The Phaeacian Games

Chapter 8

As soon as the fresh Dawn had decked herself in crimson, the divine King Alcinous left his bed and conducted Odysseus, the royal sacker of cities, who had risen at the same time, to the place by the ships where the Phaeacians held their Assemblies; and there they sat down side by side on seats of polished marble. In the meantime Pallas Athene, pursuing her plans for the heroic Odysseus’ return, went up and down the town disguised as a herald from the wise prince Alcinous. She accosted each of the Counsellors and gave them all this message:
“Captains and Counsellors of the Phaeacians, follow me to the Assembly, where you shall hear about the stranger who has just arrived at our wise prince’s palace. He has wandered all over the seas, and he looks like an immortal god.”
Her news filled everyone with excitement and curiosity. In a short time not only the seats but all parts of the meeting-­place were filled by the throng that crowded in; and many an eye was fixed in admiration on Laertes’ keen-witted son, whose head and shoulders Athene invested with a more than human beauty, besides making him seem taller and broader, so that he might inspire the whole Phaeacian people not only with affection but with fear and respect, and might emerge successfully from all the tests they put him through. When everyone had arrived and the muster was complete, Alcinous rose to address them:
“Captains and Counsellors of the Phaeacians, I beg for your attention. There is a matter here that I wish to put before you. The stranger at my side – I do not know his name, nor whether he has come from Eastern or from Western lands – has in the course of his travels become my guest. He asks for his passage home and begs us to assure him this favour. I propose, in accordance with our custom, that we make immediate arrangements for his conveyance. For there never has been a time when one who has come to my house has had to complain of his detention here for lack of escort. So let us run a black ship down into the friendly sea for her maiden voyage, and from the town pick fifty-two young oarsmen who have proved their excellence. This crew, when they have all made their oars fast at the benches, may leave the ship and repair to my house, where they can fall to and take a hasty meal: I will make ample provision for all. These are my orders for the ship’s company.
“As for the rest, I invite you that are sceptred kings to my palace with a view to entertaining our visitor indoors. I shall accept no refusal. And let our glorious bard, Demodocus, be summoned. For no other singer has his heavenly gift of delighting our ears whatever theme he chooses for his song.”
When Alcinous had finished speaking he made a move, and the sceptred kings went with him. His equerry set out in search of the excellent minstrel, and meanwhile fifty-two young men were chosen and made their way, as he had directed, to the shore of the barren sea. When they had reached the ship and come down to the beach, they dragged the black vessel into deep water, put the mast and sails on board, fixed the oars in their leather loops, all ship-shape, and hauled the white sail up. Then they moored her well out in the water, and proceeded to the great house of their wise king, where the galleries, the courts and the apartments themselves were filled with a throng of people. The young men and the old together made up a numerous company, for whose benefit Alcinous sacrificed a dozen sheep, eight white-tusked boars, and a couple of shambling oxen. These they flayed and made ready for the table, and so prepared a goodly feast.
The equerry now came up, leading their favourite bard, whom the Muse loved above all others, though she had mingled good and evil in her gifts, robbing him of his eyes but lending sweetness to his song. Pontonous placed a silver-studded chair for him in the centre of the company, with its back to one of the great pillars, and the equerry hung his tuneful lyre on a peg just above his head and showed him how to lay his hand upon it. At his side he put a basket and a handsome table, together with a cup of wine to drink when he was thirsty. Then they all helped themselves to the good fare that was spread before them.
When they had satisfied their appetite and thirst, the bard was inspired by the Muse to sing of famous men. He chose a passage from a lay well known by then throughout the world, the Quarrel of Odysseus and Achilles, telling how these two had fallen out at a rich ceremonial banquet and dismayed the rest by the violence of their language, though King Agamemnon was secretly delighted to see the Achaean chieftains at loggerheads. He was reminded of the prophecy that Phoebus Apollo had made to him in sacred Pytho when he crossed the marble threshold to consult the oracle, in those days when almighty Zeus was conjuring up the great wave of disasters that was to overwhelm Trojans and Danaans alike.
This was the theme of the famous minstrel’s lay. It caused Odysseus to lift his purple mantle with his sturdy hands and draw it down over his head to hide his comely face, for he was ashamed to be caught weeping by the Phaeacians. But in the intervals of the worthy minstrel’s song, he wiped the tears away and removing the cloak from his head reached for his two-handled cup and made libations to the gods. Yet whenever Demodocus started singing again, encouraged by the Phaeacian lords, who were enjoying the tale, Odysseus once more hid his face and wept. He managed to conceal his tears from everyone except Alcinous. But the King could not help observing his condition, as he was in the next seat to Odysseus and could hear his heavy sighs. He spoke up before long and said to the Phaeacian sea captains:
“My Lords and Counsellors, we have had our fill of the good things we have shared, and of the banquet’s boon companion, the harp. Let us go out of doors now and try our hands at various sports, so that when our guest has reached his home he can tell his friends that at boxing, wrestling, jumping and running there is no-one who could beat us.”
With these words he led the way and was followed by the rest. The equerry hung Demodocus’ tuneful lyre on its peg, took the bard’s hand and guided him out of the palace, in the wake of the Phaeacian nobility as they set out to see the games. They all made for the place of assembly and were followed there by a gathering many thousands strong.
There was no lack of young noblemen to compete­ – Acroneos, Ocealus, Elatreus, Nauteus, Prymneus, Anchialus, Eretmeus, Ponteus, Proreus, Thoon and Anabesineos, Amphialus son of Polyneus and grandson of Tecton, and Euryalus too, the son of Naubolus, who looked a match for the man-killing War-god and was the most handsome and stalwart of all the Phaeacians next to the peerless Laodamas. Good King Alcinous’ three sons, Laodamas, Halius, and Prince Clytoneus, also took part.
The first event was a race. They ran all out from scratch, raising a cloud of dust on the track as they flew along in a serried mass. But there was no doubt about the fastest man. The excellent Clytoneus shot ahead, and when he reached the crowd at the post had left the rest behind by as much as the width of fallow that mules plough in a day. Wrestling came next – a tougher sport; and here it was Euryalus’ turn to beat all the champions. Amphialus won the jump; at throw­ing the disk, Elatreus carried all before him; and in the boxing, Laodamas, Alcinous’ worthy son. When they had all enjoyed the games, it occurred to this same Laodamas to make a suggestion to the rest:
“Come along, you fellows, and let us ask our visitor here if he’s an expert in any form of sport. He is well enough built: look at his thighs and legs, look at the pair of hands he has on him, and that great neck. The man is mighty strong, and he’s not so old, either. What has broken him down is his hard life. For I tell you, there’s nothing like the sea to break the stoutest heart.”
“Laodamas,” said Euryalus, “I like your idea. Go and have a word with the man yourself and challenge him.”
Thus encouraged, Alcinous’ worthy son made his way to the centre and addressed Odysseus:
“Come, sir, won’t you take a hand with us in our games, if you’re good at any sport? You must surely be an athlete, for nothing makes a man so famous for life as what he can do with his hands and feet. Come along then and you could have a try, casting your cares aside; for it won’t be long before you are off on your journey. Your ship is launched already and the crew are standing by.”
Odysseus answered him promptly: “Laodamas, why vex me with your challenges, you and your friends? I am too sick at heart to think of games. I have been through many bitter and exhausting experiences, and all I seek now is my passage home, which is why I am sitting here in your assembly to plead my suit with your king and your whole nation.”
Euryalus now saw fit to interpose and insult him to his face: “You are quite right, sir. I should never have taken you for an athlete such as one is accustomed to meet in the world. But rather for some skipper of a merchant crew, who spends his life on a hulking tramp, worrying about his out­ward freight, or keeping a sharp eye on the cargo when he comes home with the profits he has snatched. No; one can see you are no sportsman.”
With a black look the nimble-witted Odysseus retorted: “That, sir, was an ugly speech, and you must be a fool to have made it. It shows that we cannot all hope to combine the pleasing qualities of good looks, brains, and eloquence. A quite insignificant-looking fellow may yet be a heaven-born orator, watched with delight as he advances confidently and with persuasive modesty from point to point, the one man who stands out in the gathering and is stared at like a god when he passes through the town. Another may be as handsome as an immortal, yet quite deficient in the graceful art of speech. You yourself, sir, present a most distinguished exterior to the world – the gods themselves could not improve it – but you have the brains of a dolt. You have stirred me to anger with your inept remarks, and I’d have you realize, that I am no novice at sport, as you suggest, but consider myself to have been in the first rank so long as I was able to rely on the strength of my youth. But as things are, all the misfortunes and hardships I have endured in warfare and in fighting my way through hostile seas weigh heavily upon me. All the same, and in spite of what I have gone through, I’ll try my luck at the sports. For words can sting, and yours have put me on my mettle.”
With this he leapt to his feet and, not even troubling to remove his cloak, picked up the biggest disk of all, a huge weight, more massive by far than those used in their regular matches. With one swing he launched it from his mighty hand, and the stone hummed on its course. The Phaeacians, lords of the sea and champions of the long oar, cowered down as it hurtled through the air; and so lightly did it fly from his hand that it overshot the marks of all the other throws. Athene, pretending to be one of the crowd, marked the distance of the cast, and saluted the thrower.
“Look, sir,” she called, “even a blind man could pick out your peg, by feeling with his hands. The others are all in a bunch, but yours stands right out in the front. As far as this event is concerned, you can set your mind at rest. None of the Phaeacians will make as good a throw, let alone a better.”
Her announcement delighted the much-enduring Odysseus, who was happy to find a real friend in the lists and now addressed the Phaeacians in lighter vein:
“Reach that, my young friends, if you can, though I shouldn’t be surprised if presently I sent along another just as far or even farther. And since you have thoroughly roused me, come out, if any of you fancy the idea and have the pluck, come out and take me on – at boxing, wrestling, or even running, I don’t care which. Laodamas, whose guest I am, is the only one among you all whom I except, for who would fight his host? A man must be out of his senses or an utter fool to challenge the friend who is entertaining him in a strange country. He would only wreck his own prospects by doing so. But of the rest of you, there is no-one I’m too proud to take on; in fact I’m ready to meet and match myself against all comers. For I am not a bad hand all round at any kind of manly sport. I can handle well the polished bow, and I should be the first to pick off my man with an arrow in the enemy ranks, however many of my side might be standing by and shooting at their marks. Philoctetes was the only one who used to beat me with the bow when we Achaeans practised archery at Troy. Of all others now alive and eating their bread on the face of the earth, I claim to be by far the best, though I should not care to compete with the men of the past, with Heracles, for instance, or Eurytus of Oechalia, who as bowmen were a match even for the gods. In fact that was why the great Eurytus came to a sudden end and never lived to see old age in his home, but was killed by Apollo, whom he had offended by challenging him to a match. As for the javelin, I can throw it farther than anyone else can shoot an arrow. It is only in running that I am afraid some of you might outstrip me. I was too badly knocked about by the rough seas, for in that boat of mine all comfort soon gave out, and as a result my limbs have lost their power.”
Odysseus came to an end, and they all held their tongues, leaving it to Alcinous to make him a reply.
“My friend,” said the King, “we can take no exception to what you say. Angered as you are at the way this fellow came up and insulted you in the lists, you naturally wish to prove your native mettle. No one who knew how to talk sense would thus have belittled your prowess. But listen now to what I have to say. When you are banqueting in your own home with your wife and your children beside you, and the talk turns on what the Phaeacians excel in, I want you to be able to tell your noble friends that Zeus has given us too a certain measure of success, which has held good from our forefathers’ time to the present day. Though our boxing and wrestling are not beyond criticism, we can run fast and we are first-rate seamen. But the things in which we take a perennial delight are the feast, the lyre, the dance, clean linen in plenty, a hot bath and our beds. So forward now, my champion dancers, and show us your steps, so that when he gets home our guest may be able to tell his friends how far we leave all other folk behind in seamanship, in speed of foot, in dancing and in song. And let one of you run and fetch Demodocus the lyre that is so tuneful in his hands. They left it lying somewhere in my house.
At the King’s word, an equerry set off to fetch the well-made instrument from the palace, and the official stewards, a committee of nine, took matters in hand. These were public servants who supervised all the details on such occasions. They now swept the dancing-floor and cleared a ring wide enough for the performance. Meanwhile the equerry came up to Demodocus and handed him his tuneful lyre. The minstrel then moved forward to the centre; a band of expert dancers, all in the first bloom of youth, took up their positions round him; and their feet came down on the sacred floor with a scintillating movement that filled Odysseus with admiration as he watched:
Presently the bard’s fine voice was heard above the music of his lyre. His theme was the love of Ares and Aphrodite of the beautiful crown. He sang of their first and stealthy meetings in Hephaestus’ palace; of the many gifts Ares made her, and of the dishonour he did to King Hephaestus’ bed. But the Sun – his lay went on to tell – had witnessed their loving embraces and came to inform Hephaestus, who, when he heard the galling truth, went straight to his workshop with his heart full of evil thoughts, laid his great anvil on the stithy and forged a chain network that could neither be broken nor undone, so as to keep them prisoners for ever. His fury with Ares inspired him as he worked, and when the snare was finished he went to the room where his bed was laid and threw the netting right round the bedposts. A number of further lengths were attached to the rafters overhead and hung down light as gossamer and quite invisible even to the blessed gods. It was a masterpiece of cunning work.
When he had thus surrounded the bed and set his trap, he made a pretence of leaving for the pleasant town of Lemnos, his favourite spot on earth. Meanwhile Ares of the Golden Reins had not kept watch for nothing. Directly he saw the Master-craftsman leave, he made his way to the great god’s house, filled with a passionate desire for Cythereia of the lovely crown. Now she had lately returned from a visit to her mighty Father, Zeus, and had just sat down when Ares came in at the door, grasped her hand and saluted her fondly:
“Come, my beloved,” he said, “let us go to bed and lie in each other’s arms, for Hephaestus is no longer about. He has gone to Lemnos, I think, to visit his Sintian friends and listen to their barbarous talk.”
Aphrodite desired nothing better than to sleep with him; so the two went to the bed and lay down. Whereupon the netting which Hephaestus’ ingenuity had contrived fell around them in such a way that they could not move or lift a limb. They found too late that there was no escape. And now they were faced by the great lame god himself. For the Sun, acting as his spy, had given him word; and he had turned back before reaching the island of Lemnos and hurried home in anguish. Standing there in the entrance he was seized by a spasm of rage and raised his voice in a terrible shout, so that all the gods might hear him:
“Father Zeus and you other happy gods who live for ever, come here and see a comic and a cruel thing. Zeus’ Daughter Aphrodite has always despised me for my lameness, and now she has given her heart to this butcher, Ares, just because he is good-looking and sound of limb, while I was born a cripple. And whom have I to blame for that, if not my father and my mother? I wish they had never begotten me! But you shall see how these two have crept into my bed and are sleeping in each other’s loving arms. The sight cuts me to the quick. Yet I have an idea that they won’t be eager to prolong that embrace, no, not for a moment, not for all their love. Theirs is a sleep that both will soon be tired of. But my cunning meshes are going to keep them just where they are, till her Father hands me back every one of the gifts I made him to win this brazen-faced hussy, who may be his Daughter and a lovely creature but is the slave of her passions.”
His shouts brought the gods trooping to the house with the bronze floor. Up came Poseidon the Earth-shaker; Hermes, the bringer of luck; and the archer king, Apollo; but the goddesses, constrained by feminine modesty, all stayed at home. There they stood, then, in front of the doors, the immortals who are the source of all our blessings; and when they caught sight of Hephaestus’ clever device a fit of uncontrollable laughter seized these happy gods.
“Bad deeds don’t prosper,” said one of them with a glance at his neighbour; “the tortoise catches up the hare. See how our slow-moving Hephaestus has caught Ares, though no god on Olympus can run as fast. Hephaestus may be lame, but his craft has won the day. And now Ares will have to pay him an adulterer’s fine.”
This was the kind of comment that was made, and King Apollo, Son of Zeus, turned to Hermes and said:
“Hermes, you that are Son of Zeus, Ambassador and Giver of good things, would you care, though held in those unyielding shackles, to lie in bed by golden Aphrodite’s side?”
To which the Giant-slayer replied: “Apollo, my royal Archer, there is nothing I should relish more. Though the chains that kept me prisoner were three times as many, though all you gods and all the goddesses were looking on, yet would I gladly sleep by golden Aphrodite’s side.”
His jest raised another laugh from all the gods except Poseidon, who was not amused, but kept urging the great smith Hephaestus to free Ares from the net.
“Let him go,” he insisted: “and I promise you that he himself shall make fun and proper atonement, as required by you, in the presence of the immortal gods.”
“Poseidon, Girdler of the Earth,” replied the illustrious lame god, “I beg you, do not press me. Even a surety for a scoundrel is a poor thing to hold in hand. How could I subject you to public arrest if Ares were to shuffle out of his debt as well as out of his chains?”
“Hephaestus,” said Poseidon the Earth-shaker, “if Ares does repudiate his debt and abscond, I myself will pay you the fine.”
“To such an offer from you,” replied the great lame god, “I cannot and I must not answer no.”
With that the mighty Hephaestus undid the chains, and the two of them, freed from the shackles that had proved so strong, leapt up and fled, Ares to Thrace, and laughter-loving Aphrodite to Paphos in Cyprus, where she has her sacred precinct and an altar fragrant with incense. There the Graces bathed her and anointed her with the imperishable oil that the immortals use. And when they had decked her out in her lovely clothes she was a marvel to behold.
This was the song that the famous minstrel sang, to the delight of Odysseus and the rest of his audience, the Phaeacian sea-lords, those lovers of the oar.
After this Alcinous commanded Halius and Laodamas to dance by themselves, since no one could compete with them. Polybus, a skilled craftsman, had made them a beautiful purple ball, which they took in their hands, and one of them, bending right back, would throw it up towards the shadowy clouds, and the other, leaping up from the ground, would catch it deftly in his turn before his feet touched earth again. After showing their skill at this high play, they began tossing the ball quickly to and fro as they moved in their dance on the bountiful earth, while the other youths stood at the ringside beating time, till the air was filled with sound, and the good Odysseus turned to his host with a compliment:
“Alcinous, my royal and most worshipful prince, you boasted just now that your dancers are supreme. Your claim is made good. I marvel at the sight of them.”
His praise delighted the august Alcinous, who turned at once to his sea-faring subjects and said:
“Listen, Princes and Elders of the Phaeacians, I find a nice discernment in this guest of ours. Let us make him a friendly donation, as is only proper. Our folk have for their chiefs and rulers, twelve eminent princes, or thirteen if you count myself. I suggest that each one of us present him with a fresh mantle, a tunic, and a talent of sterling gold. Let us quickly gather all our gifts together, so that the stranger can take possession and come to supper in a happy frame of mind. As for Euryalus, he must make amends to him by a personal apology, and a present as well, for his incivility was marked.”
His suggestions found favour with all and were adopted. Each of the princes despatched his equerry to fetch the gifts, and Euryalus spoke up in answer to the king’s rebuke:
“Alcinous, my royal and most worshipful prince, I am ready to obey you and make atonement to the stranger. I will give him this sword of bronze, which has a silver hilt and a sheath of fresh ivory to hold it – a gift that he will value.”
He then laid the sword with its silver mounting in Odysseus’ hands, and addressed him with studied courtesy:
“Father and stranger, I salute you. If some offensive words escaped my lips, let the storm-winds blow them hence; and may the gods give you the joy of getting home again and seeing your wife, since you have been away from your friends and lived a hard life for so long.”
“Friend,” said the wise Odysseus, “I return your kindly greeting. May the gods bless you! And I only hope you will not one day miss the sword you have given me here with such conciliatory words.” And as he spoke he slung the silvered weapon from his shoulder.
By sunset he was in possession of all their noble gifts, which were carried to Alcinous’ palace by their well-born equerries. There the good king’s sons took charge of them and placed the magnificent collection at their worthy mother’s feet. Meanwhile King Alcinous brought the rest of the company to his house, where they seated themselves on high chairs, and Alcinous called to Arete.
“My dear,” he said, “bring a good coffer here, the best we have, and put a fresh mantle and a tunic in it on your own account. Then see that they heat a copper over the fire and make some water warm for our guest, so that when he has had his bath and seen that all the gifts which the Phaeacian nobles have brought him here are properly packed, he can dine at his ease and enjoy the minstrel’s lay that he will hear. And see, I’ll give him this beautiful golden chalice of mine, so that he may have me in mind for the rest of his days when he makes drink-offerings in his house to Zeus and to the other gods.”
Arete told her maid-servants to put a large three-legged cauldron on the fire at once. They set the cauldron for the bath-water on the glowing fire, filled it with water and brought faggots, which they kindled beneath it. The flames began to lick round the belly of the cauldron and the water was heated. Meanwhile Arete brought out from the inner chamber a fine coffer for their guest, in which she packed the splendid gifts of clothing and of gold which the Phaeacians had made him. To these, on her own account, she added a mantle and a tunic of good quality, and then gave Odysseus a word of advice.
“You had better see to the lid yourself, now,” she said, “and tie it up at once with a knot, so that you may not be robbed on your journey when you’re enjoying a good sleep by and by as the black ship carries you along.”
Stalwart Odysseus took her advice and fixed the lid on at once, fastening it neatly with a complicated knot that the Lady Circe had once taught him. No sooner was the task completed than the housekeeper invited him to get into his bath and wash. It was a pleasure to him to see a hot bath again, for he had not been used to such comforts since leaving the home of the refined Calypso, though while he was there he had received constant attention like a god. When the maids had bathed and anointed him, and had clothed him in a fine cloak and a tunic, he left the bath to join the men at their wine.
Now Nausicaa, in all her heaven-sent beauty, was standing by one of the pillars that supported the massive roof. Filled with admiration as her eyes fell on Odysseus, she greeted him warmly:
“Good luck, my friend,” she said, “and I hope that when you are in your own country you will remember me at times, since it is to me before all others that you owe your life.”
“Princess Nausicaa,” answered the wise Odysseus, “I do indeed pray Zeus the Thunderer and Lord of Here to let me see the day of my return and reach my home. If he does, then even there I will never fail to worship you all the rest of my days. For it was you, lady, who gave me back my life.”
With this he took a chair by the side of King Alcinous, for they were already serving the portions and mixing the wine. An equerry now came in leading their beloved bard Demo­docus, the people’s favourite. He seated him in the centre of the company with his back against one of the high columns, and at once the thoughtful Odysseus, carving a portion from the chine of a white-tusked boar, which was so large that more than half was left, with plenty of rich fat on either side, called to a serving-man and said:
“Here, my man, take this helping to Demodocus and let him eat it, with kindly wishes from my unhappy self. No-one on earth can help honouring and respecting the bards, for the Muse has taught them the art of song and she loves the minstrel fraternity.”
The man took the meat and handed it to the lord Demo­docus, who accepted the attention with pleasure. The company now helped themselves to the good fare that was spread before them, and when they had satisfied their thirst and hunger, Odysseus turned to the minstrel and said:
“Demodocus, I give you the highest possible praise. Either Zeus’ Child, the Muse, or Apollo must have been your teacher. For it is remarkable how well you sing the tale of the Achaeans’ fate and of all their achievements, sufferings, and toils. It is almost as though you had been with them yourself or heard the story from one who was. But I ask you now to change your theme and sing to us of the making of the Wooden Horse, which Epeius built with Athene’s help, and which my lord Odysseus contrived to introduce one day into the citadel of Troy as an ambuscade, manned by the warriors who then sacked the town. If you can satisfy me in the telling of this tale I shall be ready to acknowledge to the world how generously the god has endowed you with the heavenly gift of song.”
The bard took his cue from Odysseus and beginning with an invocation to the god unfolded the tale. He took it up at the point where the Argives after setting fire to their huts had embarked on their galleys and were sailing off, while the renowned Odysseus and his party were already sitting in the place of assembly at Troy, concealed within the Horse, which the Trojans had themselves dragged into the citadel. There stood the Horse, with the Trojans sitting round it and indulg­ing in a war of words. Three policies emerged. Some were for piercing the wooden frame with a bold stroke of the spear; others would have dragged it to the edge of the heights and hurled it down the rocks; while others again wished to let it stand as a signal offering to appease the gods – and that was just what happened in the end. For it was destiny that they should fall when Troy received within her walls that mighty Wooden Horse, laden with the pick of the Argive chivalry bringing doom and slaughter to the Trojans. He went on to sing how the Achaean warriors, deserting their hollow ambuscade, poured out from the Horse to ravage Troy; how they scattered through the steep streets of the city leaving ruin in their wake; and how Odysseus, looking like Ares himself, went straight to Deiphobus’ house with the gallant Menelaus. And there, sang the bard, he rushed into the most terrible of all his fights, which in the end he won with Athene’s magnanimous aid.
Odysseus broke down as the famous minstrel sang this lay, and his cheeks were wet with the tears that ran down from his eyes. He wept as a woman weeps when she throws her arms round the body of her beloved husband, fallen in battle before his city and his comrades, fighting to save his home-town and his children from disaster. She has found him gasping in the throes of death; she clings to him and lifts her voice in lamentation. But the enemy come up and belabour her back and shoulders with spears, as they lead her off into slavery and a life of miserable toil, with her cheeks wasted by her pitiful grief. Equally pitiful were the tears that now welled up in Odysseus’ eyes, and though he succeeded in hiding them from all but the King, Alcinous could not help observing his condition, for he was sitting next to him and heard his heavy groans. He spoke up at once and said to the Phaeacian sea-captains:
“Pray silence, my noble and honourable lords. And let the music of Demodocus’ lyre be stilled, for it appears that the theme of his song is not to everybody’s liking. Since we have been sitting at supper and our worthy minstrel struck up, our guest here has been weeping bitterly without a pause. Some poignant sorrow must have overwhelmed his feelings. Let the bard stop playing, so that we can all be merry, hosts and guest alike. How much pleasanter that would be! For it was on account of our worthy guest that all this has been arranged, this farewell banquet and these friendly gifts that show the warmth of our hearts. To any man with the slightest claim to common sense, a stranger and suppliant is as good as a brother.
“And now, sir, I beg you to be equally friendly, and not, for some subtle purpose, to withhold the answers to the questions I may ask. ’Twould be more courteous on your part to be frank. Tell me the name by which you were known at home to your mother and father and your friends in the town and country round. No one, after all, whether of low or high degree, goes nameless once he has come into the world; everybody is named by his parents the moment he is born. You must also tell me where you come from, to what state and to what city you belong, so that my ships as they convey you there may plan the right course in their minds. For the Phaeacians have no steersmen, nor steering-oars such as other craft possess. Our ships know by instinct what their crews are thinking and propose to do. They know every city, every fertile land, and hidden in mist and cloud they make their swift passage over the sea’s immensities with no fear of damage and no thought of wreck. At the same time, I must tell you of a warning I had from my father Nausithous, who used to say that Poseidon grudged us our privilege of giving safe-conduct to all comers. He prophesied that some day the god would wreck one of our well-found vessels out on the misty sea as she came home from a convoy, and would overshadow our city with a great mountain-wall. That is what the old king used to say; and the god may do it, or may let things be. It is for him to decide at his pleasure.
“And now I call upon you for a true account of your wanderings. To what parts of the inhabited world did they rake you? What lovely cities did you see; what people in them? Did you meet hostile tribes and lawless savages, or did you fall in with some friendly and god-fearing folk? Explain to us also what secret sorrow makes you weep as you listen to the tragic story of the Argives and the fall of Troy. Were not the gods responsible for that, weaving catastrophe into the pattern of events to make a song for future genera­tions? Perhaps one of your kinsmen by marriage fell before Ilium, a good man, your son-in-law possibly or your wife’s father, to mention those nearest after one’s own blood and stock? Or perhaps if was a comrade, some true friend who knew his way to your heart? For a sympathetic friend can be quite as dear as a brother.”

Leave a Comment

Shopping Cart
×

Hello!

Click one of our contacts below to chat on WhatsApp

× How can I help you?