The Odyssey(Penguin Classics Deluxe Edition)
Page 37
Eumaeus cared so much for his absent master’s goods.
First, over his broad shoulders he slung a whetted sword,
wrapped himself in a cloak stitched tight to block the wind,
and adding a cape, the pelt of a shaggy well-fed goat,
he took a good sharp lance to fight off men and dogs.
600 Then out he went to sleep where his white-tusked boars
had settled down for the night . . . just under
a jutting crag that broke the North Wind’s blast.
BOOK FIFTEEN
The Prince Sets Sail for Home
Now south through the spacious dancing-rings of Lacedaemon
Athena went to remind the hero’s princely son
of his journey home and spur him on his way.
She found him there with Nestor’s gallant son,
bedded down in the porch of illustrious Menelaus —
Pisistratus, at least, overcome with deep sound sleep,
but not Telemachus. Welcome sleep could not hold him.
All through the godsent night he lay awake . . .
9 tossing with anxious thoughts about his father.
10 Hovering over him, eyes ablaze, Athena said,
“It’s wrong, Telemachus, wrong to rove so far,
so long from home, leaving your own holdings
unprotected —crowds in your palace so brazen
they’ll carve up all your wealth, devour it all,
and then your journey here will come to nothing.
Quickly, press Menelaus, lord of the warcry,
to speed you home at once, if you want to find
your irreproachable mother still inside your house.
Even now her father and brothers urge Penelope
20 to marry Eurymachus, who excels all other suitors
21 at giving gifts and drives the bride-price higher.
She must not carry anything off against your will!
23 You know how the heart of a woman always works:
she likes to build the wealth of her new groom —
of the sons she bore, of her dear, departed husband,
not a memory of the dead, no questions asked.
So sail for home, I say!
With your own hands turn over all your goods
to the one serving-woman you can trust the most,
30 till the gods bring to light your own noble bride.
And another thing. Take it to heart, I tell you.
Picked men of the suitors lie in ambush, grim-set
in the straits between Ithaca and rocky Same,
poised to kill you before you can reach home,
but I have my doubts they will. Sooner the earth
will swallow down a few of those young gallants
who eat you out of house and home these days!
Just give the channel islands a wide berth,
push on in your trim ship, sail night and day,
40 and the deathless god who guards and pulls you through
will send you a fresh fair wind from hard astern.
At your first landfall, Ithaca’s outer banks,
speed ship and shipmates round to the city side.
But you —you make your way to the swineherd first,
in charge of your pigs, and true to you as always.
Sleep the night there, send him to town at once
to tell the news to your mother, wise Penelope —
you’ve made it back from Pylos safe and sound.”
Mission accomplished, back she went to Olympus’ heights
50 as Telemachus woke Nestor’s son from his sweet sleep;
he dug a heel in his ribs and roused him briskly:
“Up, Pisistratus. Hitch the team to the chariot —
let’s head for home at once!”
“No, Telemachus,”
Nestor’s son objected, “much as we long to go,
we cannot drive a team in the dead of night.
Morning will soon be here. So wait, I say,
wait till he loads our chariot down with gifts —
the hero Atrides, Menelaus, the great spearman —
and gives us warm salutes and sees us off like princes.
60 That’s the man a guest will remember all his days:
the lavish host who showers him with kindness.”
At those words Dawn rose on her golden throne
and Menelaus, lord of the warcry, rising up from bed
by the side of Helen with her loose and lovely hair,
walked toward his guests. As soon as he saw him,
Telemachus rushed to pull a shimmering tunic on,
over his broad shoulders threw his flaring cape
and the young prince, son of King Odysseus,
strode out to meet his host: “Menelaus,
70 royal son of Atreus, captain of armies,
let me go back to my own country now.
The heart inside me longs for home at last.”
The lord of the warcry reassured the prince,
74 “I’d never detain you here too long, Telemachus,
not if your heart is set on going home.
I’d find fault with another host, I’m sure,
too warm to his guests, too pressing or too cold.
Balance is best in all things. It’s bad either way,
spurring the stranger home who wants to linger,
80 holding the one who longs to leave —you know,
‘Welcome the coming, speed the parting guest!’
But wait till I load your chariot down with gifts —
fine ones, too, you’ll see with your own eyes —
and tell the maids to serve a meal at hall.
We have god’s plenty here.
It’s honor and glory to us, a help to you as well
if you dine in style first, then leave to see the world.
And if you’re keen for the grand tour of all Hellas,
right to the depths of Argos, I’ll escort you myself,
90 harness the horses, guide you through the towns.
And no host will turn us away with empty hands,
each will give us at least one gift to prize —
a handsome tripod, cauldron forged in bronze,
a brace of mules or a solid golden cup.”
Firmly resolved, Telemachus replied,
“Menelaus, royal Atrides, captain of armies,
I must go back to my own home at once.
When I started out I left no one behind
to guard my own possessions. God forbid,
100 searching for my great father, I lose my life
or lose some priceless treasure from my house!”
As soon as the lord of the warcry heard that,
he told his wife and serving-women to lay out a meal
in the hall at once. They’d stores aplenty there.
Eteoneus, son of Boëthous, came to join them —
fresh from bed, he lived close by the palace.
The warlord Menelaus told him to build a fire
and broil some meat. He quickly did his bidding.
Down Atrides walked to a storeroom filled with scent,
110 and not alone: Helen and Megapenthes went along.
Reaching the spot where all the heirlooms lay,
Menelaus chose a generous two-handled cup;
he told his son Megapenthes to take a mixing-bowl,
solid silver, while Helen lingered beside the chests,
and there they were, brocaded, beautiful robes
her own hands had woven. Queenly Helen,
radiance of women, lifted one from the lot,
the largest, loveliest robe, and richly worked
and like a star it glistened, deep beneath the others.
120 Then all three went up and on through the halls until
they found Telemachus. The red-haired king spoke out:
“Oh my boy, may Zeus the Thunderer, Hera’s lord,
Of all the treasures lying heaped in my palace
you shall have the finest, most esteemed. Look,
I’ll give you this mixing-bowl, forged to perfection —
it’s solid silver finished off with a lip of gold.
Hephaestus made it himself. And a royal friend,
Phaedimus, king of Sidon, lavished it on me
130 when his palace welcomed me on passage home.
How pleased I’d be if you took it as a gift!”
And the warlord placed the two-eared cup
in his hands while stalwart Megapenthes carried in
the glittering silver bowl and set it down before him.
Helen, her cheeks flushed with beauty, moved beside him,
holding the robe in her arms, and offered, warmly,
“Here, dear boy, I too have a gift to give you,
a keepsake of Helen —I wove it with my hands —
for your own bride to wear
140 when the blissful day of marriage dawns . . .
Until then, let it rest in your mother’s room.
And may you return in joy —my parting wish —
to your own grand house, your native land at last.”
With that
she laid the robe in his arms, and he received it gladly.
Prince Pisistratus, taking the gifts, stowed them deep
in the chariot cradle, viewed them all with wonder.
The red-haired warlord led them back to his house
and the guests took seats on low and high-backed chairs.
A maid brought water soon in a graceful golden pitcher
150 and over a silver basin tipped it out
so they might rinse their hands,
then pulled a gleaming table to their side.
A staid housekeeper brought on bread to serve them,
appetizers aplenty too, lavish with her bounty.
Ready Eteoneus carved and passed the meat,
the son of illustrious Menelaus poured their wine.
They reached out for the good things that lay at hand
and once they’d put aside desire for food and drink,
Prince Telemachus and the gallant son of Nestor
160 yoked their team, mounted the blazoned car
and drove through the gates and echoing colonnade.
The red-haired King Menelaus followed both boys out,
his right hand holding a golden cup of honeyed wine
so the two might pour libations forth at parting.
Just in front of the straining team he strode,
lifting his cup and pledging both his guests:
“Farewell, my princes! Give my warm greetings
to Nestor, the great commander,
always kind to me as a father, long ago
170 when we young men of Achaea fought at Troy.”
And tactful Telemachus replied at once,
“Surely, my royal host, we’ll tell him all,
as soon as we reach old Nestor —all you say.
I wish I were just as sure I’d find Odysseus
waiting there at home when I reach Ithaca.
I’d tell him I come from you,
treated with so much kindness at your hands,
loaded down with all these priceless gifts!”
179 At his last words a bird flew past on the right,
180 an eagle clutching a huge white goose in its talons,
plucked from the household yards. And all rushed after,
shouting, men and women, and swooping toward the chariot now
the bird veered off to the right again before the horses.
All looked up, overjoyed —people’s spirits lifted.
Nestor’s son Pisistratus spoke out first:
“Look there! King Menelaus, captain of armies,
what, did the god send down that sign for you
or the two of us?”
The warlord fell to thinking —
how to read the omen rightly, how to reply? . . .
190 But long-robed Helen stepped in well before him:
“Listen to me and I will be your prophet,
sure as the gods have flashed it in my mind
and it will come to pass, I know it will.
Just as the eagle swooped down from the crags
where it was born and bred, just as it snatched
that goose fattened up for the kill inside the house,
just so, after many trials and roving long and hard,
Odysseus will descend on his house and take revenge —
unless he’s home already, sowing seeds of ruin
for that whole crowd of suitors!”
200 “Oh if only,”
pensive Telemachus burst out in thanks to Helen,
“Zeus the thundering lord of Hera makes it so —
even at home I’ll pray to you as a deathless goddess!”
He cracked the lash and the horses broke quickly,
careering through the city out into open country,
shaking the yoke across their shoulders all day long.
The sun sank and the roads of the world grew dark
as they reached Phera, pulling up to Diocles’ halls,
the son of Ortilochus, son of the Alpheus River.
210 He gave them a royal welcome; there they slept the night.
When young Dawn with her rose-red fingers shone once more
they yoked their pair again, mounted the blazoned car
and out through the gates and echoing colonnade
they whipped the team to a run and on they flew,
holding nothing back, approaching Pylos soon,
the craggy citadel. That was when Telemachus
turned to Pisistratus, saying, “Son of Nestor,
won’t you do as I ask you, see it through?
We’re friends for all our days now, so we claim,
220 thanks to our fathers’ friendship. We’re the same age as well
and this tour of ours has made us more like brothers.
Prince, don’t drive me past my vessel, drop me there.
223 Your father’s old, in love with his hospitality;
I fear he’ll hold me, chafing in his palace —
I must hurry home!”
The son of Nestor pondered . . .
how to do it properly, see it through?
Pausing a moment, then this way seemed best.
Swerving his team, he drove down to the ship
tied up on shore and loaded into her stern
230 the splendid gifts, the robes and gold Menelaus gave,
and sped his friend with a flight of winging words:
“Climb aboard now —fast! Muster all your men
before I get home and break the news to father.
With that man’s overbearing spirit —I know it,
know it all too well —he’ll never let you go,
he’ll come down here and summon you himself.
He won’t return without you, believe me —
in any case he’ll fly into a rage.”
With that warning he whipped his sleek horses
240 back to Pylos city and reached his house in no time.
Telemachus shouted out commands to all his shipmates:
“Stow our gear, my comrades, deep in the holds
and board at once —we must be on our way!”
His shipmates snapped to orders,
swung aboard and sat to the oars in ranks.
But just as Telemachus prepared to launch,
praying, sacrificing to Pallas by the stern,
a man from a far-off country came toward him now,
a fugitive out of Argos: he had killed a man . . .
250 He was a prophet, sprung of Melampus’ line of seers,
Melampus who lived in Pylos, mother of flocks, some years ago,
rich among his Pylians, at home in his great high house.
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But then he was made to go abroad to foreign parts,
fleeing his native land and hot-blooded Neleus —
most imperious man alive —who’d commandeered
his vast estate and held it down by force
for one entire year. That year Melampus,
258 bound by cruel chains in the halls of Phylacus,
suffered agonies —all for Neleus’ daughter Pero,
260 that and the mad spell a Fury, murderous spirit,
cast upon his mind. But the seer worked free of death
and drove the lusty, bellowing cattle out of Phylace,
back to Pylos. There he avenged himself on Neleus
for the shameful thing the king had done to him,
and escorted Pero home as his brother’s bride.
But he himself went off to a distant country,
Argos, land of stallions —his destined home
where he would live and rule the Argive nation.
Here he married a wife and built a high-roofed house
270 and sired Antiphates and Mantius, two staunch sons.
271 Antiphates fathered Oicles, gallant heart,
272 Oicles fathered Amphiaraus, driver of armies,
whom storming Zeus and Apollo loved intensely,
showering him with every form of kindness.
But he never reached the threshold of old age,
276 he died at Thebes —undone by a bribe his wife accepted —
277 leaving behind his two sons, Alcmaeon and Amphilochus.
278 On his side Mantius sired Polyphides and Clitus both
but Dawn of the golden throne whisked Clitus away,
280 overwhelmed by his beauty,
so the boy would live among the deathless gods.
Yet Apollo made magnanimous Polyphides a prophet —
after Amphiaraus’ death —the greatest seer on earth.
284 But a feud with his father drove him off to Hyperesia
where he made his home and prophesied to the world . . .
286 This prophet’s son it was —Theoclymenus his name —
who approached Telemachus now and found him pouring
wine to a god and saying prayers beside his ship.
“Friend,” he said in a winging supplication,
290 “since I find you burning offerings here,
I beg you by these rites and the god you pray to,
then by your own life and the lives of all the men
who travel with you —tell me truly, don’t hold back,
who are you? where are you from? your city? your parents?”