the spearman Antiphos: but the savage Kyklops had killed him
in his hollow cave, the last of the crew to be eaten.
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He had three other sons. One, Eurynomos, joined the suitors;
the remaining two looked after the family farmlands. And yet,
grieving and sorrowful, he couldn't forget the lost one.
It was in tears for him that he now addressed the assembly:
"Pay attention, men of Ithake, to what I shall now tell you!
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Not once have we met in assembly, there's been no session
since noble Odysseus set sail in the hollow ships!
Who, then, has summoned us now? What urgent need
has come upon one of our men, whether younger or older?
Has he had some news about an impending attack
30
that he can explain to us, having heard it earlier?
Or will he announce for debate some other public business?
A fine man I think him, and blessed: may Zeus grant
a good fulfillment of whatever his heart desires."
So he spoke, and Odysseus' dear son rejoiced at the omen,
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nor remained seated longer, in his urgency to speak,
but stood up in mid-assembly, while the scepter was placed
in his hands by the herald Peisenor, a man astute in counsel;
and then he spoke, first addressing the old man:
"Old sir, the man's not far, as you'll soon learn yourself:
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It was I who summoned the people: this grief affects me most.
I've had no news of any impending attack
that I can explain to you, having heard of it earlier;
nor shall I announce for debate any other public business,
but rather my own needs, because of the double evil
45
that's befallen my house: I've lost my noble father, who once
was king among you here, as gentle as any father;
and now there's a far worse plague, that will very soon
destroy my house altogether, consume my whole livelihood!
My mother, against her will, is being pestered by suitors,
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the sons of those very men who are the noblest here!
They shudder at the idea of going rather to the house
of her father, Ikarios, have him fix his daughter's bride-gifts
and betroth her to whom he will, to the man that he prefers;
instead, day in day out, they crowd into our house,
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slaughter our oxen and sheep, our fattest goats,
hold an endless party, swill down our sparkling wine
without restraint. Much is lost already, there's no man
such as Odysseus was, to save our house from ruin--
we ourselves lack the strength to defend it: in the event
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we'd be shown up as wretched weaklings, unversed in prowess.
Yet indeed I'd defend myself, if the strength was in me,
for deeds not to be borne have been done, there's nothing decent
in the way my estate's been destroyed! You should feel ashamed,
embarrassed before the men in your neighborhood,
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those who live near here! And beware of the gods' wrath,
lest outraged by evil actions they turn against you!
By Olympian Zeus I beseech you, and by Themis,
who both dissolves and convenes our mortal assemblies,
forbear, my friends, leave me alone to pine away in bitter
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sorrow--unless it could be that my father, noble Odysseus,
at some point in anger mistreated the well-greaved Achaians,
and now you, in angry requital, are mistreating me by urging
these suitors on? For me it would be better by far
were you yourselves to consume my property and my cattle,
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because, if you did the eating, there might some day
be recompense--we'd hawk the story round town,
demanding back our possessions, till all were restored.
But this way you burden my heart with incurable agony."
So he spoke in his anger, then threw down the scepter,
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and burst into tears. Now pity took hold of all the people.
All others kept silent; no one could bring himself
to offer an angry rebuttal to Telemachos' words:
only Antinoos replied to him, saying: "Telemachos,
lofty orator, angry, outspoken--what is this charge
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you're trying to shame us with, put the blame on us?
It's not the Achaian suitors who are guilty in your regard
but rather your own dear mother, so expert at deceit!
For it's three years now, and will soon be four, she's spent
toying with the passions in the Achaians' hearts,
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offering hope to all, making promises to each one,
and sending them messages, but herself planning otherwise.
And here's one other deception that she contrived:
in her halls she set up a great loom and started weaving--
very broad was the web, fine of thread--and said to us then:
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'You young men, my suitors now noble Odysseus is dead,
be patient, though eager to wed me, until I finish
this web: I should not want my woven work to be wasted--
a shroud for the hero Laertes, against that day
when the grim fate of pitiless death shall overtake him:
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then the local Achaian women won't be able to blame me
for a man who'd won so much being left with no winding-sheet.'
"So she spoke; and our proud hearts assented to what she said.
From then on, day after day, she'd be weaving at the great loom,
but at night she'd have torches set up, and undo her work.
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Thus for three years she beguiled and persuaded the Achaians;
but when the fourth year arrived, and the seasons came round,
then it was that one of her women, well aware of what she did,
told us, and so we caught her undoing her elegant web,
and against her will she was forced to finish it. Thus
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this is the suitors' response to you, to the end that you
and all the Achaians may have clear knowledge of it:
send your mother away, tell her to make a marriage
with whoever her father selects and whom she fancies!
But if she goes on tormenting the Achaians' sons much longer,
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exploiting with forethought those talents Athene gave her--
expertise in fine handiwork, outstanding intelligence and
sagacity, such as we've never yet heard ascribed
to women of old, those fair-tressed Achaian ladies
Tyro, Alkmene, and garlanded Mykene,
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not one of whom for shrewd planning could rival Penelope2--
then at least in this matter she made a wrong decision,
and they'll go on devouring your livelihood and your stock
so long as she holds to this purpose that the gods
have now put into her heart. She may be winning great fame
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for herself, but for you regret over your lost plenty.
As for us, we'll not disperse to our homes or anywhere else
until she decides to wed whichever Achaian she picks."
Sagacious Telemachos replied as follows: "Antinoos,
I can't just drive from this house--against her will--
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her who bore and reared me, while my father, alive or dead,
is in some d
istant country! And to pay a great sum to Ikarios,
as I must, if I throw out my mother, would be unfair on me.
Thus I'd get a bad deal from her father, besides which heaven
would add to my woes, since my mother on leaving our home
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would invoke the foul Furies,3 and I'd be an object of public
contempt--so this is a word I shall never utter. And you all,
if even your hearts are touched by guilt in this matter,
get out of my home! Go find other feasts for yourselves,
consume your own goods, move around from house to house!
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But if this is what you regard as better, more profitable,
to devour one man's livelihood without offering compensation,
then gobble on! I'll petition the gods who are forever,
and maybe Zeus will grant me an occasion of reprisal,
so that you, while still feasting for free in my halls, all perish!"
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So Telemachos spoke, and for him far-seeing Zeus
sent two eagles flying down from a lofty mountain peak.
For a while they glided, riding upon the wind stream,
side by side, close together, wings wide outspread; but when
they arrived at the midpoint of the many-voiced assembly,
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then they circled over it, with a whirr of beating wings,
tore each other's cheeks and necks on both sides with their talons,
looking down, with death in their glance, on the heads of the crowd,
then sped off to the right, above their homes and city.
All were amazed by what they'd witnessed of these birds,
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had much heart-searching as to what they might portend,
and were now addressed by the aged hero Halitherses,
Mastor's son, who excelled all men of his generation
in his knowledge of bird-signs and at interpreting omens.
He, with friendly intent, now spoke before the assembly:
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"Listen well, you men of Ithake, to what I have to tell you!
And the suitors above all should heed the message I bring,
for great troubles are rolling toward them, since Odysseus will not
be much longer away from his friends: already, I believe,
he may well be near, and devising slaughter and death
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for them all! And for others in plenty he'll mean trouble,
who dwell in sunny Ithake! But we should, well beforehand,
think of a way to stop them--or have them desist
of themselves, since that's a far better way for them.
I'm no novice at prophesying, I have sure knowledge,
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and I declare that it's all now coming true for that man
exactly as I foretold when the Argives first sailed
for Ilion, and he, resourceful Odysseus, among them.
Having suffered much, with all his comrades lost,
recognized by nobody, after twenty years, I said,
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he'd return home--and now all this is being fulfilled."
Eurymachos, Polybos' son, responded to him, saying:
"Old man, go home, and prophesy to your children,
lest they suffer some kind of misfortune in the future!
For this I'm a far more reliable prophet than you are.
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There are birds in plenty that fly to and fro in the daytime,
yet not all of them carry omens. As for Odysseus, he's met
a distant death, and you should have perished with him--
then you wouldn't be unloading all these predictions,
or lending encouragement to Telemachos' burst of temper,
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in the hope that he'll reward you with a gift to your family!
Let me speak plainly--and what I say will come to pass!
If you, given all the knowledge that age confers, beguile
a younger man with your words, encourage his resentment,
first, this will make more trouble for the man himself.
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[He won't get anything done alone, without assistance;]4
will be in torment at paying, and bitter your agony!
My own advice to Telemachos, before you all, is this:
Let him tell his mother to return to her father's domain,
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where they'll set up the wedding and arrange the bridal-gifts,
lots of them, all that's fitting to go with a much-loved daughter.
Failing that, I don't suppose that the sons of the Achaians
will abandon their burdensome wooing, since we fear no man--
certainly not Telemachos, for all his lengthy rant--
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nor shall we heed any predictions that you, old sir, may make:
they won't come true, and you'll be hated all the more!
What's more, his goods will continue to be devoured, without
compensation, so long as she continues to stall
the Achaians over her marriage! Here we are, kept waiting
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day after day, in rivalry for her virtue, never going
after other suitable women, such as each of us might marry."
Sagacious Telemachos then responded to him, saying:
"Eurymachos, and the rest of you, all you noble suitors,
over this I'll entreat you no longer, nor discuss it further,
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since by now the gods are aware of it, as are all the Achaians.
So give me a swift ship, along with twenty companions
as crew on my journey, to both go there and come back.
For I'm off to Sparta and sandy Pylos, to enquire for
news about the return of my long-absent father.
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Maybe some mortal can tell me, or I can pick up a rumor
from Zeus, the most common way that mortals gather tidings.
If I hear that my father's alive, and on his way back,
then, though beleaguered, I'll hold on for another year;
but if I get word that he's dead, no longer living,
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then I'll make my way back to my own dear country,
raise him a burial mound, perform funeral rites at it--
lavish ones, as is fitting--and find my mother a husband."
That said, he sat down, and there now stood up among them
Mentor, who'd been a comrade of peerless Odysseus.
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When Odysseus set out with his ships, he left him in charge
of his household, under Laertes, to safeguard everything.
He, with friendly intent, now spoke before the assembly:
"Listen well, you men of Ithake, to what I have to tell you!
From now on let no kindness or gentleness be displayed
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by a sceptered king, let his heart not cherish what's righteous--
let him rather be ever harsh, pursue injustice, since
there's nobody now who remembers godlike Odysseus
of the people whose lord he was, and kindly as a father!
It's not these arrogant suitors I so much resent,
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for their violent acts and their nasty-minded misconduct--
they risk their own lives by forcibly wolfing down
Odysseus' goods, and saying he'll never return--
no, it's you, all the rest of the people, that I find fault with,
for sitting there silent, not speaking out roundly to stop
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these suitors, though they are few, while you are many."
Against him Leokritos, son of Euenor, now spoke out:
"Mentor, you mischief-maker, you're crazy! What's all this
talk about putting us down? It'd be a tough business
even for more men than these to clamp down on our feasting!
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And what if Odysseus himself, the Ithakan, did return,
to find these haughty suitors banqueting in his palace,