The Odyssey

out through this hall, now you're bandying insults too."

  So saying, he threw the footstool, struck Odysseus' right shoulder

  at the base, where it joins the back; but he stood rock firm.

  Antinoos' missile failed to floor him. He said nothing,

  just shook his head, mind deeply pondering trouble. Then

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  he made his way back to the threshold and seated himself,

  and set down his well-filled bag, and addressed the suitors, saying:

  "Listen to me, you suitors of the illustrious queen,

  to what the heart in my breast now urges me to tell you!

  There's no pain felt by the mind, nor any sorrow, when

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  a man takes a hit who's fighting to save his own possessions--

  cattle, maybe, or flocks of white sheep--but Antinoos

  struck me because of my wretched belly, that damnable

  plague, the source of so much trouble for mankind!

  If beggars have their own gods or Furies, then may death's

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  end find Antinoos before ever he comes to marriage!"

  Then Antinoos, son of Eupeithes, responded to him, saying:

  "Sit still and eat quietly, stranger, or go off somewhere else,

  or the young men may seize you, by hand or foot, for the way

  you talk, and tear you apart, and throw you out of the house."

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  So he spoke, indignant and headstrong, but they all rebuked him,

  and thus would one of these overproud youths address him:

  "Antinoos, you did wrong to strike this luckless vagrant!

  If he turns out to be some god from heaven, you're done for!

  And the gods do assume the form of some stranger from afar,

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  take on any shape, to wander through our cities

  observing both good governance and its violent transgressions."

  So spoke the suitors; but he paid no heed to their words,

  and Telemachos nursed great sorrow at heart because

  of the blow to his father, yet shed no tear on the ground

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  but just shook his head, mind deeply pondering trouble.

  When prudent Penelope was informed about the assault

  on the man in the hall, she exclaimed, among her handmaids:

  "May Apollo, renowned archer, so strike you yourself!"

  To her then responded Eurynome, the housekeeper, saying:

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  "Would that our prayers might find fulfillment! Then not

  one of these men would live till another fine-throned Dawn."

  Prudent Penelope replied to her, saying: "Good mother,

  they're all our enemies, since they're plotting trouble for us;

  but Antinoos is the worst, he's like black death!

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  Some luckless stranger's been going round in the house

  begging from all the men, driven to it by poverty.

  All the rest gave him enough to fill his bag, but this man

  threw a footstool and struck him, low down on his right shoulder."

  Such her words while she sat in her room, conversing

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  with her handmaids, and noble Odysseus was eating his scraps.

  Then she sent for the noble swineherd, and addressed him, saying:

  "Go now, noble Eumaios, invite this stranger here:

  I'd like to show him some kindness--and ask him if perhaps

  he's had has some news of steadfast-minded Odysseus,

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  or has actually seen him: he seems to be widely traveled."

  Then to her, swineherd Eumaios, you responded, saying:

  "Indeed, my queen, I could wish these Achaians would be silent,

  he spins such a tale as would enchant your very soul!

  Three nights I had him with me, and three days I kept him

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  in my hut--he first came to me after he jumped ship,

  but that wasn't the end of the tale of hardship he told me.

  Like the man gazing rapt at a minstrel performing lays that

  he's learned from the gods for the entrancement of mortals,

  who are ceaselessly eager to hear him, whenever he sings--

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  that's how this fellow charmed me as he sat in my home.

  He says he's a family guest-friend of Odysseus, and dwells

  in Krete, that place where the line of Minos holds sway.

  Now he's come here from there, with much hardship on the way,

  wandering ever onward. He's had news of Odysseus, he says:

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  quite near, in the Thesprotians' rich terrain, alive,

  and bringing much treasure back with him to his home."

  Then prudent Penelope responded to him, saying:

  "Go, summon him! He can tell me all this, face to face.

  As for these men sitting outside or here indoors, enjoying

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  a good time, let them go on, since that's their fancy!

  Their own possessions, bread and sweet wine, are left

  untouched in their homes, and are eaten by their servants,

  while they themselves, day in day out, flock to our house,

  slaughter our cattle and sheep and fatted goats, hold feasts

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  at which they swill down our bright red wine without

  any restraint. Most is gone now, for there is no man here

  such as Odysseus once was, to keep ruin from our house.

  But were Odysseus to come back home, then he and his son

  would at once exact vengeance for these men's violent acts."

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  So she spoke. Telemachos now sneezed, loudly. The whole

  house echoed ringingly round them. Penelope laughed,

  and at once addressed Eumaios with winged words, saying:

  "Please go now and bring the stranger here before me!

  Don't you see how my son just sneezed at everything I said?4

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  It follows that death shall not be unfulfilled for the suitors--

  to the last man: not one shall escape death and the fates.

  And another thing I will tell you, and you take it to heart:

  If I find that in all he relates he speaks only truth,

  then I'll dress him in mantle and tunic, the very best there are."

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  So she spoke. The swineherd went, on hearing her words,

  to Odysseus, and addressed him with winged words, saying:

  "Stranger, father, prudent Penelope wants to see you--

  Telemachos' mother: her heart bids her make enquiries

  about her husband, although she's suffered much already.

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  If she finds that in all you relate you speak only truth,

  then she'll dress you in mantle and tunic--things of which

  you stand much in need! As for food, go beg through the land

  to keep your belly well fed: those who so choose will give."

  Much-enduring noble Odysseus responded to him, saying:

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  "In a moment, Eumaios, I'll be relating the whole truth

  to Ikarios' daughter, the prudent Penelope! My knowledge

  of Odysseus is sound, and we've borne like hardships. But

  I'm much afraid of this crowd of dangerous suitors,

  whose aggression and violence reach up to the iron heaven!

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  For just now, as I went through the hall, doing no harm,

  this man struck me, causing much pain, yet neither

  Telemachos nor anyone else came out to protect me.

  So tell Penelope she must wait in the halls, however

  impatient she may be, until the sun goes down:

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  then let her ask me about the day of her husband's return,

  and g
ive me a seat that's nearer the fire, since my clothes

  are threadbare. You know this yourself: I appealed to you first."

  So he spoke. The swineherd then, after hearing his words,

  went back in. Penelope at once addressed him, saying:

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  "You haven't brought him, Eumaios! What's this vagrant up to?

  Is he scared without reason of someone, or maybe embarrassed

  here in the house? Embarrassment makes a useless beggar."

  To her then, swineherd Eumaios, you responded, saying:

  "What he says is well chosen, as anyone else would agree:

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  he hopes to avoid the violence of these arrogant men,

  so he wants you to wait to see him until the sun goes down.

  For yourself too, my queen, it would indeed be far better

  to speak with the stranger, and hear what he says, alone."

  Then prudent Penelope responded to him, saying:

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  "This stranger's not witless: he figures how things may go.

  For there may well be no other mortal men alive

  who in their violence contrive such reckless acts as these."

  So she spoke, and the noble swineherd then departed

  and joined the throng of the suitors after he'd told her all.

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  At once he addressed winged words to Telemachos, head

  held close, so that nobody else could hear him, saying:

  "Friend, I'm off out there now to guard the pigs and the rest--

  your and my livelihood. You take charge of everything here.

  Above all, keep yourself safe, take good care you don't run

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  into trouble: many Achaians now have it in for you--

  may Zeus destroy them utterly before harm can befall us!"

  Sagacious Telemachos then responded to him, saying:

  "Old fellow, so it shall be. Off you go when you've had some food.

  But come back tomorrow with fine sacrificial victims!

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  All here will be cared for by me. And by the immortals."

  So he spoke. The swineherd sat down again on a polished

  chair, and when he'd satisfied his desire for food and drink,

  he went back to his pigs, leaving the courts and the hall

  full of banqueters. Now they began to enjoy themselves with

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  dancing and singing, for already the evening had arrived.

  Book 18

  Now there came up a public beggar, whose custom it was to beg

  through the town of Ithake, well known for his ravenous belly,

  forever guzzling and swilling. There was no strength in him,

  nor force; yet his great bulk made an imposing sight.

  His name was Arnaios: this his lady mother had given him

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  at birth. But Iros was his nickname with all the young men

  because he used to run errands for anyone who would ask him.1

  Up he came now, bent on chasing Odysseus away

  from his own home, and began, with winged words, to upbraid him:

  "Out of this entrance, old man, before someone drags you off

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  by the foot! Don't you see how everyone's winking at me,

  encouraging me to drag you? Yet I'm ashamed to do it.

  So up with you now, or our quarrel will soon come to fisticuffs!"

  With an angry glance, resourceful Odysseus responded, saying:

  "Sir, neither by words nor by action am I causing you harm,

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  nor do I resent someone treating you--however large the helping!

  This threshold has room for us both, nor is there need for you

  to be jealous of others. It seems to me you're a vagrant

  as I am. Prosperity is something the gods will allot. But don't

  provoke me too much with your fists, lest you rouse my wrath,

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  and, old man though I am, I spatter your breast and lips

  with your blood! Then I'd enjoy much greater peace and quiet

  tomorrow, since I don't think you'd then come back

  a second time to the hall of Laertes' son Odysseus."

  Now Iros the vagrant grew angry, and addressed him, saying:

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  "Oh my, how glibly this bald old pig rants on,

  like some crone by the oven! But I'll contrive trouble for him,

  punch him out with both hands, scatter all the teeth

  from his jaws on the ground, as I'd treat a crop-rooting sow!2

  Come, gird yourself now, let all these men get to watch us

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  fighting! Yet how could you ever stand up to a younger man?"

  So these two, there in front of the lofty doorway

  on the polished threshold were taunting each other sharply;

  Antinoos, princely in power, now noticed them at it,

  and, with a light laugh, addressed the suitors, saying:

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  "Never before, my friends, has anything happened to match

  the sport that some god's brought to this house! The stranger

  and Iros are challenging one another to a fistfight!

  so gather round quickly, let's make a real match of it!"

  So he spoke. They all sprang to their feet, with laughter,

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  and crowded about this couple of tatterdemalion beggars.

  Antinoos, son of Eupeithes, then addressed them, saying:

  "Listen, all you proud suitors, to what I have to say!

  These goats' paunches over the fire, set there for our supper,

  that we filled first with fat and blood3 --let whichever of these two

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  emerges victorious, proves himself the better man,

  stand up and take for himself the one that he chooses.

  What's more, he shall always feast with us, nor will we allow

  any other beggar to join us or to beg among us."

  So Antinoos spoke: what he said was to their liking.

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  Then with crafty intent resourceful Odysseus declared:

  "Friends, there's no way an old man worn out by grief

  can fight with a younger opponent; and yet my belly,

  that worker of evil, urges me to succumb to his attacks!

  But come now, all of you swear me a mighty oath

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  that no one, backing Iros, will strike me a foul blow

  in reckless mood, and use force to let this fellow beat me."

  So he spoke, and they all swore the oath as he requested.

  But when they'd sworn, and completed the oath-taking, then

  Telemachos, princely in power, addressed them once more, saying:

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  "Stranger, if your heart and proud spirit are urging you

  to beat off this man, have no fear of any other Achaian:

  any man who strikes you will be up against many more!

  I myself am your host, accepted by these two princes,

  Antinoos and Eurymachos, sagacious men both of them."

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  So he spoke, and they all applauded. And now Odysseus

  girded his rags about his loins, revealing his thighs,

  both muscled and large, and his broad shoulders appeared,

  and his chest and his powerful forearms. Also Athene

  came close and magnified the limbs of the people's shepherd,

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  so that even the suitors condescendingly admired them,

  and thus would one of them speak, with a glance at his neighbor:

  "Soon will Iros, un-Irosed, have a loss of his own making,

  so muscled a thigh does the old man reveal beneath his rags."

  So he spoke, and Iros' spirit was severely shaken.

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  Yet even so the serving men made him gird up his rags


  and forced him out, terrified, the flesh shivering on his limbs.

  Then Antinoos addressed a scathing rebuke to him, saying: