Ithaca (Books 13–15)

So he spoke, and they were all hushed in silence, held spellbound throughout the shadowy hall. The next day the Phaeacians loaded his gifts into a swift ship, and at sunset Odysseus lay down on the deck, and sweet sleep fell on his eyelids, the soundest sleep, most like to death. And the ship ran on, as a team of four stallions on a plain leap together under the lash; so the stern rose and plunged, and the great dark wave of the roaring sea seethed behind. It ran so swiftly that not even the circling falcon, the swiftest of birds, could have kept pace with it, carrying a man whose counsels were like the gods', who had suffered many griefs in his heart, cleaving the wars of men and the painful waves; and now he slept in peace, forgetting all he had suffered.

At the rising of the brightest star, which comes to herald the light of early dawn, the ship drew near the island, to the harbor of Phorcys, the old man of the sea. At the head of the harbor grew a long-leaved olive tree, and near it a lovely, shadowy cave, sacred to the nymphs called Naiads. There they lifted Odysseus out of the ship, wrapped in his linen and bright rug, still asleep, and laid him on the sand, and set his gifts beside him, at the foot of the olive tree, and went home. But the Earth-shaker had not forgotten his threats. As the ship came near the shore of the Phaeacians, he struck it with the flat of his hand and turned it to stone, and rooted it to the sea floor, before the eyes of the whole city.

Odysseus awoke in his own country, and did not know it; for Athena had poured a mist around him. Everything looked strange to him: the long paths, the sheltered harbors, the sheer rocks and the leafy trees. He sprang up and groaned, and struck his thighs: "Alas, to what land of mortals have I come now?" Then Athena came near him, in the likeness of a young shepherd, delicate as the sons of kings. And Odysseus, glad, asked what land this was. "You must be a fool, stranger, or come from far away," she said, "to ask about this land. It is Ithaca."

He was glad, but he did not speak the truth. He invented a long tale: he was a Cretan, a fugitive, who had killed a man and fled with his goods on a Phoenician ship. And the goddess smiled, and stroked him with her hand, and took the form of a woman, tall and beautiful. "It would take a sly one, and a thief at that, to get the better of you in trickery, even a god. You hardened schemer, never tired of your tricks: even home at last, in your own land, you cannot leave off the lies and the made-up tales you love so dearly. But enough; we are two of a kind. Among men there is no one to match you for plans and stories, and among the gods there is none to match me for wit and craft." She scattered the mist, and the land appeared; and much-enduring Odysseus rejoiced, and kissed the grain-giving earth.

Together they hid his treasures in the cave, and sat down at the foot of the sacred olive tree, and planned the death of the insolent suitors. Then Athena touched him with her wand. She withered the fair skin on his supple limbs, and took the fair hair from his head, and made his eyes dull, and clothed him in a ragged cloak, filthy and stained with smoke, and over it the great hide of a swift deer, rubbed bare of hair; and she gave him a staff, and a wretched, tattered bag. And she sent him to the hut of the swineherd, who was loyal to him above all his servants.

He found the noble swineherd Eumaeus sitting in the porch of his steading, which he had built with his own hands, of stones, while his master was away. Suddenly the barking dogs saw Odysseus and ran at him, baying; and Odysseus prudently sat down and let his staff fall from his hand. The swineherd ran out and drove the dogs off with stones, and said: "Old man, the dogs almost tore you to pieces. And the gods have given me other griefs enough: I sit here mourning my godlike master, fattening his pigs for other men to eat, while he, perhaps, wanders hungry somewhere among strangers. But come in, old man, so that you may eat and drink your fill, and tell me where you come from." He spread brushwood and a shaggy goatskin for his guest, and roasted two piglets for him, and mixed honey-sweet wine in a bowl of ivy wood. "It is not right," he said, "to dishonor a stranger, even if one poorer than you should come; for all strangers and beggars come from Zeus, and a gift, though small, is welcome."

In the evening the swineherds drove the pigs home, and Eumaeus killed a fat five-year-old boar for his guest. He did not forget the immortals: he threw bristles from its head into the fire, praying to all the gods that wise Odysseus might come home; and he divided the meat into seven portions, setting one aside, with a prayer, for the nymphs and for Hermes, son of Maia, and giving the others to each man. But to Odysseus he gave the long chine of the white-tusked boar, to honor him; and Odysseus was glad, and said: "Eumaeus, may you be as dear to father Zeus as you are to me, since you honor me, such as I am, with good things."

Then Odysseus told him a long, false tale of his life as a Cretan warrior, and swore that Odysseus was alive and would soon return. But the swineherd would not believe it. "Many wanderers come here with such tales, to get food and clothing from my mistress, and she weeps and asks them everything. No, old man, do not try to win my favor with lies." That night it was cold and stormy, and Odysseus told another story: how once, before Troy, on a winter night in an ambush, he had been freezing without a cloak, and Odysseus had cunningly found one for him. And Eumaeus understood, and laughed, and gave him a cloak of his own to sleep under.

Meanwhile, in Lacedaemon, Athena came to Telemachus in the night and urged him to go home, warning him of the suitors' ambush in the strait. At dawn he took leave of Menelaus and Helen, who gave him rich gifts; and as they parted, an eagle flew by on the right, carrying in its talons a great white goose from the farmyard. And Helen of the long robes spoke: "Listen to me, and I will prophesy. As this eagle came from the mountain, where it was born, and seized the goose that was fattened in the house, so Odysseus, after much suffering and wandering, will come home and take vengeance."

At Pylos, a stranger came to Telemachus as he was sacrificing by his ship: Theoclymenus, a seer descended from seers, fleeing from Argos because he had killed a man. He begged to be taken on board, and Telemachus took him.

That night, in the hut, Odysseus asked Eumaeus how he had come there, and the swineherd told his story. He had been born the son of a king, on the island of Syria. When he was a little child, a Phoenician woman, his nurse, who had been seduced by Phoenician traders, stole him away with her on their ship, and they sold him to Laertes, who paid good money for him. And the old queen, Anticleia, raised him with her own daughter, the youngest of her children, and loved him hardly less.

Telemachus, avoiding the suitors' ship by another course, landed secretly on Ithaca at dawn, and sent his ship on to the city. And as he stepped ashore, a hawk flew past on the right, the swift messenger of Apollo, holding a dove in its claws and plucking its feathers. And Theoclymenus took Telemachus by the hand and said: "Telemachus, not without a god did this bird fly on the right. There is no family more royal than yours in Ithaca; you will rule forever."

(End of Episode 5 — continued in Episode 6: Father and Son)