  through an urge to befriend me. I need to get home quickly."

  So he spoke; and the son of Nestor debated in his heart

  how he might properly give this promise and fulfill it;

  and as he reflected, it struck him that this was the better course:

  he turned his horses toward the swift ship and the seashore,

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  and there unpacked the fine gifts, laid them out in the ship's stern--

  the clothes and gold Menelaos had given Telemachos,

  whom he now encouraged, addressed with winged words, saying:

  "Embark now, quickly, and summon all your comrades

  before I get home and break the news to the old man!

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  For this I know well, in my mind and heart: his spirit

  is so overbearing, he just won't let you go--

  he'll come out here in person to escort you back: I don't think

  he'd mean to go home empty-handed! As it is, he'll be very cross."

  That said, he drove off his beautiful-maned horses

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  back to the Pylians' township, and quickly reached his home.

  Telemachos meanwhile urged on his comrades, saying:

  "Put all the gear on the black ship in order, my comrades,

  and let's embark ourselves, and then be on our way."

  So he spoke; they heard and promptly obeyed him,

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  and embarked at once, and seated themselves at their rowlocks.

  Now while he was busy with prayer and sacrifice to Athene

  by the stern of the ship, he was approached by a person

  from a distant land, Argos--a fugitive murderer,

  a seer, a man related by descent to Melampous,

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  who long ago was a dweller in Pylos, mother of flocks--

  a wealthy Pylian, occupant of a very large house, but now

  a stranger in other men's country, fleeing from his own land

  and from great-hearted Neleus, noblest of living men,

  who for a full year had kept his great wealth from him

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  by main force, for Melampous lay shackled in Phylakos' halls,

  under harsh constraint, and suffering grievous hardship

  because of Neleus' daughter, and the heavy infatuation

  which the Fury--that ruinous goddess--put in his mind.

  And yet

  he escaped his fate, and drove off the loud-lowing cattle

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  to Pylos from Phylake, paid out the godlike Neleus

  for his misdeed, and brought the girl home as a wife

  for his own brother. He himself went to other men's land,

  to horse-pasturing Argos, where it was destined that he

  should dwell, and hold sway over numerous Argives. There

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  he married a wife and established a high-roofed house,

  and sired Antiphates and Mantios, two sturdy sons.

  Antiphates later begot great-hearted Oikles, and

  Oikles sired Amphiaraos, rouser of hosts, whom Zeus

  of the aegis and Apollo both held in great affection

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  and befriended in every way. Yet he never reached old age's

  threshold, but died in Thebai because of a woman's gifts.5

  To him were born two sons, Amphilochos and Alkmaion,
>
  while Mantios begot Polypheides and Kleitos. The latter

  Dawn, golden-throned, snatched away because of his beauty,

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  so that he might be numbered among the immortals;

  but high-spirited Polypheides Apollo made a seer,

  by far the best of mortals, after Amphiaraos died.

  He moved to Hyperesea when he fell out with his father,

  and there he made his home, and prophesied to all mortals.

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  His son it was, Theoklymenos by name, who now

  came up and stood by Telemachos. He found him pouring

  libations and praying, there by his black ship,

  and he spoke, and addressed him with winged words, saying:

  "Friend, since I find you at sacrifice in this place,

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  I entreat you by these burnt offerings, by the god, and by

  your own head, and by the comrades who travel with you,

  answer what I ask truly, and hold back nothing:

  Who are you? From where? What city? Who are your parents?"

  Sagacious Telemachos then responded to him, saying:

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  "So, stranger, let me answer your questions quite honestly:

  I'm from Ithake by birth, and my father is Odysseus--

  if ever he was--who by now must have met his grim destiny--

  which is why I've set out with my comrades in a black ship

  and have come seeking news of my long-absent father."

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  Theoklymenos the godlike responded to him, saying:

  "I likewise have left my country, after killing a man

  of my own clan: many brothers and kinsmen he has

  in horse-pasturing Argos, with great power over Achaians.

  It's to avoid meeting death and black fate at their hands

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  that I'm on the run. It's my fate to wander among men.

  Take me aboard your ship, as your suppliant fugitive,

  lest they murder me, for I think they're hot on my trail."

  Then sagacious Telemachos responded to him, saying:

  "I shall not, since you want it, debar you from my trim ship.

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  Come aboard! We'll look after you, with what little we have."

  So saying, he took the other's bronze spear from him,

  and laid it at length on the deck of the shapely vessel,

  then he himself embarked on the seagoing ship,

  and seated himself in the stern, and made a place beside him

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  for Theoklymenos too. His men cast off the stern warps,

  and Telemachos now issued orders to his comrades

  to belay the tackle, and they promptly obeyed him.

  The fir-wood mast they raised up and stepped in the hollow

  mast block, held it in place with the forestays, and then

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  hauled up the white sail with the halyards of plaited leather.

  Grey-eyed Athene now sent them a blustery tailwind,

  gusting through the bright air, so the ship might swiftly

  complete her journey, speeding over the briny deep.

  [They voyaged past The Springs, and sweet-streamed Chalkis],6

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  till the sun went down and all the ways were in shadow,

  and the ship reached Pheai, driven on by the wind of Zeus,

  then skirted bright Elis, where the Epeians hold sway.

  Onward from there Telemachos made for the Sharp7 Islands,

  uncertain in mind if he was going to dodge death or be captured.

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  Back in the hut, Odysseus and the noble swineherd

  were at supper: the other men were eating the meal with them.

  When they had satisfied their desire for food and drink,

  Odysseus spoke among them, making trial of the swineherd,

  to see if he'd still befriend him, invite him to stay there

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  in the farmstead, or urge him to try his luck in the city.

  "Hear me out now, Eumaios, and all you other comrades!

  In the morning I'm minded to make my way to the city,

  to beg for food, and not be a burden on you and your fellows.

  So advise me well, and give me a reliable guide

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  to take me there. But I'll need to wander through the city

  on my own, perhaps be given some bread, a cup of water.

  I might even go to the house of noble Odysseus,

  and impart what news I have to prudent Penelope, mingle

  in the company of the suitors, overbearing though they are,

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  to see if they'd spare me dinner from their limitless plenty.

  I could offer them, there and then, services they might need--

  let me list them, and you pay attention and hear me out!--

  Through the favor of Hermes the Guide, the god who endows

  the endeavors of every man with elegance and renown,

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  in the matter of service, no other mortal could match me:

  building a fire well, or chopping up dry firewood,

  or carving and roasting meat, or pouring out the wine--

  all such things in which the common folk serve their betters."

  Deeply disturbed you then answered him, swineherd Eumaios:

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  "Oh my, stranger, what can have put such a notion

  into your mind? You must be set on your own destruction

  if you mean to go in among this company of suitors,

  whose violence and arrogance go up to the iron sky!

  Not such as you are the servants of these people:

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  no indeed: it's young men, well dressed in mantles and tunics,

  their heads always slick with oil, their faces handsome,

  who wait on them: their tables are kept well polished,

  and are heavily laden with bread and meat and wine.

  No, you stay here, where no one's irked by your presence--

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  neither I, nor any of the other men I have here.

  But when the dear son of Odysseus comes back home,

  he'll fit you out with a cloak and tunic, and send you

  wherever your heart and spirit say you should go."

  Much-enduring noble Odysseus responded to him, saying:

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  "Eumaios, I wish you could be as dear to Zeus the Father

  as to me, whom you've saved from wandering and distress!

  There's no worse evil for mortals than vagrancy; and yet

  for the sake of their cursed bellies men incur grim hardship

  [when wandering, grief, and pain assail any one of them].

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  But now, since you're keeping me here, and want me to wait

  for him, your master, now tell me of godlike Odysseus' mother

  and father, whom he left here on the edge of old age--

  are they perhaps still living beneath the rays of the sun,

  or are they dead by now and in the realm of Hades?"

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  Then the swineherd, leader of men, responded to him:

  "So, stranger, I'll give your question a truthful answer.

  Laertes still lives, but constantly prays to Zeus

  that the spirit may fade from his limbs within his halls,

  because of his terrible grief for the son who's absent,

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  and for his wise wedded wife, who by dying caused him

  most sorrow, and brought him to old age before his time.

  She died of grief, lamenting her glorious son--

  a miserable death, that I'd wish no man to suffer

  that lived here as my close friend and treated me kindly.

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  So long as she lived, though it was in a state of sorrow,

  It gave me
pleasure to ask and enquire after her, since she

  had raised me herself, together with long-robed Ktimene,

  her clever daughter, whom she bore as her youngest child.