Chapter 4
And so they came to the rolling lands of Lacedaemon, deep in the hills, and drove up to the palace of the illustrious Menelaus. They found him entertaining a large company of retainers in his house to celebrate the weddings of his son and of the princess, his daughter. He was sending the princess as a bride to the son of Achilles, that breaker of the battle-line, far long ago at Troy he had consented and had given his promise. So now the gods were making these two, man and wife, and Menelaus was dispatching her with chariot and horses to the capital of the Myrmidons, of whom her bridegroom was the king. But he had chosen Alector’s daughter, a bride from Sparta itself, for his beloved son, the gallant Megapenthes, whom a slave had borne to him, when it was clear that he could hope for no other children from Helen, once she had given him Hermione, that lovely child with golden Aphrodite’s beauty.
They were banqueting then under the high roof of the great hall, these neighbours and clansmen of the illustrious Menelaus, and sitting in festive mood, while a minstrel in the company sang divinely to the lyre, and a couple of acrobats, dancing to the time he set with his tune, threw cart-wheels in and out among the guests.
The two travellers, Prince Telemachus and Nestor’s noble son, came to a standstill in their chariot at the courtyard gate. The lord Eteoneus, who had the arduous post of equerry* to the great Menelaus, happened to come out and see them there; and he set off at once through the palace to inform the king, in whose ear he urgently whispered the news:
“May it please your majesty, we have some strangers here at the gates – a couple of men whom I take by their looks to be of royal blood. Pray tell me whether we should unharness their horses for them or send them on for someone else to entertain.”
Red-haired Menelaus answered him indignantly. “My lord Eteoneus, you have not always been a fool; but at the moment you are talking nonsense like a child. Think of all the hospitality that you and I enjoyed from strangers before we reached our homes and could expect that Zeus might spare us from such pressing need again. Unyoke their horses at once, and bring our visitors into the house to join us at the feast.”
Eteoneus ran off through the hall, shouting to his assistants to look sharp and follow him. They led the horses sweating from the yoke and tied them up at the mangers in the stable, throwing down beside them a feed of spelt mixed with white barley. Then they tilted the chariot against the burnished wall by the gate and ushered the newcomers into the royal buildings. Telemachus and his friend opened their eyes in wonder at all they saw as they passed through the king’s palace. It seemed to them that this lofty hall of the sublime Menelaus was lit by something of the sun’s splendour or the moon’s. When they had feasted their eyes on the sight, they went and bathed in polished baths, and after the maidservants had washed them, rubbed them with oil and dressed them in warm mantles and tunics, they took their places on high chairs at the side of Menelaus son of Atreus. A maid came with water in a beautiful golden ewer and poured it out over a silver basin so that they could rinse their hands. She also drew a wooden table to their side, and the staid housekeeper brought some bread and set it by them with a choice of delicacies, helping them liberally to all she had. Meanwhile a carver dished up for them on platters slices of various meats he had selected from his board, and put gold cups beside them.
Red-haired Menelaus now turned to the pair with a hospitable gesture and said: “Fall to, and welcome. After you’ve dined we shall enquire who you may be. Your pedigree has left a stamp upon your looks that makes me take you for the sons of kings, those sceptred favourites of Zeus, for no mean folk could breed such men as you are.”
As he spoke, he passed them with his own hands the rich piece of roast sirloin that had been given him as the portion of honour, and they helped themselves to the good things spread before them. When they had satisfied their appetite and thirst, Telemachus leant towards Nestor’s son and whispered in his ear so that the rest might not hear him:
“Look round this echoing hall, my dear Peisistratus. The whole place gleams with copper and gold, amber and silver and ivory. What an amazing collection of treasures! I can’t help thinking that the court of Zeus on Olympus must be like this inside. The sight of it overwhelms me.”
Red-haired Menelaus caught what he was saying and quickly interposed: “No mortal can compete with Zeus, dear lads. His house and all his belongings are everlasting. But when it comes to men, I feel that few or none can rival me in wealth, considering all the hardships I endured and the journeys I made in the seven years that it took me to amass this fortune and to get it home in my ships. My travels took me to Cyprus, to Phoenicia, and to Egypt. Ethiopians, Sidonians, Erembi, I visited them all; and I saw Libya too, where the lambs are born with sprouting horns and their dams yean three times in the course of the year; where nobody from king to shepherd need go without cheese or meat, or fresh milk either, since all the year ewes have their udders full.
“But while I was wandering in these parts, making my fortune, an enemy of our house struck down my brother, caught off his guard through the treachery of his accursed wife. So it gives me little pleasure to call myself the lord of all this wealth, since, as you must have heard from your fathers, whoever they may be, I have had much sorrow in my life and have already seen the ruin of one lovely dwelling full of precious things. How happy I could be, here in my house, with even a third of my former estate, if those friends of mine were still alive who died long ago on the broad plains of Troy, so far from Argos where the horses graze! And yet, though I miss them all and often grieve for them as I sit here in our halls till sorrow finds relief in tears and the tears cease to fall (so soon does their chill comfort cloy), I do not mourn for that whole company, disconsolate as I am, so much as I lament one man among them, whose loss when I brood over it makes sleep and eating hateful things to me. For of all the Achaeans who toiled at Troy it was Odysseus who toiled the hardest and undertook the most. Yet all that labour was to end in misery for him, and for me in the haunting consciousness that I have lost a friend, so long has he been gone and left us wondering whether he is dead or not; though I suppose his people are already mourning him for dead, the old man Laertes, clever Penelope, and Telemachus, whom he left a new-born baby in his home.”
Telemachus’ grief for his father was made all the more poignant by Menelaus’ lament, and when he heard Odysseus’ name he let the tears roll down his cheeks to the ground and with both hands held up his purple cloak before his eyes. Menelaus observed him and was left in deep embarrassment, not knowing whether he should wait for the young man himself to mention his father or should cross-examine him forthwith. In the midst of his perplexity, Helen with her ladies came down from her lofty perfumed room, looking like Artemis with her golden distaff. Adreste drew up for her a comfortable chair; Alcippe brought a rug of the softest Wool; while Phylo carried her silver work-basket, a gift from Alcandre, wife of Polybus, who lived in Egyptian Thebes, where the houses are furnished in the most sumptuous fashion. This man had given Menelaus two silver baths, a pair of three-legged cauldrons, and ten talents in gold; while in addition his wife gave Helen beautiful gifts for herself, including a golden spindle and a basket that ran on castors and was made of silver finished with a rim of gold. This was the basket that her lady, Phylo, brought and set beside her. It was full of fine-spun yarn, and the spindle with its deep blue wool was laid across it. Helen sat down on the chair, which had a stool below it for her feet, and proceeded at once to find out from her husband what was going on:
“Menelaus, my lord, have we been told the names of these gentlemen who have come to our house? Shall I keep up a pretence of ignorance, or tell you what I really think? I feel that I must speak. For never in man or woman have I seen such a likeness before. I am so amazed that I cannot take my eyes off the young man. Surely this must be King Odysseus’ son Telemachus, whom his father left as a new-born baby in his home, when you Achaeans boldly declared war and took the field against Troy for my sake, shameless creature that was!”
“Lady,” replied the red-haired Menelaus, “now that you point out the resemblance I notice it too. Odysseus’ feet were just the same, and so were his hands, the way he moved his eyes about, his head and the very hair upon it. Why, only just now when I was talking of Odysseus as I remembered him and saying how much he had done and suffered for my sake, the tears came streaming down his cheeks and he covered his face with his purple cloak.”
Here Nestor’s son Peisistratus intervened. “Sire,” he said, “your majesty is right in supposing that my friend here is Odysseus’ son. But he is modest, and on a first visit like this it would go against the grain with him to thrust himself forward and hold forth before you, whose conversation gives us as much pleasure as we should get from listening to a god. So Nestor of Gerenia sent me with him for escort, as Telemachus was anxious to see you, in case you might help him with advice or suggest some line of action. For a son, when his father is gone, has many difficulties to cope with at home, especially if there is no-one else to help him, as is the case with Telemachus, whose father is abroad and who has no other friends in the place to protect him from injustice.”
“Who would have thought it!” exclaimed the red-haired Menelaus. “Here in my own house, the son of my best friend, the friend who undertook all those heroic tasks for love of me! I had meant to favour him above all others of our race when he came back, if an all-seeing Providence had allowed the two of us to get our good ships safely home across the sea. Yes, I’d have emptied one of the towns round here in my own dominions and given him a city in Argos to live in. I’d have built him a house and transplanted him from Ithaca with all his possessions and his son and his people too. We should have lived in the same country and continually met. Nor could anything have intervened to spoil our joy in one another’s love, till the darkness of death had swallowed us up. But a jealous god must have thought otherwise, and so decreed that that unhappy man should be the only one who never reached his home.”
Menelaus’ words brought them all to the brink of tears. Helen of Argos, child of Zeus, broke down and wept. Telemachus and Menelaus did the same. Nor could Nestor’s son keep his eyes dry when he thought of his brother, the sterling Antilochus, whom the splendid son of the bright Dawn had killed. And this was the subject he led up to, as he turned to Menelaus now.
“Sire,” he said, “whenever your name came up at home in the course of conversation, Nestor my old father used always to speak of you as the wisest of men. And I beg you to be persuaded now by me, if you can possibly contain your grief, since I for one take no delight in weeping as I dine – dawn will come soon enough for that. Not that I grudge the guerdon of a tear to any man who meets his fate and dies. Indeed, what other tribute can one pay to poor mortality than a lock of hair from the head and a tear on the cheek? I have my own dead too, a brother, not by any means the poorest soldier in the Argive camp. You must have met Antilochus, though I never knew him myself, nor even saw him. They say he was the finest man you had, a superb runner and a great fighter too.”
“My friend,” replied the red-haired Menelaus, “in saying all you said just now, you spoke and acted with the discretion of a man of twice your years. In fact you show the sense I should have looked for in the son of such a father. Good breeding cannot be hidden when a man’s father has himself been fortunate in birth and happy in his marriage, like Nestor, lucky from first to last through all his life, and now serenely ageing in his home, with sons about him who combine good spearmanship and brains. Well, let us forget the tearful mood that we had fallen into, and turn our thoughts once more to supper, when they have poured some water on our hands. In the morning Telemachus and I shall have many a long tale to tell one another.”
Asphalion, one of King Menelaus’ busy squires, poured water on their hands, and they fell to again on the good fare that was spread before them. Helen, meanwhile, the child of Zeus, had had a happy thought. Into the bowl in which their wine was mixed, she slipped a drug that had the power of robbing grief and anger of their sting and banishing all painful memories. No-one that swallowed this dissolved in wine could shed a single tear that day, even for the death of his mother and father, or if they put his brother or his own son to the sword and he were there to see it done. This powerful anodyne was one of many useful drugs which had been given to the daughter of Zeus by an Egyptian lady, Polydamna, the wife of Thon. For the fertile soil of Egypt is most rich in herbs, many of which are wholesome in solution, though many are poisonous. And in medical knowledge the Egyptian leaves the rest of the world behind. He is a true son of Paeeon the Healer.
When Helen had thrown the drug into the wine and seen that their cups were filled, she turned to the company once more and said: “King Menelaus and my young and noble guests, each of us has his happy times, and each his spells of pain – Zeus sees to that in his omnipotence. Then why not be content to sit at dinner in this hall and see what pleasure we can get by telling tales? I shall begin myself with one that is to the point. It is, of course, beyond me to describe or even number all the daring feats that stand to the credit of the dauntless Odysseus. But here is one marvellous exploit which he had the nerve to conceive and carry through in Troy when you Achaeans were hard put to it at the front. By flogging his own body till it showed all the marks of ill-usage he made himself look like a slave, and with a filthy rag across his back he slunk into the enemy city and explored its streets. It was only by adopting this beggar’s disguise that Odysseus, who cut so different a figure by the Achaean ships, could make his way into the town; but he did so, and the Trojans raised no hue and cry. I was the only soul who pierced through his disguise, but whenever I questioned him he was clever enough to evade me. However, the time came when he let me bathe and anoint him, and at last, after I had given him some clothes to wear and solemnly sworn that I would not disclose his name to the Trojans before he returned to the huts by the ships, he gave me full details of the Achaeans’ plans. And after killing a number of Trojans with his long sword, he did get back to his friends with a harvest of information. The other women of Troy were loud in their lamentations, but I rejoiced, for I was already longing to go home again. I had suffered a change of heart, repenting the infatuation with which Aphrodite blinded me when she lured me to Troy from my own dear country and made me forsake my daughter, my bridal chamber, and a husband who had all one could wish for in the way of brains and good looks.”
“My dear,” said the red-haired Menelaus, “your tale was well and truly told. I have wandered far in this world, I have looked into many hearts and heard the counsels of the great, but never have I set eyes on a man of such daring as the indomitable Odysseus. What he did in the Wooden Horse is another example of the man’s pluck and resolution. I remember sitting inside it with the pick of the Argive army, waiting to bring havoc and slaughter on the Trojans, when you appeared on the scene, prompted, I can only suppose, by some god who wished to give the victory to Troy, for Prince Deiphobus came with you. Three times you made the circuit of our hollow ambuscade, feeling the outside with your hands, and you challenged all the Argive captains in turn, altering your voice, as you called out the name of each, to mimic that man’s wife. Diomedes and I, who were sitting right in the middle with the good Odysseus, heard you calling and were both tempted to jump up and sally forth or give an instant answer from within. But Odysseus held us back and checked our impetuous movement. The rest of the warriors made not a sound, though Anticlus still seemed inclined to give you some reply. But Odysseus clapped his great hands relentlessly on the man’s mouth, and saved the whole army thereby, for he held him tight till Pallas Athene had induced you to go away.”
Here Telemachus ventured to address the king: “Your majesty, it only makes things worse to think that such qualities as these could not shield Odysseus from disaster. A heart of iron would have failed to save him. But now I beg leave for us to retire for the night. It is time that we went to bed and enjoyed a good sleep.”
Hereupon Helen of Argos instructed her maids to put two bedsteads in the portico and to furnish them with fine purple rugs, spread sheets over these, and add some thick blankets on top for covering. Torch in hand, the maids went out of the hall and made the beds, to which an equerry then conducted the guests. And so Prince Telemachus and Nestor’s royal son spent the night there in the forecourt of the palace, while Menelaus slept in his room at the back of the high buildings and the lady Helen lay in her long robe by his side.
Dawn had just touched the East with crimson hands, when the warrior Menelaus put on his clothes and rose from bed. He slung a sharp sword from his shoulder, bound a fine pair of sandals on his shapely feet and strode from his bedroom looking like a god. He went straight to Telemachus and, with a word of greeting, took a seat beside him.
“And what,” he asked, “was the real motive, my lord Telemachus, that brought you here over the wide seas to our pleasant land of Lacedaemon? Was it public business or private affairs? Tell me the truth.”
“King Menelaus,” the wise Telemachus replied, “I came to find out whether you could give me any news of my father. I am eaten out of house and home, my rich estate has gone to ruin, and my place is packed with a set of scoundrels who spend their days in the wholesale slaughter of my sheep and fatted cattle, and in competing for my mother’s hand with an utter disregard for decency. I am here to plead with you in the hope that you will tell me the truth about my father’s unhappy end, if by any chance you witnessed it yourself or heard the story from some other wanderer like him. For if ever a man was born for misery, it was he. Do not soften your account out of pity or concern for my feelings, but faithfully describe the scene that met your eyes. I beseech you, if ever my good father Odysseus, in the hard years of war you had at Troy, gave you his word to speak or act on your behalf and made it good, remember what he did, and tell me all you know.”
Red-haired Menelaus was hot with indignation. “For shame!” he cried. “So the cowards want to creep into the brave man’s bed? It’s just as if a deer had put her little unweaned fawns to sleep in a mighty lion’s den and gone to range the high ridges and the grassy dales for pasture. Back comes the lion to his lair, and hideous carnage falls upon them all. But no worse than Odysseus will deal out to that gang. Once, in the pleasant isle of Lesbos I saw him stand up to Philomeleides in a wrestling-match and bring him down with a terrific throw which delighted all his friends. By Father Zeus, Athene, and Apollo, that’s the Odysseus I should like to see these Suitors meet. A swift death and a sorry wedding there would be for all!
“But to come to your appeal and the questions you asked me – I have no wish to deceive you or to put you off with evasive answers. On the contrary, I shall pass on to you without concealment or reserve every word that I heard myself from the infallible lips of the Old Man of the Sea.
“It happened in Egypt. I had been anxious for some time to get home, but the gods kept me dawdling there, for I had omitted to make them the correct offerings, and they never allow one to forget their rules. There is an island called Pharos in the rolling seas off the mouth of the Nile, a day’s sail out for a well-found vessel with a roaring wind astern. In this island is a sheltered cove where sailors come to draw their water from a well and can launch their boats on an even keel into the deep sea. It was here that the gods kept me idle for twenty days; and all that time there was never a sign on the water of the steady breeze that ships require for a cruise across the open sea. All our supplies would have disappeared and the men’s strength been exhausted, if one of the gods had not taken pity on me. It was Eidothee, the daughter of the mighty Proteus, the Old Man of the Sea, who came to my rescue. I must have made some special appeal to her compassion when she met me walking by myself, away from my men, whom the pangs of hunger scattered every day round the coast to angle with barbed hooks for fish. For she came right up and accosted me. ‘Sir,’ she asked, ‘are you an utter fool? Are you weak in the head? Or is it because you like hardships and prefer to let things slide that you allow yourself to be cooped up all this time in the island and can find no means of escape though your men are growing weaker day by day?’ To which I replied, ‘I do not know what goddess you may be, but let me assure you that I have no wish to linger here. I can only think that I must have offended the immortals who live in the wide heavens. You gods know everything; so tell me which of you it is that has confined me here and cut my voyage short; and tell me also how I can get home across the playgrounds of the fish.’
“The friendly goddess answered me at once: ‘Sir, I will tell you all you need to know. This island is the haunt of that immortal seer, Proteus of Egypt, the Old Man of the Sea, who owns allegiance to Poseidon and knows the sea in all its depths. He is my father too, so people say. If you could contrive somehow to set a trap and catch him, he would tell you about your journey and the distances to be covered, and direct you home along the highways of the fish. Not only that, but since you are a king he will tell you, if you want to know, all that has happened in your palace, good or bad, while you have been away on your long and arduous travels.’ ‘It is surely for you,’ I answered her, ‘to think of a way by which we can catch this mysterious old being. I am afraid that he might see me first, or know I am there and keep away. It is none too easy for a man to get the better of a god.’
“Once more the kindly goddess undertook to enlighten me. ‘It is round about high noon,’ she said, ‘that the old seer emerges from his native salt, letting a cats-paw from the West darken the surface to conceal his coming. Once out, he makes for his sleeping place in the shelter of a cave, and those children of the brine, the flippered seals, heave themselves up from the grey surf and go to sleep in herds around him, exhaling the pungent smell of the salt sea depths. Pick three men from your crew with care, the best you have on board, and at daybreak I will lead you to the spot and find you each a place to lie in. But I must tell you how the old sorcerer proceeds. First he will go his round and count the seals; then, when he has counted them and seen that all are there, he will lie down among them like a shepherd with his flocks of sheep. That is your moment. Directly you see him settled, summon all your strength and courage and hold him down however hard he strains and struggles to escape. He will try all kinds of transformations, and change himself not only into every sort of beast on earth, but into water too and blazing fire. But hold him fast and grip him all the tighter. And when he speaks at last and asks you questions in his natural shape, just as he was when you saw him lie down to rest, then, sir, you may relax your pressure, let the old man go, and ask him which god is your enemy and how to get home along the highways of the fish.’ After giving me this advice she disappeared into the rollers, and I took myself off to the spot where my ships were resting on the sand, with many dark forebodings as I walked along. When I had reached the sea and found my ship, we prepared our supper. The solemn night descended on us and we lay down to sleep on the surf-beaten strand.”
“When the new Dawn had flecked the East with red, I set out, with many prayers to heaven, along the shore of the far-flung sea, accompanied by the three men from my crews whom I felt I could rely on most in any emergency.”
“Eidothee had vanished under the wide waters of the sea, but she now reappeared, carrying in her arms the skins of four seals, all freshly flayed to decoy her father. She scooped out lairs for us in the sandy beach and sat down to await our arrival. When we came up to her, she ensconced us in our places and covered each man with a skin, thus committing us to what might have been a very painful ambuscade; for the vile smell of the sea-fed brutes was peculiarly trying, and I should like to know who would choose a monster of the deep for bed-fellow. However, the goddess herself thought of a sovran remedy and came to our rescue with some ambrosia, which she applied to each man’s nostrils. It was sweet-smelling stuff and killed the stench of the seals. So there we waited patiently right through the morning. And thick and fast the seals came up from the sea and lay down in companies along the beach to sleep. At midday the old man himself emerged, found his fat seals already there, and went the rounds to make his count. Entirely unsuspicious of the fraud, he included us as the first four in his flock. When he had done, he too lay down to sleep. Then, with a shout, we leapt upon him and flung our arms round his back. But the old man’s skill and cunning had not deserted him. He began by turning into a bearded lion and then into a snake, and after that a panther and a giant boar. He changed into running water too and a great tree in leaf. But we set our teeth and held him like a vice.”
“When at last he had grown tired of his magic repertory, he broke into speech and began asking me questions. ‘Tell me now Menelaus,’ he said, ‘which of the gods conspired with you to waylay and capture me? And what have you done it for?’ ‘Old man,’ I answered, ‘this is mere prevarication. You know as well as I do how long I have been a prisoner on this island, unable to escape and growing weaker every day. So tell me now, in your divine omniscience, which god it is that has laid me by the heels and cut my voyage short; and tell me also how I can get home across the playgrounds of the fish.’ ‘You blundered,’ said the old man in reply. ‘Before embarking, you should have offered rich sacrifice to Zeus and all the other gods, if you wished to get home fast across the wine-dark sea. You have no chance whatever of reaching your own country and seeing your friends and your fine house again before you have sailed the heaven-fed waters of the Nile once more and made ceremonial offerings to the everlasting gods who live in the broad sky. When that is done, the gods will let you start this voyage that you are so keen to make.’ ”
“Now when I heard him tell me once again to make the long and weary trip over the misty seas to Egypt, I was heartbroken. Nevertheless I found my voice and made him this reply: ‘Old man, I shall do exactly what you advise. But there is something else I wish you to tell me. Did all of my countrymen whom Nestor and I left behind when we sailed from Troy reach home in safety with their ships, or were there any that came to grief in some accident at sea, or died in their friends’ arms though the fighting was over?’ ‘Son of Atreus,’ he replied, ‘why do you search me with these questions when nothing compels you to find out and probe into my mind? I warn you that your tears will flow soon enough when you have listened to my tale. For many were killed, though many too were spared. Yet only two of the commanders of your armies lost their lives when homeward bound – I need not speak of the fighting, since you took part yourself – but there is a third who, though still alive, is a prisoner somewhere in the vastness of the seas. Aias, to take him first, was wrecked in his long-oared galleys by Poseidon, who drove him onto the great cliff of Gyrae and then rescued him from the surf. In fact, he would have evaded his doom, in spite of Athene’s enmity, if in his blind folly he had not talked so big, boasting that he had escaped from the hungry jaws of the sea in defiance of the gods. His loud-voiced blasphemy came to the ears of Poseidon, who seized his trident in his powerful hands, struck the Gyraean rock and split it into two. One half stood firm, but the fragment he had severed, where Aias had been resting when the mad impulse took him, crashed into the sea and carried him with it into the vast and rolling depths, where he gulped the salt water down and perished. But your brother contrived somehow to circumvent his fate, and slipped away in his great ships with the Lady Here’s help. Yet when he was nearly up with the heights of Cape Malea, a hurricane caught him, and groaning in protest he found himself driven over the fish-infested seas towards the borderland where Thyestes in the old days and now his son Aegisthus had their home. But in due course he saw the chance of a safe return even from there. The wind, veering round as luck would have it, dropped to a breeze, and home they came.’
“ ‘Agamemnon set foot on the soil of his fathers with a happy heart, and as he touched it kissed his native earth. The warm tears rolled down his cheeks, he was so glad to see his land again. But his arrival was observed by a spy in a watch-tower, whom Aegisthus had had the cunning to post there with the promise of two talents of gold for his services. This man was on the lookout for a year in case the King should land unannounced, slip by, and himself launch an attack. He went straight to the palace and informed the usurper. Then Aegisthus set his brains to work and laid a clever trap. He selected twenty of the best soldiers from the town, left them in ambush, and after ordering a banquet to be prepared in another part of the building set out in a horse-chariot to bring home the King, with his heart full of ugly thoughts. Agamemnon, never guessing that he was going to his doom, came up with him from the coast, and Aegisthus feasted and killed him as a man might fell an ox at its manger. Not a single one of the King’s following was left, nor of Aegisthus’ company either. They were killed in the palace to a man.’ ”
“This was his story, and it broke my heart. I sat down on the sands and wept. I had no further use for life, no wish to see the sunshine any more. But when I had had enough of tears and of writhing on the sands, the old Sea Prophet spoke to me again. ‘Menelaus,’ he said, ‘you have wept too long. Enough of this incontinent grief, which serves no useful end. Better bestir yourself to get back to your own land as quickly as you can. For either you will find Aegisthus still alive or Orestes will have forestalled you by killing him, and you may join them at the funeral feast.’ His words restored my manhood and in spite of my distress I felt once more a glow of comfort in my heart.
“There was one further point which I now insisted on his clearing up. ‘You have accounted for two,’ I said. ‘But who is the third, the one that is still alive but a prisoner somewhere in the vastness of the seas? Or is he dead by now? I wish to hear, whatever sorrow it may cause me.’ ‘The third,’ said Proteus, ‘is Odysseus, whose home is in Ithaca. I caught a glimpse of him on an island, in the Nymph Calypso’s home, with the big tears rolling down his cheeks. She keeps him captive there, for without a galley and crew to carry him so far across the sea it is impossible for him to reach his home. And now, King Menelaus, hear your own destiny. You will not meet your fate and die in Argos where the horses graze. Instead, the immortals will send you to the Elysian plain at the world’s end, to join red-haired Rhadamanthus in the land where living is made easiest for mankind, where no snow falls, no strong winds blow and there is never any rain, but day after day the West Wind’s tuneful breeze comes in from Ocean to refresh its folk. That is how the gods will deal with Helen’s husband and recognize in you the son-in-law of Zeus.’ ”
“The old man finished, and sank into the heaving waters of the sea, while I went off towards the ships with my heroic comrades, lost in the black night of my own thoughts as I walked along. Back at my ship beside the water’s edge, we set to on our evening meal. Night in her mystery descended on us, and we lay down to sleep on the surf-beaten shore.”
“In the first rosy light of Dawn, we got to work and ran our fleet down into the good salt water. We put the masts and sails on board, and trimmed the ships. The crews then climbed in, found their places on the benches, and struck the grey surf with their oars. And so I returned to the heaven-fed waters of the Nile, where I moored, made the proper ritual offerings, and after appeasing the deathless gods built a mound of earth to the everlasting memory of Agamemnon. When all this was done I set out for home, and the immortals sent me a favourable wind and brought me quickly back to my own beloved land.”
“And now, my friend, I invite you to stay on in my palace. Stay for twelve days or so, and then I’ll send you off in style. You shall have glorious gifts from me – three horses and a splendid chariot. Into the bargain, I’ll give you a lovely cup, to remind you of me all your life when you make drink-offerings to the immortal gods.”
“My lord,” Telemachus replied with his usual wisdom, “please do not insist on my paying you a lengthy visit. It is true that your tales and conversation so delight me that I could easily stop with you for a year and never feel homesick for Ithaca or my people. But I am afraid my friends must already be tired of waiting for me in sacred Pylos; and now you are asking me to prolong my stay. As for the gift you offer me, please make it a keepsake I can carry. Horses I will not take to Ithaca. I’d rather leave them here to grace your own stables. For your kingdom is a broad plain, where clover grows in plenty and galingale is found, with wheat and rye and the broad-eared white barley; whereas in Ithaca there is no room for horses to run about in, nor any meadows at all. It is a pasture-land for goats and more attractive than the sort of land where horses thrive. None of the islands that slope down to the sea are rich in meadows and the kind of place where you can drive a horse. Ithaca least of all.”
These remarks made the warrior Menelaus smile. He patted Telemachus with his hand and replied in the friendliest tone: “I like the way you talk, dear lad: one can see that you have the right blood in your veins. Very well, my liberality shall take another form: it is easily done. You shall have the loveliest and most precious of the treasures that my palace holds. I’ll give you a mixing-bowl of wrought metal. It is solid silver with a rim of gold round the top, and was made by Hephaestus himself. I had it from my royal friend, the King of Sidon, when I put up under his roof on my journey home. That is the present I should like you to take.”
During this talk of theirs, the guests began to arrive at the great king’s palace. They drove up their own sheep and brought the wine that was to make them merry, while their bread was sent in for them by their buxom wives. This was how they prepared for their banquet in Menelaus’ hall.
Meanwhile, in front of Odysseus’ palace, the Suitors in their usual free and easy way were amusing themselves with quoits and javelin-throwing on the levelled ground where we have seen them at their sports before. Antinous and Prince Eurymachus, the boldest spirits in the gang and its acknowledged leaders, were sitting by, when Phronius’ son Noemon came up to them with a question for Antinous.
“Have we any idea,” he asked him, “when Telemachus comes back from sandy Pylos, or don’t we know? He has gone off with my ship; and I happen to need it, to cross over to Elis, where the fields are big and I keep a dozen mares. They have some unweaned mules not broken in yet to the work they’ll have to do. I want to drive one off and train him.”
His news filled them with secret consternation, for they had no notion that Telemachus had gone to Pylos, but thought he was somewhere in the neighbourhood on the farm, among the flocks perhaps, or with the swineherd. So now it was Antinous’ turn to question Noemon.
“I want the truth,” he said. “When did he leave and what young fellows went with him? Did he pick men from the town or did he make up a crew from his own serfs and servants, as he easily might? And here’s another point I must clear up; so answer me carefully. Did he use force and go off with your ship against your wishes? Or did you let him pitch you some yarn and take her?”
“I gave her to him,” said Noemon, “of my own accord. What would anyone do when asked a favour by a man of his standing with so much trouble on his mind? It would be very hard to refuse him. As for the young fellows who went with him, they’re the best men in the place, next to ourselves. For captain, they had Mentor. I saw him embark – him or some god. Anyhow it was exactly like him. And that’s what puzzles me. I saw the good Mentor here, only yesterday at dawn. Yet he certainly boarded my ship for Pylos that night.”
With this, Noemon went off to his father’s house, leaving the two lords fuming with indignation. They made the rest sit round and stop their games, while Antinous, with his usual eloquence, held forth and gave vent to his fury. The man’s heart was seething with black passion, and his eyes were like points of flame.
“Damnation take it!” he cried out. “Here’s a fine stroke Telemachus has had the impudence to bring off – this expedition that we swore should come to nothing. With all of us against him, the young puppy calmly sets out, after picking the best men in the place and getting them to launch him a ship! That lad is going to give us trouble by and by, unless the gods are kind to us and clip his wings before he gets much older. However, give me a fast ship and a crew of twenty, and I’ll lie up for him in the straits between Ithaca and the bluffs of Samos, and catch him on his way. And a grim ending there’ll be to this sea-trip of his in search of his father!”
The others welcomed the idea and abetted him. When all was settled, the meeting rose and they adjourned into the palace.
But it was not long before Penelope got wind of the plot that her lovers were hatching. It was Medon, the herald, who let her know. For while they were putting their heads together in the courtyard, he had been eavesdropping outside and heard all they said. He set straight off through the palace to tell Penelope, who accosted him as he crossed the threshold of her room.
“Herald,” she said, “what errand have the young lords given you? Is it to tell King Odysseus’ maids to drop their work and prepare them a feast? Oh how I hate their love-making and the way they swarm around! They’d never feast again in here, if I could stop them. Yes, the whole gang of you that come here day by day, plundering our larder and my thrifty son’s estate. I suppose you never listened years ago when you were children and your fathers told you how Odysseus treated them – never a harsh word, never an injustice to a single person in the place. How different from the usual run of kings, who favour one man, only to oppress the next. Whereas Odysseus never wronged a soul. Which only serves to show up you and your infamy, and proves how easily past kindness is forgotten.”
“My Queen,” replied Medon, who was by no means a villain, “I only wish that this were the worst of your troubles. Your suitors are planning a far greater and more heinous crime. God grant that they may not succeed! They are all set now on assassinating Telemachus as he comes home from this expedition of his. For I must tell you he has gone to Pylos and Lacedaemon to seek news of his father.”
When Penelope heard this her knees shook underneath her and her heart grew faint. For a long time she found it impossible to speak; her eyes filled with tears; the words stuck in her throat. At length she recovered and could make him some reply.
“But tell me, herald, why has my boy gone?” she asked. “There was no call whatever for him to venture on these scudding ships that sailors use like chariots, to drive across the sea’s immensities. Does he wish his very name to be forgotten in the world?”
The astute Medon replied: “I do not know whether some god or his own feelings suggested this journey to Pylos, but his purpose was to find out about his father’s return, or failing that to learn what end he met.”
Medon went off through the palace. But Penelope was overwhelmed by the anguish that racked her. She had not even the heart to seat herself on one of the many chairs in her apartments, but sank down on the threshold of her lovely room, weeping bitterly, while all the maids of her household young and old stood round her whimpering.
“Listen, my friends,” she said between her sobs. “Is there a woman of my time whom Zeus has treated worse than me? I had a husband years ago, the best and bravest of our race, a lion-hearted man, famous from Hellas to the heart of Argos. That husband I have lost. And now my dear son vanishes from home without a word. I was not even told that he had gone; not even by you, who must have known it well enough. How cruel of you all not to have thought of rousing me from bed when he went to his big black ship! For had I known that he had this journey in mind, I swear he should have stayed, however keen to go, or left me dead at home.”
“But make haste, one of you, and call my old servant Dolius, whom my father gave me when I came here and who keeps my orchard now. He shall go straight to Laertes, sit down beside him, and tell him the whole story. Perhaps Laertes may hit upon some scheme and come out of his retreat to plead with the people, who seem intent on wiping out his and Odysseus’ royal line.”
“Dear lady,” said Eurycleia, the fond old nurse, “whether you kill me with the cruel knife or let me live in peace, I cannot hold my tongue. I knew the whole thing: it was I who gave him bread and wine and all he asked for. But he made me solemnly promise not to tell you for a dozen days or till you missed him yourself and found that he had started. He didn’t want the tears to spoil your lovely cheeks.”
“Come, wash yourself now and put some fresh clothes on. Then go to your room upstairs with your ladies-in-waiting and pray to Athene, Daughter of Zeus. She may still save him, even from the jaws of death. And don’t pester an old man who has worries enough already. I cannot believe that the happy gods detest Laertes’ line. I’m sure there will always be one of them left to own these lofty halls and the fat fields beyond.”
In this way Eurycleia hushed her sobs and cleared her eyes of tears. So Penelope, when she had washed herself and changed her clothes, went to her room upstairs with the ladies-in-waiting, filled a basket with sacrificial grains, and prayed to Athene:
“Hear me, unsleeping Daughter of Zeus who wears the aegis! If ever Odysseus in his wisdom burnt the fat thighs of a heifer or sheep to honour you in his halls, remember his offerings now, save my dear son for me, and guard him from outrage at the hands of these ruffians.”
At the end of her prayer she uttered a great cry. The goddess heard her petition, while in the shadowy hall the Suitors broke into uproar.
“I do believe,” one of the young roughs called out, “that our much-courted Queen is going to give us a wedding. Little she knows that her son’s death has been arranged.”
This was their boastful way, though it was they who little guessed how matters really stood. Antinous, however, rose up and silenced them.
“You fools!” he cried. “None of this bragging, or somebody may go indoors and blab. Keep your mouths shut now and disperse. You know the plan we all agreed on. Let’s carry it out.”
Without further ado he picked the twenty best men and they left for their ship and the sea-shore, where they began by running the black vessel down into deep water, then put the mast and sail on board, fixed the oars in their leather slings, all shipshape, and spread the white sail out. Meanwhile their eager squires had brought down their armour. They moored the boat well out in the water and came on shore, where they had their supper and waited for evening to fall.
But prudent Penelope lay there in her upper room, fasting, without taste of sup or crumb, and wondering whether her innocent son would escape death or fall a victim to her arrogant lovers. Doubts and fears chased through her mind as they do through a lion’s when he finds himself surrounded by the beaters and stands in terror as they stealthily close in. But at last a genial sense of drowsiness overcame her; she let herself sink back, she fell asleep, and all her limbs relaxed.
Once more, Athene of the flashing eyes seized the occasion to assist. There was another daughter of King Icarius, called Iphthime, who had married Eumelus and lived in Pherae. The goddess made a phantom now, exactly like this woman, and sent it to Odysseus’ palace to save the woebegone and weeping queen from more distress and further floods of tears. It crept into her bedroom by the strap that worked the bolt, halted at the head of the bedstead and spoke to her:
“Are you asleep, Penelope, worn out with grief? I do assure you that the gods, who live such easy lives themselves, do not mean you to be so distressed, for it is settled that your son shall come home safe. They have no quarrel with the lad whatever.”
“Sister, what brings you here?” Penelope replied out of her sweet sleep at the Gate of Dreams. “We are not used to seeing you with us, living as you do so far away. And so you think I should forget my sorrows and all these anxieties that give my mind and heart no rest from pain? As though I had not married and then lost the best and bravest of our race, my noble lion-hearted husband, famous from Hellas to the heart of Argos! And now my beloved son, for whom I grieve even more than for his father, has sailed away in a great ship – a child like him, untrained for action or debate. I tremble for him when I think what they may do to him where he has gone or what may happen to him on the sea. He has so many enemies plotting against him and thirsting to have his blood before he reaches home.”
“Be brave and conquer these wild fears,” said the dim figure in reply. “He has gone with such escort as any man might pray to have beside him – Pallas Athene in all her power. And it is she who in pity for your grief has sent me here to bring this message to you.”
But the shrewd Penelope had not finished yet. “If you are really divine,” she said, “and have heard the voice of god, I beg you to tell me about his unhappy father too. Is he alive somewhere and can he see the sunshine still; or is he dead by now and down in Hades’ Halls?”
“Of Odysseus, alive or dead,” said the shadowy phantom, “I can give you no account. And it does no good to babble empty words.”
With that, it slipped past the bolt by the jamb of the door and was lost in the wind outside. But Icarius’ daughter, waking with a start, drew a warm sense of comfort from the vividness of this dream that had flown to her through the early night.
Meanwhile her suitors had embarked and were sailing the high seas with murder for Telemachus in their hearts. Out in the open strait, midway between Ithaca and the rugged coast of Samos, lies the rocky isle of Asteris, which, small as it is, can offer ships a harbour with two mouths. It was here that the Achaean lords set their ambush for Telemachus.
