"Better for you, you braggart, had you never been born
if you tremble in front of this man and are so afraid of him--
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someone so old, so broken by the hardship he's suffered!
I'll tell you this straight out, and it'll happen for sure:
if he's victorious, proves himself the better man,
I'll clap you in a black ship, send you off to the mainland,
to King Echetos, dangerous maimer of all mortal men alive,
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who'll cut off your nose and ears with the pitiless bronze,
and rip out your privates, give them raw to the dogs to eat."4
So he spoke, and yet greater trembling seized on Iros' limbs
as they led him out to the middle. Both men put up their hands.
Much-enduring noble Odysseus was debating in his mind
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whether to slam him so hard that life left him as he fell,
or hit him just hard enough to stretch him out on the ground;
and as he reflected, it struck him that this was the better course:
to hit him lightly, and not arouse Achaian suspicions.
So after they raised their hands Iros led to the right shoulder,
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but Odysseus struck his neck beneath the ear. The blow
crushed in the bones. At once red blood filled his mouth,
he fell in the dust with a cry, and gnashed his teeth,
and drummed on the ground with his feet. The lordly suitors,
arms raised, nearly died laughing. And then Odysseus
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dragged him out by his foot through the doorway to the courtyard
and the gates of the colonnade. There he propped him sitting
against the courtyard wall, thrust a staff into his hand,
and addressed him with winged words, saying: "Now sit there,
to scare off the pigs and dogs! And stop pretending
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to lord it over strangers and beggars, you wretch,
or you may well bring a yet worse disaster upon you!"
With that he slung over his shoulder his worn-out leather bag,
tattered and rent, which was held by a twisted cord,
and went back to the threshold and sat there. The suitors
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came inside laughing gaily, and congratulated him, saying:
"May Zeus and the other gods, stranger, grant you all
that you most desire, the dearest wish of your heart,
for you've ended the begging routine of this insatiable fellow
in our neighborhood! Soon we'll send him across to the mainland
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to King Echetos, dangerous maimer of all mortal men alive!"
So they spoke, and Odysseus rejoiced at the words of omen,5
and Antinoos set before him the great paunch, filled
with fat and blood, while Amphinomos chose two loaves,
took them out of the basket, and set these too before him,
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and pledged him, holding a golden cup, and addressed him, saying:
"Your health, father and stranger: may prosperity hereafter
attend you, though now you're beset by many troubles."
To him resourceful Odysseus then responded, saying:
"Amphinomos, you strike me as a highly sagacious man,
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such a one as your father was, whose reputation I knew of:
Doulichian Nisos, a man both valiant and wealthy.
They say you're his son: you seem a well-mannered person,
so I've something to tell you: please listen and pay attention.
This earth nurtures nothing of less account than man
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among all creatures that breathe and move upon it;
for he thinks he'll not suffer setbacks in the years ahead
so long as the gods grant him prowess and his knees are nimble;
and when the blessed gods bring him hard times, this too,
though against his will, he endures with a stubborn heart,
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for the spirit of men on this earth will meet and match
the day that the Father of gods and men brings on them.
I too was once on the way to a good life among my fellows,
but, yielding to strength and violence, did many reckless deeds,
because I trusted my father and the rest of my kinsmen.
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So no man should ever use lawlessness, on any occasion,
but accept in silence those gifts that the gods may give him.
Such reckless acts I now witness the suitors committing,
as they squander the goods and show no respect for the wife
of a man who, I tell you, won't be absent much longer
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from his friends and country--he's close! May some god rather
lead you home out of here, so you don't encounter him
when he's back in his native setting, for not bloodless, I think,
will be the final reckoning between that man and the suitors,
once he's made it home and is under his own roof."
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So saying, he poured a libation, and drank the honey-sweet wine,
and then returned the cup to the commander of the people.
But Amphinomos went through the hall deeply worried at heart,
head bowed, for his spirit clearly foresaw disaster.
Yet he still failed to dodge his fate, since Athene bound him
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to be violently overwhelmed by Telemachos' hands and spear.
Now he sat down again in the chair from which he'd risen.
Then the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, put a thought in the mind
of Ikarios' daughter, the prudent Penelope: that she
should appear now before the suitors, flutter their hearts
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to the utmost, and thus win still greater appreciation
from her husband and son than they'd accorded her hitherto.
With an awkward laugh, she addressed her housekeeper, saying:
"Eurynome, I'm now minded, as I've never been before,
to show myself to the suitors, hateful though I still find them.
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And I want a word with my son, to tell him he'd do better
not to consort so much with these overweening suitors,
who treat him politely, but are plotting his downfall later."
Then Eurynome, housekeeper, responded to her, saying:
"All this indeed, child, was well and properly spoken.
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Go now, have a word with your son, don't hold it back!
But wash yourself first, and rub oil into your cheeks--
don't go as you are, leaving your face all tear-stained:
avoid indiscriminate mourning, day in day out! Your son
has now attained the age that you begged the immortals most
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to allow you to see: he's become a bearded adult."
To her then prudent Penelope now responded, saying:
"Eurynome, don't, though you care for me, try to talk me
into washing my body or massaging myself with oil!
Any beauty I once had the gods, who possess Olympos,
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destroyed, from the day when he left with the hollow ships!
But go tell Autonoe now, along with Hippodameia,
to come here: I want them beside me in the hall.
I won't go in to the men alone: I'd be ashamed to."
So she spoke, and out through the hall the old woman went
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to take these handmaids the message, request their presence.
Then the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, had another idea:
on Ikarios' daughter she shed sweet sleep: she lay back
and dozed, there in her recliner; a
ll her joints were relaxed.
While she slept, Athene, bright among goddesses, gave her
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ambrosial gifts, to make her seem wondrous to the Achaians.
To begin with she cleansed her fine features with ambrosial
beauty, a salve6 such as that which fair-garlanded Kythereia7
employs when she goes to join the Graces' delightful dance;
and she rendered her taller and fuller in appearance,
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and of whiter complexion than freshly sawn ivory. When
she'd done all this, she, the bright goddess, went on her way,
and the white-armed handmaids then approached from the hall,
chatting loudly, so that sweet sleep let Penelope go,
and she sat up, rubbing her cheeks, and said to herself:
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"In the depth of my misery soft oblivion stilled my senses!
How I wish that chaste Artemis would give me so soft a death
here and now, that I might no longer with heartfelt lamentation
waste my life away, ever yearning for the unrivaled virtues
of my dear husband, a man without peer among the Achaians."
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So saying, she went down from her bright upper chamber--
not alone, for the two handmaids followed in attendance.
When she, bright among women, came where the suitors were,
she stood by the central post of the snugly timbered roof,
holding up her shining veil in front of her face
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and flanked on either side by a devoted handmaid.
At once the men's knees were weakened, their hearts inflamed
by passion: each one of them prayed he might share her bed.
But she now addressed Telemachos, her dear son, saying:
"Your mind-set and thinking, Telemachos, have got unbalanced!
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When you were still a child, you had more common sense!
But now you're grown, and are on the verge of manhood--
and outsiders, seeing only your stature and good looks,
would certainly think you the offspring of a successful man--
your mind and thinking no longer are on the proper track!
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Look at this business that just took place in our hall,
the way you let this stranger be so badly mistreated!
And what if this same stranger, while sitting here in our house,
were to suffer real hurt from such grievous brutality? You
would then bear the burden of public shame and disgrace!"
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Sagacious Telemachos now responded to her, saying:
"My mother, I cannot reprove you for becoming angry:
I myself now see and recognize all these things in my heart,
both the good and the worse, though before I thought as a child.
Yet I can't work out everything with sagacity, because
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they drive me crazy, these men sitting all around me
cogitating their wicked schemes, while I have none to aid me.
Still, the contest between the stranger and Iros didn't go
as the suitors expected: the stranger turned out a better fighter.
How I wish--by Zeus the Father, by Athene and Apollo!--
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that these suitors were likewise now beaten, here in our home,
heads lolling, some of them out there in the courtyard,
others inside the house, and the knees of all were unstrung,
as now that lout Iros sits at the entrance to the courtyard,
head lolling, his appearance much like that of a drunk,
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unable to stand on his feet or to make his way home
to wherever he lives, since his limbs are quite unstrung."
Such was their conversation, the one with the other;
and Eurymachos now addressed himself to Penelope, saying:
"Ikarios' daughter, most prudent Penelope: could all
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the Achaians throughout Iasian Argos see you now,
still more suitors would be feasting here in your halls
from early tomorrow, since you excel all other women
in beauty and stature--and indeed in your sensible mind."
Then prudent Penelope responded to him, saying:
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"Eurymachos, any excellence of beauty and figure I had
the immortals destroyed at the time the Argives embarked
for Ilion, and among them went my husband, Odysseus.
Were he only to come back now, and give comfort to my life,
greater would be my renown, and finer too; but now
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I grieve, so many sorrows has some god laid upon me.
Indeed, when he was leaving his native land, did he not
clasp my right hand at the wrist, and then address me, saying:
'My wife, since I don't imagine that the well-greaved Achaians
will all return safe and unscathed from the land of Troy--
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for the Trojans, they say, are most redoubtable warriors,
as both spearmen and archers, and also as skillful charioteers
driving swift-footed horses, such men as can most quickly
decide who'll win the great contest of leveling warfare--
I don't know whether the god will bring me back, or if
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I'll die out at Troy: the care of all here must rest with you.
Look after my mother and father at home as you do now,
or with even closer attention, while I'm far away;
but if the day comes when you see our son grown and bearded,
then wed the man of your choice, and leave this house.'
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"So he spoke,
and now all this is being brought about. A night
will come when some hateful marriage will be the lot
of my unblest self, whom Zeus has deprived of comfort.
But in this matter sore grief has come on my heart and spirit,
for this was never the way that suitors wooed in the past,
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when men wanting to court a fine lady and rich man's daughter
would all be in competition with one another, themselves
bringing along fat flocks and cows to provide a banquet
for the bride's friends and family, and giving her splendid gifts--
not devouring the substance of others, with no payment."
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So she spoke, and noble much-enduring Odysseus rejoiced
because she coaxed gifts from these men, and charmed their hearts
with sweet words, while her mind was set on quite different things.
Then Antinoos, son of Eupeithes, once more addressed her, saying:
"Ikarios' daughter, most prudent Penelope, presents--such as
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any one of the Achaians might bring for you here--you should
accept, for it's never polite to refuse a gift! But we
shall depart neither back to our holdings nor anywhere else
until you marry the man who's the best of the Achaians."
So Antinoos spoke. What he said was to their liking,
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and each man sent off a herald to fetch his presents.
A large and exquisite robe was what came for Antinoos,
finely embroidered: attached to it were a dozen brooches,
all of gold, and each fitted with smoothly rounded clasps.
There soon arrived for Eurymachos an elaborate golden
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chain, strung with amber beads, as bright as sunlight.
Eurydamas' servants brought him a pair of earrings, with triple
clustering pendants: much grace shone from them.
From the house of the lord Peisandros, Polyktor
's son,
his servant now brought a necklace, an exquisite ornament.
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Thus every Achaian provided some kind of lovely gift.