The Greek Myths

by Robin Waterfield

  “I saw the wise king Minos there, dispensing justice among the dead along with his brother Rhadamanthys, as they were the first to dispense laws to god-fearing men. Last of all I spied the wraith of long-laboring Heracles, whose mortal self was burned away on the pyre at Trachis. His immortal self dwells now on Olympus, and he has Hebe, daughter of Hera, for wife. He recognized me, and shook his shaggy head in commiseration at my unease here in the presence of the dead. He recalled his own encounter in the underworld while still a living man, when Eurystheus commanded him to go down to Hades’ halls and retrieve Cerberus.

  “I might have waited longer for other heroes of the past to approach, but suddenly the press of disembodied souls, eager to taste of the bright blood, disconcerted me and filled me with fear. I turned and made my way quickly back to the ship and the familiar company of living men.”

  Dangers at Sea

  Peerless Alcinous and his noble queen were transfixed by Odysseus’ tale, as were all the banqueters in the spacious hall, hung with fine tapestries. The weary wanderer pleaded fatigue and declared his intention to go and sleep on his ship until its departure, but they begged him to refresh himself from the board, take a draft of sparkling wine, and continue his story. In the meantime, Alcinous commanded that more gifts be added to those already bestowed upon far-traveled Odysseus, and all the nobles of Scheria sent porters down to the black ship waiting in the harbor and added their own presents to those of the king and his lady. After taking some refreshment the unhappy hero again took up the thread of his tale:

  “We set sail in haste, the better to get away from that dreadful place, and a following wind sent us swiftly back the way we came. We arrived in good time at Circe’s isle, and after we had rested on the sandy shore, we set about retrieving the body of poor Elpenor, our lost companion. We buried him properly and heaped a mound over his remains, with his oar on top to serve as a grave marker. Circe joined us for the meal that followed the mourning.

  “The nymph and I sat apart from the others, and she offered me further advice. She warned that our route would take us by the lair of the Sirens, terrible creatures, half bird and half woman, whose captivating song lures men to certain death. Circe told me that, when we drew near, I should take some beeswax and soften it between my fingers. I should use it, she said, to plug the ears of my men, so that they might row past the Sirens without hearing a note of their tempting song. The only way I could hear their melodies for myself, if I were foolish enough, was to have the men lash me tightly to the tall mast of the ship. No matter how much I cried out to be released, the men would not heed my demands—they could not, with their ears plugged. I took shining Circe’s words to heart, and listened closely as she continued.

  “Once we had passed the lair of the Sirens, we would have to brave the passage where the fearsome monsters Scylla and Charybdis made their home. It was impossible, Circe warned, for us to get by these dread creatures unscathed. And yet, if we made it through the passage at all, there remained another challenge for us to face. The island of Thrinacia lies beyond the strait where Scylla and Charybdis await their victims. This magical isle is the pastureland for the cattle of all-seeing Helios, which are tended by his daughters. It would be best, the witch sternly warned, if I and the men sailed past this isle. If even one of his fine, fat cows were hurt, the wrath of the sun-god would fall on my ship and crew.

  “At dawn my comrades and I put to sea once again. What should I say to prepare the men for the evils we were to face? I needed their cooperation to get past the Sirens, so I warned them about this danger, but I held my silence about the strait beyond, lest they panic. When I judged that we were close to the island of the dread Sirens, I had every crewman place softened wax in his ears, so that he would remain as immune to the lethal song as he would to my pleas. Me the men lashed firmly to the stepped mast of the ship.

  Lashed to the ship’s mast, Odysseus endured the lethal beauty of the Sirens’ song.[87]

  “As soon as the coastline appeared I began to hear a melody wafting from the shore. The creatures called to me by name, enticing me to stop for a while and listen as they sang me tales of the heroic deeds of great men living and dead. Their voices were … indescribable. Every thought and emotion fled from my heart and was replaced with the pressing need to join the company of these sweet singers. They seemed to promise eternal bliss. In my enchantment, I strained mightily against my bonds, and I demanded to be set free, gesturing urgently to my deaf crewmen with my brows. But the men only tied me tighter, as I had ordered. I am the only man who has heard the deadly chorus and lived to tell the tale. We sailed past, my men freed me, and I steeled myself for the next encounter, which lay just ahead of us.

  “The waters before us churned and there was a terrific roar from the echoes of waves crashing against the high cliffs that framed the strait. On one side Charybdis sucked down the waters in a vortex so powerful that at its bottom the sea-bed was visible. Then with a mighty upward thrust all that had been sucked down was spewed forth again in an awesome jet. The gaping men ceased rowing in their terror, but I ordered them to take up their oars and cut the water with a fury, so we might get through in one piece. Seeing that Charybdis was impassable, we hugged the opposite side closely, while I kept a careful watch for Scylla, who has the bark of a puppy but the bite of a six-headed beast. She shot out of her cave in a flash, taking us all by surprise. Half a dozen snaky necks writhed above the ship, and in the blink of an eye the creature had six of my men. Their pitiful screams will haunt me to the grave.”

  The Cattle of the Sun

  “We passed through the straits, rowing with all our might to distance ourselves from the evil, and our hearts were heavy with grief for the loss of our comrades. Before long we approached the isle where the daughters of Helios tend his lowing cattle, and although I too felt in need of rest and recuperation, I urged the men to row on and seek another place for shelter. I shared at last the stern warnings of Circe and Teiresias, that to destroy even one of the cattle of Helios would mean disaster for us all. But I was gainsaid by one of my outspoken comrades, who argued for taking shelter on the island, since the men had had enough. I extracted a promise from my men to avoid the sacred cattle. We beached our good ship and set about preparing a meal from the stores we had on board.

  “But a god sought to test my men. A contrary wind rose, and we were trapped on the island for many weeks. Our supplies ran out. The men took to hunting and fishing, but their mood became desperate. I went apart to a sacred clearing to make offerings and supplications to the immortal ones for a change of weather. Some god must have put me into a deep sleep, because I heard nothing—none of the noise and commotion as my men weakened and killed some of the cattle. I woke to the aroma of spitted roast, and my heart sank. I hurried to the shore, shouting at them to desist from their folly, but of course the damage was done.

  Contrary to their oath, Odysseus’ men butchered and roasted the forbidden cattle of the Sun.[88]

  “Before our terrified eyes, the flayed hides of the slaughtered beasts began to crawl about the campsite, and the spitted meat over the coals bellowed its pain. These portents made us desperate to leave the island, but for days we remained stranded there by the unceasing gale, and my comrades continued to gorge on the forbidden meat. Dejected, I sat away from camp, sure in the knowledge that they were doomed. When Zeus finally had the winds change, I ordered the men aboard. We shoved off with a dark cloud hovering over our vessel and my heart.

  “Before long ferocious winds began to blow with astonishing force from the west. In a moment the mast and stays were split like tinder and the beam crashed down, striking the helmsman a deadly blow. Zeus hurled a thunderbolt, and it struck us amidships, shattering the hull. The men and their dying screams were swallowed up by the raging sea. I alone survived, clinging to the upturned keel and the remainder of the mast.

  “All night I floated, back through the straits to confront yet again those twin terrors Scylla and Charybd
is. My only hope of safety lay in perfect timing. When the swirling vortex began sucking at my makeshift raft, I lunged for the cliff-face, and clung for all I was worth to a fig tree jutting precariously out over the churning water. An eternity passed before the monster belched the mast and keel back out. I leapt into the swirling current and gripped them tightly again, keeping my head low as I drifted beneath dread Scylla’s lair. I lay exposed on the unforgiving sea for nine days until at last I came ashore at Ogygia, immortal Calypso’s island home. My sad tale concludes here. You know all the rest.”

  Odysseus Reaches Ithaca

  All the banqueters went their separate ways to sleep, and the next day King Alcinous was pleased to escort his guest to the harbor, where he oversaw the stowing of Odysseus’ many guest-gifts. The traveler thanked his hosts with typical eloquence, and offered a blessing to all the people for their kindness and generosity. They cast off with the chariot of the sun descending in the west.

  Lying on the deck Odysseus fell into a deep sleep, a magical sleep, while the Phaeacian ship sailed on beneath the sparkling stars. While it was still dark, they reached Ithaca and beached in a remote cove. Quickly and quietly, the crew gently brought the exhausted warrior from the ship and set him down on the sand near a sacred cave. Next they unloaded all the gifts he had received from the noble folk of Scheria, and set them nearby. All the while Odysseus slept as one who was dead.

  Meanwhile, Poseidon learned of Odysseus’ safe arrival home. The earth-shaker was annoyed to learn that the Phaeacians had assisted the king’s return. He complained to Zeus, threatening to raise an impassable mountain chain around their island kingdom. But the cloud-gatherer persuaded his furious brother to make an example only of the ship that had carried Odysseus home, rather than take more drastic measures. When the ship hove into view, the Phaeacians onshore rejoiced to see their countrymen returning. But just at that moment Poseidon struck the ship with the flat of his mighty hand, and instantly it turned to stone. There it sits today, a reminder of the consequences of crossing the gods, who are quick to anger.

  Odysseus slept on, unaware that he was home at last on Ithaca. Athena came upon her favorite as he slept and hid him in a fine mist. He woke at last, looking about but seeing nothing that recalled home. The long-absent king groaned in dismay and set about checking his treasure, suddenly suspicious that his Phaeacian hosts had tricked him by abandoning him on a strange shore and taking back their fine gifts. He had suffered so much already that nothing would surprise him.

  There he stood, muttering to himself, surrounded by golden goblets and three-legged bronze cauldrons. But gray-eyed Athena stepped forward in disguise as a young shepherd, and told him where he was. Valiant Odysseus rejoiced to hear he was finally on home soil, though he carefully refrained from revealing himself to the shepherd. He said instead that he was a Cretan noble, in exile for killing the son of Idomeneus. Athena indulged him as he spun his tale, taking pleasure in her incorrigible favorite. She touched his cheek, and as she did so her shepherd’s guise fell away, and she stood before him in her divine loveliness.

  After reassuring the long-suffering Odysseus that he was indeed home, the wise goddess prepared him for his next ordeals. She warned of the danger within the palace, and advised him to make his way to his swineherd, Eumaeus, who had remained loyal, and shelter there among the fatted pigs until he came up with a plan for revenge. Together they concealed the fine gifts in the sacred cave. Then the goddess disguised Odysseus as a wrinkled old beggar, and dressed him appropriately in filthy rags.

  Athena sent him on his way to the farmstead beyond the town, while she swiftly made to intercept Telemachus, who was at that moment close to home on his way back from the sandy shores of Pylos. Athena warned him that a band of the wicked suitors was lying in ambush for him at the main port, so he asked to be let off elsewhere, explaining that he wished to inspect his estates and make his way back to town on foot. The ship sailed on without him around to the port of Ithaca. Alone, he began walking toward the humble hut of Eumaeus the swineherd.

  At the Swineherd’s Hut

  Much-traveled Odysseus made his way to the farmstead, where he was welcomed and fed by his old servant. Over their humble meal, Eumaeus related to the stranger the story of how he came to be in the service of the royal house of Ithaca. His family was noble, from a far-away place called Syria. One day, when Eumaeus was a mere boy, a disloyal maidservant made off with him on a pirate ship. The men aboard sold him to Laertes, who raised him with a gentle hand, almost as a member of his own family. He was taught to care for the pigs and given his own small place.

  Eumaeus smiled at the memory, but then his face darkened. His present master, the great Odysseus, had gone off twenty years before to fight at windy Troy, and had never returned. How the estates had suffered as a result! The presumptuous suitors, who returned daily to feast, were consuming all the best things for themselves. “I can hardly bring myself to go into town these days,” he said. “I can’t bear to see the destruction of my master’s wealth by those arrogant bastards.”

  In his beggar’s disguise, Odysseus spun a false tale to Eumaeus of his own background. He claimed again to be a noble Cretan, but this time one who had served in the company of Idomeneus when he was called by the Greeks to fight at Troy. Years of adventure on the seas had finally seen him shipwrecked near the shores of Thesprotia. He was saved by the son of the king, who offered him hospitality. It was in the grand halls of the king’s palace in Thesprotia, he said, that he learned of valiant Odysseus’ fate. Ithaca’s king had gone to the sacred grove at Dodona to learn the will of Zeus, and would soon be safely back in his own country.

  But, the beggar went on, he himself had suffered more misery when the crew of the Thesprotian ship he joined robbed him and tied him up for the slave market. Nevertheless, when the ship reached Ithaca, he had made his escape, and now he sat before Eumaeus, his generous host.

  The good swineherd cocked his eye at the beggar’s story, discarding with a shake of his head the bit about the king’s imminent return. If he had a bushel of grain for every time he’d heard such a rumor, he’d be a wealthy man. He rose and prepared a simple meal, and after they had eaten and drunk they lay down for the night in the shelter of the hut.

  Early the next day, Odysseus, still in his beggar’s disguise, heard the sounds of the dogs fawning over someone, thumping their tails on the ground and whimpering in recognition. In a moment, the handsome face of Telemachus appeared in the doorway. With a cry of delight the loyal swineherd dropped everything and folded the young man in his embrace, tears stinging his eyes, and ushered him into the humble dwelling.

  After the men had eaten and drunk their fill the young prince questioned Eumaeus about the stranger in their midst. The kindly swineherd reported what the old beggar had told him the night before. Odysseus, who had stepped outside, overheard this exchange, and saw an opportunity to get things moving in the direction he wanted. He went back inside and declared his indignation that the suitors should get away with their scandalous behavior.

  “You’re right, of course, stranger,” said Telemachus. “But what can I do? I am one man, with no available allies, and they are many. Once they’ve consumed all my father’s wealth, they’ll turn on me. I have no hopes for a long life.” He turned to Eumaeus and told him to go down to the town and announce his return to patient Penelope, but to no one else. The swineherd nodded and set off briskly on his errand.

  Wise Athena appeared just then in the open doorway of the hut and cocked her brow at Odysseus, who followed her outside. It was time, she said, for him to reveal himself to his son. As she did so the beggar’s rags were miraculously replaced with splendid clothes and the king stood before her looking more regal than ever. Odysseus stepped back into the hut and stood before his son.

  Telemachus cried out in amazement, for he had not seen the goddess work her magic on the beggar. He piously shielded his eyes, believing himself in the presence of a god. With gentle words
Odysseus assuaged his son’s fear. “Have no fear,” he said. “I am no god. I am, in fact, your father.”

  At first, Telemachus refused to believe it, thinking the gods were tricking him, but Odysseus explained how Athena had effected his transformation. They locked into a strong embrace, each shedding tears of joy and pain on the shoulders of the other.

  When father and son could speak again, their talk turned to revenge. Odysseus swore Telemachus to secrecy, and together they hatched a plan to take the transgressors unawares. Telemachus would allow a “wretched beggar” some small corner within the palace halls, as is proper for those who honor the laws of hospitality. Just as the Trojans were taken unawares when the Greeks burst forth from the Wooden Horse, so the suitors would be ambushed by the wiles of Laertes’ son.

  Meanwhile, the suitors had received word that their attempt to kill Telemachus had failed. Somehow the young man had slipped through their fingers. Seething with frustration, the impious band gathered to discuss a new plot. But they were overheard, and news reached the queen in the women’s quarters of the palace just as the loyal swineherd Eumaeus arrived to announce Telemachus’ safe arrival.

  Queen Penelope decided to take action. She summoned her maids. Together they descended to the hall where the suitors lazed about. Penelope confronted them with stinging words, especially the ringleaders, and accused them of plotting to murder her son. They chided her for her baseless accusations, and argued that whatever men plan, for good or ill, the gods will have their own way. If they had only known how truly they spoke! The indignant queen withdrew in disgust, back to her chambers, where she gave way to bitter tears.