by Homer
because their riches lie untouched in their own homes—
bread, sweet wine, their slaves taking a little.
Instead they jam our house and slaughter the best sheep
day after day, our fattened goats and our cattle.
They revel and gulp down glowing wine with abandon.
So much is lost already because there is no man
such as Odysseus was to fend off blight from the household.
But then if Odysseus came—if he walked on his own land!—
my lord and my son would avenge their crimes in a hurry.”
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A Telling Sneeze
♦ She stopped and Telemakhos sneezed loudly, the whole house
echoed around him and laughing Penelopeia
said to Eumaios, her words with a feathery swiftness,
“Go for me, tell the stranger to stand here before me.
Don’t you see? My son sneezed at my whole speech!
So death will surely become the end of the suitors,
all of them: no one can run from death or his own doom.
I’ll tell you something else to thrust in your own heart:
if all the truth is told by our guest as I know it,
I’ll dress him in beautiful clothes, a mantle and tunic.”
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She spoke that way, the hog-tender minded and walked out.
Close to the beggar shortly his words had a feathery swiftness:
“Fatherly guest, our mind-full Penelopeia,
Telemakhos’s mother, calls you. Her heart has been telling
her now to ask of her husband, for all of her deep cares.
So if you tell her the whole truth as she knows it,
she’ll dress you in mantle and tunic, clothes that you surely
need the most. Then you can beg for food in our country,
filling your stomach. Whoever wants to will help you.”
A Meeting after Dark
Long-suffering, godlike Odysseus told him,
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“Eumaios, I’ll gladly reveal all of my story
soon to Ikarios’s daughter, mind-full Penelopeia.
I know Odysseus well: we suffered in common.
But now I’m anxious. This hardened body of suitors
can reach to the iron sky with their bluster and outrage.
Not long ago as I walked around through the great hall
doing no harm, a man struck and gave me a sharp pain.
Telemakhos hardly could stop him; nobody else could.
So ask Penelopeia now, although she is anxious,
♦ to wait until sunset, stay behind in the great hall
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and ask me then for the day of her husband’s return home.
I’ll sit close to the fire because the clothes I am wearing
are wretched. You know it yourself—I begged from you first here.”
He spoke that way, the hog-man listened and left him.
Penelopeia asked when he came to her threshold,
“Haven’t you brought him, Eumaios? What’s the wanderer thinking?
Maybe he’s worried unduly or otherwise bashful
now in my home. But a bashful tramp is a poor one.”
Then Eumaios the swineherd, you answered by saying,
“He spoke quite rightly—I’m sure others would think so—
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he wants to avoid the overbearing pride of the suitors.
He asks that you stay here, wait till the Sun-God has gone down.
Surely for you as well, my lady, it’s far more
graceful to talk and hear out strangers in private.”
Mind-full Penelopeia answered by saying,
“The man’s not thoughtless. He sees the way it could happen:
no group of death-bound men, doubtless, have ever
been like the suitors—insulting, reckless and scheming.”
Dangerous Men
The godlike swineherd left her after she’d spoken.
He’d told her all; he mingled now with the suitors
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and spoke to Telemakhos—words with a feathery swiftness—
moving his head in close to stop the others from hearing,
“Dear man, I’m going to guard the swine and the holdings,
your livestock there and mine. Take charge of it all here.
First keep safe yourself. Plan in your heart well
not to be harmed. Many Akhaians are dwelling
on evil. May Zeus destroy them before they can harm us.”
Now Telemakhos gave him a sensible answer.
“So will it be, uncle. Go when you’ve eaten.
Come back in the morning and bring us beautiful victims.
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I and the deathless Gods will manage it all here.”
More Dance and Song
After he’d spoken the swineherd sat on a well-shined
chair and his heart swelled with food and the good wine.
Then he walked to his hogs, leaving the court and the great hall
thronged with diners. Dance and song were their pleasure
now as the latter part of the day was arriving.
BOOK 18 Fights in the Great Hall
A Threatening Pauper
A common beggar came in, a man who had often
whined in the town of Ithaka. Known for his belly’s
craving he drank and ate nonstop. Lacking robustness
and real strength, he only struck the eye as a big man.
His name was Arnaios. His honored mother had named him
♦ at birth but all the young men labeled him Iros,
because he’d go with a “message” anyone gave him.
Now on a whim he’d drive Odysseus out of his own house!
He railed at the man, his words with a feathery swiftness,
“Make way at the door, old man, or be dragged by your feet out
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fast! Can’t you plainly see that everyone’s winking?
They want me to drag you, though it shames me to do it.
Get up or our quarrel could change that fast to a fistfight.”
Threats from the New Beggar
Odysseus, full of designs, glared darkly and answered,
“Strange man, I’ve said and done nothing to harm you.
If diners take up plenty to give you I won’t whine.
One threshold can suit us both: there is no need
to grudge the shares of others. You look like a hobo;
I’m one too. We should look to the Gods for a good life.
Don’t be rash with your fists, don’t get me angry,
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or old as I am I’ll soak your mouth and your big chest
with blood. Then I’ll enjoy some quiet, and more so
tomorrow for then I take it you won’t be returning
again to the hall of Odysseus, son of Laertes.”
Eager to Brawl
Then the rambler, Iros, angrily told him,
“Look at this! How the glutton can maunder as glibly
as old baker women! I’m planning some bad things:
both my hands will clobber him, breaking his teeth out—
they’ll litter the ground like a pig’s, rooting in cornfields.
Tighten your belt now. All these men will be watching
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a good fight. But how will an old man fight with a young one?”
A Goat’s Stomach
So there on the gleaming threshold in front of the high-raised
doors the two men wholeheartedly angered each other.
As though his power were holy, Antinoos heard them
both and chuckled, enjoyably telling the suitors,
“My friends, nothing before has happened to match this.
Some God has brought a rare delight to the household.
The stranger and Iros now are at odds with each other,
mad fo
r a fistfight. Let’s goad them on in a hurry!”
Soon as he’d spoken they all jumped up with a good laugh
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and promptly crowded around the tramps in their tatters.
Antinoos, son of Eupeithes, spoke to the whole crowd.
“Listen, you bold suitors! Here’s what I tell you:
some goats’ stomachs lie on the fire where we put them,
bloated with fat and blood, a course in our dinner.
Whoever wins this fight—the man who is stronger—
may stand and take for himself the stomach he chooses.
He’ll always dine with us too: no other roamer
will then be allowed to mix with us, begging for food here.”
No Others in the Fight
Antinoos spoke that way and his word was their pleasure.
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But wily and crafty-minded Odysseus answered,
“You friends, an old man weighed with sorrow can never
hope to fight with a young man. A worker of harm though,
my own belly, goads me to take on his punches.
Come on now, all of you here, swear me a strong oath:
no one favoring Iros will deal me a reckless,
heavy blow and force me down for my rival.”
He spoke that way and they all swore as he’d asked them.
After the oaths, with all the swearing behind them,
Telemakhos spoke up next—his power was holy—
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“My guest, if your heart and bold spirit are prodding
you now to fight this man, don’t be afraid of the others.
Whichever Akhaian strikes you battles with me too:
I am the host and all these masters have said so—
Antinoos, yes and Eurumakhos, both of them shrewd men.”
Great Strength Suddenly
He stopped and they all avowed his words. So Odysseus
tightened rags at his groin, suddenly baring
huge and graceful thighs. He showed them his muscled
arms, broad chest and shoulders. Athene had come close,
making the frame seem large for her shepherd of soldiers.
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All the suitors were highly amazed when they saw him.
One man looked at his neighbor, putting it this way:
“Iros will soon be un-Iros! He’ll find the trouble he looked for—
what thighs the old man showed from under his tatters!”
A Scrotum for the Dogs
He spoke that way, the spirits of Iros were badly
shaken and still the slaves were cinching his belt up,
pushing him forward, the flesh on his body atremble.
Antinoos called him names, he chided and told him,
“It’s better you died now, bull-head! Better you weren’t born
if all you can do is tremble and shamefully dread him—
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an old man weighed with pain and sorrow he came with.
Yes and I’ll tell you plainly how it will end here:
if the old man wins this fight, the stronger of you two,
I’ll throw you aboard a black ship bound for the mainland
♦ where King Ekhetos rules, a mangler of all men.
He’ll cut off your ears and nose with merciless bronze there.
He’ll rip off your scrotum and toss it to mongrels to eat raw.”
How Hard to Strike
Soon as he’d spoken Iros’s legs were seized by an even
greater trembling. Dead center, both with their hands up,
long-suffering, godlike Odysseus wondered
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just how hard to strike: should the man fall and be killed here?
Or punched less hard and left sprawled on the dirt floor?
He thought it through and shortly it seemed to him better
to punch less hard and keep the Akhaians from wonder.
Sudden Agony
Their weight drawn up, Iros punched at the right side,
grazing a shoulder. Odysseus bashed his neck at the earlobe,
splintering bone. The red blood flowed in a hurry
from Iros’s mouth, he fell in the dust with a loud moan,
gnashing his teeth and kicking the ground. High-born suitors
raised their hands and could die laughing. Odysseus
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dragged him out by a foot and came to the courtyard,
the portico gates. He sat him down by a wall there,
propped up well. He pushed a staff in his right hand
and spoke to the man, his words with a feathery swiftness,
“Now you can ward off pigs and dogs as you sit here!
Wretched yourself, don’t go mastering every
beggar and stranger. You might be garnering worse harm.”
A Toast to the Stranger
He stopped and shouldered again his raggedy knapsack
dotted with holes—its carrying strap was a plain rope—
and walked back to his threshold. He sat as the suitors
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came inside. They laughed and welcomed him saying,
“May Zeus be kindly, stranger, may all of the deathless