The Beggar-King of Ithaca
Now along came this tramp, this public nuisance
who used to scrounge a living round the streets of Ithaca —
notorious for his belly, a ravenous, bottomless pit
for food and drink, but he had no pith, no brawn,
despite the looming hulk that met your eyes.
6 Arnaeus was his name,
so his worthy mother called him at birth,
8 but all the young men called him Irus for short
because he’d hustle messages at any beck and call.
10 Well he came by to rout the king from his own house
and met Odysseus now with a rough, abusive burst:
“Get off the porch, you old goat, before I haul you
off by the leg! Can’t you see them give me the wink,
all of them here, to drag you out —and so I would
but I’ve got some pangs of conscience. Up with you, man,
or before you know it, we’ll be trading blows!”
A killing look,
and the wily old soldier countered, “Out of your mind?
What damage have I done you? What have I said?
I don’t grudge you anything,
20 not if the next man up and gives you plenty.
This doorsill is big enough for the both of us —
you’ve got no call to grudge me what’s not yours.
You’re another vagrant, just like me, I’d say,
and it lies with the gods to make us rich or poor. So,
keep your fists to yourself, don’t press your luck, don’t rile me,
or old as I am, I’ll bloody your lip, splatter your chest
and buy myself some peace and quiet for tomorrow.
I doubt you’ll ever come lumbering back again
to the halls of Laertes’ royal son Odysseus.”
30 “Look who’s talking!” the beggar rumbled in anger.
“How this pot-bellied pig runs off at the mouth —
like an old crone at her oven!
Well I’ve got a knock-out blow in store for him —
I’ll batter the tramp with both fists, crack every tooth
from his jaws, I’ll litter the ground with teeth
like a rogue sow’s, punished for rooting corn!
Belt up —so the lords can see us fight it out.
How can you beat a champion half your age?”
Tongue-lashing each other, tempers flaring,
40 there on the polished sill before the lofty doors.
And Antinous, that grand prince, hearing them wrangle,
broke into gloating laughter, calling out to the suitors,
“Friends, nothing like this has come our way before —
what sport some god has brought the palace now!
The stranger and Irus, look,
they’d battle it out together, fists flying.
Come, let’s pit them against each other —fast!”
All leapt from their seats with whoops of laughter,
clustering round the pair of ragged beggars there
50 as Eupithes’ son Antinous planned the contest.
“Quiet, my fine friends. Here’s what I propose.
These goat sausages sizzling here in the fire —
we packed them with fat and blood to have for supper.
Now, whoever wins this bout and proves the stronger,
let that man step up and take his pick of the lot!
What’s more, from this day on he feasts among us —
no other beggar will we allow inside
to cadge his meals from us!”
They all cheered
but Odysseus, foxy veteran, plotted on . . .
60 “Friends, how can an old man, worn down with pain,
stand up to a young buck? It’s just this belly of mine,
this trouble-maker, tempts me to take a licking.
So first, all of you swear me a binding oath:
come, not one of you steps in for Irus here,
strikes me a foul blow to pull him through
and lays me in the dust.”
And at that
they all mouthed the oath that he required,
and once they vowed they’d never interfere,
Prince Telemachus drove the matter home:
70 “Stranger, if your spine and fighting pride
prompt you to go against this fellow now,
have no fear of any suitor in the pack —
whoever fouls you will have to face a crowd.
Count on me, your host. And two lords back me up,
Antinous and Eurymachus —both are men of sense.”
They all shouted approval of the prince
as Odysseus belted up, roping his rags around his loins,
baring his big rippling thighs —his boxer’s broad shoulders,
his massive chest and burly arms on full display
80 as Athena stood beside him,
fleshing out the limbs of the great commander . . .
Despite their swagger, the suitors were amazed,
gaping at one another, trading forecasts:
“Irus will soon be ironed out for good!”
“He’s in for the beating he begged for all along.”
“Look at the hams on that old-timer —”
“Just under his rags!”
Each outcry jolted Irus to the core —too late.
The servants trussed his clothes up, dragged him on,
the flesh on his body quaking now with terror.
90 Antinous rounded on him, flinging insults:
“You, you clumsy ox, you’re better off dead
or never born at all, if you cringe at him,
paralyzed with fear of an old, broken hulk,
ground down by the pains that hound his steps.
Mark my word —so help me I’ll make it good —
if that old relic whips you and wins the day,
I’ll toss you into a black ship and sail you off
98 to Echetus, the mainland king who wrecks all men alive!
He’ll lop your nose and ears with his ruthless blade,
100 he’ll rip your privates out by the roots, he will,
and serve them up to his dogs to bolt down raw!”
That threat shook his knees with a stronger fit
but they hauled him into the ring. Both men put up their fists —
with the seasoned fighter Odysseus deeply torn now . . .
should he knock him senseless, leave him dead where he dropped
or just stretch him out on the ground with a light jab?
As he mulled things over, that way seemed the best:
a glancing blow, the suitors would not detect him.
The two men squared off —
and Irus hurled a fist
110 at Odysseus’ right shoulder as he came through
with a hook below the ear, pounding Irus’ neck,
smashing the bones inside —
suddenly red blood
came spurting out of his mouth, and headlong down
he pitched in the dust, howling, teeth locked in a grin,
feet beating the ground —
and the princely suitors,
flinging their hands in the air, died laughing.
Grabbing him by the leg, Odysseus hauled him
through the porch, across the yard to the outer gate,
heaped him against the courtyard wall, sitting slumped,
120 stuck his stick in his hand and gave him a parting shot:
“Now hold your post —play the scarecrow to all the pigs and dogs!
But no more lording it over strangers, no more playing
the beggar-king for you, you loathsome fool,
or you’ll bring down something worse around your neck!”
He threw his beggar’s sack across his shoulders —
torn and tattered, slung from a fraying rope —
then back he went to the sill and took his seat.
The suitors ambled back as well, laughing jauntily,
toasting the beggar warmly now, those proud young blades,
130 one man egging the other on: “Stranger, friend, may Zeus
and the other deathless gods fill up your sack with blessings!”
“All your heart desires!”
“You’ve knocked him out of action,
that insatiable tramp —”
“That parasite on the land!”
“Ship him off to Echetus, fast —the mainland king
who wrecks all men alive!”
Welcome words
and a lucky omen too —Odysseus’ heart leapt up.
Antinous laid before him a generous goat sausage,
bubbling fat and blood. Amphinomus took two loaves
from the wicker tray and set them down beside him,
140 drank his health in a golden cup and said,
141 “Cheers, old friend, old father,
saddled now as you are with so much trouble —
here’s to your luck, great days from this day on!”
And the one who knew the world replied at length,
“Amphinomus, you seem like a man of good sense to me.
145 Just like your father —at least I’ve heard his praises,
Nisus of Dulichion, a righteous man, and rich.
You’re his son, they say, you seem well-spoken, too.
So I will tell you something. Listen. Listen closely.
150 Of all that breathes and crawls across the earth,
our mother earth breeds nothing feebler than a man.
So long as the gods grant him power, spring in his knees,
he thinks he will never suffer affliction down the years.
But then, when the happy gods bring on the long hard times,
bear them he must, against his will, and steel his heart.
Our lives, our mood and mind as we pass across the earth,
turn as the days turn . . .
as the father of men and gods makes each day dawn.
I too seemed destined to be a man of fortune once
160 and a wild wicked swath I cut, indulged my lust for violence,
staking all on my father and my brothers.
Look at me now.
And so, I say, let no man ever be lawless all his life,
just take in peace what gifts the gods will send.
True,
but here I see you suitors plotting your reckless work,
carving away at the wealth, affronting the loyal wife
of a man who won’t be gone from kin and country long.
167 I say he’s right at hand —and may some power save you,
spirit you home before you meet him face-to-face
the moment he returns to native ground!
170 Once under his own roof, he and your friends,
believe you me, won’t part till blood has flowed.”
With that
he poured out honeyed wine to the gods and drank deeply,
then restored the cup to the young prince’s hands.
Amphinomus made his way back through the hall,
his heart sick with anguish, shaking his head,
fraught with grave forebodings . . .
but not even so could he escape his fate.
178 Even then Athena had bound him fast to death
at the hands of Prince Telemachus and his spear.
180 Now back he went to the seat that he’d left empty.
But now the goddess Athena with her glinting eyes
inspired Penelope, Icarius’ daughter, wary, poised,
183 to display herself to her suitors, fan their hearts,
inflame them more, and make her even more esteemed
by her husband and her son than she had been before.
Forcing a laugh, she called her maid: “Eurynome,
my spirit longs —though it never did till now —
to appear before my suitors, loathe them as I do.
I’d say a word to my son too, for his own good,
190 not to mix so much with that pernicious crowd,
so glib with their friendly talk
but plotting wicked plots they’ll hatch tomorrow.”
“Well said, my child,” the old woman answered,
“all to the point. Go to the boy and warn him now,
hold nothing back. But first you should bathe yourself,
give a gloss to your face. Don’t go down like that —
your eyes dimmed, your cheeks streaked with tears.
It makes things worse, this grieving on and on.
Your son’s now come of age —your fondest prayer
200 to the deathless gods, to see him wear a beard.”
“Eurynome,” discreet Penelope objected,
“don’t try to coax me, care for me as you do,
to bathe myself, refresh my face with oils.
Whatever glow I had died long ago . . .
the gods of Olympus snuffed it out that day
my husband sailed away in the hollow ships.
207 But please, have Autonoë and Hippodamia come
and support me in the hall. I’ll never brave
those men alone. I’d be too embarrassed.”
210 Now as the old nurse bustled through the house
to give the women orders, call them to the queen,
the bright-eyed goddess thought of one more thing.
She drifted a sound slumber over Icarius’ daughter,
back she sank and slept, her limbs fell limp and still,
reclining there on her couch, all the while Athena,
luminous goddess, lavished immortal gifts on her
to make her suitors lose themselves in wonder . . .
The divine unguent first. She cleansed her cheeks,
her brow and fine eyes with ambrosia smooth as the oils
220 the goddess Love applies, donning her crown of flowers
whenever she joins the Graces’ captivating dances.
She made her taller, fuller in form to all men’s eyes,
her skin whiter than ivory freshly carved, and now,
Athena’s mission accomplished, off the bright one went
as bare-armed maids came in from their own quarters,
chattering all the way, and sleep released the queen.
She woke, touched her cheek with a hand, and mused,
“Ah, what a marvelous gentle sleep, enfolding me
in the midst of all my anguish! Now if only
230 blessed Artemis sent me a death as gentle, now,
this instant —no more wasting away my life,
my heart broken in longing for my husband . . .
He had every strength,
rising over his countrymen, head and shoulders.”
Then, leaving her well-lit chamber, she descended,
not alone: two of her women followed close behind.
That radiant woman, once she reached her suitors,
drawing her glistening veil across her cheeks,
paused now where a column propped the sturdy roof,
240 with one of her loyal handmaids stationed either side.
The suitors’ knees went slack, their hearts dissolved in lust —
all of them lifted prayers to lie beside her, share her bed.
243 But turning toward her son, she warned, “Telemachus,
your sense of balance is not what it used to be.
When you were a boy you had much better judgment.
Now that you’ve grown and reached your young prime
and any stranger, seeing how tall and handsome you are,
would think you the son of some great man of wealth —
now your sense of fairness seems to fail you.
250 Consider the dreadful thing just done in our halls —
how you let the stranger be so abused! Why,
suppose our guest, sitting here at peace,
here in our own house,
were hauled and badly hurt by such cruel treatment?
You’d be shamed, disgraced in all men’s eyes!”
“Mother . . .” Telemachus paused, then answered.
“I cannot fault your anger at all this.
My heart takes note of everything, feels it, too,
both the good and the bad —the boy you knew is gone.
260 But how can I plan my world in a sane, thoughtful way?
These men drive me mad, hedging me round, right and left,
plotting their lethal plots, and no one takes my side.
Still, this battle between the stranger and Irus
hardly went as the suitors might have hoped:
the stranger beat him down!
If only —Father Zeus, Athena and lord Apollo —
these gallants, now, this moment, here in our house,
were battered senseless, heads lolling, knees unstrung,
some sprawled in the courtyard, some sprawled outside!
270 Slumped like Irus down at the front gates now,
whipped, and his head rolling like some drunk.
He can’t stand up on his feet and stagger home,
whatever home he’s got —the man’s demolished.”
So Penelope and her son exchanged their hopes
as Eurymachus stepped in to praise the queen.
“Ah, daughter of Icarius, wise Penelope,
277 if all the princes in Ionian Argos saw you now!
What a troop of suitors would banquet in your halls
tomorrow at sunrise! You surpass all women
280 in build and beauty, refined and steady mind.”
“Oh no, Eurymachus,” wise Penelope demurred,
“whatever form and feature I had, what praise I’d won,
the deathless gods destroyed that day the Achaeans
sailed away to Troy, my husband in their ships,
Odysseus —if he could return to tend my life
the renown I had would only grow in glory.
Now my life is torment . . .
look at the griefs some god has loosed against me!
I’ll never forget the day he left this land of ours;
290 he caught my right hand by the wrist and said, gently,
‘Dear woman, I doubt that every Achaean under arms
will make it home from Troy, all safe and sound.
The Trojans, they say, are fine soldiers too,
hurling javelins, shooting flights of arrows,
charioteers who can turn the tide —like that! —
when the great leveler, War, brings on some deadlock.
So I cannot tell if the gods will sail me home again
or I’ll go down out there, on the fields of Troy,
but all things here must rest in your control.
300 Watch over my father and mother in the palace,
just as now, or perhaps a little more,
when I am far from home.
303 But once you see the beard on the boy’s cheek,
you wed the man you like, and leave your house behind.’
So my husband advised me then. Now it all comes true . . .
a night will come when a hateful marriage falls my lot —
this cursed life of mine! Zeus has torn away my joy.
But there’s something else that mortifies me now.
Your way is a far cry from the time-honored way
310 of suitors locked in rivalry, striving to win
some noble woman, a wealthy man’s daughter.
They bring in their own calves and lambs
to feast the friends of the bride-to-be, yes,
and shower her with gleaming gifts as well.
They don’t devour the woman’s goods scot-free.”
Staunch Odysseus glowed with joy to hear all this —
his wife’s trickery luring gifts from her suitors now,
enchanting their hearts with suave seductive words
but all the while with something else in mind.
“Gifts?”
320 Eupithes’ son Antinous took her point at once.
“Daughter of Icarius, sensible Penelope,
whatever gifts your suitors would like to bring,
accept them. How ungracious to turn those gifts away!
We won’t go back to our own estates, or anywhere else,
till you have wed the man you find the best.”
So he proposed, and all the rest agreed.
Each suitor sent a page to go and get a gift.
Antinous’ man brought in a grand, resplendent robe,
stiff with embroidery, clasped with twelve gold brooches,
330 long pins that clipped into sheathing loops with ease.
Eurymachus’ man brought in a necklace richly wrought,
gilded, strung with amber and glowing like the sun.
333 Eurydamas’ two men came with a pair of earrings,
mulberry clusters dangling in triple drops
with a glint to catch the heart.
336 From the halls of lord Pisander, Polyctor’s son,
a servant brought a choker, a fine, gleaming treasure.
And so each suitor in turn laid on a handsome gift.
Then the noble queen withdrew to her upper room,
340 her file of waiting ladies close behind her,
bearing the gorgeous presents in their arms.
Now the suitors turned to dance and song,
to the lovely beat and sway,
waiting for dusk to come upon them there . . .
and the dark night came upon them, lost in pleasure.
They rushed to set up three braziers along the walls
to give them light, piled them high with kindling,
sere, well-seasoned, just split with an ax,
and mixed in chips to keep the torches flaring.
350 The maids of Odysseus, steady man, took turns
to keep the fires up, but the king himself,
dear to the gods and cunning to the core,
gave them orders brusquely: “Maids of Odysseus,
your master gone so long —quick now, off you go
to the room where your queen and mistress waits.
Sit with her there and try to lift her spirits,
combing wool in your hands or spinning yarn.
But I will trim the torches for all her suitors,
even if they would like to revel on till Morning
360 mounts her throne. They’ll never wear me down.
I have a name for lasting out the worst.”
At that
the women burst into laughter, glancing back and forth.
363 Flushed with beauty, Melantho mocked him shamelessly —
Dolius was her father but Penelope brought her up;
she treated her like her own child and gave her toys
to cheer her heart. But despite that, her heart
felt nothing for all her mistress’ anguish now.
She was Eurymachus’ lover, always slept with him.
She was the one who mocked her king and taunted,
370 “Cock of the walk, did someone beat your brains out?
Why not go bed down at the blacksmith’s cozy forge?
Or a public place where tramps collect? Why here —
blithering on, nonstop,
bold as brass in the face of all these lords?
No fear in your heart? Wine’s got to your wits? —
or do you always play the fool and babble nonsense?
Lost your head, have you, because you drubbed that hobo Irus?
You wait —a better man than Irus will take you on,
he’ll box both sides of your skull with heavy fists
and cart you from the palace gushing blood!”
380 “You wait,
you bitch” —the hardened veteran flashed a killing look.
“I’ll go straight to the prince with your foul talk.
The prince will chop you to pieces here and now!”
His fury sent the women fluttering off, scattering
down the hall with panic shaking every limb —
they knew he spoke the truth.
But he took up his post by the flaring braziers,
tending the fires closely, looking after them all,
though the heart inside him stirred with other things,
390 ranging ahead, now, to all that must be done . . .
But Athena had no mind to let the brazen suitors
hold back now from their heart-rending insults —
she meant to make the anguish cut still deeper
into the core of Laertes’ son Odysseus.
Polybus’ son Eurymachus launched in first,
baiting the king to give his friends a laugh:
“Listen to me, you lords who court our noble queen!
I simply have to say what’s on my mind. Look,
surely the gods have fetched this beggar here
400 to Odysseus’ house. At least our torchlight seems
to come from the sheen of the man’s own head —
there’s not a hair on his bald pate, not a wisp!”
Then he wheeled on Odysseus, raider of cities:
“Stranger, how would you like to work for me
if I took you on —I’d give you decent wages —
picking the stones to lay a tight dry wall
or planting tall trees on the edge of my estate?
I’d give you rations to last you year-round,
clothes for your body, sandals for your feet.
410 Oh no, you’ve learned your lazy ways too well,
you’ve got no itch to stick to good hard work,
you’d rather go scrounging round the countryside,
begging for crusts to stuff your greedy gut!”
“Ah, Eurymachus,” Odysseus, master of many exploits,
answered firmly, “if only the two of us could go
man-to-man in the labors of the field . . .
In the late spring, when the long days come round,
out in the meadow, I swinging a well-curved scythe
and you swinging yours —we’d test our strength for work,
420 fasting right till dusk with lots of hay to mow.
Or give us a team of oxen to drive, purebreds,
hulking, ruddy beasts, both lusty with fodder,
paired for age and pulling-power that never flags —
with four acres to work, the loam churning under the plow —
you’d see what a straight unbroken furrow I could cut you then.
Or if Zeus would bring some battle on —out of the blue,
this very day —and give me a shield and two spears
and a bronze helmet to fit this soldier’s temples,
then you’d see me fight where front ranks clash —
430 no more mocking this belly of mine, not then.
Enough. You’re sick with pride, you brutal fool.
No doubt you count yourself a great, powerful man
because you sport with a puny crowd, ill-bred to boot.
If only Odysseus came back home and stood right here,
in a flash you’d find those doors —broad as they are —
too cramped for your race to safety through the porch!”
That made Eurymachus’ fury seethe and burst —
he gave the beggar a dark look and let fly, “You,
you odious —I’ll make you pay for your ugly rant!
440 Bold as brass in the face of all these lords?
No fear in your heart? Wine’s got to your wits? —
or do you always play the fool and babble nonsense?
Lost your head, have you, because you drubbed that hobo Irus?”
As he shouted out he seized a stool, but Odysseus,
fearing the blow, crouched at Amphinomus’ knees
as Eurymachus hurled and hit the wine-steward,
clipping his right hand —
his cup dropped, clattered along the floor
and flat on his back he went, groaning in the dust.
450 The suitors broke into uproar through the shadowed halls,
glancing at one another, trading angry outcries:
“Would to god this drifter had dropped dead —”
“Anywhere else before he landed here!”
“Then he’d never have loosed such pandemonium.”
“Now we’re squabbling over beggars!”
“No more joy
in the sumptuous feast . . .”
“Now riot rules the day!”
But now Prince Telemachus dressed them down:
“Fools, you’re out of your minds! No hiding it,
food and wine have gone to your heads. Some god
460 has got your blood up. Come, now you’ve eaten well
go home to bed —when the spirit moves, that is.
I, for one, I’ll drive no guest away.”
So he declared. And they all bit their lips,
amazed the prince could speak with so much daring.
At last Amphinomus rose to take the floor,
the noted son of Nisus, King Aretias’ grandson.
“Fair enough, my friends; when a man speaks well
we have no grounds for wrangling, no cause for abuse.
Hands off the stranger! And any other servant
470 in King Odysseus’ palace. Come, steward,
pour first drops for the god in every cup;
let’s make libations, then go home to bed.
The stranger? Leave him here in Odysseus’ halls
and have his host, Telemachus, tend him well —
it’s the prince’s royal house the man has reached.”
So he said. His proposal pleased them all.
477 And gallant Mulius, a herald of Dulichion,
a friend-in-arms of lord Amphinomus too,
mixed the men a bowl and, hovering closely,
480 poured full rounds for all. They tipped cups
to the blissful gods and then, libations made,
they drank the heady wine to their hearts’ content
and went their ways to bed, each suitor to his house.