HOMER
ODYSSEY

Translated by Ian Johnston, Vancouver Island University, Nanaimo, British Columbia, Canada.

This document is in the public domain (released January 2024). For a brief publication history see Odyssey: Table of Contents. For an RTF or PDF format of this translation use the following links: Odyssey [RTF]; Odyssey [PDF]

BOOK TWENTY-ONE
THE CONTEST WITH ODYSSEUS’S BOW

[Penelope decides to set up the archery contest with the axes; she goes to a storeroom to fetch the bow, arrows, and axes; the story of how Odysseus got the bow from Iphitus; Penelope addresses the suitors, saying she will marry whoever succeeds in the competition; Eumaeus and Philoetius weep; Antinous upbraids them; Telemachus addresses the suitors, sets up the bows in line, and tries unsuccessfully to string the bow; Leiodes attempts to string the bow and fails; Antinous criticizes Leiodes, then suggests they rub fat on the bow by the fire to make it more supple; Odysseus reveals his identity outside to Eumaeus and Philoetius and gives them instructions; Eurymachus tries to string the bow and fails; Antinous proposes they postpone the contest for today; Odysseus suggests he be given a chance to succeed with the bow; Antinous objects; Penelope intervenes; Telemachus tells his mother to go upstairs; Eumaeus hands the bow to Odysseus and orders Eurycleia to lock the doors; Philoetius closes the courtyard gates; Odysseus inspects the bow, then fires an arrow through the holes in the axe heads; Telemachus arms himself and moves to stand with his father.]

Bright-eyed Athena then placed inside the heart
of wise Penelope, Icarius’s daughter,
the thought that she should set up in Odysseus’ halls
the bow and gray iron axes for the suitors,
as a competition and prelude to their deaths.
She climbed the lofty staircase to her upper rooms,
picked up in her firm grip a curved key made of bronze—
it had an ivory handle fashioned with great skill.
With her attendants she went off to a storeroom
in a distant corner of the house, where they kept                              10
her lord’s possessions—bronze and gold and iron,                                   [10]
all finely crafted work. His well-sprung bow was there,
and quivers, too, with many death-dealing arrows,
presents he had received from Iphitus, his friend,
son of Eurytus, a man like the immortals,
when they met in Lacedaemon, in Messene,
at the home of wise Ortilochus. Odysseus
had gone there to collect a debt the people owed—
Messenian men had run off with three hundred sheep,
seizing the shepherds, too, and then left Ithaca                                 20
in their ships with many oars. In response to this,
Odysseus, who was just a young lad, had been sent                                  [20]
a long way by his father and other senior men,
part of an embassy. Iphitus was searching
for twelve mares he’d lost, along with some sturdy mules
still on the teat. In later years these animals
brought him a fatal destiny, the day he met
the mortal Hercules, Zeus’s great-hearted son,
who knew all there was to know about great exploits.
Hercules slaughtered him, although he was a guest                            30
in his own home—a cruel man who did not care
about gods’ anger or the welcoming table
he’d set before him. After their meal, Hercules
killed Iphitus and kept the mares with him at home                                 [30]
for his own use.(1) While Iphitus was enquiring
about these horses, he got to meet Odysseus
and offered him the bow. Earlier this weapon
belonged to mighty Eurytus, who, when he died,
left it to his son living in his high-roofed home.
Odysseus had given him a keen-edged sword                                   40
and a powerful spear, as well. This was the start
of their close friendship. Iphitus gave Odysseus
that bow of his, but the two men never bonded
as mutual guest friends—before that could take place
Hercules had murdered Iphitus, Eurytus’ son,
a god-like man. Odysseus did not take the bow
whenever he set off in his black ships to fight.
It lay there in his home as a memorial                                                      [40]
to a dear friend and for his use in Ithaca.
When fair Penelope came to the storage room,                                 50
she crossed the wooden threshold—a long time ago
a skilful craftsman planed it, set it straight and true,
then fitted doorposts and set shining doors in place.
Penelope swiftly took the looped thong from its hook,
put in the key, and with a push shoved back the bolt.(2)
Just as a bull grunts when it grazes in a field,
that how the door creaked as she pushed it with the key,                         [50]
and it quickly swung ajar. Then she clambered up
onto the planking where they kept the storage trunks
in which they stowed their fragrant clothing. There she stretched      60
to take the bow in its bright case down from its peg.
Then she sat down, placed the bow case across her knees
and wept aloud, as she took out her husband’s bow.
When she had had enough of her laments and tears,
she went down to the hall, to join the noble suitors,
holding in her hands the well-sprung bow and quiver,
with many pain-inflicting arrows. And with her                                        [60]
came some attendant slaves carrying in a chest
lots of iron and bronze, her husband’s battle gear.
Once the lovely lady reached the suitors, she stood                           70
beside the doorpost of the well-constructed hall,
with a bright veil covering her face. On either side
stood loyal attendant women. Then Penelope
addressed the suitors with these words:

                                                              “Listen to me,
bold suitors, who’ve been ravaging this home
with your incessant need for food and drink,
now that my husband’s been away so long.                                    [70]
The only story you could offer up
as an excuse is that you all desire
to marry me and take me as your wife.                                    80
So come now, suitors, since I seem to be
the prize you seek, I’ll place this great bow here—
a weapon that belonged to brave Odysseus.
Whichever one of you can grip this bow
and string it with the greatest ease, then shoot
an arrow through twelve axes, all of them,
I’ll go with him, leaving my married home,
this truly lovely house and all these goods
one needs for living—things I’ll remember,
even in my dreams.”

                                                          When she’d said this,                         90     [80]
she told Eumaeus, the good and faithful swineherd,
to set the bow and iron axes for the suitors.
With tears in his eyes, Eumaeus took the weapons
and laid them out. Philoetius, the goatherd,
was weeping, too, in another spot, once he saw
his master’s bow. Then Antinous addressed them both
with this reproach:

                                    “You foolish bumpkins,
who only think of what’s going on today!
What a wretched pair! Why start weeping now?
Why stir the heart inside the lady’s chest?                               100
Her spirit lies in pain, now that she’s lost
the man she loves. So sit and eat in silence,
or go outside and weep. Leave the bow here.                                 [90]
The contest will decide among the suitors.
I don’t think it will be an easy feat
to string that polished bow. Of all men here,
no one is like Odysseus used to be.
I saw him for myself, and I remember,
though at the time I was a little child.”

Antinous spoke. In his chest his heart was hoping                            110
he would string the bow and with it shoot an arrow
through the iron. But, in fact, he would be the first
to taste an arrow from brave Odysseus’s hands—
the very man he was disgracing shamefully,
as he sat in the hall, inciting all his friends.                                                [100]
But then among them all Telemachus spoke out
with royal authority:

                                                     “Well now, Zeus,
son of Cronos, must have made me foolish—
my dear mother, although quite sensible,
says she’ll be leaving with another man,                                   120
abandoning this home, and I just laugh.
My witless heart finds that enjoyable.
So come, suitors, since your prize seems to be
a woman who throughout Achaean land
has no equal, not in sacred Pylos,
Argos, Mycenae, or on the mainland,
or in Ithaca itself. But you know this,
so I do not need to praise my mother.                                           [110]
Come on now. Do not delay this contest
with excuses or use up too much time                                    130
diverting your attention from this bow.
Then we’ll see. I might try the bow myself.
If I can string it and shoot an arrow
through the iron, I won’t get so upset
when my royal mother has to leave here
with another man. I’d be left behind,
as someone capable of picking up
my father’s prizes in a competition.”

As he said this, Telemachus quickly threw off
the purple cloak covering his back, then jumped up,                          140
and removed the sharp sword hanging from his shoulders.
He set up the axes by digging out a trench,                                              [120]
one lengthy ditch for all of them, in a straight line.(3)
Then his feet trampled the earth down flat around them.
Amazement gripped the suitors as they looked at him
and watched how he aligned those axes properly,
though before then he had never even seen them.
Then, going and standing in the threshold, he tried
to test the bow. Three times he made it tremble,
as he strove to bend it, and three times he relaxed,                            150
hoping in his heart he’d string that bow and shoot
an arrow through the iron. On his fourth attempt,
as his power bent the bow, he might have strung it,
but Odysseus shook his head, signalling him to stop,
for all his eagerness. Telemachus spoke out,                                             [130]
addressing them once more with royal authority:

“Well, I suppose I’ll remain a coward,
a weak man, too, in future days, or else
I’m still too young and cannot yet rely
on my own strength to guard me from a man                         160
who gets angry with me first. But come now,
you men who are more powerful than me,
test this bow. Let’s end this competition.”

Once he said this, Telemachus placed the bow
down on the ground away from him, leaning it
against the polished panels of the door, and set
a swift arrow there beside the bow’s fine tip,
then sat down in the chair where he had been before.
Then Antinous, Eupeithes’ son, addressed them:                                    [140]

“All you suitors, get up in order now,                                      170
from left to right, beginning from the place
where the steward pours the wine.”

                                                              Antinous spoke,
and what he had proposed they found agreeable.
The first to stand was Leiodes, son of Oenops,
their soothsayer. He always sat furthest away,
beside the lovely mixing bowl, the only man
who opposed their recklessness—it made him angry
at the entire crowd of suitors. That was the man
who first picked up the bow and the swift arrow.
After moving to the threshold and standing there,                            180
he tried the bow, but he could not string it. His hands,                            [150]
which were quite delicate and feeble, grew weary,
before he could succeed in hooking up the string.
He then spoke out among the suitors:

                                                         “My friends,
I’m not the man to use this bow. So now,
let someone else take hold of it. This bow
will take away from many fine young men
their lives and spirits, since it’s far better
to die than live and fail in the attempt
to have what we are gathered here to get,                               190
remaining here in hope day after day.
Now every man has feelings in his heart—
he desires and hopes to wed Penelope,
Odysseus’ wife. But when he’s tried this bow
and observed what happens, then let him woo
another of Achaea’s well-dressed women,                                      [160]
seeking to win her with his bridal gifts,
and then Penelope can wed the man
who offers her the most, whose fate it is
to be her husband.”

                         When Leiodes had finished,                                           200
he set the bow beside him, leaning it
against the polished panels of the door
and placing with it a swift arrow by the tip.
Then he sat down again where he had been sitting.
But Antinous took issue with what he had said,
talking directly to him:

                                                                           “Leiodes,
that speech that passed the barrier of your teeth,
what wretched, sorry words! As I listened,
it made me angry—as if this bow would,                                        [170]
in fact, take away the lives and spirits                                      210
of the very finest men, just because
you could not string it. Your royal mother
did not produce in you the sort of man
who has sufficient strength to draw a bow
and shoot an arrow. But some other men
among these noble suitors will succeed.”

This said, Antinous called out to Melanthius,
the goatherd:

                         “Come now, Melanthius,
light a fire in the hall. Set a large chair
in front of it and spread a fleece across.                                  220
Then fetch a hefty piece of fat—there’s some
inside the house—so that these young men here
can warm the bow and rub grease into it,
then test the bow and end this competition.”                                [180]

Once Antinous said this, Melanthius soon lit
a tireless fire. Then he carried a large chair up,
draped a fleece on it, set it down beside the fire,
and from inside the house fetched a large piece of fat.
So then the young men warmed the bow and tested it.
But they could not string it—whatever strength they had                  230
was far too little. Antinous and Eurymachus,
the suitors’ leaders, still remained—the two of them
with their abilities, were the best men by far.

The cattle herder and the keeper of the swine
belonging to godlike Odysseus had gone out,
both together, so lord Odysseus moved away,                                          [190]
left the palace, walked through the yard, and followed them.
When they had passed beyond the courtyard and the gates,
Odysseus called to them with reassuring words:

“You there, cattleman and swineherd, shall I                           240
tell you something or keep it to myself?
My spirit tells me I should speak to you.
If Odysseus were to come back suddenly,
brought from somewhere by a god, would you two
be the sort of men who would defend him?
Would you support the suitors or Odysseus?
Answer as your heart and spirit prompt you.”

Then the cattle herder answered him:

                                                  “O Father Zeus,                                    [200]
would that you might fulfill this very wish—
may that man come, and led on by some god.                        250
Then you would know the kind of strength I have
and how my hands can demonstrate my power.”

And then Eumaeus, too, made the same sort of prayer
to all the gods that wise Odysseus would come back
to his own home. Once Odysseus had clearly seen
how resolute they were, he spoke to them again,
saying these words:

                                          “Well, here I am in person—
after suffering much distress, I’ve come home,
back in the twentieth year to my own land.
Of those who work for me, I recognize                                  260
that you’re the only two who want me back.
Among the rest, I’ve heard no one praying                                    [210]
that my return would bring me home again.
I’ll tell you both how this is going to end—
and I’ll speak the truth—if, on my behalf
some god will overcome those noble suitors,
I’ll bring you each a wife, and I’ll provide
possessions and a house built near my own.
Then you’ll be my companions—and kinsmen
of Telemachus. Come, I’ll show you something,                      270
a sign, so you will clearly know it’s me
and trust me in your hearts—here’s the old scar
I got from a boar’s white tusk, on a visit
to Parnassus with Autolycus’s sons.”                                             [220]

As he said this, Odysseus pulled aside his rags,
exposing the great scar. Once those two had seen it
and noted every detail, they both threw their arms
around the wise Odysseus—bursting into tears,
they welcomed him, kissing his head and shoulders.
Odysseus did the same—he kissed their heads and hands.                 280
Those men would have kept on weeping until sunset,
if Odysseus had not called a halt, saying to them:

“Stop these laments. Let’s have no more crying.
Someone might come out from the hall, see us,
and tell people in the house. Let’s go in,
one by one, not all at once. I’ll go first.                                           [230]
You come later. And let’s make this our sign.
All those other men, the noble suitors,
will not allow the quiver and the bow
to be given to me. But, Eumaeus,                                           290
as you carry that bow around the hall,
put it in my hands, and tell the women
to lock their room—bolt the close-fitting doors.
If any of them hears the noise of men
groaning or being hit inside our walls,
she’s to stay quiet, working where she is,
and not run off outside. Now, as for you,                                      [240]
Philoetius, I want you to lock
the courtyard gates. Bolt and lash them shut.
Do it quickly.”

                                                          After he said this,                              300
Odysseus went back into the hall and sat down
on the stool where he had been sitting. The two men,
godlike Odysseus’ servants, went in after him.

Eurymachus already had the bow in hand,
warming it here and there in light from the hot fire.
But even doing that, he could not string the bow.
Then his courageous heart gave out a mighty groan,
and he spoke to them directly—he was angry.

“It’s too bad. I’m frustrated for myself
and for you all. I’m not that unhappy                                      310   [250]
about the marriage, though I am upset.
There are many more Achaean women—
some here in sea-girt Ithaca itself,
others in various town. But if we are
so weak compared to godlike Odysseus
that we can’t string his bow, it’s a disgrace
which men will learn about in years to come.”

Antinous, Eupeithes’ son, answered him and said:

“Eurymachus, that’s not going to happen.
as you yourself well know. At this moment,                             320
in the country there’s a feast day, sacred
to the god. So who would bend the bow? No,
set it aside without saying a thing.
As for the axes, what if we let them                                              [260]
just remain there. I don’t think anyone
will come into the home of Odysseus,
Laertes’ son, and carry them away.
Come now, let the steward begin to pour
wine in the cups, so we can make libations.
Put the curved bow down, and in the morning,                      330
tell goatherd Melanthius to bring in
the finest goats by far from all the herds,
so we can set out pieces of the thigh
for the famous archer god, Apollo.
Then we’ll test the bow and end the contest.”

Antinous finished. They were pleased with what he said.
Heralds poured water on their hands, and young men                              [270]
filled the mixing bowls up to the brim with drink
and served them all, pouring a few drops in the cups
to start the ritual. Once they’d poured libations                                 340
and drunk wine to their heart’s content, Odysseus,
a crafty man who had a scheme in mind, spoke out:

“Suitors of the splendid queen, listen to me,
so I can say what the heart here in my chest
is prompting me to state. It’s a request,
a plea, especially to Eurymachus
and godlike Antinous, since what he said
was most appropriate—for the moment
you should postpone this business with the bow
and turn the matter over to the gods.                                     350
In the morning a god will give the strength                                   [280]
to whoever he desires. But come now,
give me the polished bow, so in this hall
I can test these hands of mine and find out
if my supple limbs still possess the strength
they used to have, or if my wandering
and my lack of food have quite destroyed it.”

Odysseus finished. They were extremely angry,
fearing that a beggar might string the polished bow.
So lord Antinous, addressing him directly,                                         360
took Odysseus to task:

                                     “You wretched stranger,
your mind lacks any sense—you’ve none at all.
Aren’t you content to share a feast with us,
such noble men, without being disturbed                                       [290]
or lacking any food, and to listen
to the words we speak to one another?
No other beggar or stranger listens in
on what we say. The wine, so honey sweet,
has injured you, as it harms other men,
who gulp it down and swallow far too much.                          370
Wine befuddled even great Eurytion,
the centaur, in brave Perithous’s house,
when he’d gone to the Lapiths. Afterwards,
when his heart was blinded by drinking wine,
in a mad fit he committed evil acts
in Perithous’s home. Grief seized the heroes.
They all leapt up and hauled him out of doors,
through the gate, then cut off his ears and nose
with pitiless bronze. His wits were reckless,                                    [300]
and he went on his way, bearing madness                               380
in his foolish heart. And that’s the reason
the fight between centaurs and men began.(4)
But he first discovered evil in himself,
when loaded down with wine. And so I say
if you string the bow, you’ll face great trouble.
You’ll not get gentle treatment anywhere,
not in this land. We’ll ship you off at once
in a black ship over to king Echetus,
who likes to kill and torture everyone.
You won’t escape from him. So drink your wine                     390
in peace, and don’t compete with younger men.”                          [310]

Wise Penelope then answered him and said:

“Antinous, it’s neither good nor proper
to deny guests of Telemachus a chance,
no matter who it is comes to this house.
And if, trusting in his strength and power,
the stranger strings Odysseus’s great bow,
do you believe this man will take me home
and make me his wife? I’m sure he himself
bears no such hope inside that chest of his.                            400
So none of you should be at dinner here
with sorrow in your heart because of him.
That would be undignified.”

                                                Then Eurymachus,                                           [320]
son of Polybus, answered her:

                                          “Wise Penelope,
daughter of Icarius, we do not think
this man will take you home. That would be wrong.
But we would be ashamed by public gossip
from both men and women if later on
some base Achaean spoke of us like this:

‘Those men wooing the wife of that fine man               410
are far worse than him—they can’t even string
his polished bow, and yet another man,
a beggar who came here on his travels,
did so with ease and then shot through the iron.’

That’s what men will say, and those words would be
a slur on us.”

Then wise Penelope replied:                                                                    [330]

                “Eurymachus, there is no way at all
there will be in this district good reports
of those dishonouring and eating up
a noble’s home. Why turn the matter now                              420
into a slur? This stranger’s very large
and strongly built. Furthermore, he maintains
that by birth he comes from a good father.
So come now, offer him the polished bow,
and let us see. I will say this to you—
and it will happen—if he strings the bow
and Apollo grants him glory, I’ll dress him
in some lovely clothes, a cloak and tunic,
and give him a sharp spear, as a defence                                        [340]
from dogs and men, as well as a fine sword,                            430
and sandals for his feet. Then I’ll send him
wherever his heart and spirit prompt him.”

Shrewd Telemachus then answered her:

                                                       “Mother,
among Achaeans, no man has a right
stronger than my own to offer this bow
to anyone I wish or to withhold it—
none of those who rule in rocky Ithaca
or in the islands neighbouring Elis,
where horses graze. Among these men, no one
will deny my will by force, if I wish                                          440
to give the bow, even to this stranger
as an outright gift to take away with him.
But, mother, you should go to your own rooms                             [350]
and keep busy with your proper duties,
the loom and spindle, and tell your women
to go about their tasks. The bow will be
a matter for the men, especially me,
since power in this house is justly mine.”

Penelope, astonished, went back to her chamber,
taking to heart the prudent words her son had said.                          450
With her servant women she walked up to her room
and there wept for Odysseus, her dear husband,
till bright-eyed Athena cast sweet sleep on her eyes.

The worthy swineherd had picked up the curving bow
and was carrying it. But the suitors in the hall                                           [360]
started shouting. One of those arrogant young men
then said something like:

                                            “What are you doing,
you wretched swineherd, carrying that bow,
you idiot? You’ll soon be with the swine
all alone, no one there, being eaten                                         460
by those swift dogs you yourself have raised,
if lord Apollo and the other gods
act with graciousness to us.”

                                                              That’s what they said.
So, though the bow was in his hands, he put it down.
He was afraid—so many men inside the hall
were yelling at him. But then from across the room
Telemachus shouted out a threat:

                                                                      “Old man,
keep on moving up here with that bow or else
you may regret it. I’m younger than you,                                       [370]
but I might force you out into the fields                                 470
and throw rocks at you. I’m the stronger man.
I wish my hands had that strength and power
over all the suitors here. I would force
some of them soon enough to leave this house
and go back home. They would not be happy.
The schemes they keep concocting are unjust.”

Telemachus finished speaking. But the suitors
all had a hearty laugh at his expense. This eased
their bitter anger at Telemachus. Meanwhile,
the swineherd had kept on moving through the hall,                         480
carrying the bow. He came to shrewd Odysseus
and placed it in his hands. Then he summoned the nurse,                        [380]
Eurycleia, and said to her:

                                “Wise Eurycleia,
Telemachus is telling you to lock up
the closely fitted doorway to this hall.
If anyone hears groans inside this room
or any noise from men within these walls,
she’s not to run outside, but stay in there,
busy with her work and saying nothing.”(5)

After he had said this, her words could find no wings.                       490
She bolted all the doors to that well-furnished hall.
And Philoetius, without a word, slipped out
and locked the courtyard gates inside the sturdy walls.
A cable from a curving ship was lying there,                                             [390]
by the portico, made of papyrus fibres.
With that he lashed the gates tight shut and went inside,
moved to the chair where he had been before, sat down,
and watched Odysseus, who already had the bow.
He was turning it this way and that, testing it
in different ways to see if, while its lord was gone,                             500
worms had nibbled on the horns. One of the suitors,
with a glance beside him, would say something like:

“This man knows bows—he must be an expert.
Either he has bows like this stored at home
or else he wants to make one. That is why
he’s turning it around in all directions.
That beggar’s really skilled in devious tricks.”                                 [400]

And then another of those arrogant young men
would make some further comment:

                                                              “Well, I hope
the chance that this brings him some benefit                          510
matches his ability to string this bow.”

That is how the suitors talked. But shrewd Odysseus,
once he had raised the weapon and looked it over
from every angle, then—just as someone really skilled
at playing the lyre and singing has no trouble
when he loops a taut string around a brand-new peg,
tying the twisted sheep’s gut down at either end—
that’s how easily lord Odysseus strung that bow.
Holding it in his right hand, he tested the string.                                      [410]
It sang out, resonating like a swallow’s song,                                     520
beneath his touch. Grief overwhelmed the suitors.
The skin on all of them changed colour. And then Zeus
gave out an ominous sign, a peal of thunder.
Lord Odysseus, who had endured so much, rejoiced—
crooked-minded Cronos’ son had sent an omen.
Then he picked up a swift arrow lying by itself
on the table there beside him—the other ones,
which those Achaeans soon would be familiar with—
were stored inside the hollow quiver. He set it
against the bow, on the bridge, pulled the notched arrow                  530
and the bowstring back—still sitting in his seat—                                    [420]
and with a sure aim let it fly. It did not miss,
not even a single hole in all the axe heads.
The arrow, weighted with bronze, sped straight on through
and out the other end. And at that point, Odysseus
called out to his son:

                               “Telemachus, the stranger
sitting in your halls has not disgraced you.
I did not miss my aim or work too long
to string that bow. My strength is still intact,
in spite of all the suitors’ scornful gibes.                                   540
Now it’s time to get a dinner ready
for these Achaeans, while there’s still some light,
then entertain ourselves in different ways,
with singing and the lyre. For these are things                                [430]
which should accompany a dinner feast.”

As he spoke, he gave a signal with his eyebrows.
Telemachus, godlike Odysseus’s dear son,
cinched his sword belt tight, closed his fist around a spear,
moved in close beside his father, next to his seat,
and stood there by him, fully armed with gleaming bronze.                550

ENDNOTES

(1) Iphitus went to see Hercules, who was his friend, about some stolen cattle. But Hercules went insane (a fit brought on by Hera) and killed Iphitus by throwing him off the walls of Tiryns. Hercules had to be purified and suffer some punishment for this murder. It’s not entirely clear how the horses mentioned in Homer’s text brought about Hercules’s violence, unless the idea is that Hercules killed him to obtain the horses. Hercules is called “mortal” because Iphitus met him when he was still a man, that is, before he became deified after his death. The reference to the “welcoming table” is a reminder of the special bond between a host and his guest once they had shared a meal together. [Back to Text]

(2) Merry, Riddell, and Monro, in their Commentary on the Odyssey (1886) explain that the inside bolt was moved by a thong passing through a slit in the door. Once the door was bolted shut by pulling the thong (when a person was leaving), the thong was attached to a hook on the outside wall. To get into the room from the outside required a key which fit a hole of the appropriate shape. Once the thong was taken off its hook, the key was inserted in the hole, and it pushed the bolt back. The purpose of the thong, it seems, was to prevent someone from opening the door from the inside (where it would be impossible to remove the thong from its hook and thus to move the bolt). [Back to Text]

(3) As mentioned in the notes for Book Twenty, the challenge required the contestant to string the bow (i.e., bend it back so that the string could be attached at both tips) and then shoot an arrow through a series of holes in twelve ax heads set up in a straight line. This appears to take place inside the great hall, which, as Merry, Riddell, and Monro note, had a floor consisting of hard earth. However, the precise location of the contest (inside or outside) has long been a matter of dispute. [Back to Text]

(4) Eurytion, a Centaur, was a guest at Perithous’s wedding. A battle broke out between the centaurs and Perithous’s people, the Lapiths. This version blames the fight on Eurytion’s drinking.. Eurytion was later killed by Hercules. It’s not clear here whether the Centaurs are pictured as normal human beings or, as they were later, creatures with the head and torso of a human being and the body and legs of a horse. [Back to Text]

(5) The doorway in question is the entrance to the women’s quarters. They are to be locked in so that they don’t interrupt the revenge killings or run off to raise a general alarm. [Back to Text]

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