until at his bedside grey-eyed Athena
towered and said:
“The brave thing now, Telémakhos,
would be to end this journey far from home.
All that you own you left behind
with men so lost to honor in your house
they may devour it all, shared out among them.
How will your journey save you then?
Go quickly
to the lord of the great war cry, Menelaos;
press him to send you back. You may yet find
the queen your mother in her rooms alone.
It seems her father and her kinsmen say
Eurymakhos is the man for her to marry.
He has outdone the suitors, all the rest,
in gifts to her, and made his pledges double.
Check him, or he will have your lands and chattels
in spite of you.
You know a woman’s pride
at bringing riches to the man she marries.
As to her girlhood husband, her first children,
he is forgotten, being dead—and they
no longer worry her.
So act alone.
Go back; entrust your riches to the servant
worthiest in your eyes, until the gods
make known what beauty you yourself shall marry.
This too I have to tell you: now take heed:
the suitors’ ringleaders are hot for murder,
waiting in the channel between Ithaka
and Same’s rocky side; they mean to kill you
before you can set foot ashore. I doubt
they’ll bring it off. Dark earth instead
may take to her cold bed a few brave suitors
who preyed upon your cattle.
Bear well out
in your good ship, to eastward of the islands,
and sail again by night. Someone immortal
who cares for you will make a fair wind blow.
Touch at the first beach, go ashore, and send
your ship and crew around to port by sea,
while you go inland to the forester,
your old friend, loyal keeper of the swine.
Remain that night with him; send him to town
to tell your watchful mother Penélopê
that you are back from Pylos safe and sound.”
With this Athena left him for Olympos.
He swung his foot across and gave a kick
and said to the son of Nestor:
“Open your eyes,
Peisistratos. Get our team into harness.
We have a long day’s journey.”
Nestor’s son
turned over and answered him:
“It is still night,
and no moon. Can we drive now? We can not,
itch as we may for the road home. Dawn is near.
Allow the captain of spearmen, Menelaos,
time to pack our car with gifts and time
to speak a gracious word, sending us off.
A guest remembers all his days
that host who makes provision for him kindly.”
The Dawn soon took her throne of gold, and Lord
Menelaos, clarion in battle,
rose from where he lay beside the beauty
of Helen with her shining hair. He strode
into the hall nearby.
Hearing him come,
Odysseus’ son pulled on his snowy tunic
over the skin, gathered his long cape
about his breadth of shoulder like a captain,
the heir of King Odysseus. At the door
he stood and said:
“Lord Marshal, Menelaos,
send me home now to my own dear country:
longing has come upon me to go home.”
The lord of the great war cry said at once:
“If you are longing to go home, Telémakhos,
I would not keep you for the world, not I.
I’d think myself or any other host
as ill-mannered for over-friendliness
as for hostility.
Measure is best in everything.
To send a guest packing, or cling to him
when he’s in haste—one sin equals the other.
‘Good entertaining ends with no detaining.’
Only let me load your car with gifts
and fine ones, you shall see.
I’ll bid the women
, set out breakfast from the larder stores;
honor and appetite—we’ll attend to both
before a long day’s journey overland.
Or would you care to try the Argive midlands
and Hellas, in my company? I’ll harness
my own team, and take you through the towns.
Guests like ourselves no lord will turn away;
each one will make one gift, at least,
to carry home with us: tripod or cauldron
wrought in bronze, mule team, or golden cup.”
Clearheaded Telémakhos replied:
“Lord Marshal
Menelaos, royal son of Atreus,
I must return to my own hearth. I left
no one behind as guardian of my property.
This going abroad for news of a great father—
heaven forbid it be my own undoing,
or any precious thing be lost at home.”
At this the tall king, clarion in battle,
called to his lady and her waiting women
to give them breakfast from the larder stores.
Eteóneus, the son of Boethoös, came
straight from bed, from where he lodged nearby,
and Menelaos ordered a fire lit
for broiling mutton. The king’s man obeyed.
Then down to the cedar chamber Meneláos
walked with Helen and Prince Megapenthes.
Amid the gold he had in that place lying
the son of Atreus picked a wine cup, wrought
with handles left and right, and told his son
to take a silver winebowl.
Helen lingered
near the deep coffers filled with gowns, her own
handiwork.
Tall goddess among women,
she lifted out one robe of state so royal,
adorned and brilliant with embroidery,
deep in the chest it shimmered like a star.
Now all three turned back to the door to greet
Telémakhos. And red-haired Menelaos
cried out to him:
“O prince Telémakhos,
may Hêra’s Lord of Thunder see you home
and bring you to the welcome you desire!
Here are your gifts—perfect and precious things
I wish to make your own, out of my treasure.”
And gently the great captain, son of Atreus,
handed him the goblet. Megapenthes
carried the winebowl glinting silvery
to set before him, and the Lady Helen
drew near, so that he saw her cheek’s pure line.
She held the gown and murmured:
“I, too,
bring you a gift, dear child, and here it is;
remember Helen’s hands by this; keep it
for your own bride, your joyful wedding day;
let your dear mother guard it in her chamber.
My blessing: may you come soon to your island,
home to your timbered hall.”
So she bestowed it,
and happily he took it. These fine things
Peisistratos packed well in the wicker carrier,
admiring every one. Then Menelaos
led the two guests in to take their seats
on thrones and easy chairs in the great hall.
Now came a maid to tip a golden jug
of water over a silver finger bowl,
and draw the polished tables up beside them;
the larder mistress bro
ught her tray of loaves,
with many savories to lavish on them;
viands were served by Eteóneus, and wine
by Menelaos’ son. Then every hand
reached out upon good meat and drink to take them,
driving away hunger and thirst. At last,
Telémakhos and Nestor’s son led out
their team to harness, mounted their bright car,
and drove down under the echoing entrance way,
while red-haired Menelaos, Atreus’ son,
walked alongside with a golden cup—
wine for the wayfarers to spill at parting.
Then by the tugging team he stood, and spoke
over the horses’ heads:
“Farewell, my lads.
Homage to Nestor, the benevolent king;
in my time he was fatherly to me,
when the flower of Akhaia warred on Troy.”
Telémakhos made this reply:
“No fear
but we shall bear at least as far as Nestor
your messages, great king. How I could wish
to bring them home to Ithaka! If only
Odysseus were there, if he could hear me tell
of all the courtesy I have had from you,
returning with your finery and your treasure.”
Even as he spoke, a beat of wings went skyward
off to the right—a mountain eagle, grappling
a white goose in his talons, heavy prey
hooked from a farmyard. Women and men-at-arms
made hubbub, running up, as he flew over,
but then he wheeled hard right before the horses—
a sight that made the whole crowd cheer, with hearts
lifting in joy. Peisístratos called out:
“Read us the sign, O Menelaos, Lord
Marshal of armies! Was the god revealing
something thus to you, or to ourselves?”
At this the old friend of the god of battle
groped in his mind for the right thing to say,
but regal Helen put in quickly:
“Listen:
I can tell you—tell what the omen means,
as light is given me, and as I see it
point by point fulfilled. The beaked eagle
flew from the wild mountain of his fathers
to take for prey the tame house bird. Just so,
Odysseus, back from his hard trials and wandering,
will soon come down in fury on his house.
He may be there today, and a black hour
he brings upon the suitors.”
Telémakhos gazed and said:
“May Zeus, the lord of Hera,
make it so! In far-off Ithaka, all my life,
I shall invoke you as a goddess, lady.”
He let the whip fall, and the restive mares
broke forward at a canter through the town
into the open country.
All that day
they kept their harness shaking, side by side,
until at sundown when the roads grew dim
they made a halt at Pherai. There Dióklês
son of Ortilokhos whom Alpheios fathered,
welcomed the young men, and they slept the night.
Up when the young Dawn’s finger tips of rose
opened in the east, they hitched the team
once more to the painted car
and steered out westward through the echoing gate,
whipping their fresh horses into a run.
Approaching Pylos Height at that day’s end,
Telémakhos appealed to the son of Nestor:
“Could you, I wonder, do a thing I’ll tell you,
supposing you agree?
We take ourselves to be true friends—in age
alike, and bound by ties between our fathers,
and now by partnership in this adventure.
Prince, do not take me roundabout,
but leave me at the ship, else the old king
your father will detain me overnight
for love of guests, when I should be at sea.”
The son of Nestor nodded, thinking swiftly
how best he could oblige his friend.
Here was his choice: to pull the team hard over
along the beach till he could rein them in
beside the ship. Unloading Menelaos’
royal keepsakes into the stern sheets,
he sang out:
“Now for action! Get aboard,
and call your men, before I break the news
at home in hall to father. Who knows better
the old man’s heart than I? If you delay,
he will not let you go, but he’ll descend on you
in person and imperious; no turning
back with empty hands for him, believe me,
once his blood is up.”
He shook the reins
to the lovely mares with long manes in the wind,
guiding them full tilt toward his father’s hall.
Telémakhos called in the crew, and told them:
“Get everything shipshape aboard this craft;
we pull out now, and put sea miles behind us.”
The listening men obeyed him, climbing in
to settle on their benches by the rowlocks,
while he stood watchful by the stern. He poured out
offerings there, and prayers to Athena.
Now a strange man came up to him, an easterner
fresh from spilling blood in distant Argos,
a hunted man. Gifted in prophecy,
he had as forebear that Melampous, wizard
who lived of old in Pylos, mother city
of western flocks.
Melampous, a rich lord,
had owned a house unmatched among the Pylians,
until the day came when king Neleus, noblest
in that age, drove him from his native land.
And Neleus for a year’s term sequestered
Melampous’ fields and flocks, while he lay bound
hand and foot in the keep of Phylakos.
Beauty of Neleus’ daughter put him there
and sombre folly the inbreaking Fury
thrust upon him. But he gave the slip
to death, and drove the bellowing herd of Iphiklos
from Phylakê to Pylos, there to claim
the bride that ordeal won him from the king.
He led her to his brother’s house, and went on
eastward into another land, the bluegrass
plain of Argos. Destiny held for him
rule over many Argives. Here he married,
built a great manor house, fathered Antiphates
and Mantios, commanders both, of whom
Antíphatês begot Oikleies
and Oikleiês the firebrand Amphiaraos.
This champion the lord of stormcloud, Zeus,
and strong Apollo loved; nor had he ever
to cross the doorsill into dim old age.
A woman, bought by trinkets, gave him over
to be cut down in the assault on Thebes.
His sons were Alkmaon and Amphilokhos.
In the meantime Lord Mantios begot
Polypheides, the prophet, and
Kleitos—famous name! For Dawn in silks
of gold carried off Kleitos for his beauty
to live among the gods. But Polypheidês,
high-hearted and exalted by Apollo
above all men for prophecy, withdrew
to Hyperesia when his father angered him.
He lived on there, foretelling to the world
the shape of things to come.
His son it was,
Theoklymenos, who came upon Telémakhos
as he poured out the red wine in the sand
near his trim ship, with prayer to Athena;
and he called out, approaching:
“Friend, well met
here at libation before going to sea.
I pray you by the wine you spend, and by
your god, your own life, and your company;
enlighten me, and let the truth be known.
Who are you? Of what city and what parents?”
Telémakhos turned to him and replied:
“Stranger, as truly as may be, I’ll tell you.
I am from Ithaka, where I was born;
my father is, or he once was, Odysseus.
But he’s a long time gone, and dead, may be;
and that is what I took ship with my friends
to find out—for he left long years ago.”
Said Theoklymenos in reply:
“I too
have had to leave my home. I killed a cousin.
In the wide grazing lands of Argos live
many kinsmen of his and friends in power,
great among the Akhaians. These I fled.
Death and vengeance at my back, as Fate
has turned now, I came wandering overland.
Give me a plank aboard your ship, I beg,
or they will kill me. They are on my track.”
Telémakhos made answer:
“No two ways
about it. Will I pry you from our gunnel
when you are desperate to get to sea?
Come aboard; share what we have, and welcome.”
The Odyssey: The Fitzgerald Translation Page 26