HOMER ODYSSEY

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-FOUR
ZEUS AND ATHENA END THE FIGHTING

[Hermes conducts the shades of the dead suitors down to Hades, where they meet Achilles, Patroclus, Antilochus, and Agamemnon; Agamemnon and Achilles talk; Agamemnon gives details of Achilles’s burial; Amphimedon complains to Agamemnon about his death at Odysseus’s hands; Agamemnon pays tribute to Odysseus and Penelope; Odysseus goes out to find his father; Laertes and Odysseus talk in the vineyard, and Odysseus tests his father with a false story and then reveals his identity; the two men return to Laertes’s house, where Eumaeus, Philoetius, and Telemachus have prepared dinner; Laertes’s appearance is transformed; Dolius and his sons arrive; the men in Ithaca hear about the slaughter and collect their dead; Eupeithes urges action against Odysseus; Medon and Halitherses advise against such action; the majority decide to follow Eupeithes; Athena questions Zeus about his intentions regarding Odysseus; Zeus tells her to deal with the situation; Odysseus and his followers arm themselves and go out to meet the Ithacan army; Athena urges Laertes to throw a spear; Laertes kills Eupeithes; Athena stops the Ithacan army and sends it back to the city; a thunderbolt from Zeus stops Odysseus; Athena, in the guise of Mentor establishes a lasting oath between both sides.]

Meanwhile, divine Hermes of Cyllene summoned up
the spirits of the suitors. In his hand he held
the beautiful gold staff he uses to enchant
the eyes of anyone he wishes or to wake
some other man from sleep. With it he roused and led
these spirits, who kept squeaking as they followed him.
Just as inside the corners of a monstrous cave
bats flit around and cry when one of them falls down
out of the cluster on the rock face where they cling
to one another, that is how these spirits shrieked                                   10
as they moved on together. Hermes the Deliverer                                          [10]
conducted them along the murky passageway.(1)
They went past the streams of Ocean, past Leucas,
past the gates of the Sun and past the land of Dreams,
and very soon came to the field of asphodel,
where spirits live, the shades of those whose work is done.(2)

Here they met the shade of Peleus’ son Achilles,
and of Patroclus, too, of brave Antilochus,
and of Ajax, who had the finest form and shape
of all Danaans, after the son of Peleus,                                                      20
who had no equal. These dead shades were gathered there,
in a group around Achilles. Then to them came                                             [20]
the spirit of Agamemnon, son of Atreus,
full of sorrow. Around him were assembled shades
of all those who had died with him and met their fate
in Aegisthus’ house. The shade of dead Achilles
was the first to speak to him:

                                                              “Son of Atreus,
we thought of you as one well loved by Zeus,
who hurls the thunderbolt, for all your days,
more so than every other human warrior,                                       30
because on Trojan soil you were the king
of many fighting men where we Achaeans
went through so much distress. And now it seems
destructive Fate was destined to reach you,
as well, and far too soon, the mortal doom
that no man born escapes. O how I wish                                              [30]
you’d met your fatal end in Trojan lands,
still in full possession of those honours
you were master of. Then all Achaeans
would have made a tomb for you—for your son                             40
you would have won great fame in future days.
But as it is, your fate was to be caught
in a death more pitiful than any.”

The shade of Atreus’s son then answered him:

“Noble Achilles, great son of Peleus,
killed in the land of Troy, far from Argos.
Other men fell round you, the finest sons
of Trojans and Achaeans, in the fight
above your corpse. You lay in swirling dust,
a great man in your full magnificence,                                           50     [40]
with your skill in horsemanship forgotten.
As for us, all day long we battled on—
we never would have pulled back from the fight,
if Zeus had not brought on a storm to end it.
We took you from the battle to the ships,
laid you on a bier, and wiped down your skin,
washing your corpse with water and warm oil.
The Danaans stood and wept around you,
shedding many tears, and cut off their hair.
Your mother heard about your death and came                            60
with her immortal nymphs up from the sea.(3)
A wondrous cry rose above the water—
all Achaeans there were seized with trembling.
The men would have jumped up and run away                                    [50]
to the hollow ships, if one man, well versed
in ancient wisdom, had not held them back.
I mean Nestor, whose earlier advice
had seemed the best. Using his wise judgment,
he addressed them all and said:

‘Hold on, Argives.
You young Achaean men, don’t rush away. 70
This is his mother coming from the sea
with her immortal sea nymphs to look on
the face of her dead son.’

                                     Nestor said these words,
and the flight of all those warriors ceased.
The daughters of the Old Man of the Sea
stood round you in a piteous lament,
as they put immortal clothing on you.(4)
And Muses, nine in all, sang out a dirge,                                              [60]
their lovely voices answering each other.
You’d not have seen a single Argive there                                       80
who was not weeping, his heart deeply moved
by the Muses’ clear-toned song. We mourned you
for seventeen days and nights together,
both mortal humans and immortal gods.
On the eighteenth we gave you to the fire.
Around you we killed many well-fed sheep
and bent-horned cattle. You were cremated
in clothing of the gods, with sweet honey
and much oil. Many Achaean warriors
moved round the funeral pyre in armour,                                       90
as you lay there in the flames, foot soldiers                                          [70]
and charioteers, making a huge noise.
Then, Achilles, once Hephaestus’s fire
was finished with you, we set your white bones
in unmixed wine and oil. Your mother gave
a two-handled jar of gold. She claimed it was
a gift from Dionysus, something made
by glorious Hephaestus. In this jar,
illustrious Achilles, lie your bones,
mixed in with the bones of dead Patroclus,                                   100
son of Menoetius. Apart from these
lie Antilochus’ bones—you valued him
above all the rest of your companions
except Patroclus.(5) Then, over these bones,
we—the sacred host of Argive spearmen—                                            [80]
raised a huge and noble burial mound
on a promontory projecting out
into the wide Hellespont, so that men,
those now alive and those in future days,
can view it from a long way out at sea.                                           110
Your mother asked the gods for worthy prizes
and set them out among the best Achaeans
for a competition. In former days
you attended many funeral games
for warriors, when, once a king has died,
the younger men prepare for competition
and steel themselves to win. But if you’d seen                                     [90]
that spectacle you would have truly marveled—
the goddess, silver-footed Thetis, gave
magnificent prizes in your honour.                                                 120
The gods had that much special love for you.
So even in death, your name did not die.
Your glorious fame, Achilles, will endure
among all men forever. As for me,
I finished off the war, but what pleasure
does that give me now? When I got back home,
Zeus organized a dreadful fate for me,
thanks to Aegisthus and my accursed wife.”(6)

As they talked this way to one another, Hermes,
killer of Argus, came close to them, escorting 130
the shades of those dead suitors Odysseus had killed. [100]
When they observed this, the two, in their amazement,
went straight up to them. The shade of Agamemnon,
son of Atreus, recognized the well-loved son
of Melaneus, glorious Amphimedon,
a guest-friend of his from Ithaca, his home.
The shade of Agamemnon spoke to him first and said:

“Amphimedon, what has happened to you,
all excellent young men of the same age,
to come down here beneath the gloomy earth?                             140
If one had to choose the city’s finest men,
one could not wish for any group but these.
Did Poseidon overwhelm you in your ships
by rousing savage winds and giant waves?                                            [110]
Or did hostile forces on the mainland
kill you off, while you were taking cattle
or rich flocks of sheep, or were they fighting
to protect their city and their women?
Answer what I’m asking. For I can claim
I am your guest-friend. Do you not recall                                       150
the time I made a visit to your home
with Menelaus—to urge Odysseus
to voyage with us in our well-benched ships
to Ilion? It took us a whole month
to cross that open sea, and it was hard
to win Odysseus, sacker of cities,
over to our side.”

Amphimedon’s shade [120]
then answered him and said:

                                          “Noble son of Atreus,
Agamemnon, Zeus-fostered king of men,
I do remember all these things you say,                                         160
and I’ll describe for you every detail,
the truth of how we died, an evil fate,
and how it came about. Since Odysseus
had been away from home for many years,
we wooed his wife. She was not unwilling
to think about a marriage she detested,
but she would not go through with it. Instead,
she organized our deaths, our murky fate.
In her heart she also devised a trick.
She had a huge loom set up in her rooms                                       170
then on it wove a delicate wide cloth.                                                    [130]
When she began, she told us this:

‘Young men,
my suitors, since lord Odysseus is dead,
you’re keen for me to marry. You must wait
until I’m finished with this robe, so I
don’t waste this woven yarn in useless work.
It’s a burial shroud for lord Laertes,
for when the lethal fate of his sad death
will seize him, so no Achaean woman
in the district will get angry with me, 180
because a man who won such rich estates
should have to lie in death without a shroud.’

That’s what she said, and our proud hearts agreed.
So day by day she’d weave at that great loom.
At night she’d have torches placed beside her                                      [140]
and unravel it. She tricked Achaeans
for three years with this scheme—they believed her.
But as the seasons changed and months rolled on,
and many days passed by, the fourth year came.
Then one of her women, who knew the plan,                                 190
informed us, and we came in and caught her
undoing the lovely yarn. So after that
we made her finish it against her will.
Once she’d woven it and washed the fabric,
she displayed the robe—it shone like the sun
or like the moon. Then a malignant god
brought Odysseus back home from overseas,
to pastures bordering where the swineherd                                         [150]
has his house. And Odysseus’s dear son
went to that house, as well, once he returned                              200
in his black ship, back from sandy Pylos.
The two hatched a plan against the suitors,
to bring them to a nasty end, then left
for the well-known city. Telemachus
went there before his father—Odysseus
got there later. The swineherd led his master,
who wore shabby clothing on his body—
just like an ancient worn-out vagabond
leaning on a staff, rags covering his skin.(7)
So none of us could recognize the man                                          210
when he suddenly showed up, not even                                                [160]
older men. We pelted him with insults,
hurled things at him, but for a little while
his firm heart kept enduring what we threw
and how we taunted him in his own home.
But when aegis-bearing Zeus aroused him,
with Telemachus’ help he took away
his fine weapons, put them in a storeroom,
and locked the bolt. Then, with his great cunning,
he told his wife to place before the suitors                                    220
his bow and iron axes, a contest
for those of us who bore an evil fate,
the prelude to our death. No suitor there                                             [170]
could bend that great bow enough to string it.
We simply did not have sufficient strength.
When the bow was handed to Odysseus,
we all called out to say we should not give
that bow to him, no matter what he said.
Telemachus alone kept urging him
and told him he could try. Once Odysseus,                                 230
who had endured so much, picked up the bow,
he strung it with ease and shot an arrow
through the iron axes. He went and stood
inside the doorway with a fearful glare
and kept shooting volleys of swift arrows.
He hit Antinous and went on shooting,                                                 [180]
aiming at other men across the room,
letting lethal arrows fly. Men collapsed,
falling thick and fast. Then we realized
some god was helping them, when all at once                              240
they charged out in a frenzy through the house,
butchering men everywhere. The screaming
was horrific, as heads were smashed apart.
The whole floor swam with blood. That’s how we died,
lord Agamemnon, and now our bodies
lie in Odysseus’ yard, still untended.
Our families back home don’t know we’re dead,
the ones who’d wash the black blood from our wounds,
then lay our bodies out and weep for us,                                               [190]
the necessary rites for those who’ve died.”                                     250

The shade of Atreus’s son then answered him:

“O happy Odysseus, Laertes’ son,
an enterprising man, who won himself
a wife whose virtue was beyond reproach.
How fine the heart in such a faultless wife!
Penelope kept Odysseus in her heart,
her husband, true to the man she married.
The story of her excellence will not die—
immortal gods will make a pleasing song
for men on earth about Penelope. 260
Tyndareus’s child was not like her—
she planned to carry out an evil act
and slaughter the husband she had married.(8) [200]
Men’s songs about her will be filled with hate.
She gives all women evil reputations,
even those whose acts incur no shame.”

So these two talked to one another, as they stood
in the house of Hades, deep underneath the earth.

Once Odysseus and his men had left the city,
they soon reached his father’s fertile, well-managed farm, 270
which Laertes had once won by his own efforts,
after much hard labour. His house was there, with sheds
surrounding it on every side, where his servants,
bonded slaves, who worked to carry out his wishes, [210]
ate and sat and slept. An ancient Sicilian woman
lived inside his house, looking after the old man,
caring for him at the farm, far from the city.
Odysseus then spoke to his servants and his son:

“You men should now go in the well-built home
and quickly kill the finest pig they have, 280
so we can eat. I’ll sound out my father,
to find out if he recognizes me,
sees who I am, once he’s laid eyes on me,
or if he doesn’t know me anymore,
since I’ve been away so long.”

                                                                   Odysseus spoke,
then handed his battle weapons to his servants.
They quickly went inside the house. Then Odysseus,                                [220]
walking out to test his father, made his way down
to the fruitful vineyard and then continued on
to the extensive orchard, where he failed to find                                    290
Dolius or any children of his father’s slaves.
They had gone away to gather large rocks for the wall
around the vineyard, with the old man in the lead.
In the well-tended vineyard he found his father.
He was digging around a plant, all by himself,
dressed in a disgusting, shabby, patched-up tunic,
with laced-up shin pads on his legs, stitched from ox-hide,
to protect himself from scratches, and on his hands                                     [230]
he wore gloves, for in that ground many thistles grew.
On his head he had a goatskin cap. In these clothes                               300
he was dealing with his grief. When lord Odysseus,
who had endured so much, saw him worn down with age
and bearing such a load of sorrow in his heart,
he stood beneath a tall pear tree and shed a tear,
debating in his mind and heart whether he should
embrace and kiss his father and describe for him
in detail how he got back to his native land
or start by asking questions, to test Laertes
on every point. As he thought about his options,
the best decision seemed to be to test him first,                                     310   [240]
using words which might provoke him. With this in mind,
lord Odysseus walked directly to his father,
who was rooting around a plant with his head down.
His splendid son stood there beside him and spoke out:

“Old man, from the way you tend this orchard
you’ve no lack of skill. No. Your care is good.
There’s nothing here—no plant, fig tree, or vine,
or olive, pear, or plot in all this field—
that needs attention. I’ll tell you something else—
don’t let this make you angry in your heart—                                320
you yourself are not being well looked after.
You are very old, but covered in muck,                                                 [250]
and badly dressed in those disgusting clothes.
You master cannot be denying you care
because you’re lazy—that just can’t be true.
At first glance, you don’t seem to be a slave,
not when one sees your stature and your shape.
You’re like a king, the kind of man who bathes
and eats and goes to sleep in a soft bed,
as old men should. So come now, tell me this,                              330
and speak out candidly. Whose slave are you?
Whose orchard are you tending? And tell me
the truth about this, so I understand—
Is this place we’ve reached truly Ithaca,
as some man I just met on my way here                                                 [260]
informed me. His mind was not too clever—
for he could not give me any details
or listen to my words when I asked him
whether a friend of mine is still alive
or is now in Hades, already dead.                                                    340
I’ll explain it to you. Listen to me,
and hear me out. In my dear native land,
I once welcomed a man who had arrived
at my own home. No other mortal man
from far away has visited my house
as a more pleasing guest. He said he came
from Ithaca. He told me his father                                                          [270]
was Laertes, son of Arcesius.
I took him to the house, entertained him
with lavish hospitality, and gave him                                              350
a kind reception with the many things
I had inside my home, providing him
appropriate friendship gifts. I gave him
seven talents of finely crafted gold,
a silver mixing bowl etched with flowers,
twelve cloaks with single folds, twelve coverlets,
as many splendid cloaks, and, besides these,
as many tunics and four women slaves
skilled in fine handicrafts and beautiful,
the very ones he wished to choose himself.”                                  360

Then his father shed a tear, answered him, and said: [280]

“Stranger, yes indeed, you’ve reached the country
you asked about. But it’s been taken over
by arrogant, reckless men. Those presents,
the countless gifts you freely gave, are useless.
If you’d come across him still living here,
in Ithaca, he’d have sent you on your way
after paying you back with splendid gifts
and hospitality—that is the right
of him who offers kindness first. But come,                                    370
tell me this, and make sure you speak the truth.
How long ago did you welcome this man,
this unlucky guest, my son, if, indeed,
such an ill-fated man ever was alive?                                                     [290]
Somewhere far from his native land and friends
the fish have fed on him down in the sea,
or savage beasts and birds have eaten him
somewhere on land. His mother and father,
those who gave him life, could not lay him out
for burial or lament his passing.                                                      380
The wife he courted with so many gifts,
faithful Penelope, could not shed tears
over his corpse or close his eyes in death,
as is appropriate, though that’s a rite
we owe the dead. And tell me this, as well—
speaking the truth so I can understand—
Among men who are you? Where are you from?
What is your city? Who are your parents?
Where did you and your god-like companions
anchor the swift ship that carried you here?                                  390
Or did you come on someone else’s ship                                               [300]
as passenger, men who let you disembark
and then set off again?”

Resourceful Odysseus
then answered him:

“All right, I’ll tell you everything
quite truthfully. I come from Alybas,
where I have a lovely home. I’m the son
of Apheidas, lord Polypemon’s son.
My name’s Eperitus. But then some god
made me go off course from Sicania,
so I’ve come here against my will. My ship                                  400
is anchored over there, close to the fields
far from the city. As for Odysseus,
this is the fifth year since he went away                                                [310]
and left my country. That unlucky man!
There were auspicious omens from some birds
flying on the right, when he departed.
So when I sent him off, I was happy,
and so was he. The hearts in both of us
hoped we would meet again as host and guest,
and exchange fine gifts with one another.”                                     410

As Odysseus said these words, a black cloud of grief
swallowed up Laertes. With both hands he scooped up
some grimy dust and dumped it over his gray hair,
moaning all the time. He stirred Odysseus’s heart.
As Odysseus gazed at his dear father, he could feel
sharp pain shooting up his nostrils. He jumped over,
embraced Laertes, kissed him, and then said: [320]

“Father,
I’m here—the very man you asked about.
I’ve returned here in the twentieth year,
back to my native land. Stop your grieving, 420
these tearful sighs. I’ll tell you everything,
although we have to move with all due speed.
I’ve killed the suitors in our home, avenged
their evil and heart-rending insolence.”

Laertes then answered him and said:

“If that’s true,
if you are indeed my son Odysseus
and have come back, show me some evidence,
something clear so I can be quite certain.”

Resourceful Odysseus replied to him and said: [330]

“First, let your eyes inspect this scar—a boar                                430
inflicted that on me with its white tusk,
when I visited Parnassus, sent there
by you and by my honourable mother,
to her cherished father, Autolycus,
so I could get the gifts he’d promised me,
what he’d agreed to give when he was here.
Come, I’ll tell you the trees you gave me once
in this well-cultivated vineyard—back then
I was a child following behind you,
and I asked about each one. It was here—                                      440
we walked by these very trees—you named them
and described them to me. You offered me
as a gift thirteen pear trees, ten apple trees                                         [340]
and forty fig trees. And in addition,
you said you’d give me fifty rows of vines,
bearing all sorts of different types of grapes,
when Zeus’s seasons load their stems with fruit.”

As Odysseus spoke, his father’s fond heart and knees
gave way—he clearly recognized the evidence
Odysseus had presented. He threw both his arms 450
around the son he loved and struggled hard to breathe.
Lord Odysseus, who had endured so much, held him.
After he’d revived and the spirit was restored
inside his chest, Laertes spoke again and said: [350]

“Father Zeus, it appears you gods are still
on high Olympus, if it’s true those suitors
have paid the price of their proud arrogance.
But now my heart contains a dreadful fear—
all the men of Ithaca will rush here
against us, and they’ll send out messengers 460
to every town in Cephallenia.”(9)

Resourceful Odysseus then answered him and said:

“Take courage, and do not allow these things
to weigh down your heart. Let’s go to the house,
the one close by the orchard, where I sent
Telemachus, together with the swineherd
and the keeper of the goats, telling them
to prepare a meal as quickly as they could.” [360]

After they talked like this, they went to the fine house.
Once they reached his father’s well-furnished home, they found        470
Telemachus with the goatkeeper and swineherd
carving large cuts of meat and mixing gleaming wine.

Inside the home, the Sicilian servant woman
gave great-hearted Laertes a bath, then rubbed him
with rich oil and threw a lovely cloak around him.
Athena then approached them and fleshed out the limbs
on that shepherd of his people. The goddess made him
taller than before and sturdier to the eye.
When he left the bath, his dear son was astonished—                                  [370]
as he looked at him he seemed like the immortals.                                 480
Odysseus spoke to him—his words had wings:

“Father,
surely one of the gods who live forever
has made you look more handsome than before—
both your form and stature.”

Wise Laertes
then answered him and said:

                              “By Father Zeus,
Athena, and Apollo, I wish I were
just like I was when I took Nericus
on the mainland coast, that well-built fortress,
when I was the Cephallenian king.
With strength like that, I could have stood with you                   490
yesterday, my armour on my shoulders,                                                [380]
and driven off the suitors in our home.
I’d have made many of their knees go slack
inside the hall—your heart would have been pleased.”

In this way, the two men conversed with one another.

Meanwhile, the other servants had finished working,
and dinner was prepared. They sat down one by one
on stools and chairs. As they were reaching for the food,
old Dolius appeared. He had his sons with him,
exhausted from their work. The old Sicilian woman, 500
their mother, had gone out and told them to return.
She fed them and took good care of old man Laertes, [390]
now that his age had laid its grip on him. These men,
saw Odysseus there, and their hearts took note of him.
They stood in the house astonished. Then Odysseus
talked to them all with reassuring words and said:

“Old man, sit down here. Have something to eat.
Forget being so amazed. For some time now
we’ve been keen to turn our hands to dinner,
but we kept expecting you’d be coming, 510
so we’ve been waiting in the house.”

Odysseus spoke.
Dolius went straight up to him, both arms outstretched,
grabbed Odysseus’s hand and kissed it on the wrist.
Then he spoke to him—his words had wings:

“My friend, [400]
you’re back with us, who longed for your return
but never thought to see it! Gods themselves
must have been leading you. Joyful greetings!
May gods grant you success! Be frank with me
and tell me so I fully understand—
Does wise Penelope now know for certain 520
you have come back, or should we send someone
to let her know?”

Resourceful Odysseus answered him
and said:

“Old man, she already knows.
Why should you be so concerned about her?”

Odysseus said these words, and Dolius sat down
on his polished stool. Then the sons of Dolius
also came up around glorious Odysseus,
clasping both his hands with joyful words of welcome. [410]
Then they sat down in a row beside their father.
So these men spent the time finishing their dinner 530
inside the hut.

Meanwhile, Rumour the Messenger
sped swiftly through the entire city, spreading news
of the suitors’ appalling deaths, their destiny.(10)
People heard about it all at once and came in
from all directions, gathering with mournful sighs
before Odysseus’s home. Each one brought his dead
outside the house and buried them, and all the men
from other cities they sent home, carrying them
aboard swift ships to be taken back by sailors.
Then, with sorrowful hearts, they all went in person 540 [420]
to meet in an assembly, and, once they met there
together in a group, Eupeithes rose to speak.
Constant grief weighed down his heart for his own son,
Antinous, the first man killed by lord Odysseus.
As he wept for him, he spoke to the assembly:

“My friends, this man has planned and carried out
dreadful acts against Achaeans. He took
many courageous men when he embarked,
then lost his hollow ships, with all men dead.
Now he’s returned and killed the best men by far                         550
among the Cephallenians. So come,
before he can hurry off to Pylos                                                           [430]
or holy Elis, where Epeians rule,
let’s get started. If not, in future days
we’ll be eternally disgraced, since men
yet to be born will learn about our shame,
if we don’t act to take out our revenge
on those killers of our sons and brothers.
As far as I’m concerned, the life we’d live
would not be sweet. I rather die right now                                     560
and live among the dead. So we should act,
in case those men have a head start on us
and get across the sea.”

As Eupeithes said this,
he wept, and all Achaeans were seized with pity.
Then Medon and the godlike singer, just released
from sleep, approached them from Odysseus’s house, [440]
and stood up in their midst. The crowd there was amazed.
Then Medon, a shrewd man, spoke out:

“Men of Ithaca,
listen. Odysseus did not plan these acts
without the gods’ consent. I myself observed 570
an immortal god who stood beside him,
looking in every detail just like Mentor.
The deathless god appeared before Odysseus
at that time to spur him on to action,
and, at another time, charged through the hall,
panicking the suitors. They collapsed in droves.”

As Medon spoke, pale fear gripped each of them. And then, [450]
old Halitherses, son of Mastor, rose to speak.
He was the only man who could see past and future.
Bearing in the mind their common good, he spoke out, 580
saying these words:

“You men of Ithaca,
listen to me. Hear what I have to say.
What’s happened now, my friends, has come about
because you’ve all been acting stupidly.
You refused follow my instructions
or Mentor’s, that shepherd of his people,
and make your sons cease their reckless conduct,
their monstrous acts of wanton foolishness,
squandering a worthy man’s possessions,
dishonouring his wife, claiming the man 590 [460]
never would come back. So now, let that be,
and follow what I say in how you act—
we should not move out, in case some men here
run into trouble they’ve brought on themselves.”

He ended. Some men stayed together in their seats,
but others, more than half, jumped up with noisy shouts.
Their hearts had not responded to what he just said,
for many had been persuaded by Eupeithes
and quickly hurried away to get their weapons.

After they put gleaming bronze around their bodies, 600
they gathered in a large group on the spacious grounds
before the city. Eupeithes was the leader
in this foolishness. He believed he could avenge [470]
the killing of his son, but he would not return,
for he was marching out to meet a lethal fate.

Then Athena spoke to Zeus, son of Cronos, saying:

“Father of us all and son of Cronos,
highest of all those who rule, answer me
when I ask this—What are you concealing
in that mind of yours? Will you now foster 610
further savage war and fearful battle,
or bring both sides together here as friends?”

Cloud-gatherer Zeus then answered her and said:

“My child, why are you asking this of me?
Why these questions? Were you not the one
who put this plan in motion by yourself,
so Odysseus could take out his revenge [480]
against these suitors, after he got back?
Do as you wish. But I’ll lay out for you
what I think is right. Since lord Odysseus 620
has now paid the suitors back, let them swear
a binding oath that he’ll remain their king
for life, and let us make them all forget
the way their brothers and their sons were killed
and love each other as they did before.
And let there be wealth and peace in plenty.”

His words roused Athena, who was already keen.
She left, swooping down from lofty Mount Olympus.

Meanwhile, after his men had satisfied their hearts
with a meal as sweet as honey, lord Odysseus, 630 [490]
who had borne so much, was the first of them to speak:

“Someone should go outside and look around,
to see if they are getting close to us.”

Once he said this, a son of Dolius got up,
as Odysseus had ordered, walked to the doorway,
and saw a crowd of armed men moving to the hut.
He called out to Odysseus—his swift words had wings:

“They’re here—and closing in! Let’s get weapons—
we’d better hurry!”

                                  At these words, they leapt up
and put on their armour. Odysseus and his men                                    640
were four, the sons of Dolius six, and with them
Dolius and Laertes, though they had gray hair,
were dressed in armour, too, forced to be warriors.
Once they put glittering bronze around their bodies,                                   [500]
they opened up the doors and went outside. Odysseus
led them out. But then Athena, Zeus’s daughter,
with the shape and voice of Mentor, came up to them.
When Odysseus, who had endured so much, saw her,
he was glad and spoke some swift words to Telemachus,
his dear son:

“Telemachus, now you’ve reached 650
the field of battle, where the finest men
are put to the test. Soon enough you’ll learn
not to disgrace your father’s family—
for we have always been preeminent
for strength and courage everywhere on earth.”

Shrewd Telemachus then answered him and said: [510]

“Dear father, if that’s what you want, you’ll see
that I, with my heart as it is right now,
will not shame us. For I’ll do what you say.”

When he said this, Laertes felt great joy and said: 660

“You dear gods, what a day this is for me!
I’m truly happy when my son and grandson
compete for excellence with one another.”

Then Athena with the glittering eyes came up,
stood by Laertes, and said:

“Child of Arcesius,
by far the dearest of those I cherish,
pray to the young girl with the flashing eyes
and to Father Zeus. Then without delay
brandish that long spear of yours and hurl it.”

Pallas Athena spoke and then breathed into him 670 [520]
enormous power. Laertes said a prayer
to great Zeus’s daughter, and quickly lifting up
his long-shadowed spear, he threw it. It hit home,
piercing the cheek piece on Eupeithes’s helmet,
which did not stop the spear—its point continued on.
Eupeithes collapsed, falling with a thud, his armour
crashing round him. Odysseus and his splendid son
charged at the fighters in the front, attacking them
with swords and two-edged spears. They would have killed them all,
cut them down so not one of them returned, had not
Athena, born from aegis-bearing Zeus, cried out—
her voice made men on both sides pause: [530]

“Men of Ithaca,
you must stop this disastrous war right here,
so you can quickly go your separate ways
without spilling any blood.”

                                                                                      Athena spoke,
and pale fear gripped the men. They were so terrified
they let go their weapons, which all fell on the ground,
at the sound of her ear-splitting voice. They turned around,
back towards the city, eager to save their lives.
Then much-enduring lord Odysseus gave out                                         690
a blood-curdling shout, gathered himself, and swooped down
like an eagle from on high. But at that moment,
Zeus, son of Cronos, shot a fiery thunderbolt.
It struck between the feet of the bright-eyed daughter                                [540]
of almighty father Zeus. And then Athena,
goddess with the glittering eyes, said to Odysseus:

“Resourceful Odysseus, Laertes’ son,
and child of Zeus, hold back. Stop the fighting,
this all-embracing war, in case thundering Zeus,
who sees far and wide, grows angry with you.” 700

When he heard Athena’s words, Odysseus obeyed,
joy in his heart. And then Pallas Athena,
daughter of aegis-bearing Zeus, in shape and form
appearing just like Mentor, had both parties swear
a solemn treaty designed to last forever.

ENDNOTES

(1) Hermes, in addition to his other roles as messenger of the gods, traditionally escorted the souls of the dead down into Hades, hence the epithet “Deliverer.” [Back to Text]

(2) Leucas is the “White Rock” at the entrance to Hades. These details of the approach to the underworld are not entirely consistent with the details given in Book 11, where Odysseus communicates with the spirits of the dead. [Back to Text]

(3) Achilles’s mother is Thetis, a minor deity of the sea. [Back to Text]

(4) Homer uses the phrase Old Man of the Sea to refer to different minor sea gods. The father of the sea nymphs is Nereus, who is not the same god as Proteus, the Old Man of the Sea whom Menelaus talks about in his adventures in Egypt in Book Four. Homer also calls Phorcys the Old Man of the Sea in Book 13. [Back to Text]

(5) Patroclus is Achilles’s closest companion in the Iliad. In that poem, his dying request to Achilles is to have their bones placed together in a funeral urn when Achilles is killed. Antilochus is a son of Nestor. He was killed in the fighting around Troy. His name is mentioned in Book 3 when Telemachus visits Nestor in Pylos. [Back to Text]

(6) This is the second fairly direct accusation in the Odyssey that Clytaemnestra was complicit in the actual murder of Agamemnon. Most other references place the blame squarely on Aegisthus or else are ambiguous about Clytaemnestra’s role in the killing. The shade of Agamemnon in 11.509 says she butchered Cassandra and insulted him as he lay dying. Further on, he states she slaughtered him (11.573). There’s another fairly explicit accusation from Agamemnon later in this book, at line 263. [Back to Text]

(7) It’s not clear just how Amphimedon, who was one of the suitors in Odysseus’s home, could know all these details about what went on between Odysseus, Eumaeus, and Telemachus. Death in Homer’s world does not usually convey such knowledge. [Back to Text]

(8) This is a reference to Agamemnon’s wife, Clytaemnestra, a daughter of Tyndareus, king of Sparta. [Back to Text]

(9) Cephallenia is a large island neighbouring Ithaca, named after Cephalus, grandfather of Laertes and great-grandfather of Odysseus. The term Cephallenians is sometimes used to designate all of Odysseus’s people. [Back to Text]

(10) Rumour the Messenger: goddess Pheme, who was responsible for gossip, fame, and scandal. [Back to Text]

[Back to Odyssey Table of Contents]

[Back to johnstoniatexts Home Page]