The <I>Odyssey</I>
Page 44
“Ah my stranger: that’s my merit and good name
with people in times to come and men of our own age:
I take you inside my house and offer a guest’s fare
only to take your spirit away and to kill you!
Then I could freely pray indeed to the son of Kronos.
“But now it’s time for some food. My men will be back here
soon to prepare a tasty meal in our small house.”
And just as the two men spoke that way with each other
swine and men were approaching, the rest of the hog-men.
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They penned the sows in the usual place for a night’s rest
while shocking squeals rose from the animals penned in.
Shortly the godlike hog-tender called to his work-friends:
“Bring me the best boar to kill for our guest here
from far away. We’ll enjoy it ourselves for all of the hard work
and pain we’ve borne so long because of the white-tusked
boars while others devoured our work without paying.”
Prayers, Good Cooking, and Thanks
He stopped to cut some wood and his bronze was relentless.
Others dragged in a boar, a fat one at five years,
and stood him close to the hearth. Nor did the swineherd
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forget the deathless Gods—the man’s heart was devoted—
he threw in the fire some hairs from the head of the white-tusked
boar as a first rite then prayed to all of the great Gods:
“Let wise Odysseus come back home to his own house.”
Then he stood and struck the boar with a leftover oak-split:
the life left it. His work-friends cut its throat and adroitly
singed and quartered it. Taking pieces from every
leg to offer first, the swineherd laid them in thick fat,
strewed them with barley and threw them all in the hearth-fire.
They sliced the rest into cutlets. Carefully spitted
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and promptly roasted, pulled from the fire and unspitted,
meat piled up on a board. Standing again there
to carve, the swineherd’s heart knowing the right way,
he sliced up all the meat. The portions were seven:
one share went with a prayer to the Nymphs and to Hermes,
the son of Maia. The rest he allotted to each man.
He honored Odysseus most with a long chine of the white-tusked
boar and clearly delighted the heart of his master.
Odysseus spoke to him now, full of his own plans:
“Eumaios, I pray you’re just as dear to our Father
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Zeus as to me. I’m poor but you honored me most here.”
A Slave of a Slave
Then Eumaios the swineherd, you answered by saying,
“My Power-like guest, eat well! Whatever is lying
before you, enjoy: it’s God who grants or withholds it,
the way his own heart likes. For Zeus can do all things.”
He offered the first cuts to the Gods, born to be always,
and poured some glowing wine for them. Handing the goblet
then to Odysseus—wrecker of cities—he sat by his own share.
Mesaulios passed out bread. The swineherd had bought him
all on his own, seeing his master was long gone.
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Unknown to Penelopeia and aging Laertes,
he’d bought the man from Taphians, using his own means.
Rain and Wind in the Dark
So hands went out to the good things lying before them.
After the craving for food and drink was behind them,
Mesaulios carried the bread off. They longed for a night’s rest,
every man quite full of the bread and the good pork.
Night came on, moonless and grim. Zeus let it rain there
all night long and the Westwind blew, always the rain-wind.
Odysseus spoke to them, mainly testing the swineherd
to see if the man would remove and give him his own cloak—
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he cared a lot for him now—or encourage a friend to:
“Listen, Eumaios, and all the rest of you work-friends.
I’ll brag and tell you a story. Wine is the silly
ruler that makes a man, even the wisest, a gentle
chuckler or singer. It makes him stand up and dance too.
It often provokes a word that’s better unspoken.
But now that I’ve started to speak, let nothing be held back!
A Bitter Night at Troy
“I long to be young once more. My strength was unshaken
♦ the time we set up an ambush at Troy and we led it—
Odysseus and Atreus’s son Menelaos were leaders
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and I was third in command—so they had ordered.
Soon as we came to a high wall of the city
we lay around the place under some dense brush,
reeds and marsh, crouching under our weapons.
The grimmest night came on: swoops of the chilling
Northwind and layers of falling snow from above us
freezing everyone—ice formed on our shield-rims!
All the rest of our group had mantles and tunics
and slept calmly, shields guarding their shoulders.
I’d foolishly left my cloak behind when I set out
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with war-friends because I’d hardly thought it was that cold—
I’d taken only my shield along and a bright belt.
The Helping Lie
“Then in the night’s last third when starlight was changing,
I spoke to the man close by, godlike Odysseus.
My elbow nudged him right: at once he could hear me.
‘Son of Laertes, nourished by Zeus, wily Odysseus,
I won’t be alive much longer, not with this killing
frost. I have no cloak—some Power beguiled me—
only a tunic. There’s no escape any longer.’
“I spoke that way and his mind formed an idea.
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Ah what a man and mind for planning and fighting!
He spoke to me shortly, his voice low as he answered,
‘Be quiet now. The other Akhaians must not hear.’
Head propped on an elbow, he said to the others,
‘A vision came from the Gods, my friends, in my sleep now.
We’ve gone too far from the ships. Someone should run back,
tell Atreus’s son Agamemnon, that shepherd of people,
strongly to urge more men to come from our warships.’
Help Then and Now
“Andraimon’s son Thoas stood up when he’d spoken
and promptly took off his heavy, violet mantle
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to run to the ships unencumbered. Taking his warm cloak,
I lay down gladly till Dawn arrived on her gold throne.
“If only I had my prime! That strength was unshaken.
A swineherd here in the house might give me a mantle
both to be kind and show regard for a good man.
Or I am scorned for the bad clothes on my body?”
Then Eumaios the swineherd, you answered by saying,
“Old man, you praise men well and your story was flawless.
So far none of your tales are improper or useless.
You won’t lack clothing, therefore, or anything due to
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a lowly and hard-tried stranger coming across us—
for now. At dawn, however, you’ll scuffle with tatters
again for we don’t have lots of mantles and tunics
to change or try on: there’s only one for each person.
Soon as the well-loved son of Odysseus comes home,
the man will clothe you himself in a mantle a
nd tunic.
He’ll send you wherever your heart and spirit have called you.”
Sleeping Indoors and Outdoors
He jumped up now and made a bed for Odysseus
close to the fire, throwing down fleeces and goat-hides.
Odysseus lay there. The swineherd threw on his body
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a huge and dense cloak he kept on hand for a quick change,
to wear when a fiercely cold storm should arise there.
Odysseus now could rest. Sleeping around him
were all the younger men but Eumaios avoided
beds like theirs, a place too far from the best boars.
He dressed to go outside, quite pleasing Odysseus:
the man took care of the stock when his master was far off.
Tossing a sharp sword over his rugged shoulder,
the swineherd donned his thickest cloak as a wind-break
and hefted the hide of a large goat that was fed well.
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To fight off dogs and men he carried a sharp spear.
Then he walked out. He’d go to sleep by the white-tusked
boars under a hollow rock, safe from the Northwind.
BOOK 15 Son and Father Converging
Awakened by a Goddess
♦ Pallas Athene meanwhile went to broad Lakedaimon
to tell the renowned son that great-hearted Odysseus
now was home and to urge the son to return home.
She found Telemakhos lying close to the outstanding
son of Nestor in highly praised Menelaos’s
court. The son of Nestor was mastered by gentle
sleep but honeyed sleep was not for Telemakhos’s anxious,
waking heart through the endless night because of his father.
Glow-eyed Athene stood nearby and she told him,
“Telemakhos, wandering far from your household no longer
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becomes you. You left behind such wealth in your palace
and overbearing men could divide and devour it—
all your goods—your sailing here would be useless.
So hurry and urge Menelaos, good at a war-cry,
to send you off. You’ll find your mother without fault
at home and already her father and brothers have urged her
to marry Eurumakhos. Tossing presents around her
more than all the suitors, he’s piled up bride-gifts.
She mustn’t remove wealth from your house without your approval.
You know what spirit lies in the breast of a woman:
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she wants the home of the man she marries to get rich;
she’d hardly think of a former child any longer.
A spouse she loved? If he dies she won’t be inquiring.
So go there yourself and entrust all your belongings
to one good maid, whoever strikes you as best there,
until the Gods have shown you the bride you will honor.
Night Sail
“I’ll tell you another thing to thrust in your own heart.
The boldest suitors are lying intently in ambush
close to rock-strewn Samos in Ithaka’s channel,
eager to kill you before you arrive in your homeland.
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I think they won’t. Before then Earth will have covered
all the suitors, men who devour your resources.
Steer your well-built ship away from those islands.
Sail by night as well: a wind will follow behind you
from one of the deathless Gods who’ll shelter and save you.
To the Swineherd First
“Soon as you reach the nearest Ithakan shoreline
hurry your ship and all of your men to the city.
But you go first to the swineherd, the man who is duly
tending your stock. He also thinks of you warmly.
Stay for the night. Then send him off to the city,
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taking the news to thought-full Penelopeia
saying her son has arrived now safely from Pulos.”
Those were her words. She left for the heights of Olumpos.
Night Quarrel
Telemakhos woke up Nestor’s son from a pleasant
sleep with a prod of his heel. He said to him briskly,
“Son of Nestor, Peisistratos! Wake up and harness the fullhoofed
horses under your chariot. Let’s get on with our travels.”
But Nestor’s son Peisistratos answered by saying,
“No way, Telemakhos! We can’t drive through a murky
night however anxious to go. Dawn will arrive soon.
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Wait for the son of Atreus, known for a spear-throw,
that war-chief, Menelaos. With gifts in our horse-car
and gentle words he’ll send us off on our journey.
For all his days a guest remembers the person
who treats him well as a stranger and offers him friendship.”
Longing for Home
He stopped and Dawn promptly arrived on her gold throne.
Approaching them soon was Menelaos, good at a war-cry—