Chapter 15
Pallas Athene, meanwhile, went to the broad vale of Lacedaemon to warn King Odysseus’ noble son that it was time for him to return, and to hasten his departure.
She found Telemachus and Prince Peisistratus sleeping in the great Menelaus’ portico. Nestor’s son, at all events, was lying sound asleep; but Telemachus was enjoying no rest, for anxiety on his father’s behalf kept him wakeful all the livelong night. The bright-eyed goddess came up to his bed. “Telemachus,” she said, “it is wrong of you to linger abroad and leave your property unguarded with such a rabble in the place. They might well share out and eat up all you have, and so make your journey futile. Urge your gallant host, Menelaus, to let you go at once, if you wish to find your noble mother still in the palace. For her father and brothers are already pressing her to marry Eurymachus, who outdoes all the rest or her Suitors in generosity and keeps raising his bid for her hand. There is also the danger that she might carry off some of your own things from the house without your permission. You know what a woman’s disposition is. She likes to bring riches to the house of the man who is marrying her, while, as for her former husband and the children she has borne him, she never gives him a thought once he is dead, nor enquires after them. So when you reach home I should like to see you take the lead and hand over the whole household to whichever woman-servant you trust most, until heaven sends you a wife worthy of your rank. And here’s another matter for you to digest. The leading spirits among the Suitors are lying in ambush in the straits between Ithaca and the rugged coast of Samos, intent on murdering you before you can get home. Not that I think they will succeed. No; sooner than that, the earth will close over some of these love-lorn gentlemen who are wasting your wealth. However, give the islands a wide berth, and sail on through the night; your guardian god will send you a following breeze. Land in Ithaca at the first point you reach and send the ship and the whole ship’s company round to the port; but before you yourself do anything else, visit the swineherd in charge of your pigs, who is loyal to you despite all. Stay there for the night and send him to the city to give your wise mother, Penelope, the news that you are in from Pylos and that she has you safely back.”
Her message delivered, Athene withdrew to the heights of Olympus. But Telemachus roused Nestor’s son from his pleasant dreams with a touch of his foot and said: “Wake up, Peisistratus, and harness the horses to the chariot, so that we may be getting on our way.”
“Telemachus,” his friend replied, “however eager we may be to start, we cannot possibly drive in complete darkness. It’ll soon be dawn. Why not wait and give the brave Menelaus, our royal host, the chance of putting some presents for us in the chariot and bidding us a civil farewell? A guest never forgets the host who has treated him kindly.”
They had not long to wait before Dawn took her golden throne and the warrior Menelaus rose from sleep beside the lovely Helen and made his way towards them. When Odysseus’ son saw him coming he hastily drew his shining tunic on, threw his great cloak across his sturdy shoulders, and, dressed like a prince, went out to Menelaus and greeted him by his titles. “Sire,” he said, “I beg leave of you now to return to my own country, for I find myself longing to be home.”
“Telemachus,” the warrior king replied, “far be it from me to keep you here for any length of time, if you wish to get back. I condemn any host who is either too kind or not kind enough. There should be moderation in all things, and it is equally offensive to speed a guest who would like to stay and to detain one who is anxious to leave. What I say is, treat a man well while he’s with you, but let him go when he wishes.”
“However, do give me time to bring you some presents and pack them in your chariot – they will be fine ones, as you will see for yourself. And let me tell the women to get a meal ready in the hall. There’s plenty of food in the larder, and it is a point of honour and decency for us, and a question of comfort for you, that you should lunch before starting on your long trip overland. Perhaps you would like to make a tour through Hellas and the Argive country, letting me take your companion’s place; in which case I should provide the car and horses and serve as your guide to the various cities? Nobody will send us away empty-handed: we can count on each of our hosts for at least one gift, a copper tripod or a cauldron, a pair of mules or a golden cup.”
“My lord Menelaus,” the wise Telemachus answered, “I really am anxious to return at once to my own place. For when I set out I left no custodian in charge of my property. I must see that this journey in search of my royal father does not end in my own destruction, and that the house isn’t robbed of any of my valuables.”
When the gallant Menelaus heard this, he at once told his wife and the servants to prepare a meal in the hall from the plentiful supplies they would find in the larder. At this moment, Boethous’ son Eteoneus, who lived nearby and had just got up, drew near and was told by Menelaus to light the fire and roast some meat. Eteoneus hastened to carry out his instructions, while Menelaus, in company with Helen and Megapenthes, wept down to his scented store-room. When they had reached the spot where the treasure was kept, Menelaus picked out a two-handled cup and told his son Megapenthes to take a silver mixing-bowl. Helen, meanwhile, went to the chests which contained her embroidered dresses, the work of her own hands, and from them, great lady that she was, she lifted out the longest and most richly decorated robe, which had lain underneath all the rest, and now glittered like a star. They then made their way through the house and found Telemachus, to whom red-haired Menelaus said: “It is my earnest hope, Telemachus, that Zeus the Thunderer and Lord of Here will grant you a safe journey and make your home-coming all that you desire. By way of presents you shall have the loveliest and most precious of the treasures that my palace holds. I am giving you a mixing-bowl of wrought metal. It is solid silver, with a rim of gold round the top, and was made by Hephaestus himself. I had it from my royal friend, the King of Sidon, when I put up under his roof on my journey home. And now I wish it to be yours.”
The lord Menelaus then handed him the two-handled cup, while his valiant son Megapenthes brought forward the shining silver bowl he had described and set it before him. Helen of the lovely cheeks stood by with the robe in her hands and made him her own adieu: “Look, dear child, I too have a gift for you here, a keepsake from Helen, made by her own hands. It is for your bride to wear when the longed-for day of your wedding arrives. Till then let it lie at home in your mother’s care. And now I wish you a happy return to your own country and your pleasant house.”
With that, Helen handed the robe to Telemachus, who accepted it joyfully. Prince Peisistratus took charge of the gifts and noted their excellence with silent admiration as he stowed them in the body of the chariot. Red-haired Menelaus then led the way for them into the house and the two young men sat down. A maid brought water in a fine golden jug and poured it out over a silver basin so that they could rinse their hands. Next she drew a polished table to their side, and the staid housekeeper brought some bread and set it by them with a choice of dainties, helping them liberally to all she could offer. Eteoneus stood by and carved the meat into helpings, while the great Menelaus’ son poured out their wine. And so they fell to on the good things spread before them.
When they had satisfied their hunger add thirst, Telemachus and Nestor’s noble son yoked their horses, mounted their gaily-painted chariot and drove out by the gateway and its echoing portico. Red-haired Menelaus walked along after them with a golden cup of mellow wine in his right hand, to enable his guests to make a drink-offering before they left. He went up to their chariot and drank their health. “Goodbye, my young friends,” he said; “and give King Nestor my respects. He was like a kind father to me when we were in the field at Troy.”
“Your Majesty,” Telemachus replied, “we will certainly give him your message when we arrive. I only wish I were as sure of finding Odysseus at home when I reach Ithaca, so that I could tell him how I have met with nothing but kindness at your hands during my stay and have come away laden with precious gifts.”
As though in answer to his words, a bird came flying to the right. It was an eagle, carrying in its talons a great white goose, a tame bird from the yard. Some men and women were noisily giving chase, and when the eagle reached the car he sheered off towards the right in front of the horses, to the delight of the whole party, whose spirits rose at the sight. Nestor’s son Peisistratus was the first to speak. “Your Majesty,” he said to Menelaus, “here is a problem. Did heaven send this omen for us two or for you?”
Menelaus, for all his warlike qualities, was at a loss to give in the correct interpretation, and his beautiful wife forestalled him. “Listen,” she said, “while with such inspiration as I have I explain this omen and what I feel sure that it portends. Just as this eagle came down from his native mountains and pounced on our home-fed goose, so shall Odysseus, after many hardships and many wanderings, reach his home and have his revenge. Why, at this very moment he may be there and sowing trouble for the whole pack of Suitors!”
“May Zeus the Thunderer and Lord of Here,” cried Tele-machus, “make what you say come true, and in my distant home I shall treat you as a goddess in my prayers.”
Then he gave the horses a touch of his whip. They set off smartly and pressed forward through the town towards the open country, where throughout the long day they swayed the yoke up and down on their necks.
By sundown, when the roads grew dark, they had reached Pherae, where they drove up to the house of Diocles, son of Ortilochus, whose father was Alpheius. There they put up for the night and were hospitably entertained. But tender Dawn had hardly touched the East with red, when they were harnessing their horses once again and mounting the gaily-coloured chariot. Out past the sounding portico and through the gates they drove. A flick of the whip to make the horses go, and the pair flew on, with such a will that before very long the high citadel of Pylos came into view.
At this point Telemachus turned to Nestor’s son and said: “Peisistratus, I want you, if you can, to undertake something on my behalf. We may well claim that our fathers’ friendship makes a lasting bond between us. Besides which, we are of the same age and this journey will have served to bring us even closer together. So I beg you, my dear prince, not to drive me past my ship, but to drop me there and thus save me from being kept at the palace against my will by your old father’s passion for hospitality. For I must get home quicker than that.”
Nestor’s son turned the problem over in his mind. How could he honourably consent and oblige his friend? After some hesitation he made up his mind. Turning his horses, he drove down to the ship on the sea-shore, unloaded the chariot and stowed Menelaus’ fine presents of clothing and gold in the ship’s stern. He then impressed on Telemachus the need for haste. “Embark at once,” he said, “and order all your men on board before I reach home and tell the old man. In my own mind I am convinced that he is far too obstinate to let you go, but will come down here himself to fetch you – and I do not see him going back alone. For whatever your excuse, he’ll be very much annoyed.”
Peisistratus left him without more ado and drove his long-maned horses back to the city of Pylos, where he soon reached his home. Meanwhile Telemachus spurred on his crew. “Men,” he called to them, “see that the tackle is properly stowed on board, and let’s get in ourselves. I wish to make a start.”
The crew leapt to his orders, climbed on board, and took their places on the benches. Telemachus had just supervised their embarkation and was praying and sacrificing to Athene by the ship’s stern when he was accosted by a stranger from a distant state. This man, who had fled from Argos after committing manslaughter, was a prophet descended from Melampus. His ancestor had at one time lived in Pylos, mother of sheep, and been known among his fellow-citizens as a wealthy man with a magnificent house. But a time came when he had to fly the country and venture abroad to escape from the great but tyrannical King Neleus. The king seized his rich estate and kept it for a whole year. Melampus meanwhile was a wretched prisoner in the castle of Phylacus, reaping untold miseries, for Neleus’ daughter’s sake, from the fit of infatuation into which that irresistible goddess the Fury had cast him. However, he escaped alive and managed to drive the lowing cattle from Phylace to Pylos, where he had his revenge on King Neleus for the injustice done to him and secured the hand of the princess for his brother. As for himself, he withdrew abroad, to the plains of Argos, where he was destined to make his home and establish his rule over a large part of the people. There he married, built himself a splendid palace, and had two sturdy sons, Antiphates and Mantius. Antiphates became the father of the doughty Oicles, and Oicles, in his turn, of that great leader Amphiaraus, a man whom Zeus and Apollo loved and blessed with every mark of their favour. Even so he never came within sight of old age, but fell at Thebes, the victim of a woman’s avarice. His sons were Alcmaeon and Amphilochus, while his brother Mantius was the father of Polypheides and Cleitus – Cleitus, who was so lovely that Dawn of the golden throne carried him off to foregather with the immortals, and the magnanimous Polypheides, who was made a seer by Apollo, and after Amphiaraus’ death succeeded him as the leading prophet in the world. A quarrel with his father led him to migrate to Hyperesie, where he settled and practised his profession.
It was his son, Theoclymenus by name, who now appeared and came up to Telemachus, whom he found engaged in libations and prayers by his black ship. “Friend,” he said to him eagerly, “since I find you sacrificing here, I adjure you by your sacrifice and the god you are honouring, and again by your own life and the lives of these friends who are with you, to be open with me and tell me the truth. Who are you? Where do you hail from? And what is your native town?”
“Sir,” answered Telemachus, “I am quite ready to give you the facts. Ithaca is my native place, and my father is Odysseus, or certainly was. But I have come to think that he has long since met with some unhappy end. That is what brings me here with my ship and my crew. I am trying to find out what has happened to my long-lost father.”
“Like you,” said the noble Theoclymenus, “I have left my country. I killed a man of my own blood, and the plains of Argos are full of his brothers and kinsmen, who form the most powerful family in the land. It was to avoid the certainty of death at their hands that I ran away and embraced my new destiny as a wanderer on the face of the earth. As I have sought sanctuary with you, I beg you to take me on board and prevent them from killing me, for I believe they are on my track.”
“I shall certainly not forbid you my good ship, if you wish to use her,” said the sensible young man. “Come along then; and in Ithaca you shall be welcome to such hospitality as we can offer.”
He took Theoclymenus’ bronze spear and laid it on the curved ship’s deck. Then he stepped on board the gallant vessel himself, sat down in the stern, and gave Theoclymenus a place beside him. The hawsers were cast off and Telemachus shouted to the crew to lay hands on the tackle. They obeyed with a will, hauled up the fir mast, stept it in its hollow box, made it fast with stays, and hoisted the white sail with plaited leather ropes. And Athene of the gleaming eyes sent a boisterous wind through the clear weather to buffet them from astern, so that their ship might make the shortest possible work of her run across the open sea. Thus they sailed past Crouni and Chalcis with its lovely streams, and when the sun set and they had to pick their way through the darkness, they stood for Pheae with the wind still at their backs, and ran past the good land of Elis where the Epeians rule. After which Telemachus set a course for the Pointed Isles, wondering whether he would get through alive or be caught.
Meanwhile Odysseus and the worthy swineherd, with the farm-hands for company, were taking supper in the hut. When they had eaten and drunk their fill, Odysseus put out a feeler to discover whether he could count on the swineherd’s continued hospitality and an invitation to stay there at the farm, or would be sent off to the city. “Listen to me,” he said, “Eumaeus and you men of his. I intend to leave you in the morning and go to the town to beg, so that I may not be a burden to you and your mates. But I should be glad of your best advice and the company of a trustworthy guide to show me the way. Once there I shall be thrown on my own resources and shall have to wander about the place in the hope that someone will give me a cup of water and a crust of bread. I propose also to go to King Odysseus’ palace and deliver my news to his wise queen, Penelope. Nor do I see why I shouldn’t approach those ill-conditioned Suitors you speak of. They have such an abundance of good things that they might well spare me a meal. I should be ready to make an excellent job of whatever work they wanted done. For I tell you frankly, and you can take it from me, that by favour of Hermes the Messenger, to whom the labour of men’s hands owes all the grace and the success that it achieves, there’s not a man to touch me at servants’ work, at laying a fire well, at splitting dry faggots, as a carver, a cook, a wine-steward, in short at anything that humble folk do by way of serving their betters.”
But the swineherd was most indignant. “My good sir,” he exclaimed, “what on earth put such a scheme into your head? You will simply be courting sudden death, if you insist on attaching yourself to a set of men whose profligacy and violence have outraged heaven itself. Their servants are not at all your kind, but smartly dressed young fellows, who always grease their hair and keep their pretty faces clean. That is the kind that wait on them – at polished tables, groaning under their load of bread and meat and wine. No, sir, stay with me, where nobody finds you a nuisance. I certainly don’t, nor does any of my mates here. And when Odysseus’ son arrives, he’ll fit you out in a cloak and tunic and send you on wherever you would like to go.”
“Eumaeus,” replied the good and gallant Odysseus, “may Father Zeus look on you as kindly as I do for putting a term to my wandering and hopeless want. Surely a tramp’s life is the worst thing that anyone can come to. Yet exile, misfortune, and sorrow often force a man to put up with its miseries for his wretched stomach’s sake. However, since you press me to stay and await the prince’s arrival, perhaps you’ll be so good as to give me the news about King Odysseus’ mother, and his father, whom he left on the threshold of old age when he went abroad. Are they still in the land of the living? Or are they dead by now and in the Halls on Hades?”
“My friend,” said the admirable swineherd, “I shall be glad to answer your questions. Laertes, to take him first, is still alive, but every day he prays to Zeus that death may visit his house and release the spirit from his flesh. For he grieves inconsolably for his lost son and for that wise lady, his wife, whose death was the heaviest blow he has suffered, and left him an old man before his time. As for her, it was pining for her brilliant son that brought her to the grave – a dreadful death – heaven spare my friends and patrons here in Ithaca from the like. So long as the unhappy woman was still alive, I used always to make a point of asking after her and hearing the news, for it was she who brought me up, together with that fine girl of hers, the lady Ctimene, her youngest. Yes, we were educated together and her mother treated me almost as her equal. But when we two young things had reached the age when love will have its way, they married her off to someone in Same – and what a price he paid them! As for me, her mother fitted me out in a fine mantle and tunic, with a new pair of sandals for my feet, and packed me off to the farm. But she always kept a tender place for me in her heart. Ah, I have long missed kindness such as hers! I’m not complaining about my work here. The blessed gods have prospered it, so that it brings me in enough to eat and drink and to give to such as have a claim upon me. But from my mistress there’s never a gentle word to be had, nor a kind deed either. For the house has come on evil days and fallen into ruffians’ hands. Yet servants do miss it mightily when they can’t talk face to face with their mistress, and find out all the news, and have a bite and a sup, and carry off a tit-bit to the farm as well. That is the sort of thing that always warms a servant’s heart.”
“You surprise me,” said Odysseus. “You must have been quite a little fellow, Eumaeus, when you came all that way from your parents and your home! Won’t you tell me what happened? Were you stolen in the streets when they sacked the city where your parents lived; or did some band of buccaneers catch you alone with the flocks or herds, bring you by ship to the palace here and get a good price from your master?”
“My friend,” replied the admirable swineherd, “you have asked for the story of my capture. Very well, give me your ear and enjoy the tale as you sit there and drink your wine. There’s no end to these nights. They give one time to listen and be entertained as well as time to sleep. Nor is there any need for you to go early to bed. Even where sleep is concerned, too much is a bad thing. But any of the rest, if the spirit moves them, can go out and sleep. For at the first sign of dawn they must break their fast and sally out with the royal pigs. Meanwhile let us two, here in the hut, over our food and wine, regale ourselves with the unhappy memories that each can recall. For a man who has been through bitter experiences and travelled far can enjoy even his sufferings after a time.”
“You were asking me about my early days. Let me give you the tale. There is an island called Syrie – you may have heard the name – out beyond Ortygie, where the Sun turns in his course. It’s not so very thickly peopled, though the rich land is excellent for cattle and sheep and yields fine crops of grapes and corn. Famine is unknown there and so is disease. No dreadful scourges spoil the islanders’ happiness, but as the men of each generation grow old in their homes, Apollo of the Silver Bow comes with Artemis, strikes them with kindly darts and lays them low. There are two cities in the island, which is divided between them. My father, Ctesius son of Ormenus, was king of them both and ruled them like a god.”
“One day the island was visited by a party of those notorious Phoenician sailors, greedy rogues, with a whole cargo of gewgaws in their black ship. Now there happened to be a woman of their race in my father’s house, a fine strapping creature and clever too with her hands. But the double-dealing Phoenicians soon turned her head. One of them began it by making love to her when she was washing clothes, and seducing her by the ship’s hull – and there’s nothing like love to lead a woman astray, be she never so honest. He asked her who she was and where she came from. She replied by pointing out to him the high roof of my father’s house, and to this she added: ‘I come from Sidon, where they deal in bronze. I am the daughter of Arybas, and a rich man he was. But some Taphian pirates carried me off as I was coming in from the country, brought me here to this man’s ho e and sold me. He gave a good price for me, too!’
“ ‘And how would you like,’ said her seducer, ‘to come home again with us and to see the high roof of your own house, and your parents in it? For I tell you they are still alive and have the name of wealthy folk.’
“ ‘I would jump at the chance,’ said the woman, ‘if you sailors would swear to bring me safe and sound to my home.’ ”
“They were quite willing to promise what she asked, and solemnly took their oaths. But the woman had something more for their ears. ‘Keep your mouths shut,’ she said, ‘and don’t let any of your party say a word to me if you meet me in the street or at the well. Someone might go to the house and blab to the old man, who would clap me into irons if his suspicions were roused, and see what he could do to kill you all. No; keep the idea to yourselves, and buy your homeward freight as fast as you can. When the ship is fully victualled quickly send word to me up at the house. For I shall bring away some gold with me – all I can lay my hands on. And there’s something else I should gladly give you in payment for my passage. I’m nurse there in the house to a nobleman’s child – a clever little scamp, who trots along at my side when we go out. I’m quite ready to bring him on board with me, and he’d fetch you a fortune in any foreign port where you might put him up for sale.’ With this the woman left them and returned to our comfortable home.
“The traders stayed with us for a whole year, during which they bought and took on board a vast store of goods. When the hold was full and their ship ready for sea, they sent up a messenger to pass the word to the woman. The cunning rascal came to my father’s home with a golden necklace strung at intervals with amber beads. While my mother and the women-servants in the house were handling and bargaining for the necklace, and all eyes were fixed upon it, he quietly nodded to my nurse, and, his signal delivered, slipped off to the ship. Meanwhile the woman took me by the hand and dragged me out through the door, and there in the entrance-hall she saw the wine-cups and tables that had been used for a banquet given to my father’s retainers. The guests themselves had gone out to attend a public debate in the meeting-place. So she quickly hid three goblets in her bosom and carried them off. And in my childish innocence I followed her.”
“The sun had set by now, and we ran down through darkened streets to the great harbour where the fast Phoenician ship was lying. They put us on board at once, climbed in themselves and made for the open sea, with a following wind, as luck would have it. For six days and nights we sailed steadily on, but on the seventh day Artemis the Archeress struck the woman and she crashed headlong into the hold like a gannet diving into the sea. They threw her corpse overboard as carrion for the seals and fish, and I was left alone in my misery. In due course the winds and currents drove us in to Ithaca, where Laertes parted with some of his wealth to buy me. That, sir, is how I first came to set eyes on this land.”
“Eumaeus,” said King Odysseus, “this vivid account of your misfortunes has moved me deeply. But you must admit that heaven sent you some good luck too, to set off the bad, since after all these misadventures you came to the house of a kind master, who has obviously been careful to see that you have plenty to eat and drink; so that the life you live is a good one, whereas I have tramped through half the cities in the world before reaching this refuge.”
In this way they entertained each other with talk; and when at last they lay down, it was not for a long night’s sleep: only a little time was left before Dawn was on her golden throne.
Meanwhile Telemachus had reached the coast of Ithaca, and his men were striking sail. Down came the mast, and they rowed her into her berth, where they dropped anchor and made the hawsers fast. Then they jumped out on the beach, prepared their breakfast and mixed the sparkling wine. Telemachus wisely let them eat and drink their fill before he gave them their orders. “You will now take the ship round to the port,” he said, “while I pay a visit to the farms and see the herdsmen. This evening, when I’ve looked round my estate, I shall come down to the city. And to-morrow morning I propose to pay you your wages for the voyage – a good feast of meat with mellow wine to wash it down.”
“And what is to become of me, dear child?” asked his noble passenger, Theoclymenus. “Which of your chieftains’ homes is to be my refuge in this rugged land of yours? Or shall I go straight to your mother and your own house?”
“In other circumstances,” answered the prudent Telemachus, “I should invite you to go to our own house, where there is no lack of hospitality. But as things stand, for your own sake I do not recommend that course, since you won’t have me at your side and my mother wouldn’t see you. She seldom shows herself to her Suitors in the hall, but keeps away from them and works at the loom in her room upstairs. However, there is a man you might go to, and I’ll give you his name – Eurymachus, the noble son of a wise father, Polybus, who at the moment is my countrymen’s idol. He is certainly by far the best man there, as well as the keenest bidder for my mother’s hand and for my father’s rights. But Olympian Zeus in his heaven is the only one who knows whether he hasn’t a bad time in store for them all before it comes to weddings!”
This speech of Telemachus was greeted by a happy omen, a bird flying to the right. It was a hawk, Apollo’s winged herald, holding a dove in its talons, which it plucked so that the feathers fluttered down to earth half-way between the ship and Telemachus himself. Theoclymenus beckoned him away from his men, seized his hand, and congratulated him.
“Telemachus,” he said, “this bird that passed to your right was certainly a sign from heaven. Directly I set eyes on him I knew him for a bird of omen. In all Ithaca there is no more royal house than yours. No; yours is the power for all time.”
“My friend,” said Telemachus, “may what you say prove true! If it does, you shall learn from my liberality what my friendship means, and the world will envy you your luck.” Then he turned to his loyal friend Peiraeus son of Clytius and said: “Peiraeus, of all who joined me on this trip to Pylos I have always found you the most reliable. Will you oblige me now by taking charge of this guest of ours and treating him with every kindness and attention in your own house till I come back?”
To which the gallant Peiraeus replied: “Stay here as long as you like, Telemachus, and I will look after him. He shall not complain of any lack of hospitality.”
Peiraeus then went on board the ship and ordered the rest to cast off the hawsers and embark. They quickly got in and took their seats on the benches. Meanwhile Telemachus fastened his sandals on his feet and picked up his powerful bronze-pointed spear from the ship’s deck. The men untied the cables, thrust her off, and sailed for the city, as ordered by Telemachus, the son of Odysseus their king. But Telemachus set out on foot and walked at a good pace till he reached the yard where his large droves of pigs were kept and the swineherd slept among them, loyal heart, with none but kindly feelings for his masters’ house.
