Father and Son
As dawn came into the lodge, the king and loyal swineherd
set out breakfast, once they had raked the fire up
and got the herdsmen off with droves of pigs.
And now Telemachus . . .
the howling dogs went nuzzling up around him,
not a growl as he approached. From inside
Odysseus noticed the pack’s quiet welcome,
noticed the light tread of footsteps too
and turned to Eumaeus quickly, winged a word:
10 “Eumaeus, here comes a friend of yours, I’d say.
Someone you know, at least. The pack’s not barking,
must be fawning around him. I can hear his footfall.”
The words were still on his lips when his own son
stood in the doorway, there. The swineherd started up,
amazed, he dropped the bowls with a clatter —he’d been busy
mixing ruddy wine. Straight to the prince he rushed
and kissed his face and kissed his shining eyes,
both hands, as the tears rolled down his cheeks.
As a father, brimming with love, welcomes home
20 his darling only son in a warm embrace —
what pain he’s borne for him and him alone! —
home now, in the tenth year from far abroad,
so the loyal swineherd hugged the beaming prince,
he clung for dear life, covering him with kisses, yes,
like one escaped from death. Eumaeus wept and sobbed,
his words flew from the heart: “You’re home, Telemachus,
sweet light of my eyes! I never thought I’d see you again,
once you’d shipped to Pylos! Quick, dear boy, come in,
let me look at you, look to my heart’s content —
30 under my own roof, the rover home at last.
You rarely visit the farm and men these days,
always keeping to town, as if it cheered you
to see them there, that infernal crowd of suitors!”
“Have it your way,” thoughtful Telemachus replied.
“Dear old man, it’s all for you that I’ve come,
36 to see you for myself and learn the news —
whether mother still holds out in the halls
or some other man has married her at last,
and Odysseus’ bed, I suppose, is lying empty,
blanketed now with filthy cobwebs.”
40 “Surely,”
the foreman of men responded, “she’s still waiting
there in your halls, poor woman, suffering so,
her life an endless hardship . . .
wasting away the nights, weeping away the days.”
With that
he took the bronze spear from the boy, and Telemachus,
crossing the stone doorsill, went inside the lodge.
As he approached, his father, Odysseus, rose
to yield his seat, but the son on his part
waved him back: “Stay where you are, stranger.
50 I know we can find another seat somewhere,
here on our farm, and here’s the man to fetch it.”
So Odysseus, moving back, sat down once more,
and now for the prince the swineherd strewed a bundle
of fresh green brushwood, topped it off with sheepskin
and there the true son of Odysseus took his place.
Eumaeus set before them platters of roast meat
left from the meal he’d had the day before;
he promptly served them bread, heaped in baskets,
mixed their hearty wine in a wooden bowl
60 and then sat down himself to face the king.
They reached for the good things that lay at hand,
and when they’d put aside desire for food and drink
Telemachus asked his loyal serving-man at last,
“Old friend, where does this stranger come from?
Why did the sailors land him here in Ithaca?
Who did they say they are?
I hardly think he came this way on foot.”
You answered him, Eumaeus, loyal swineherd,
“Here, my boy, I’ll tell you the whole true story.
70 He hails from Crete’s broad land, he’s proud to say,
but he claims he’s drifted round through countless towns of men,
roaming the earth . . . and so a god’s spun out his fate.
He just now broke away from some Thesprotian ship
and came to my farm. I’ll put him in your hands,
you tend to him as you like.
He counts on you, he says, for care and shelter.”
“Shelter? Oh Eumaeus,” Telemachus replied,
“that word of yours, it cuts me to the quick!
How can I lend the stranger refuge in my house?
80 I’m young myself. I can hardly trust my hands
to fight off any man who rises up against me.
Then my mother’s wavering, always torn two ways:
whether to stay with me and care for the household,
true to her husband’s bed, the people’s voice as well,
85 or leave at long last with the best man in Achaea
who courts her in the halls, who offers her the most.
But our new guest, since he’s arrived at your house,
I’ll give him a shirt and cloak to wear, good clothing,
give him a two-edged sword and sandals for his feet
90 and send him off, wherever his heart desires.
Or if you’d rather, keep him here at the farmstead,
tend to him here, and I’ll send up the clothes
and full rations to keep the man in food;
he’ll be no drain on you and all your men.
But I can’t let him go down and join the suitors.
They’re far too abusive, reckless, know no limits:
they’ll make a mockery of him —that would break my heart.
It’s hard for a man to win his way against a mob,
even a man of iron. They are much too strong.”
100 “Friend” —the long-enduring Odysseus stepped in —
“surely it’s right for me to say a word at this point.
My heart, by god, is torn to pieces hearing this,
both of you telling how these reckless suitors,
there in your own house, against your will,
plot your ruin —a fine young prince like you.
Tell me, though, do you let yourself be so abused
or do people round about, stirred up by the prompting
of some god, despise you? Or are your brothers at fault?
Brothers a man can trust to fight beside him, true,
110 no matter what deadly blood-feud rages on.
Would I were young as you, to match my spirit now,
or I were the son of great Odysseus, or the king himself
returned from all his roving —there’s still room for hope!
Then let some foreigner lop my head off if I failed
to march right into Odysseus’ royal halls
and kill them all. And what if I went down,
crushed by their numbers —I, fighting alone?
I’d rather die, cut down in my own house
than have to look on at their outrage day by day.
120 Guests treated to blows, men dragging the serving-women
through the noble house, exploiting them all, no shame,
and the gushing wine swilled, the food squandered —
gorging for gorging’s sake —
and the courting game goes on, no end in sight!”
“You’re right, my friend,” sober Telemachus agreed.
“Now let me tell you the whole story, first to last.
It’s not that all our people have turned against me,
keen for a showdown. Nor have I any brothers at fault,
brothers a man can trust to fight beside him, true,
130 no matter what deadly blood-feud rages on . . .
131 Zeus made our line a line of only sons.
Arcesius had only one son, Laertes,
and Laertes had only one son, Odysseus,
and I am Odysseus’ only son. He fathered me,
he left me behind at home, and from me he got no joy.
So now our house is plagued by swarms of enemies.
All the nobles who rule the islands round about,
Dulichion, and Same, and wooded Zacynthus too,
and all who lord it in rocky Ithaca as well —
140 down to the last man they court my mother,
they lay waste my house! And mother . . .
she neither rejects a marriage she despises
nor can she bear to bring the courting to an end —
while they continue to bleed my household white.
Soon —you wait —they’ll grind me down as well!
But all lies in the lap of the great gods.
Eumaeus,
good old friend, go, quickly, to wise Penelope.
Tell her I’m home from Pylos safe and sound.
I’ll stay on right here. But you come back
150 as soon as you’ve told the news to her alone.
No other Achaean must hear —
all too many plot to take my life.”
“I know,”
you assured your prince, Eumaeus, loyal swineherd.
“I see your point —there’s sense in this old head.
One thing more, and make your orders clear.
On the same trip do I go and give the news
to King Laertes too? For many years, poor man,
heartsick for his son, he’d always keep an eye
on the farm and take his meals with the hired hands
160 whenever he felt the urge to. Now, from the day
you sailed away to Pylos, not a sip or a bite
he’s touched, they say, not as he did before,
and his eyes are shut to all the farmyard labors.
Huddled over, groaning in grief and tears,
he wastes away —the man’s all skin and bones.”
“So much the worse,” Telemachus answered firmly.
“Leave him alone; though it hurts us now, we must.
If men could have all they want, free for the taking,
I’d take first my father’s journey home. So,
170 you go and give the message, then come back,
no roaming over the fields to find Laertes.
Tell my mother to send her housekeeper,
fast as she can, in secret —
she can give the poor old man the news.”
That roused Eumaeus. The swineherd grasped his sandals,
strapped them onto his feet and made for town.
His exit did not escape Athena’s notice . . .
Approaching, closer, now she appeared a woman,
beautiful, tall and skilled at weaving lovely things.
180 Just at the shelter’s door she stopped, visible to Odysseus
but Telemachus could not see her, sense her there —
the gods don’t show themselves to every man alive.
Odysseus saw her, so did the dogs; no barking now,
they whimpered, cringing away in terror through the yard.
She gave a sign with her brows, Odysseus caught it,
out of the lodge he went and past the high stockade
and stood before the goddess. Athena urged him on:
“Royal son of Laertes, Odysseus, old campaigner,
now is the time, now tell your son the truth.
190 Hold nothing back, so the two of you can plot
the suitors’ doom and then set out for town.
I myself won’t lag behind you long —
I’m blazing for a battle!”
Athena stroked him with her golden wand.
First she made the cloak and shirt on his body
fresh and clean, then made him taller, supple, young,
his ruddy tan came back, the cut of his jawline firmed
and the dark beard clustered black around his chin.
Her work complete, she went her way once more
200 and Odysseus returned to the lodge. His own son
gazed at him, wonderstruck, terrified too, turning
his eyes away, suddenly —
this must be some god —
and he let fly with a burst of exclamations:
“Friend, you’re a new man —not what I saw before!
Your clothes, they’ve changed, even your skin has changed —
surely you are some god who rules the vaulting skies!
Oh be kind, and we will give you offerings,
gifts of hammered gold to warm your heart —
spare us, please, I beg you!”
“No, I am not a god,”
210 the long-enduring, great Odysseus returned.
“Why confuse me with one who never dies?
No, I am your father —
the Odysseus you wept for all your days,
you bore a world of pain, the cruel abuse of men.”
And with those words Odysseus kissed his son
and the tears streamed down his cheeks and wet the ground,
though before he’d always reined his emotions back.
But still not convinced that it was his father,
Telemachus broke out, wild with disbelief,
220 “No, you’re not Odysseus! Not my father!
Just some spirit spellbinding me now —
to make me ache with sorrow all the more.
Impossible for a mortal to work such marvels,
not with his own devices, not unless some god
comes down in person, eager to make that mortal
young or old —like that! Why, just now
you were old, and wrapped in rags, but now, look,
you seem like a god who rules the skies up there!”
“Telemachus,” Odysseus, man of exploits, urged his son,
230 “it’s wrong to marvel, carried away in wonder so
to see your father here before your eyes.
No other Odysseus will ever return to you.
That man and I are one, the man you see . . .
here after many hardships,
endless wanderings, after twenty years
I have come home to native ground at last.
My changing so? Athena’s work, the Fighter’s Queen —
she has that power, she makes me look as she likes,
now like a beggar, the next moment a young man,
240 decked out in handsome clothes about my body.
It’s light work for the gods who rule the skies
to exalt a mortal man or bring him low.”
At that
Odysseus sat down again, and Telemachus threw his arms
around his great father, sobbing uncontrollably
as the deep desire for tears welled up in both.
They cried out, shrilling cries, pulsing sharper
than birds of prey —eagles, vultures with hooked claws —
when farmers plunder their nest of young too young to fly.
Both men so filled with compassion, eyes streaming tears,
250 that now the sunlight would have set upon their cries
if Telemachus had not asked his father, all at once,
“What sort of ship, dear father, brought you here? —
Ithaca, at last. Who did the sailors say they are?
I hardly think you came back home on foot!”
So long an exile, great Odysseus replied,
“Surely, my son, I’ll tell you the whole story now.
Phaeacians brought me here, the famous sailors
who ferry home all men who reach their shores.
They sailed me across the sea in their swift ship,
260 they set me down in Ithaca, sound asleep, and gave me
glittering gifts —bronze and hoards of gold and robes.
All lie stowed in a cave, thanks to the gods’ help,
and Athena’s inspiration spurred me here, now,
so we could plan the slaughter of our foes.
Come, give me the full tally of these suitors —
I must know their numbers, gauge their strength.
Then I’ll deploy this old tactician’s wits,
decide if the two of us can take them on,
alone, without allies,
or we should hunt reserves to back us up.”
270 “Father,”
clear-headed Telemachus countered quickly,
“all my life I’ve heard of your great fame —
a brave man in war and a deep mind in counsel —
but what you say dumbfounds me, staggers imagination!
How on earth could two men fight so many and so strong?
These suitors are not just ten or twenty, they’re far more —
you count them up for yourself now, take a moment . . .
From Dulichion, fifty-two of them, picked young men,
six servants in their troop; from Same, twenty-four,
280 from Zacynthus, twenty Achaeans, nobles all,
and the twelve best lords from Ithaca itself.
Medon the herald’s with them, a gifted bard,
and two henchmen, skilled to carve their meat.
If we pit ourselves against all these in the house,
I fear the revenge you come back home to take
will recoil on our heads —a bitter, deadly blow.
Think: can you come up with a friend-in-arms?
Some man to fight beside us, some brave heart?”
“Let me tell you,” the old soldier said,
290 “bear it in mind now, listen to me closely.
Think: will Athena flanked by Father Zeus
do for the two of us?
Or shall I rack my brains for another champion?”
Telemachus answered shrewdly, full of poise,
“Two great champions, those you name, it’s true.
Off in the clouds they sit
and they lord it over gods and mortal men.”
“Trust me,” his seasoned father reassured him,
“they won’t hold off long from the cries and clash of battle,
300 not when we and the suitors put our fighting strength
to proof in my own halls! But now, with daybreak,
home you go and mix with that overbearing crowd.
The swineherd will lead me into the city later,
looking old and broken, a beggar once again.
If they abuse me in the palace, steel yourself,
no matter what outrage I must suffer, even
if they drag me through our house by the heels
and throw me out or pelt me with things they hurl —
you just look on, endure it. Prompt them to quit
310 their wild reckless ways, try to win them over
with friendly words. Those men will never listen,
now the day of doom is hovering at their heads.
One more thing. Take it to heart, I urge you.
When Athena, Queen of Tactics, tells me it is time,
I’ll give you a nod, and when you catch that signal
round up all the deadly weapons kept in the hall,
stow them away upstairs in a storeroom’s deep recess —
all the arms and armor —and when the suitors miss them
and ask you questions, put them off with a winning story:
320 ‘I stowed them away, clear of the smoke. A far cry
from the arms Odysseus left when he went to Troy,
fire-damaged equipment, black with reeking fumes.
And a god reminded me of something darker too.
When you’re in your cups a quarrel might break out,
you’d wound each other, shame your feasting here
and cast a pall on your courting.
327 Iron has powers to draw a man to ruin.’
Just you leave
a pair of swords for the two of us, a pair of spears
and a pair of oxhide bucklers right at hand so we
330 can break for the weapons, seize them! Then Athena,
Zeus in his wisdom —they will daze the suitors’ wits.
Now one last thing. Bear it in mind. You must.
If you are my own true son, born of my blood,
let no one hear that Odysseus has come home.
Don’t let Laertes know, not Eumaeus either,
none in the household, not Penelope herself.
You and I alone will assess the women’s mood
and we might test a few of the serving-men as well:
where are the ones who still respect us both,
340 who hold us in awe? And who shirk their duties? —
slighting you because you are so young.”
“Soon enough, father,” his gallant son replied,
“you’ll sense the courage inside me, that I know —
I’m hardly a flighty, weak-willed boy these days.
But I think your last plan would gain us nothing.
Reconsider, I urge you.
You’ll waste time, roaming around our holdings,
probing the fieldhands man by man, while the suitors
sit at ease in our house, devouring all our goods —
350 those brazen rascals never spare a scrap!
But I do advise you to sound the women out:
who are disloyal to you, who are guiltless?
The men —I say no to testing them farm by farm.
That’s work for later, if you have really seen
a sign from Zeus whose shield is storm and thunder.”
Now as father and son conspired, shaping plans,
the ship that brought the prince and shipmates back
from Pylos was just approaching Ithaca, home port.
As soon as they put in to the harbor’s deep bay
360 they hauled the black vessel up onto dry land
and eager deckhands bore away their gear
and rushed the priceless gifts to Clytius’ house.
But they sent a herald on to Odysseus’ halls at once
to give the news to thoughtful, cautious Penelope
that Telemachus was home —just up-country now
but he’d told his mates to sail across to port —
so the noble queen would not be seized with fright
and break down in tears. And now those two men met,
herald and swineherd, both out on the same errand,
370 to give the queen the news. But once they reached
the house of the royal king the herald strode up,
into the serving-women’s midst, and burst out,
“Your beloved son, my queen, is home at last!”
Eumaeus though, bending close to Penelope,
whispered every word that her dear son
entrusted him to say. Message told in full,
he left the halls and precincts, heading for his pigs.
But the news shook the suitors, dashed their spirits.
Out of the halls they crowded, past the high-walled court
380 and there before the gates they sat in council.
Polybus’ son Eurymachus opened up among them:
“Friends, what a fine piece of work he’s carried off!
Telemachus —what insolence —and we thought his little jaunt
would come to grief! Up now, launch a black ship,
the best we can find —muster a crew of oarsmen,
row the news to our friends in ambush, fast,
bring them back at once.”
And just then —
388 he’d not quite finished when Amphinomus,
wheeling round in his seat,
390 saw their vessel moored in the deep harbor,
their comrades striking sail and hoisting oars.
He broke into heady laughter, called his friends:
“No need for a message now. They’re home, look there!
Some god gave them the news, or they saw the prince’s ship
go sailing past and failed to overtake her.”
Rising, all trooped down to the water’s edge
as the crew hauled the vessel up onto dry land
and the hot-blooded hands bore off their gear.
Then in a pack they went to the meeting grounds,
400 suffering no one else, young or old, to sit among them.
Eupithes’ son Antinous rose and harangued them all:
“What a blow! See how the gods have saved this boy
from bloody death? And our lookouts all day long,
stationed atop the windy heights, kept watch,
shift on shift; and once the sun went down
we’d never sleep the night ashore, never,
always aboard our swift ship, cruising till dawn,
patrolling to catch Telemachus, kill him on the spot,
and all the while some spirit whisked him home!
410 So here at home we’ll plot his certain death:
he must never slip through our hands again,
that boy —while he still lives,
I swear we’ll never bring our venture off.
The clever little schemer, he does have his skills,
and the crowds no longer show us favor, not at all.
So act! before he can gather his people in assembly.
He’ll never give in an inch, I know, he’ll rise
and rage away, shouting out to them all how we,
we schemed his sudden death but never caught him.
420 Hearing of our foul play, they’ll hardly sing our praises.
Why, they might do us damage, run us off our lands,
drive us abroad to hunt for strangers’ shores.
Strike first, I say, and kill him! —
clear of town, in the fields or on the road.
Then we’ll seize his estates and worldly goods,
carve them up between us, share and share alike.
But as for his palace, let his mother keep it,
she and the man she weds.
There’s my plan.
If you find it offensive, if you want him
430 living on —in full command of his patrimony —
gather here no more then, living the life of kings,
consuming all his wealth. Each from his own house
must try to win her, showering her with gifts.
Then she can marry the one who offers most,
the man marked out by fate to be her husband.”
That brought them all to a hushed, stunned silence
till Amphinomus rose to have his say among them —
438 the noted son of Nisus, King Aretias’ grandson,
the chief who led the suitors from Dulichion,
440 land of grass and grains,
441 and the man who pleased Penelope the most,
thanks to his timely words and good clear sense.
Concerned for their welfare now, he stood and argued:
“Friends, I’ve no desire to kill Telemachus, not I —
it’s a terrible thing to shed the blood of kings.
Wait, sound out the will of the gods —that first.
If the decrees of mighty Zeus commend the work,
I’ll kill the prince myself and spur on all the rest.
If the gods are against it, then I say hold back!”
450 So Amphinomus urged, and won them over.
They rose at once, returned to Odysseus’ palace,
entered and took their seats on burnished chairs.
But now an inspiration took the discreet Penelope
to face her suitors, brutal, reckless men.
The queen had heard it all . . .
how they plotted inside the house to kill her son.
The herald Medon told her —he’d overheard their schemes.
And so, flanked by her ladies, she descended to the hall.
That luster of women, once she reached her suitors,
460 drawing her glistening veil across her cheeks,
paused now where a column propped the sturdy roof
and rounding on Antinous, cried out against him:
“You, Antinous! Violent, vicious, scheming —
you, they say, are the best man your age in Ithaca,
best for eloquence, counsel. You’re nothing of the sort!
Madman, why do you weave destruction for Telemachus? —
show no pity to those who need it? —those over whom
almighty Zeus stands guard. It’s wrong, unholy, yes,
weaving death for those who deserve your mercy!
470 Don’t you know how your father fled here once?
A fugitive, terrified of the people, up in arms
against him because he’d joined some Taphian pirates
473 out to attack Thesprotians, sworn allies of ours.
The mobs were set to destroy him, rip his life out,
devour his vast wealth to their heart’s content,
but Odysseus held them back, he kept their fury down.
And this is the man whose house you waste, scot-free,
whose wife you court, whose son you mean to kill —
you make my life an agony! Stop, I tell you,
480 stop all this, and make the rest stop too!”
But Polybus’ son Eurymachus tried to calm her:
“Wise Penelope, daughter of Icarius, courage!
Disabuse yourself of all these worries now.
That man is not alive —
he never will be, he never can be born —
who’ll lift a hand against Telemachus, your son,
not while I walk the land and I can see the light.
I tell you this —so help me, it will all come true —
in an instant that man’s blood will spurt around my spear!
490 My spear, since time and again Odysseus dandled me
on his knees, the great raider of cities fed me
roasted meat and held the red wine to my lips.
So to me your son is the dearest man alive,
and I urge the boy to have no fear of death,
not from the suitors at least.
What comes from the gods —there’s no escaping that.”
Encouraging, all the way, but all the while
plotting the prince’s murder in his mind . . .
The queen, going up to her lofty well-lit room,
500 fell to weeping for Odysseus, her beloved husband,
till watchful Athena sealed her eyes with welcome sleep.
Returning just at dusk to Odysseus and his son,
the loyal swineherd found they’d killed a yearling pig
and standing over it now were busy cooking supper.
But Athena had approached Laertes’ son Odysseus,
tapped him with her wand and made him old again.
She dressed him in filthy rags too, for fear Eumaeus,
recognizing his master face-to-face, might hurry
back to shrewd Penelope, blurting out the news
510 and never hide the secret in his heart.
Telemachus was the first to greet the swineherd:
“Welcome home, my friend! What’s the talk in town?
Are the swaggering suitors back from ambush yet —
or still waiting to catch me coming home?”
You answered the prince, Eumaeus, loyal swineherd,
“I had no time to go roaming all through town,
digging round for that. My heart raced me on
to get my message told and rush back here.
But I met up with a fast runner there,
520 sent by your crew, a herald,
first to tell your mother all the news.
And this I know, I saw with my own eyes —
I was just above the city, heading home,
clambering over Hermes’ Ridge, when I caught sight
of a trim ship pulling into the harbor, loaded down
with a crowd aboard her, shields and two-edged spears.
I think they’re the men you’re after —I’m not sure.”
At that the young prince Telemachus smiled,
glancing toward his father, avoiding Eumaeus’ eyes.
And now,
530 with the roasting done, the meal set out, they ate well
and no one’s hunger lacked a proper share of supper.
When they’d put aside desire for food and drink,
they remembered bed and took the gift of sleep.