by Homer
and weapons—plenty of groan-carrying arrows.
The Story of the Bow
A Lakedaimon friend had given Odysseus presents.
♦ His name was Iphitos, Eurutos’s son. He resembled the deathless
Gods. The two had met each other first in Messene,
in wise Ortilokhos’s house, a place where Odysseus
had gone to claim a debt from Messenian people.
They’d once taken three hundred sheep and their shepherds
from Ithaka, loading them all in ships with plenty of oar-locks.
Odysseus traveled a long way to retrieve them,
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though still young, for his father and elders had sent him.
A Guest Murdered
Iphitos went there too. He’d lost twelve of his brood mares
and hardy nursing mules, and now he came looking.
The man was doomed. His death would come from those horses:
in time he’d face a strong-hearted son of the great Zeus,
the man Herakles. Having learned about bold acts,
he’d murder Iphitos cruelly, a guest in the man’s house,
disregarding the vengeful Gods and the table
he’d set for the man. Shortly after the murder
he’d take the hard-hoofed horses away to his own house.
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While Iphitos looked for the horses, he came on Odysseus.
He gave him the bow, once carried by Eurutos grandly
and left to Iphitos after he died in his high house.
Odysseus gave him a rugged spear and a sharp sword,
starting their close friendship. Still they would never
know each other’s tables: before then Herakles murdered
Iphitos, Eurutos’s son. He’d looked like a deathless
God presenting the bow but godlike Odysseus,
off to war on his night-black ship, left it behind him.
The bow would lie back there in his palace recalling
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a well-loved friend. It was only borne in his own land.
Beautiful Old Doors
♦ Now she came to the storeroom, that brightest of women,
and stepped on the oaken threshold, formerly worked on
well by the carpenter, leveled straight to a string-line.
He’d fitted the doorposts too when hanging the bright doors.
Promptly she loosened the leather thong from its thong-hook,
pushed in the key then pulled back on the door-bolt.
She’d aimed the key in straight and the doors were a lovely
moan like a bull’s moan when grazing a meadow.
Worked by her key, they opened wide in a moment.
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Bow and Axes in the Great Hall
The lady went to a high level where coffers
were standing, filled with clothes beautifully scented.
Her hand reached up, she took the bow from its high peg
and took the case too that kept it brightly surrounded.
Then she sat and rested the case on her own knees.
She wept aloud, withdrawing the bow of her husband.
After she’d taken her fill of mourning and wailing,
she walked to the hall again and the high-born suitors,
holding the well-arched bow in her hands with its quiver
and weapons—plenty of groan-carrying arrows.
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Maids were carrying chests in: plenty of iron
and bronze lay inside them for games of their master.
A Wedding Challenge at Long Last
Not far from the suitors now, this brightest of women
stood by a post sustaining the well-made roof-beams.
She kept her glowing veil high on her cheekbones.
Her best handmaids stood on her left side and right side.
Soon she raised her voice and said to the suitors,
“Listen, my brash wooers! You men have been using
my house over and over, dining and wining
what with my man gone so long. And you never
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were able to conjure some other plan for your long stay—
only your zeal to marry and make me your woman.
Come on then, suitors! The prize is plainly before you.
I’ll start with the great bow of godlike Odysseus:
the man who can deftly string the bow with his own hands
and shoot an arrow through all twelve of the axes
will join with me now. I’ll go from the house of my husband—
a place of so much beauty, crowded with rich life—
even in dreams I think I’ll always recall it.”
Tears and a Scornful Rebuke
She stopped and told the godlike hog-man Eumaios
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to set out the gray iron and bow for the suitors.
Eumaios carried the bow and wept as he placed it.
The cowherd also wept when he saw the bow of his master.
Antinoos chided them both, telling them roughly,
“Helpless farmhands! Today is all you can think of.
Why are you bawling now, you wretches, arousing
the heart in this woman’s breast? Her spirits are lying
in pain already—she’s lost the husband she once loved.
Be quiet, sit there and bolt food. Or carry your sobbing
outdoors and leave the bow right there for the suitors.
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The First to Die
“A hard enough test: I doubt it’s easy to string it.
The man’s bow was planed so smoothly and polished,
and no one, of all those here, is a man like Odysseus—
such as he was. I saw him myself as a youngster
and still I remember, though I was boyish and helpless.”
He spoke that way but the heart in his chest was hoping
to string the bow and send a shaft through the iron.
And yet this man would taste an arrow from faultless
Odysseus’s hand first: he’d badly dishonored the ruler
who sat in that hall, and he’d roused all of the suitors.
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The Axes Are Arranged
But then with a holy power Telemakhos told them,
“Look at this—Zeus, the son of Kronos, makes me a halfwit!
My own Mother tells me, for all of her good sense,
she’ll follow another man and abandon her own house.
Yet I enjoy it—I laugh with the heart of a halfwit!
Come on then, suitors, the prize is plainly before you:
a woman who’s unmatched now in the lands of Akhaians.
No one’s better in holy Pulos, Mukene or Argos,
not on the dark mainland or Ithaka’s own soil.
You know it yourselves. Do I need to flatter my Mother?
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Come on then, don’t be dawdling, making excuses,
avoiding the bow too long. Let all of us watch you.
I’d like to test the bow myself in my own way.
In fact if I string it and send a shaft through the iron,
I won’t be galled seeing my honored Mother abandon
the house for another man. I would be left here,
the one then raising the beautiful arms of my Father.”
He stopped and jumped up straight, dropping the purple
cloak from his shoulders and quickly taking the sword off.
He started to place the ax-heads after he dug out
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a long trench for them all, straight to a string-line.
He tamped the earth around them. The rest were astonished,
♦ watching him place them right. He’d never seen them before then.
The Bow Almost Strung
Then he tried the bow as he stood by the threshold.
Three times he made it tremble, anxious to draw it,
then s
topped straining each time. Yet in his own heart
he hoped to string it and send a shaft through the iron.
Now on his fourth strong try he’d surely have strung it—
Odysseus nodded No. For all of his longing,
again with a holy power Telemakhos told them,
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“Look at this—either I’m wrong in the end or a weakling.
Maybe I’m so young my arms cannot be trusted:
I lack the strength to fight with an older man who is angry.
Come on then, those who are better and stronger than I am,
try the bow. Let’s get on with the contest.”
A Prophet’s Failure
He spoke that way and set the bow on the floor there.
He propped it against a door-leaf, shining and close-fit;
he leaned a nimble arrow too on the beautiful door-hook.
Then he sat back down on the chair he got up from.
Antinoos, son of Eupeithes, spoke to the suitors.
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“Stand and take your turns, all of you good friends,
from left to right. Start from the place where the wine’s poured.”
Antinoos spoke that way and his word was their pleasure.
Leiodes, Oinops’s son, was the first one to stand up.
The suitors’ prophet, he often sat by the lovely
wine-bowl farthest away. This man was the only
suitor who hated brashness: he’d chided all of the men there.
Now as the first to take up the bow and a fast-flying arrow,
he tested the weapon, standing close to the threshold,
but failed to string it. Too soon his tender and unworked
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hands grew tired of pulling. He said to the suitors,
“My friends, I cannot string it. Another may take it.
I think this bow will steal the lives and the spirits
of many lords. Still, it’s far better to die here
than go on living without the lady we’ve always
gathered around for. How many days have we waited?
Yet each heart is hoping, everyone’s eager
to marry Penelopeia, the wife of Odysseus.
But after you try this bow and see what will happen,
you’ll court some other Akhaian woman in fine clothes
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and offer presents to win her. The lady will marry
the man who gives her the most, who arrives as her own fate.”
He spoke that way and set the bow on the floor there.
He propped it against a door-leaf, shining and close-fit;
he leaned a nimble arrow too on the beautiful door-hook.
Then he sat back down on the chair he got up from.
Lard, More Strength, and Heat
Antinoos chided him now, telling him roughly,
“Leiodes, what talk gets over the wall of your front teeth,
filled with a shocking fear! I’m angry to hear it.
How can a bow steal the lives and the spirits
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of high-born men because you’re unable to string it?
You’re not the man, though borne by a mother you honor,
for drawing a bow like this and shooting its arrows.
But other high-born suitors will string it in good time.”
He stopped and called to Melanthios, herder of goat-flocks:
“Come on, Melanthios, light a fire in the great hall.
Put a good-size chair beside it covered with lamb’s wool.
Then bring us a heavy round of lard from inside there.
We younger suitors will warm the bow and we’ll grease it,
then we’ll try it. Let’s get on with the contest.”
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More Failures
He stopped and Melanthios briskly started a restless
fire. He brought and placed a chair with a fleece on;
he brought a large round of lard from the storeroom.
Younger suitors warmed and tested the great bow.
Yet they all failed to string it, lacking the power.
♦ Godlike Eurumakhos though and Antinoos held off,
the suitors’ leaders. In manly strength they were standouts.
A Matter of Trust
Two men had left the house, walking together—
the cattle herder and godlike Odysseus’s swineherd.
Now Odysseus himself went out of the great hall.
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Soon as they stood outside the gates and the courtyard,
Odysseus spoke to them both, asking them softly,
“Cow-man and you, my hog-man: how will I say this
or hide it inside me? My heart tells me to speak out.
Would both of you guard Odysseus well if he came home
very suddenly, brought by a God from somewhere?
Maybe you’d join the suitors, maybe Odysseus.
Tell me how your hearts and spirits would guide you.”
The man who herded cattle answered by praying:
“Zeus, our Father, make that yearning become real!
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I pray the man will arrive, led by some Power: