and burnt his thighs to Cronus’ mighty son,
Zeus of the thundercloud who rules the world.
But my sacrifices failed to move the god:
Zeus was still obsessed with plans to destroy
my entire oarswept fleet and loyal crew of comrades.
620 Now all day long till the sun went down we sat
and feasted on sides of meat and heady wine.
Then when the sun had set and night came on
we lay down and slept at the water’s shelving edge.
When young Dawn with her rose-red fingers shone once more
I roused the men straightway, ordering all crews
to man the ships and cast off cables quickly.
They swung aboard at once, they sat to the oars in ranks
and in rhythm churned the water white with stroke on stroke.
And from there we sailed on, glad to escape our death
630 yet sick at heart for the comrades we had lost.”
BOOK TEN
The Bewitching Queen of Aeaea
1 “We reached the Aeolian island next, the home of Aeolus,
2 Hippotas’ son, beloved by the gods who never die —
a great floating island it was, and round it all
huge ramparts rise of indestructible bronze
and sheer rock cliffs shoot up from sea to sky.
The king had sired twelve children within his halls,
six daughters and six sons in the lusty prime of youth,
so he gave his daughters as wives to his six sons.
Seated beside their dear father and doting mother,
10 with delicacies aplenty spread before them,
they feast on forever . . . All day long
the halls breathe the savor of roasted meats
and echo round to the low moan of blowing pipes,
and all night long, each one by his faithful mate,
they sleep under soft-piled rugs on corded bedsteads.
To this city of theirs we came, their splendid palace,
and Aeolus hosted me one entire month, he pressed me for news
of Troy and the Argive ships and how we sailed for home,
and I told him the whole long story, first to last.
20 And then, when I begged him to send me on my way,
he denied me nothing, he went about my passage.
He gave me a sack, the skin of a full-grown ox,
binding inside the winds that howl from every quarter,
for Zeus had made that king the master of all the winds,
with power to calm them down or rouse them as he pleased.
Aeolus stowed the sack inside my holds, lashed so fast
with a burnished silver cord
not even a slight puff could slip past that knot.
Yet he set the West Wind free to blow us on our way
30 and waft our squadron home. But his plan was bound to fail,
yes, our own reckless folly swept us on to ruin . . .
Nine whole days we sailed, nine nights, nonstop.
On the tenth our own land hove into sight at last —
34 we were so close we could see men tending fires.
But now an enticing sleep came on me, bone-weary
from working the vessel’s sheet myself, no letup,
never trusting the ropes to any other mate,
the faster to journey back to native land.
But the crews began to mutter among themselves,
40 sure I was hauling troves of gold and silver home,
the gifts of open-hearted Aeolus, Hippotas’ son.
‘The old story!’ One man glanced at another, grumbling.
‘Look at our captain’s luck —so loved by the world,
so prized at every landfall, every port of call.’
‘Heaps of lovely plunder he hauls home from Troy,
while we who went through slogging just as hard,
we go home empty-handed.’
‘Now this Aeolus loads him
down with treasure. Favoritism, friend to friend!’
‘Hurry, let’s see what loot is in that sack,
50 how much gold and silver. Break it open —now!’
A fatal plan, but it won my shipmates over.
They loosed the sack and all the winds burst out
and a sudden squall struck and swept us back to sea,
wailing, in tears, far from our own native land.
And I woke up with a start, my spirit churning —
56 should I leap over the side and drown at once or
grit my teeth and bear it, stay among the living?
I bore it all, held firm, hiding my face,
clinging tight to the decks
60 while heavy squalls blasted our squadron back
again to Aeolus’ island, shipmates groaning hard.
We disembarked on the coast, drew water there
and crewmen snatched a meal by the swift ships.
Once we’d had our fill of food and drink
I took a shipmate along with me, a herald too,
and approached King Aeolus’ famous halls and here
we found him feasting beside his wife and many children.
Reaching the doorposts at the threshold, down we sat
but our hosts, amazed to see us, only shouted questions:
70 ‘Back again, Odysseus —why? Some blustering god attacked you?
Surely we launched you well, we sped you on your way
to your own land and house, or any place you pleased.’
So they taunted, and I replied in deep despair,
‘A mutinous crew undid me —that and a cruel sleep.
Set it to rights, my friends. You have the power!’
So I pleaded —gentle, humble appeals —
but our hosts turned silent, hushed . . .
and the father broke forth with an ultimatum:
‘Away from my island —fast —most cursed man alive!
80 It’s a crime to host a man or speed him on his way
when the blessed deathless gods despise him so.
Crawling back like this —
it proves the immortals hate you! Out —get out!’
Groan as I did, his curses drove me from his halls
and from there we pulled away with heavy hearts,
with the crews’ spirit broken under the oars’ labor,
thanks to our own folly . . . no favoring wind in sight.
Six whole days we rowed, six nights, nonstop.
On the seventh day we raised the Laestrygonian land,
90 Telepylus heights where the craggy fort of Lamus rises.
Where shepherd calls to shepherd as one drives in his flocks
and the other drives his out and he calls back in answer,
where a man who never sleeps could rake in double wages,
one for herding cattle, one for pasturing fleecy sheep,
the nightfall and the sunrise march so close together.
We entered a fine harbor there, all walled around
by a great unbroken sweep of sky-scraping cliff
and two steep headlands, fronting each other, close
around the mouth so the passage in is cramped.
100 Here the rest of my rolling squadron steered,
right into the gaping cove and moored tightly,
prow by prow. Never a swell there, big or small;
a milk-white calm spreads all around the place.
But I alone anchored my black ship outside,
well clear of the harbor’s jaws
I tied her fast to a cliffside with a cable.
I scaled its rock face to a lookout on its crest
but glimpsed no trace of the work of man or beast from there;
all I spied was a plume of smoke, drifting off the land.
110 So I sent some crew ahead to learn who lived there —
men like us perhaps, who live on bread?
Two good
mates I chose and a third to run the news.
They disembarked and set out on a beaten trail
the wagons used for hauling timber down to town
from the mountain heights above . . .
and before the walls they met a girl, drawing water,
117 Antiphates’ strapping daughter —king of the Laestrygonians.
118 She’d come down to a clear running spring, Artacia,
where the local people came to fill their pails.
120 My shipmates clustered round her, asking questions:
who was king of the realm? who ruled the natives here?
She waved at once to her father’s high-roofed halls.
They entered the sumptuous palace, found his wife inside —
124 a woman huge as a mountain crag who filled them all with horror.
Straightaway she summoned royal Antiphates from assembly,
her husband, who prepared my crew a barbarous welcome.
Snatching one of my men, he tore him up for dinner —
the other two sprang free and reached the ships.
But the king let loose a howling through the town
130 that brought tremendous Laestrygonians swarming up
from every side —hundreds, not like men, like Giants!
Down from the cliffs they flung great rocks a man could hardly hoist
and a ghastly shattering din rose up from all the ships —
men in their death-cries, hulls smashed to splinters —
They speared the crews like fish
and whisked them home to make their grisly meal.
But while they killed them off in the harbor depths
I pulled the sword from beside my hip and hacked away
at the ropes that moored my blue-prowed ship of war
140 and shouted rapid orders at my shipmates:
‘Put your backs in the oars —now row or die!’
In terror of death they ripped the swells —all as one —
and what a joy as we darted out toward open sea,
clear of those beetling cliffs . . . my ship alone.
But the rest went down en masse. Our squadron sank.
From there we sailed on, glad to escape our death
yet sick at heart for the dear companions we had lost.
We reached the Aeaean island next, the home of Circe
the nymph with lovely braids, an awesome power too
150 who can speak with human voice,
151 the true sister of murderous-minded Aeetes.
Both were bred by the Sun who lights our lives;
153 their mother was Perse, a child the Ocean bore.
We brought our ship to port without a sound
as a god eased her into a harbor safe and snug,
and for two days and two nights we lay by there,
eating our hearts out, bent with pain and bone-tired.
When Dawn with her lovely locks brought on the third day,
at last I took my spear and my sharp sword again,
160 rushed up from the ship to find a lookout point,
hoping to glimpse some sign of human labor,
catch some human voices . . .
I scaled a commanding crag and, scanning hard,
I could just make out some smoke from Circe’s halls,
drifting up from the broad terrain through brush and woods.
Mulling it over, I thought I’d scout the ground —
that fire aglow in the smoke, I saw it, true,
but soon enough this seemed the better plan:
I’d go back to shore and the swift ship first,
170 feed the men, then send them out for scouting.
I was well on my way down, nearing our ship
when a god took pity on me, wandering all alone;
he sent me a big stag with high branching antlers,
right across my path —the sun’s heat forced him down
from his forest range to drink at a river’s banks —
just bounding out of the timber when I hit him
square in the backbone, halfway down the spine
and my bronze spear went punching clean through —
he dropped in the dust, groaning, gasping out his breath.
180 Treading on him, I wrenched my bronze spear from the wound,
left it there on the ground, and snapping off some twigs
and creepers, twisted a rope about a fathom long,
I braided it tight, hand over hand, then lashed
the four hocks of that magnificent beast.
Loaded round my neck I lugged him toward the ship,
trudging, propped on my spear —no way to sling him
over a shoulder, steadying him with one free arm —
the kill was so immense!
I flung him down by the hull and roused the men,
190 going up to them all with a word to lift their spirits:
‘Listen to me, my comrades, brothers in hardship —
we won’t go down to the House of Death, not yet,
not till our day arrives. Up with you, look,
there’s still some meat and drink in our good ship.
Put our minds on food —why die of hunger here?’
My hardy urging brought them round at once.
Heads came up from cloaks and there by the barren sea
they gazed at the stag, their eyes wide —my noble trophy.
But once they’d looked their fill and warmed their hearts,
200 they washed their hands and prepared a splendid meal.
Now all day long till the sun went down we sat
and feasted on sides of meat and seasoned wine.
Then when the sun had set and night came on
we lay down and slept at the water’s shelving edge.
When young Dawn with her rose-red fingers shone once more
I called a muster quickly, informing all the crew,
‘Listen to me, my comrades, brothers in hardship,
we can’t tell east from west, the dawn from the dusk,
nor where the sun that lights our lives goes under earth
210 nor where it rises. We must think of a plan at once,
some cunning stroke. I doubt there’s one still left.
I scaled a commanding crag and from that height
surveyed an entire island
ringed like a crown by endless wastes of sea.
But the land itself lies low, and I did see smoke
drifting up from its heart through thick brush and woods.’
My message broke their spirit as they recalled
the gruesome work of the Laestrygonian king Antiphates
and the hearty cannibal Cyclops thirsting for our blood.
220 They burst into cries, wailing, streaming live tears
that gained us nothing —what good can come of grief?
And so, numbering off my band of men-at-arms
into two platoons, I assigned them each a leader:
224 I took one and lord Eurylochus the other.
We quickly shook lots in a bronze helmet —
the lot of brave Eurylochus leapt out first.
So he moved off with his two and twenty comrades,
weeping, leaving us behind in tears as well . . .
Deep in the wooded glens they came on Circe’s palace
230 built of dressed stone on a cleared rise of land.
Mountain wolves and lions were roaming round the grounds —
she’d bewitched them herself, she gave them magic drugs.
But they wouldn’t attack my men; they just came pawing
up around them, fawning, swishing their long tails —
eager as hounds that fawn around their master,
coming home from a feast,
who always brings back scraps to calm them down.
So they came nuzzling round my men —lions, wolves
with big powerful claws —and the men cringed in fear
&
nbsp; 240 at the sight of those strange, ferocious beasts . . . But still
they paused at her doors, the nymph with lovely braids,
Circe —and deep inside they heard her singing, lifting
her spellbinding voice as she glided back and forth
at her great immortal loom, her enchanting web
a shimmering glory only goddesses can weave.
246 Polites, captain of armies, took command,
the closest, most devoted man I had: ‘Friends,
there’s someone inside, plying a great loom,
and how she sings —enthralling!
250 The whole house is echoing to her song.
Goddess or woman —let’s call out to her now!’
So he urged and the men called out and hailed her.
She opened her gleaming doors at once and stepped forth,
inviting them all in, and in they went, all innocence.
Only Eurylochus stayed behind —he sensed a trap . . .
She ushered them in to sit on high-backed chairs,
then she mixed them a potion —cheese, barley
258 and pale honey mulled in Pramnian wine —
but into the brew she stirred her wicked drugs
260 to wipe from their memories any thought of home.
Once they’d drained the bowls she filled, suddenly
she struck with her wand, drove them into her pigsties,
all of them bristling into swine —with grunts,
snouts —even their bodies, yes, and only
the men’s minds stayed steadfast as before.
So off they went to their pens, sobbing, squealing
as Circe flung them acorns, cornel nuts and mast,
common fodder for hogs that root and roll in mud.
Back Eurylochus ran to our swift black ship
270 to tell the disaster our poor friends had faced.
But try as he might, he couldn’t get a word out.
Numbing sorrow had stunned the man to silence —
tears welled in his eyes, his heart possessed by grief.
We assailed him with questions —all at our wits’ end —
till at last he could recount the fate our friends had met:
‘Off we went through the brush, captain, as you commanded.
Deep in the wooded glens we came on Circe’s palace
built of dressed stone on a cleared rise of land.
Someone inside was plying a great loom,
280 and how she sang —in a high clear voice!
The Odyssey(Penguin Classics Deluxe Edition) Page 27