Chapter 18
There entered now upon the scene a common vagabond who used to beg for his living in the streets of Ithaca and was notorious for his insatiable greed and his ability to eat and drink all day. He was a big fellow, yet in spite of appearances he had no stamina or muscle. Arnaeus was the name his gentle mother had given him at his birth, but all the young men nicknamed him Irus, since he was at everyone’s beck and call for an errand. This was the man who now came up, intent on chasing Odysseus from his own house. He took the offensive at once:
“Make way from the porch, old fellow, or you’ll find yourself dragged off by the ankle. Don’t you see they’re all tipping me the wink to haul you out – not that I should care to? Up with you now, or you and I will soon come to blows.”
Odysseus of the nimble wits gave him a black look. “Sir,” he replied, “I have neither said nor done a thing to hurt you; nor do I grudge you the most generous alms that anyone may give. This threshold will hold us both and there is no reason why you should be niggardly with other people’s goods, since I take you for a tramp like myself and dependent on Providence for a living. Think twice before you call me out; or once you have roused me, old as I am I’ll dye your lips and breast with your own blood, and so, by the way, get a quieter day for myself to-morrow, for I warrant that this palace of Odysseus would never see you back.”
At this the beggar Irus lost his temper. “Ha!” he cried. “Slick talk from the glutton! An old cook could do no better. But I’ve a nasty trick in store for him, a right and left that’ll dash all the teeth from his jaws to the ground, like the tusks of a marauding swine. Tuck in your clothes, and let these gentlemen see how we fight – if you really dare to match yourself against a younger man.”
In this way they were whetting each other’s fury with a right good will, there on the polished threshold in front of the high doors, when their behaviour caught Antinous’ princely eye. He laughed delightedly and called out to the rest of the Suitors:
“My friends, this beats everything: Here is a treat for us blown straight in from heaven. The stranger and Irus are challenging each other to box. Let’s make a match of it, quick!”
They all jumped up laughing, and as they crowded round the ragged beggars, Antinous’ persuasive voice was heard once more:
“Gentlemen, here’s a suggestion. We have some goats’ paunches roasting there at the fire, which we stuffed with fat and blood and set aside for supper. I propose that the winner, when he has proved himself the better man, shall come up and take his pick of these. And not only that, he shall join us regularly at dinner, and we’ll allow nobody else to beg in this company.”
They all approved Antinous’ idea, and the wily Odysseus played up to his part. “Friends,” he said, “there’s no sense at all in a match between an old fellow worn out by trouble and a younger man. Yet this mischievous belly of mine eggs me on to take my thrashing. So now I ask you all to make me a solemn promise. No-one must side with Irus: I don’t want to lose to him through a foul blow from one of you.”
They were all prepared to give him their assurance, and when this had been done with due solemnity, Prince Telemachus put in his word:
“Stranger, if you have the heart and pluck to match yourself against this man, you need not be afraid of any of these gentlemen. Whoever strikes you will have others to deal with. I am the host here; and the Princes Antinous and Eurymachus, good judges both, are on my side.”
This met with general applause; so Odysseus tucked up his rags round his middle and bared his great and shapely thighs. His broad shoulders too, and his chest and brawny arms now caught the eye. Indeed Athene herself intervened to increase his royal stature. As a result, all the Suitors were lost in amazement, and significant glances and comments were exchanged. One of them said:
“Under those rags of his, what a thigh the old fellow had! No more errands for Irus! He was looking for trouble and he’ll find it.”
This was quite enough for Irus, whose heart failed him completely. But that did not stop the servants from girding up his clothes and dragging him forcibly to the front, though he was in such a state of panic that the flesh quivered on all his limbs. And now he had to listen to a tirade from Antinous.
“You clodhopper!” he shouted at him. “You may well wish you were dead or had never been born, if you’re going to stand quaking there in mortal terror of an old man done in by hardships. I’ll be blunt with you, and what I say holds good. If this fellow beats you and shows himself the better man, I’ll throw you into a black ship and send you over to the continent to King Echetus the Ogre, who’ll have your nose and ears off with his cruel knife and rip away your privy parts to give them as raw meat to dogs.”
The effect of this on Irus was to make him shudder all the more. However, they dragged him into the ring, and the pair put up their hands. Odysseus considered carefully whether he should hit to kill outright or lay him flat with a gentler punch. In the end he decided on the lighter blow, to avoid attracting too much attention from the young lords to himself. Accordingly, when they put up their hands and Irus drove at his right shoulder, Odysseus struck Irus’ neck below the ear and smashed in the bones so that the red blood gushed up through his mouth and he fell down in the dust with a groan, grinding his teeth and drumming the earth with his feet. At this the young gallants threw up their hands and nearly died of laughing. But Odysseus seized Irus by the foot and dragged him out through the entrance across the courtyard to the gate of the portico. There he propped him against the courtyard wall, put his stick in his hand and sternly passed sentence upon him: “Sit there now and keep the pigs and dogs away. And unless you want worse trouble still, drop the part of Beggar-King: it doesn’t suit the likes of you.” Then he slung his mean and tattered knapsack over his shoulder by the strap attached to it and returning to the threshold resumed his seat.
The Suitors flocked back into the hall with many a hearty laugh and congratulation for Odysseus. “Stranger,” they said, “may Zeus and the other gods grant you the dearest wishes of your heart for having stopped that glutton from begging in Ithaca. Now we’ll soon pack him off to the continent, to King Echetus the Ogre.”
Their way of putting it impressed Odysseus as a happy omen for himself; and now Antinous presented him with a large paunch stuffed with fat and blood, while Amphinomus picked out a couple of loaves from a basket, put them down beside him and drank to him from a golden cup. “Your health, my ancient friend!” he said. “You are under the weather now; but here’s to your future happiness!”
“Amphinomus,” the wise Odysseus answered him, “you seem to me to be a thoroughly decent fellow, in fact just such a son as I should have looked for from your father, Nisus of Dulichium, whom I have heard well spoken of as a good man and a rich one. Now since he was your father and you strike me as being a gentleman, I am going to be frank with you. Listen to me carefully.
“Of all creatures that breathe and creep about on Mother Earth, there is none so helpless as a man. As long as heaven leaves him in prosperity and health, he never thinks hard times are on their way. Yet when the blessed gods have brought misfortune on his head, he simply has to steel himself and bear it. In fact our outlook upon life here on earth depends entirely on the way in which Providence is treating us at the moment. Look at myself. There was a time when I was marked out to be one of the lucky ones, yet what must I do but let my own strength run away with me and take to a life of lawless violence under the delusion that my father and my brothers would stand by me? Let that be a lesson to every man never to disregard the laws of god but quietly to enjoy whatever blessings Providence may afford. The lawlessness I see here is a case in point – these Suitors wasting the property and insulting the wife of a man who, as I maintain, will not be kept away much longer from his friends and his own country. In fact, he is very near; and I only hope that some power may waft you away to the safety of your own home and that you may not have to face him on the day that sees him back on his native soil. For, once he is under his own roof, I have an idea that blood will be spilt before he and the Suitors see the last of one another.”
As he finished, Odysseus made his libation and drank the mellow wine; then returned the cup into the young nobleman’s hands. But Amphinomus went back through the hall heavy at heart and shaking his head; for he was filled with a foreboding of disaster. Not that it saved him from his fate, for Athene had already marked the man out to fall a victim to a spear from Telemachus’ hand. Meanwhile, he went back and sat down again on the chair he had just left.
It was now that Athene, goddess of the flashing eyes, put it into the wise head of Icarius’ daughter Penelope to appear before the Suitors, with the idea of fanning their ardour to fever heat and enhancing her value to her husband and her son. Turning to one of her maids with a forced laugh she said: “Eurynome, the spirit moves me, as it never has before, to pay these lovers of mine a visit – much as I detest them. I should also like to have a word with my son for his own benefit and warn him not to spend his whole time with these unruly young men, who may speak him fair but whose intentions are evil.”
“My child,” said the housekeeper Eurynome, “you are quite right. By all means go. And be frank with your son; tell him what is in your mind. But not before you’ve washed yourself and anointed your cheeks. You mustn’t go like this, with your face all stained by tears. It’s a bad thing to be forever weeping, and never have a change. And you the mother of a fine big son, whom you’ve always longed to see with a beard on his chin!”
“Eurynome,” said Penelope, “I know your kind heart, but you shouldn’t encourage me in this way to have a bath and anoint my checks. The gods of Olympus robbed me of any charms I may have had, on the day when my husband took ship and sailed away. However, tell Autonoe and Hippodameia to come here, so that they can attend me in the hall. I am not going to brave that masculine company alone: modesty forbids.”
While the old woman went off through the house to take this message to the maids and send them to their mistress, the goddess Athene carried her scheme a step further by making Penelope so drowsy that her whole body relaxed and she fell back sound asleep on the couch where she was sitting. The great goddess then endowed her with more than human gifts in order that the young lords might be overcome by her beauty. First she cleansed her fair cheeks with a divine cosmetic like that used by Cythereia when she puts on her lovely crown to join the Graces in their delightful dance. Then she gave her the appearance of greater stature and size; and she made her skin whiter than ivory that has just been sawn. When her work was done the goddess withdrew, and the white-armed maids came up from another part of the house. The sound of their voices as they approached woke up Penelope, who rubbed her cheeks with her hands and exclaimed: “What a wonderful sleep, in spite of all my troubles! I wish holy Artemis would grant me a death as sweet as that, this very moment, and save me from wasting my life in anguish and longing for all the excellences of my dear husband, who was the best man in all Achaea.”
She left her gay apartment and went downstairs, not by herself, but with the two waiting-women in attendance. When she reached her lovers the great lady drew a fold of her bright head-dress across her cheeks and took her stand by a pillar of the massive roof, with one of her faithful maids on either side.
Her appearance staggered the Suitors. Their hearts were melted by desire, and every man among them prayed that he might hold her in his arms. But Penelope turned to her son. “Telemachus,” she said, “your wits have deserted you. As a boy you used to have much more sense, but now that you are grown-up and have entered on manhood, and anyone from the outside world, judging by your height and looks, would take you for a rich man’s son, you no longer show the same judgment and tact. I am thinking of the scene that the house has just witnessed and of how you allowed this visitor of ours to be so shamefully treated. What if a guest sitting quietly in our hall were to suffer some injury from such rough handling? It is on you that people would lay the blame and the disgrace.”
“Mother,” Telemachus soberly replied, “I cannot resent your indignation at what happened. In my own heart I can tell right from wrong well enough – I am not the child I was. But it is impossible for me always to take the sensible line. I am prevented by these mischief-makers who surround me here; and there’s no-one to support me. However, this fight between the stranger and Irus did not go as the Suitors wished, but the stranger won. Ah, Father Zeus, Athene, and Apollo, how I should love, this very day in our palace, to see these Suitors beaten men, scattered about in the courtyard and Indoors with their heads lolling on their shoulders and the strength knocked out of all their limbs, Just like Irus sitting out there at the courtyard gate, wagging his head like a drunkard and unable to stand up on his feet and find his way home since he’s a broken man!”
Eurymachus put an end to this conversation by addressing a compliment to the queen. “Daughter of Icarius, wise Penelope,” he said, “if all the Achaeans in Ionian Argos could set eyes on you, these walls of yours would see an even greater gathering of lovers at to-morrow’s feast, for in beauty, stature, and sense there is not a woman to touch you.”
“Ah, Eurymachus,” the prudent Penelope replied, “all merit, grace, or beauty that I had the gods destroyed when the Argives embarked for Ilium and my husband Odysseus joined their ranks. If he could return and devote himself to me, my good name might indeed be embellished and enhanced. But I am left to my misery: the powers above have heaped so many troubles on my head. I well remember, when he left this land of his, how he held me by the wrist of my right hand and said: ‘Wife, one thing is certain – not all our soldiers will return from Troy unhurt. For they say the Trojans are good fighters too, either with javelin and bow, or from the swift horse-chariots that suddenly turn the scale in a pitched battle. So I cannot say whether the gods will let me come back or whether I shall fall on Trojan soil. But I leave everything here in your charge, Look after my father and mother in the house as you do now, or with even greater care when I am gone. And when you see a beard on our boy’s chin, marry whomsoever you fancy and leave your home.’ That is what he said; and now it is all coming true. I see approaching me the night when I must accept a union I shall loathe; heaven has destroyed my happiness and left me forlorn.”
“Meanwhile here is something that is causing me the utmost mortification. Yours is by no means the good old way for rivals to conduct their suit for a gentlewoman and a rich man’s daughter! Surely it is usual for the suitors to bring in their own cattle and sheep to make a banquet for the lady’s friends, and also to give her valuable presents, but not to enjoy free meals at someone else’s expense.”
Odysseus was delighted at this speech. He liked to see her extorting tribute from her lovers and bewitching them by her coquetry, while all the time her heart was set on quite a different course.
It was Antinous, Eupeithes’ son, who answered her. “Daughter of Icarius, wise Penelope,” he said, “by all means accept every gift that any of us may arrange to send you – and none could well refuse such a request. But let me add that we will not return to our own estates nor go anywhere else till you marry the best man among us.”
The others agreed and each sent off his squire to fetch a gift. For Antinous they brought a long embroidered robe of the most beautiful material on which were fixed a dozen golden brooches, each fitted with a curved sheath for the pin; and for Eurymachus a golden chain of exquisite workmanship strung with amber beads that gleamed like the sun. For Eurydamas his two squires brought a pair of ear-rings, each a thing of lambent beauty with its cluster of three drops; while from the house of Prince Peisander, Polyctor’s son, there came a servant with a necklace which was a lovely piece of jewellery too. Thus each of the young lords contributed his own valuable gift, and presently the lady Penelope withdrew to her upper apartment escorted by her waiting-women, who carried the magnificent presents.
From then till dusk the Suitors gave themselves up to the pleasures of dancing and delights of song. When night fell, it found them making merry still. So they set up three braziers in the hall to give them light, heaped them with faggots of dry wood thoroughly seasoned and newly split, and thrust some burning brands into each pile. The palace maids took it in turns to tend the lights, until King Odysseus himself intervened.
“Away, you masterless maids,” he said, “to the apartments where you’ll find your mistress. Give her the pleasure of seeing you sitting at home, turning the spindle at her side or carding wool with your hands. Meanwhile, I shall provide light for the company, and even if they wish to carry on till the peep of day they won’t exhaust me. I am far too tough for that.”
The girls laughed and exchanged glances. But the rosy-cheeked Melantho flared up at him. She was a daughter of Dolius, whom Penelope had reared and looked after as tenderly as her own child, giving her all the playthings she could desire. But her care was not requited: the girl had no sympathy for Penelope’s woes; she loved Eurymachus and had become his mistress. Rounding on Odysseus now, she gave him the rough side of her tongue: “You must be soft in the head, you disreputable old vagabond! Why not go for your night’s lodging to the smithy or some other hostel, instead of coming here and airing your views so boldly and disrespectfully before all these gentlemen? The wine has fuddled your wits, or perhaps you talk such nonsense only because they are always like that. Has the drubbing you gave the beggar Irus gone to your head? Look out, I say, or a better man than Irus will stand up to hammer it with his great fists and send you packing with a bloody nose.”
“Brazen hussy,” retorted the great Odysseus, glowering down upon her, “I shall go straight over and report you to Telemachus for that speech. He’ll soon make mincemeat of you.”
His threat scattered the women, who fled through the house, their knees trembling beneath them in alarm, for they had taken him at his word. But Odysseus took his stand by the burning braziers, tending the lights and keeping an eye on them all, though his thoughts were busy elsewhere with schemes that were not doomed to come to nothing.
Athene meanwhile had no intention of allowing the insolent Suitors to abandon their offensive ways; she wished the anguish to bite deeper yet into Odysseus’ royal heart. It was Eurymachus’ turn to contribute a jibe at the stranger and raise a laugh among his friends. “Listen!” he cried. “It has occurred to me – and I really must share this idea with my rivals for our noble Queen – that some divine being must have guided this fellow to Odysseus’ palace. At any rate it seems to me that the torch-light emanates from the man himself, in fact from that pate of his, innocent as it seems of the slightest vestige of hair.”
He then turned to Odysseus, the sacker of cities. “Stranger,” he said, “I wonder how you’d like to work for me if I took you on as my man, somewhere on an upland farm, at a proper wage of course, building stone dykes and planting trees for timber? I should see that you had regular food and provide you with clothing and footwear. But you’ve learnt such bad habits that I expect you’ll jib at farm-work and prefer to beg in the streets by way of filling your greedy paunch.”
“I only wish, Eurymachus,” replied Odysseus, “that you and I could compete as labourers in the early summer when the days draw out, in a hayfield somewhere, I with a crooked reaping-hook and you with its fellow, so that we could test each other at work, with nothing to eat till well after dusk and plenty of grass to cut. Or we might have same oxen to drive, tawny great thoroughbreds, bursting with fodder and matched in age and pulling power. It takes a lot to tire a pair like that, and I should choose a two-acre field with a clod that yielded nicely to the share. You’d see then whether I could cut a furrow straight ahead! Or again I wish some fighting could somehow come our way, here and now, and that I had a shield and a couple of spears and a bronze helmet fitting round my forehead. It would be out in the front line that you’d find me then, and you’d have no more quips to make at this paunch of mine. But you, sir, are a braggart with the heart of a bully, who take yourself for a big man and a hero only because the people you meet are so few, and good for nothing at that. Ah, if Odysseus could only come home and show himself you’d soon find that wide doorway there too narrow in your hurry to get safely out!”
Eurymachus’ wrath boiled over. With a black look he rounded on Odysseus. “Rascal,” he cried, “I’ll soon make you pay for your irreverence and public insults. The wine must have got at your wits, or perhaps you talk such trash only because they are always like this. Has the drubbing you gave that beggar Irus gone to your head?” And as he spoke he seized a stool. But Odysseus avoided his attack by sitting down at the knees of Amphinomus of Dulichium, and Eurymachus’ missile struck the wine-steward on the right hand so that his jug dropped with a clang on the floor and he himself with a groan fell backwards in the dust.
The darkened hall was at once filled with uproar. The Suitors looked at each other in alarm and wished that the vagabond had come to grief elsewhere, before they had seen him, instead of raising all this hubbub in their midst. “Here we are,” they said, “at blows about a beggar-man, and our pleasure in an excellent evening’s entertainment is going to be spoiled by this outburst of folly.”
But now Telemachus spoke out like a prince. “Gentlemen,” he said, “you are out of your senses. It is obvious what the food and wine have done to you. Some power must be stirring you up to trouble. Come now; you have dined well: I suggest you go home to bed at your leisure, though of course I am hustling no-one out.”
At this they could only bite their lips and wonder that Telemachus should have the audacity to address them so.
At last Amphinomus took it on himself to reply. This prince was the son of King Nisus, himself the son of Aretias. “My friends,” he remarked, “when the right thing has been said, captious criticism is out of place. Let nobody maltreat this stranger or any of the royal servants. Rather, let a wine-steward charge each man’s cup so that we can make our offerings and go home to bed, leaving our visitor here in the palace to Telemachus’ care. For after all it is to his house that he has come.”
This was a solution that everyone welcomed. Mulius, a squire from Dulichium in Amphinomus’ retinue, mixed them a bowl of wine and then went the rounds and served them all. They poured out their offerings to the blessed gods before drinking up the mellow wine, and when they had made their libations and drunk all they wanted they dispersed to their several homes for the night.
