Chapter 14
Meanwhile Odysseus turned his back on the harbour and followed a rough track leading up into the woods and through the hills towards the spot where Athene had told him he would meet the worthy swineherd, who of all the royal servants had shown himself to be his most faithful steward.
He found him sitting in front of his homestead in the farmyard, whose high walls, perched on an eminence and protected by a clearing, enclosed a fine and spacious court. The herdsman had made it himself for his absent master’s swine, without help from his mistress or the aged Laertes, building the wall of quarried stone with a hedge of wild-pear on top. As an additional protection outside he had fenced the whole length on either hand with a closely set stockade made of split oak which he had taken from the dark heart of the logs. Inside the yard, to house the pigs at night, he had put twelve sties, all near to one another, in each of which fifty sows slept on the ground and had their litters. The boars lay outside the yard; and of these there were far fewer, since their numbers suffered constant inroads at the banquets of the courting noblemen, for whom the swineherd used at regular intervals to send down the pick of his fatted hogs. Yet there were three hundred and sixty of them still. They were guarded every night by four fierce and powerful dogs, trained by the swineherd’s master hand.
He himself was busy cutting a piece of good brown leather and fitting a pair of sandals to his feet, while his mates had gone afield in various directions with the pigs to their pastures – three of them, that is to say, for he had been obliged to send the fourth to town with a hog for the rollicking Suitors to slaughter so that they might gorge themselves with pork.
The noisy dogs suddenly caught sight of Odysseus and flew at him, barking loudly. He had the presence of mind to sit down and drop his staff; yet he would have come to grief then and there, at his own farm, if the swineherd had not intervened. Letting the leather fall from his fingers in his haste, he dashed through the gateway, shouted at the dogs and sent them flying with a shower of stones.
“Old man,” he said to his master, “that was a narrow escape! The dogs would have made short work of you, and the blame would have fallen on me. As though the gods hadn’t done enough already to pester and torment me! Here I sit, yearning and mourning for the best of masters and fattening his hogs for others to eat, while he himself, starving as like as not, is lost in foreign lands and tramping through strange towns – if indeed he is still alive and can see the light of day. However, follow me, sir, to my cabin, to join me in my meal. When you have had all the bread and wine you want, you shall tell me where you come from and what your troubles are.”
The friendly herdsman led the way to his cabin, ushered Odysseus in and bade him be seated on some brushwood that he piled up for him and covered with the shaggy skin of a wild goat, large and thick enough to serve as his own mattress. Odysseus was delighted by this welcome and did not hide his pleasure.
“My good host,” he said, “I hope Zeus and the other gods will reward you with your heart’s desire for receiving me so kindly.”
“Sir,” said the swineherd Eumaeus, “my conscience would not let me turn away a stranger in a worse state even than yourself, for strangers and beggars all come in Zeus’ name, and a gift from folk like us is none the less welcome for being small. Serfs, after all, can do no better, so long as they go in fear of their lords and masters. I mean these new ones; for as for my old master, the gods have fixed it that he shan’t get home. He would have looked after me properly and pensioned me off with a cottage and a bit of land, and an attractive wife, as a kind master does for a servant who has worked hard for him and whose work heaven has prospered, as it prospers the job I toil at here. Yes, the King would have rewarded me well for this, had he grown old in Ithaca. But he is dead and gone. And I wish I could say the same of Helen and all her breed, for she brought many a good man to his knees. My master too was one of those who went to Ilium to fight the Trojan charioteers in Agamemnon’s cause.”
The swineherd broke off, hitched up his tunic in his belt, and went out to the sties where the young porkers were penned in batches. He selected two, carried them in and slaughtered them both. Next he singed them, chopped them up and skewered the meat. When he had roasted it all, he served it up piping hot on the spits, set it in front of Odysseus and sprinkled it with white barley-meal. He then mixed some mellow wine in a bowl of olive-wood, took a seat facing his guest and invited him to eat.
“Stranger,” he said, “fall to on these porkers, which are all we serfs can offer you. For our fatted hogs are eaten up by the Suitors, who have no fear of the wrath to come and no compunction in their hearts. Yet the blessed gods don’t like foul play. Decency and moderation are what they respect in men. Even bloodthirsty pirates, when they’ve raided a foreign coast and had the luck to carry off some loot, are haunted by the fear of retribution as they make for home with their ships full of plunder. So I can’t help thinking that these Suitors have somehow discovered, maybe through some heaven-sent rumour, that my master has come to a disastrous end – which explains why they will neither pay court to his widow in the regular way nor go home and mind their own business, but sit there instead at their ease and eat up all his livelihood in this high-handed style with no thought for economy. For I tell you they slaughter beasts every blessed day and night, never contenting themselves with one or even two at a time; while the amount of wine they draw and waste is disgraceful. My master, you see, was enormously wealthy; there wasn’t a lord on the black continent or in Ithaca itself to touch him. He’s worth more than twenty others rolled into one. Let me give you some idea. On the mainland, twelve herds of cattle, as many flocks of sheep, as many droves of pigs and as many scattered herds of goats, all tended by hired labour or his own herdsmen; while here in Ithaca eleven herds of goats graze up and down the coast with reliable men to look after them. And everyone of these men has day by day to choose the likeliest of his fatted goats and drive it in for the Suitors; while I, who tend and keep these swine, carefully pick out the best and send it down to them.”
While Eumaeus was talking, Odysseus devoted himself to the meat and wine, which he consumed greedily and in silence, his brain teeming with thoughts of what he would do to the Suitors. When he had finished supper and refreshed himself, Eumaeus filled his own drinking-bowl and handed it to his master brimful of wine. Odysseus accepted with pleasure and now put a direct question to his host:
“Tell me, my friend, who was the man who bought you with his wealth, this lord whom you describe as so exceedingly rich and powerful? You said he had lost his life in Agamemnon’s cause. Tell me his name. I may find that I can recognize him by your description. Heaven only knows whether I can tell you I’ve met him; but I’ve certainly seen a great deal of the world.”
“My dear sir,” answered this prince among swineherds, “no wanderer who comes here and claims to bring news of Odysseus could convince his wife and son. Beggars in need of creature comforts find lying easy, and to tell a true tale is the last thing they wish. Whenever a tramp comes to Ithaca on his rounds he goes straight to my mistress with his artful talk. She welcomes him graciously and makes him tell his tale from first to last, while the tears of distress stream down her cheeks, as is natural for a woman whose husband has met his end abroad. Why, sir, you yourself would be quick enough to invent a tale if someone gave you a cloak and tunic to put on! As for my master, he is dead and gone: the dogs and the birds of the air must by now have torn the flesh from his bones; or the fish have eaten him in the sea, and his bones lie there on the shore with the sand piled high above them. Yes, that is how he met his end, and his death has meant nothing but trouble for his friends and for myself above all. For I shall never find so kind a master again wherever I may go, not even if I return to my parents’ house, where I was born and where they brought me up themselves. And much as I should like to be back in my own country and set eyes on them again, my longing for them has given place in my heart to overwhelming regret for the lost Odysseus. Yes, sir, even though he is not here, I hesitate to use his name. He loved me and took thought for me beyond all others. And so, though he is far away, I still think of him as my beloved lord.”
“Friend,” said the patient Odysseus in reply, “since you’ll have none of what I say, and since you have so little faith that you cannot believe he will ever return, I will not content myself by merely stating that Odysseus is coming back, but I will swear it. Directly he comes and sets foot in his own house I claim the reward for the good news and you can dress me properly in a new cloak and tunic. But till that moment, destitute as I am, I will accept nothing; for I loathe like Hell’s Gates the man who is driven by poverty to lie. I swear now by Zeus before all other gods, and by the board of hospitality, and by the good Odysseus’ hearth, which I am approaching, that every-thing will happen as I say. This very year Odysseus will be here. Between the waning of the old moon and the waxing of the new, he will come back to his home and will punish all that offer outrage there to his consort and his noble son.”
What answer did Eumaeus make to this? “Old man,” he said, “that reward I shall never have to pay, nor will Odysseus ever come home again. But drink in peace and let us pass to other topics. Don’t remind me of my troubles, for I tell you my heart is wrung within me when anyone puts me in mind of my true king. As for your oath, let us forget it. And may Odysseus still come home, as I pray he will, and as Penelope does, and old Laertes and Prince Telemachus. Ah, there’s another cruel anxiety for me – Odysseus’ son Telemachus. The gods made him grow like a young sapling, and I had hoped to see him play no meaner a part in the world than his father, a paragon of manly beauty, when suddenly some god deprived him of his wits – or perhaps it was a man who fooled him – and off he went to holy Pylos on his father’s trail. And now my lords the Suitors are lying in ambush for him on his way home, so that King Arceisius’ line may be wiped out of Ithaca and the very name be forgotten. Well, we must leave him to his fate, whether they get him, or whether by god’s help he saves his skin.”
“But now, my ancient friend, you must tell me about your own troubles and satisfy my curiosity. Who are you and where do you come from? What is your city? Who are your family? And since you certainly can’t have come on foot, what kind of vessel brought you here? How did its crew come to land you in Ithaca; and who did they claim to be?”
“I will enlighten you on all these points,” replied Odysseus, with his usual cunning. “But even supposing that you and I had an endless supply of food and wine, here in the hut, and so could eat in peace while the rest got on with the work, I should still find it easy to talk to you for a whole twelve-month without coming to the end of my grievances and of all the hardships that heaven has made me endure.”
“I am a native of the broad lands of Crete, and the son of a wealthy man. He had a number of other sons who, like me, were born and brought up in the house; but they were the lawful issue of his wife, whereas my mother was a concubine he had bought. In spite of this difference, Castor son of Hylax, to give my father his name, put me on an equal footing with his legitimate sons. The Cretans of his day respected and envied him for his good fortune, his riches and his splendid children; but his time came, and Death bore him off to Hades’ Halls. His sons then split up the estate in their high-handed way and cast lots for the shares, assigning to me a meagre pittance and a house to match. However, I won a wife for myself from a rich family on the strength of my own merits, for I was neither a fool nor a coward. My glory has departed now, yet I think you will still be able to see by the stubble what the harvest was like. Since then I have been overwhelmed by troubles, but in the old days Ares and Athene had endowed me generously with the daring that sweeps all before it; and when it came to planning a bold stroke against the enemy and I had picked my men for an ambush, my ardent spirits were never dashed by any foreboding of death, but I would leap out before all the rest and cut down with my spear any foeman who was slower on his feet than I. That was the kind of man I was in battle. But I did not like work, nor the domestic pursuits that make for a fine family. What I always loved was a ship with oars, and fighting, and polished javelins and arrows – terrible things, which make other people shudder. I suppose that in making such a choice I just followed my natural bent, for different men take kindly to very different ways of earning a living. Anyhow, before the Achaean expedition ever set foot on the coasts of Troy, I had nine times had my own command and led a well-found fleet against a foreign land. As a result, large quantities of loot fell into my hands. From these I used to select what I liked, and a great deal more came my way in the subsequent distributions. Thus my estate increased rapidly and my fellow-countrymen soon learned both to fear and respect me. The time came, however, when Zeus, who never takes his eyes off the world, let us in for that deplorable adventure which brought so many men to their knees; and they pressed me and the famous Idomeneus to lead the fleet to Ilium. There was no way of avoiding it: public opinion was too much for us. So for nine years we Achaeans campaigned at Troy; and after sacking Priam’s city in the tenth we sailed for home and our fleet was scattered by a god. But the inventive brain of Zeus was hatching more mischief than that for my unhappy self. I had spent only a month in the delights of home life with my children, my wife and my wealth, when the spirit moved me to fit out some ships and sail for Egypt with a picked company. I got nine vessels ready and the crews were soon mustered. For six days my good men gave themselves up to festivity and I provided beasts in plenty for their sacrifices and their own table. On the seventh we embarked, said goodbye to the broad acres of Crete and sailed off with a fresh and favourable wind from the north, which made our going as easy as though we were sailing down stream. Not a single one of my ships came to harm: we sat there safe and well while the wind and the steersmen kept them on their course. On the fifth day we reached the great River of Egypt, and there in the Nile I brought my curved ships to. And now I ordered my good men to stay by the ships on guard while I sent out some scouts to reconnoitre from the heights. But these ran amuck and in a trice, carried away by their own violence, they had plundered some of the fine Egyptian farms, borne off the women and children and killed the men. The hue and cry soon reached the city, and the townsfolk, roused by the alarm, turned out at dawn. The whole place was filled with infantry and chariots and the glint of arms. Zeus the Thunderer struck abject panic into my party. Not a man had the spirit to stand up to the enemy, for we were threatened on all sides. They ended by cutting down a large part of my force and carrying off the survivors to work for them as slaves. As for myself, a sudden inspiration saved me – though I still wish I had faced my destiny and fallen there in Egypt, for trouble was waiting for me yet with open arms. I quickly doffed my fine helmet, let the shield drop from my shoulder, and threw away my spear. Then I ran up to the king’s chariot and embraced his knees. Moved to pity, he spared my life, gave me a seat beside him, and so drove his weeping captive home. Many of his people, of course, were lusting for my blood and made at me with their ashen spears, for they were thoroughly roused; but he kept them away, for fear of offending Zeus, the Strangers’ god, whose special office it is to call cruelty to account.”
“I passed seven years in the country and made a fortune out of the Egyptians, who were liberal with me one and all. But in the course of the eighth, I fell in with a rascally Phoenician, a thieving knave who had already done a deal of mischief in the world. I was prevailed on by this specious rogue to join him in a voyage to Phoenicia, where he had a house and estate; and there I stayed with him for a whole twelvemonth. But when the days and months had mounted up, and a second year began its round of seasons, he put me on board a ship bound for Libya, on the pretext of wanting my help with the cargo he was carrying, but really in order that he might sell me for a handsome sum when he got there. Full of suspicions but having no choice I followed him on board. With a good stiff breeze from the north the ship took the central route and ran down the lee side of Crete. But Zeus had their end in store for them. When we had put Crete astern and no other land, nor anything but sky and water, was to be seen, he brought a dark cloud to rest above the ship. The sea below it was blackened. Zeus thundered and in the same moment struck the vessel by lightning. The whole ship reeled to the blow of his bolt and was filled with sulphur. The men were all flung overboard and tossed round the black hull like sea-crows on the waves. There was no home-coming for them – the god saw to that. But in this hour of my affliction Zeus himself brought into my arms the great mast of the blue-prowed ship, so that I might even yet escape the worst. I coiled myself round it and became the sport of the accursed winds. For nine days I drifted, and on the tenth night, in pitch darkness, a great roller washed me up on the coast of Thesprotia, where my lord Pheidon, King of the Thesprotians, gave me free hospitality. His own son found me fainting from exposure and exhaustion, lent me a hand to help me up, and took me home with him to his father’s palace, where he gave me a cloak and tunic to put on.”
“It was there that I heard of Odysseus. The king told me that he had entertained and befriended him on his homeward way and showed me what a fortune in copper, gold, and wrought iron Odysseus had amassed. Why, the amount of treasure stored up for him there in the king’s house would keep a man and his heirs to the tenth generation! He added that Odysseus had gone to Dodona to learn the will of Zeus from the great oak-tree that is sacred to the god, and to discover how he ought to approach his own rich island of Ithaca after so long an absence, whether to return openly or in disguise. Moreover, he swore in my presence over a drink-offering in his own house that a ship was waiting on the beach with a crew standing by to convey Odysseus to his own country. But he sent me off before him. For a Thesprotian ship happened to be starting for the corn island of Dulichium, and he told its crew to carry me there, with every attention, and take me to Acastus, the King.”
“The crew, however, saw fit to hatch a plot against me, so that I might drain the cup of misery to the dregs. When the ship’s course over the sea had brought her well away from land they set about their scheme for reducing me to slavery. They stripped me of my own cloak and tunic and supplied their place with a filthy set of clothes, the very rags, in fact, which you see before you now.”
“The evening sun was shining on the fields of Ithaca when they reached the island. They lashed me down tightly under the ship’s benches with a stout rope, disembarked, and hastily took their supper on the beach. But the gods found no difficulty in untying my knots for me. I covered my head with my rags, slipped down the smooth hiding-plank, gently breasted the water, and struck out with both hands. Nor had I far to swim before I was out of the sea at a safe distance from my foes. I then made my way inland to a thicket in full left and crouched down in hiding. They raised a great outcry and beat about, but soon decided that nothing was to be gained by prolonging their search, and so climbed on board their ship once more. The gods made it quite easy for me to remain unseen and ended by guiding my steps to the homestead of a decent man. From which I conclude that I am not yet meant to die.”
“My poor friend!” exclaimed the swineherd. “You have certainly touched my heart with your long tale of hardships and wandering. It is when you come to Odysseus that you go wrong, to my way of thinking; you won’t get me to believe that. What call is there for a man like you to pitch such silly yarns? As though I didn’t know all about my master’s disappearance, and how the gods showed their utter detestation of the man by allowing him neither to fall in action against the Trojans nor to die in his friends’ arms when all the fighting was over. Had he done so, the whole Achaean nation would have joined in building him a mound, and he would have left a great name for his son to inherit. But there was to be no glorious end for him: the Storm-Fiends have spirited him away.”
“As for myself, I am a hermit here with my swine and never go to town, except perhaps when someone has blown in with news and the wise Penelope sees fit to invite me. On such occasions they all gather round the newcomer and ply him with questions, whether they belong to the party who are pining for their long-lost king or to those who have the satisfaction of feeding gratis at his expense. But I personally have lost all interest in such cross-examinations since the day when a fellow from Aetolia took me in with his tale. He had killed a man, and after roaming all over the world found his way to my doors. I received him kindly and was told by him that he had seen Odysseus with Idomeneus in Crete, repairing the damage his fleet had suffered in a gale. ‘He will be back,’ said he, ‘either in the summer or by autumn, bringing a fortune with him, and his gallant company too.’ Take note of that, my distressful old friend, since the powers above have brought you here, and don’t try to wheedle your way to my heart with any falsehoods. It isn’t that sort of thing that will win you my regard or my favours, but the respect I have for the laws of hospitality and the pity that feel for you.”
But the cunning Odysseus persisted. “Surely,” he said, “you have a very suspicious nature, if not even a sworn statement from me can bring you round and convince you of the truth. Come, let us make a bargain – with the gods of Olympus to see that both parties carry out its terms. If your master comes back to this house, you shall give me a cloak and tunic to wear and send me on to Dulichium, where I wanted to go. If on the other hand he does not return as I say he will, you shall set your men on me and have me thrown down from a precipice, just to teach the next beggar not to cheat.”
“Yes,” cried the worthy swineherd, “and what a fine name I should win for myself in the world, once and for all, if the first thing I did after taking you into my cabin and showing you hospitality was to rob you of your precious life! I should certainly have to put all I know into my prayers, if I did that. However, it’s supper-time, and I hope my men will be in before long, so that we can get a square meal cooked in the house.”
While the two were engaged in this conversation the herdsmen came up with their swine. The men drove the animals in batches into their sties to sleep and the air was filled with the grunting of pigs settling down for the night. The worthy swineherd gave a shout to his men. “Bring in the best of your hogs,” he called. “I want to slaughter it, for a guest I have here from abroad. And we’ll enjoy it ourselves, after the way we’ve toiled and moiled for the porkers all this time, with other people living scot-free on our work.”
He then chopped some firewood with his sharp axe, while his men dragged in a fatted five-year-old hog and brought it up to the hearth. The swineherd, who was a man of sound principles, did not forget the immortals, but began the ritual by throwing a tuft of hair from the white-tusked victim into the fire and praying to all the gods that the wise Odysseus might come back to his home. Then he drew himself up and struck the animal with a billet of oak which he had left un-split. The hog fell dead. They slit its throat, singed its bristles, and deftly cut the carcass up. The swineherd took a first cut from all the limbs, laid the raw flesh on the rich fat, cast the whole into the flames and sprinkled barley-meal on top. Then they chopped up the rest of the meat, pierced it with skewers, roasted it thoroughly, and after drawing it off the spits heaped it up on platters. And now the swineherd, who had a nice judgment in such matters, stood up to divide it into helpings. He carved and sorted it all out into seven portions, of which he set aside one, with a prayer, for the Nymphs and for Hermes, Maia’s son, and distributed the rest to the company. But he paid Odysseus the honour of helping him to the tusker’s long chine. This courtesy warmed the heart of his master, who turned to him and said: “Eumaeus, I hope Father Zeus will look on you as kindly as I do for picking out the best portion for a poor fellow like me.” To which the swineherd Eumaeus replied: “Fall to, my worthy guest, and enjoy such fare as we can offer. It’s the way of the gods to bestow or withhold their favours according to their own sweet will – and there’s nothing to, prevent them.” Then he sacrificed the first cuts to the everlasting gods, and after making a libation of sparkling wine handed the cup to Odysseus, the sacker of cities, and sat down to his own portion. They were served with bread by Mesaulius, a servant whom Eumaeus had procured for himself during his master’s absence, acting without help from his mistress or the old Laertes and buying the man from the Taphians with his own resources. All fell to on the good fare spread before them, and when they had satisfied their hunger and thirst Mesaulius cleared away the food. Sated by now with bread and meat they began to think kindly of their beds.
Foul weather set in with the dusk. There was no moon, rain fell all night, and a high wind blew from the west, always the wet quarter. So Odysseus decided to put the swineherd to the test and see whether his host’s very real consideration for him might not induce him either to part with his own cloak and let him have it, or to suggest this self-denial to one of his men. “Listen to me,” he said, “Eumaeus and you men of his. I am going to put a wish of mine into the form of a story. This is the effect of your wine – for wine is a crazy thing. It sets the wisest man singing and giggling like a girl; it lures him on to dance and it makes him blurt out what were better left unsaid. However, I’ve set my tongue wagging now and I might as well go on.”
“Ah, I wish I were still as young and strong as I was when we led that surprise attack against Troy! Odysseus and Menelaus were in charge, and at their own request I went in with them as third in command. When we came up to the frowning city walls we lay down round the place, crouching under our armour in the dense undergrowth of marshland reeds. The North wind dropped and a cruel frosty night set in. From overhead the snow came down like hoar-frost, bitterly cold, and the ice formed thick on our shields. All the rest had cloaks and tunics and they slept in comfort with their shields, drawn up over their shoulders. But when I started I was stupid enough to leave my cloak with my men, thinking that even so I shouldn’t suffer from cold; and thus I joined the party with nothing but my shield and a light kilt.”
“In the third watch of the night, when the stars had passed their zenith, I decided to have a word with Odysseus, who was my neighbour. I nudged him with my elbow. He was all attention. ‘King Odysseus,’ I said, ‘bring your wits to the rescue. I shall be a dead man soon. This frost is killing me, for I have no cloak. I was misguided enough to put on nothing but a tunic. And now there’s no way out of my plight.’ When I put this to him, Odysseus turned it over in his mind and, like the schemer and soldier that he was, he had an idea, as you will see. ‘Quiet!’ he whispered in my ear. ‘Don’t let any of the others hear you.’ Then he raised his head on his elbow and called to the rest: ‘Wake up, my friends. The gods have sent me a dream in my sleep. I feel we have come too far from the ships, and I want someone to take a message to Agamemnon, the commander-in-chief. He might send us reinforcements from the base. The response was immediate. A man called Thoas, Andraimon’s son, jumped up, threw off his purple cloak, and set out for the ships at the double – leaving me to lie in his clothes with a grateful heart till Dawn appeared on her golden throne. Ah, I wish I were still as young and strong as I was then!’ ”
“Old man,” said the swineherd Eumaeus to Odysseus, “that is an excellent story you have told us. Every word went home, and you shall have your reward. To-night you shan’t want for clothing or anything else that an unfortunate outcast has the right to expect from those he approaches. But in the morning you’ll have to knock about in your own rags once more. We have no stock of cloaks here nor extra tunics to put on: each man has to manage with a single cloak. But when Odysseus’ son arrives, you can count on him to give you a cloak and tunic to wear, and to send you wherever you have set your heart on going.”
The swineherd sprang up, placed a bed for him by the fire and covered it the skins of sheep. Odysseus lay down and Eumaeus covered him with a great thick mantle, which he kept laid by to change in to when an exceptionally cold spell came on.
So there Odysseus slept, with the young farm-hands beside him. But the swineherd was not content to sleep there and desert his boars. On the contrary, he got himself ready for a night outside, and Odysseus was delighted to see how careful a steward he was of his absent master’s property. He began by slinging a sharp sword from his sturdy shoulders. He then wrapped himself in a good thick cloak to keep out the wind, picked up the fleece of a big full-grown goat, and finally took a sharp javelin with which to ward off dogs and men. And so he went off to pass the night where the white-tusked porkers slept, under an overhanging rock sheltered from the northerly winds.
