by Homer
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There Menelaos’s vessels wandered and often gathered
wealth and gold among men who spoke with a strange sound.
Death-Feast
“Aigisthos meanwhile plotted misery back home.
After he killed Atreus’s son and mastered the people,
he ruled for seven years in golden Mukenai.
Then godlike Orestes came like death in the eighth year,
home from Athens. He killed that sneaking Aigisthos
who’d killed his father—he’d killed the renowned Agamemnon.
“After he slew him, Orestes gave the Argives a death-feast
over his hateful mother and spineless Aigisthos.
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The very same day Menelaos, good at a war-cry,
came home hauling all the wealth his vessels could carry.
♦ “So you, my friend: don’t wander far for a long time
far from home, leaving wealth in your household
to men so prideful. They may devour and divide it,
the whole hoard—and the way you’ve sailed will be folly.
To Sparte
“But do go first to Menelaos. I say it and urge it
myself. The man’s come home lately from far-off
people no one could hope in his heart to escape from.
Storm-winds drove him away from the course he had first set
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over a sea so vast no seabird could cross it
twice in a year—it’s all that frightful and spread out.
Go to him now yourself with your ship and crewmen,
or travel by land if you like. Chariot horses
are quite close by. My sons could join you and guide you
to bright Lakedaimon and light-haired Menelaos.
Plead with the man yourself, let him speak to you truly.
He won’t tell lies: the man’s quite sensible really.”
Offering Wine to the Gods
He stopped: the sun was down and darkness was coming.
The Goddess told them now, glow-eyed Athene,
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“Old man, surely you said all that in the right way.
Come on then, mix our wine. Cut out the oxen’s
tongues, pour wine for Poseidon and all the deathless
Gods and mull rest. The hour is approaching,
already the light’s gone beneath darkness. It’s not right
staying too long at the Gods’ feast. Better to go now.”
Ending the Day
The daughter of Zeus had spoken. They heard what she told them:
stewards poured water now for a hand-wash,
young men filled all the wine-bowls with good drink
and dealt them goblets. Everyone poured for the great Gods.
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Standing they threw tongues of bulls in the hearth-fire.
They poured more wine and drank as their spirits inclined them.
A Good Night’s Sleep for the Guest
Shortly godlike Telemakhos, joined by Athene,
was eager to go to the hollow ship by the salt sea.
But Nestor tried holding them back as he told them,
“May Zeus and the other deathless Gods prevent you
from leaving my home for your race-fast ship in this manner,
as though I utterly lacked good clothes like a poor man
or lacked plenty of blankets and cloaks in the household
for gentle sleep for myself and rest for a stranger.
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I do own fine bedding and beautiful blankets.
Surely the well-loved son of the man Odysseus never
will lie on a ship’s deck—not so long as I live here
myself or sons of my own are left in the great hall
to welcome strangers, whoever arrives at my household.”
An Eagle Soaring Away
An answer came from the Goddess, glow-eyed Athene:
“Dear old man, you said that well. Telemakhos truly
should mind you because it’s far better to do so.
Yet as he follows closely behind you for good sleep
now in your hall, I’ll go myself to the night-black
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ship to hearten our crew and tell them of all this.
I claim my age—the only elder among them.
The rest of the crew are younger, all of the same age
as great-hearted Telemakhos, joining in friendship.
I’ll lie down there by the hollow and night-black
ship for now. At dawn I’ll sail for the great-hearted
Kaukones. They owe me something; the debt is an old one,
a large one. Send this man who came to your good house
next with your son to Sparte by chariot. Give him the fastest
horse-team you have, light on their hooves and the strongest.”
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Having spoken the glow-eyed Athene suddenly flew off,
strong as an eagle. Awe gripped everyone watching.
The old man marveled to see all that with his own eyes,
taking the hand of Telemakhos, giving him good words:
“My friend, I’m not afraid you’re harmful or fretful.
You’re young but plainly a God’s joined you and led you—
of all the Gods with homes on Olumpos none other
♦ than Zeus’s daughter, the glowing Tritogeneia,
who prized your worthy father most among Argives.
“Be kind, powerful Lady: grant me a good name,
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me and my honored wife and all of our children.
I’ll offer a heifer myself, a yearling with wide brows,
unbroken, not yet led to the yoke by a cowherd.
I’ll kill her myself, her horns layered with fine gold.”
He made that vow and Pallas Athene heard him.
Wine and Prayer to Athene
So Nestor led the way, the Gerenian horseman,
with sons and sons-in-law to the beautiful palace.
Soon as they came to the far-famed house of that ruler,
taking the plain seats or chairs that were thronelike,
the old man mixed a honey-sweet wine in a great bowl
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for all the arrivals. The wine had aged for eleven
years. A housemaid having loosened the lid-dress,
the old man mixed a bowl and prayed for a long time
♦ then to Athene, daughter of Zeus, who carries the Aigis.
They poured drops to the Gods and drank as their hearts wished.
Next the people went to rest, each to his own house.
A Good Day’s End
Right there Nestor, the old Gerenian horseman,
told Telemakhos, loved as the son of godlike Odysseus,
to lie on a corded bed in the echoing hallway.
Peisistratos, good with an ash spear, a leader of good men—
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and still the only unmarried son in the great hall—
lay nearby. In the inmost room of the high house
Nestor’s wife cared for their bed and their closeness.
Time for a New Feast
When newborn Dawn came on with her rose-fingered daylight,
Nestor rose from his bed. The Gerenian horseman
went outside and sat down, presiding on polished
stones in front of the large gates of the palace.
The white stones with their oil-like shine had been sat on
long before by Neleus, a match for the Gods in counsel.
But now, struck down by his doom, he’d gone into Aides’
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house and Gerenian Nestor, a guard of Akhaians,
sat there holding the scepter. Down from their own rooms,
sons crowded around him: Ekhephron and Stratios,
Perseus, Aretos and godlike Thrasumedes.
A sixth one came—Peisistratos, warrior leader.
Godlike Telemakhos too was led there to sit down.
Nestor began to speak, the Gerenian horseman.
“Be lively, you sons I love, do as I wish now!
I hope to appease the Gods and mainly Athene,
who openly came to our bountiful feast for Poseidon.
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Come on then: one of you go to the fields for a heifer,
bring her fast as you can, a cowherd may drive her.
One of you go to great-hearted Telemakhos’s night-black
ship and invite his men; let two of them stay there.
One of you go to ask the goldsmith Laerkes
to join us and layer his gold on the horns of the heifer.
The rest of you stay here together. Order the housemaids
inside to arrange our home for a praiseworthy banquet.
Bring chairs, logs for a circle and glittering water.”
Golden Horns
They all moved as he spoke. Led from an old field
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the heifer arrived. Great-hearted Telemakhos’s crewmen
came from the balanced and race-fast ship. And the smith came,
hands holding the bronze tools of his artwork:
carefully crafted tongs, hammer and anvil
for working gold. Athene also arrived here
to share in the rites. An old chariot driver,
Nestor gave the gold and the smith gilded the heifer’s
horns with care so the Goddess would gaze on her gladly.
A Heifer Dies for the Goddess
Guiding the heifer’s horns were godlike Ekhephron
and Stratios. Water for hands came from a room in a flowered
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basin brought by Aretos, a basket of barley
grains in his other hand. Thrasumedes, steady in battle,
held a sharpened ax nearby for striking the heifer.
Perseus held the blood-bowl. An aging chariot driver,
Nestor began at the basin, washing, then sprinkled some barley
♦ grains and prayed to Athene at length. He cut off the heifer’s
hairs to throw in the fire. After they prayed and scattered
barley, the son of Nestor with high heart, Thrasumedes,
promptly approached and struck: the ax tore through the muscled
neck and the heifer’s power went slack. Ritual wailing
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rose from daughters and wives of sons, from the lady of Nestor,
honored Eurudike, eldest of Klumenos’s daughters.
Wine on the Smoking Meat
Men now raised it from earth—the earth with its wide ways—
and held it. Peisistratos slashed the throat, a leader of good men.
Black-red blood ran out; the bones were drained of their spirit.
They quartered the body fast and cut out the whole thighs,
each in the right way, then covered the thighs with a double
layer of fat. They laid raw flesh on the thigh-parts.
The old man burned them on split logs, pouring a bright wine
over as young men held five-pronged forks alongside.
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After the thighs were burned they tasted the entrails
and cut the rest into pieces. They spitted and roasted
them all, holding the sharp spits in their fingers.
A Feast and a Send-Off
Pretty Polukaste, the youngest daughter of Nestor,
Neleus’s son, had bathed Telemakhos meanwhile.
After the bath she rubbed him well with a fine oil.
She tossed a beautiful mantle and tunic around him.
He came from the bath like a deathless God in his young form
going to sit by Nestor, a shepherd of people.
Soon as the outer flesh was cooked and unspitted
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they sat and dined. Good men watched them and helped them,
pouring wine into gold, refilling the goblets.
After the craving for food and drink was behind them
Gerenia’s horseman, Nestor, started to tell them,
“My sons, guide our rich-maned horses under a chariot’s
yoke to move Telemakhos on with his travels.”
He spoke that way, they heard him well and obeyed him.
Fast-running horses were yoked to a chariot quickly.
A housekeeper placed her bread and wine in the wagon
with meats that a Zeus-bred king would be used to at dinner.
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Two Days to Sparte
Telemakhos promptly mounted the beautiful chariot.
Peisistratos, Nestor’s son and a leader of good men,
mounted alongside. He took the reins in his own hands,
lashed and drove the horses which willingly took off
for the open plain, leaving the high city of Pulos.
The double yoke they bore rattled the whole day.
The sun went down. When all the roadways had darkened
they came to Pherai and entered Diokles’ household—
the son of Ortilokhos, born as a child to Alpheios.
They passed the night there, welcome guests in the household.