by Ralph Hardy
“Hear me now, haughty suitors, you who have filled your bellies daily at my table, drunk my wine, and insulted my servants in this house of a man far greater than yourselves! Never have you said one word in his honor; instead, you talk incessantly of marrying me without even proof that my husband is dead and that I am a widow. But now it is time for you to claim your prize!”
The uncouth suitors began to cheer. “Pick me, choose me, I am the one for you!” they crowed.
“Silence!” my mistress cried. “Here is the contest before you. This is the bow of godlike Odysseus. The one who is able to string it with ease and send an arrow through twelve axes shall become my husband. I shall go away with him and forsake this house, though I will never forget it in my dreams.”
The men began to clamor again, arguing who among them had the strength required to win the contest. Then my mistress beckoned to the loyal swineherd, Eumaios, who was watching from an anteroom.
“Here, Eumaios, let them see this mighty bow and feel its stiffness. They will not boast for long.”
Eumaios took the bow from her, but he, too began to weep, when he saw the bow of his master. Still, he carried it among the suitors and let them marvel at its strength. I sat and watched the suitors. Some were in awe of the polished weapon and some scoffed at the notion that it could not be strung. Beside me, my mistress still wept, but silently.
Then handsome Telemachos rose and addressed the men in the hall. Surveying them, he cried, “Come, you suitors. There is the prize before you: a woman like no other and this wealthy estate. Surely it is time for the contest!”
The men cheered and began to rise from their seats. I heard my mistress inhale sharply, for truly they sounded like an army in battle. Then noble Telemachos continued, shouting over the furor.
“I too will seek to string the bow, and if I am able to do it, then my mother will remain here, in the house of Odysseus.”
Then, drawing his sword, Telemachos left the hall, striding out into the yard, where he dug a trench and set up the axes as straight as a string. When the men had approved of his work, one of them yelled, “Yours is the first attempt, son of Odysseus. After that, we men will try our skill.”
They formed a wide circle around noble Telemachos as he stood on the threshold. He took the bow in his strong hands and three times bent it nearly enough to string it. Each time he failed, the men called out insults and scorn. I growled but took no action. Instead I watched and waited.
Odysseus had carefully made his way into the circle of men and stood near Telemachos. I watched as he pretended to enjoy the spectacle. He too jeered when noble Telemachos failed to string the bow on his third attempt. But I saw his eyes too. They were full of cunning.
Then, pulling the bow for the fourth time, Telemachos, with shaking muscles, curved the tips and inched the loop closer. The men jeered loudly, taunting him. Then I saw Odysseus shake his head ever so gently—a signal to his son—and Telemachos gave up.
“Shame on me,” Telemachos said. “I must be a coward or a weakling. My hands shake too much, and I have now sapped my puny strength. Come then, you who are willing, there must be many of you stronger than I.”
So he stepped aside, laying the unstrung bow against the side of the palace. Then a suitor named Antinoos stepped up to the threshold and cried out directions. “Take your turns in order, from my right to my left, my friends. This bow will be strung soon enough, I grant you.”
The first to attempt to string the bow was Leodes, but he failed quickly enough. Most of the other men tried also, but they all failed too, and they began to grow dispirited. Then Antinoos had Melanthios build a fire and heat the bow, thinking that would make it pliant.
Meanwhile, brave Odysseus, who had been watching from outside the circle of men, with Telemachos and me at his side, walked into the courtyard and found there Eumaios, the swineherd, and Philoitios, the oxherd, standing together talking. Approaching them, Odysseus put his hands on their shoulders and said, “Oxherd, swineherd, let me ask you both a question that vexes me. Would you fight for Odysseus if he returned to his home, or would you support the suitors, who may be able to offer greater rewards than a man gone for twenty years?”
Eumaios, the swineherd, answered first and without hesitation. “Friend, if Odysseus returned, he would see what kind of strength these hands have. I pray every day to the deities for him to return.”
“And you, oxherd? Where do you fall?”
“I stand with my brother in the fields, stranger,” Philoitios said. “Should he ever return, noble Odysseus would have me at his side.”
Then Odysseus stepped even closer to these loyal servants and said, “I am he. I am here in front of you, disguised by the goddess Athena. See, here is the scar that the boar inflicted on me.”
Odysseus pulled aside his mantle and showed them his scarred thigh. Seeing this, Eumaios began to kneel, but Odysseus pulled him to his feet.
“Loyal Eumaios,” he said, “do not kneel here in the courtyard! Others might see you and ask why. Among all my servants, you two men do I trust. Let me say this quickly, for the contest will soon be over. When we have overthrown the suitors, I will reward you both with houses along with many fine possessions. Now, here is my plan.”
CHAPTER XLIV
The king returns
After a few minutes, brave Odysseus and my master Telemachos entered the yard where the suitors stood, struggling to string the bow, and sat down not among the suitors, but under an olive tree. They watched and said nothing, and I lay near Telemachos, watching too. The bow had passed to many men, all of whom had failed to string it. Finally it was passed to Eurymachos, he of broad shoulders and sinewy arms. He took the bow, turned it over the fire, and then, placing one end on a stone bench, he pulled down with his right hand from the top while lifting the string with his left. How red his face turned, then purple, then nearly black! Still he could not string it. Stopping then to catch his breath, he shook his head and muttered, “Shame on us that we fall short of godlike Odysseus. Unborn men will be told of our sorrow here today.”
Then Antinoos said, “Worry not, Eurymachos. We shall leave the axes in a row overnight, and in the morning say prayers to Apollo, and he will aid us in our contest. For now, let us wash our hands and renew our libations. Have the servants bring more wine.”
Hearing this, the suitors were cheered. They entered the great hall and began to eat again. After some time had passed, during which Telemachos combed burrs from my fur, brave Odysseus and Telemachos rose and entered the great hall. I followed at their heels. Knocking on the wooden joist with a staff, Odysseus quieted the men.
“What do you want, beggar?” one of them, a shriveled, gray-bearded man, asked.
“I ask a favor of Eurymachos and Antinoos, sir,” Odysseus said loudly. The suitors grew silent. How it must have pained him to show such deference to those men, I thought.
“What is your request?” Antinoos demanded.
Wily Odysseus nodded. “I ask only this. You are correct to wait until morn and after your prayers to attempt a second time to string the bow. But for now I ask that you give the bow to me and let me test my arms against it, for I used to be strong and would know if my wanderings and begging have weakened me.”
How indignant the suitors were at this proposition! They jeered brave Odysseus and threw bones at him. Oh, the shame he endured! My hackles rose and a growl formed on my lips, but my master Telemachos placed his hand on my shoulder, and I sat down. Watching.
Then Antinoos rose and pointed a fat finger at Odysseus, saying, “Wretched vagabond, isn’t it enough that we let you sit here among us? Now you want to enter the contest? Let me tell you this: you may try to string the bow, and you may even succeed, but if you do, you will still be a beggar and not our equal. Sit and be quiet if you know what is best for you!”
Hearing this, my mistress Penelope, who had been sitting with her servant girls in a side room, entered and rebuked Antinoos. “Antinoos, it is rud
e to speak thusly in front of my son’s guest. Do you really think this stranger could string my husband’s bow and then take me home to be his wife? Just ignore him and return to your feasting.”
Then Eurymachos stood and apologized to my mistress. “Forgive us, loyal Penelope, for our vanity and wounded pride. We are all ashamed that we could not string the bow, and for this man to claim that he could stings our hearts.”
Queen Penelope shook her head and laughed bitterly. “There is no glory among you anyway, for you eat away your honor at the home of a great man, so why should you care what other people think about this man’s request? Still, this stranger is a big man and claims to have a noble father. Give him the bow and see what happens! I tell you this: if he strings it, then I will give him fine clothing to wear and a sharp javelin to ward men and dogs away. And I’ll send him anywhere he would like to go, on our finest ship.”
When she said this, I began to fret. My mistress did not know Odysseus’s plan, and I was afraid she would spoil it with her promises. A whine escaped me, but Telemachos stroked my head and calmed my heart. Then noble Telemachos stood and approached his mother, and placing his hand on her arm, said gently but firmly, “Mother, no one has more authority over the bow than I do, and I can give it to the stranger as a gift or never let him touch it. It belonged to my father, after all, and has passed down to me. Now take your servants and retire to your room. Finish the tunic you have been sewing and make sure that your servants are engaged tonight as well. I ask you this with deepest respect.”
My mistress looked deep into noble Telemachos’s eyes and nodded. After kissing him on the cheek, she said, “It is true, son, that I am very tired tonight and have no patience for these men. Come, girls, let us retire and leave this room. Perhaps in the morning they will be gone.”
Saying this, she and her servants left the hall and climbed the stairs to her bedchamber. Then Eumaios, the loyal swineherd, brought the bow into the room.
“What are you doing with that bow, pig herder?” one of the suitors yelled. “If you touch it again, I’ll feed you to the dogs!”
Then Telemachos raised his hand and said to Eumaios, “The bow belongs to me, my friend. And I say let the stranger hold it.”
So Eumaios went to Odysseus and handed it to him. Then Odysseus whispered something to the swineherd, which only he and I could hear. It was this he said: “Tell the good nurse Eurykleia to lock the doors to the great hall from the outside, and no matter what she hears, she must not unlock them.”
Eumaios nodded and left the hall.
Brave Odysseus took the bow and turned it this way and that, inspecting the tips and making sure that the horns were still strong. This was a charade; he knew the bow was still unbroken, but his actions caught the attention of the suitors, who watched with scorn on their faces. Then, with all eyes upon him, he took the strongly twisted sheep’s gut and effortlessly strung the bow!
A great sorrow fell upon the suitors, and the color drained from their faces. Outside a cloud passed over the sun, and Zeus sent a portent of rolling thunder heard throughout the cloud-darkened room. My master Telemachos touched my shoulder and said, “Stay, Leander,” and then he left the hall quietly while the suitors were dismayed.
Then, notching an arrow onto the tightened string, mighty Odysseus strode over to the open window, where all could see the axes lined up in a row. As the suitors rushed to the window, he pulled back the string and let fly the bronze-tipped arrow. It passed through all twelve axes and lodged in an oak on the other side. Even I, who can hear a bat’s wings, heard nothing from the suitors as the arrow found its mark. At that moment, Telemachos returned.
Turning then to his son, Odysseus said, “Telemachos, your guest has not missed his mark, and my strength is still sound within me. Now it is time for the final course and then the dance and the lyre, for this is the end of the feasting.”
Then did noble Telemachos show the suitors that he had returned armed. He raised his javelin, and with the other hand gripped his sword. Both were tipped in shining bronze. Then he tossed the quiver full of arrows to his father.
CHAPTER XLV
Honor restored
Father, perhaps you could see from Mount Olympus itself the destruction we brought. The suitors all perished that day, some bravely, some with cowardice in their hearts. I myself slew many, and prevented others from escaping out the window, though some feared my master’s bow more than my snapping jaws and tried to pass me. They all failed. Let it be sung, Father, that four men—two who are godlike, two who are shepherds—and I defeated a hundred that day and suffered not our own grave wounds until the end.
We had stopped fighting, for our foes were vanquished. Brave Odysseus looked about the great hall, seeing if any man had escaped black doom. None had. Among his companions, only Eumaios and Telemachos bled, but not fatally so. Odysseus placed his arm on my master’s shoulder and said, “Now go summon the nurse, Eurykleia, for I have questions only she can answer.”
Telemachos turned to go, and just then one of the suitors, who had hidden under the bodies of his comrades, rose and hurled a bronze-tipped spear at Telemachos! I leaped in front of him and took the spear in my shoulder.
Not even the tusk of a boar brought death as close as this. I saw with failing eyes Master Telemachos throw his own spear at the man, catching him in the chest and pinning him to the wall. Then I felt my master’s arms around me, lifting me and putting me down gently onto a mantle spread over a table. I looked down and saw red blood staining the silk cloth. I did not even whimper. Leander, the lion slayer, remained silent while his life slowly eased from him.
The next thing I heard was the old nurse entering the great hall. When she saw the destruction there, she cried out in triumph, for she hated the suitors and what they had done to her master’s house.
“Nurse, keep your joy in your heart,” Telemachos cautioned. “These are slain men who have met a shameful death, yet there is no glory in their doom. Now, come here and see to my loyal companion, for he is grievously wounded.”
The nurse ran to me and placed her ear next to my chest. “His heart is still strong, noble Telemachos, but his wound is fatal. I cannot save this dog, but I can give him herbs to hasten his final sleep.”
Telemachos pushed her aside and placed his own great head on my chest, listening.
“Disloyal nurse!” my master cried. “This dog saved my life many times this day. Treat him as if he were my son!”
Then Eumaios came up to the table and said, “Noble Telemachos, let me tend to him. I am skilled at healing all things with four legs.”
Saying this, Eumaios tore great strips of cloth and tightened them around my shoulder, staunching the blood. Then he withdrew a sharp knife and cut around the wound until he could reach the point of the spear. The nurse put cool water on my tongue. Father, I think then the gods were very close, because I felt a warm hand passing over my eyes, yet it belonged not to the nurse or Eumaios.
Although I was blind, I heard brave Odysseus ask for his wife Penelope, but the nurse Eurykleia said, “Master, Athena, or some god, has put your loyal wife to sleep. She knows not what has transpired here this evening, nor that you have returned, nor that her monstrous suitors are dead. Come, you must wake her.”
“No,” Odysseus said. “She should not see such destruction in her house. When the house is cleaned and in order, I would see the servants brought before you, and you will tell me who was loyal and who was not, so the disloyal ones can be banished. Then I will waken sweet Penelope.”
“Master,” I heard Eumaios say, “this loyal one grows cold. We must move him near the hearth.”
I felt their strong hands beneath me as they lifted me gently to a cushion near the fireplace. How warm the fire felt, as if I had been cold all my life until that moment.
“I can do no more for him, sirs,” I heard Eumaios say. “If the gods desire it, he will live.”
“Then remain with him, Eumaios. I must see to my wi
fe, fair Penelope,” Odysseus said.
But just then I heard footsteps descending the stairs. One had the light bearing of my mistress. Then, for a long moment, I heard nothing.
Finally I heard Telemachos say, “Mother, why do you not greet your husband, who has suffered much, and after twenty years has returned?”
“My son,” she answered finally. “I am too full of wonder to speak, and I cannot even look him in the face, if he is truly Odysseus. Too much has passed for my winged words to ask questions. Where would I even begin?”
Then I heard brave Odysseus say, “Come, my love. It is not right that you should see me covered in blood and filth as I am. And the gods have changed my appearance as well. Let us go upstairs and pray to Athena to return my form and shape; then you will believe I have returned. Eumaios, remain here with noble Leander. Attend to me if he worsens.”
They all agreed to this. My master Telemachos came up to me and stroked my muzzle. Then he kissed my forehead. How I wish I could have seen him, but gray death was too near! I grew cold and began to shiver. Eumaios draped a mantle over me, and Telemachos tucked it in. Then, Father, I closed my blind eyes and surrendered my body to the will of the gods.
On the third morning I woke and found that I could see. Dimly at first, but then with greater clarity, I saw Telemachos sitting watchfully by the fire. Beside him were bowls of water and food.
“You are awake, noble Leander?” he asked quietly.
I barked, although it pained me some.
“Athena be praised. You must be thirsty, loyal one. Drink from this bowl. I’ll help you.”
Telemachos dipped water into his hands, and I drank.
We sat quietly. Apollo’s chariot rose higher in the east, flooding the room with light. Each passing minute I felt stronger. Telemachos looked out the window, shaking his head.