And Helen brought an embroidered robe, the work of her own fair hands, as a wedding gift for his future bride.

As soon as they had eaten they mounted the chariot, and drove slowly through the outer gate of the courtyard, Menelaus and Helen following on foot Here they drew up to say farewell, and Menelaus pledged them in a bowl of wine, wishing them G.o.d-speed. "And forget not," he added, "to greet Nestor for me when ye come to Pylos, for he was ever gentle to me as a father when we sojourned in the land of Troy."

"I will not forget to carry thy message," answered Telemachus; "would that I were as sure to see my father when I come to Ithaca, that I might tell him of thy n.o.ble hospitality, and show him thy gifts."

Hardly had the words been uttered when a clamour of voices was heard, and a crowd of men and women ran past, pursuing with loud cries an eagle, which had just seized a great white goose from the courtyard, and was carrying her off in his talons. Straight over the chariot he flew, and with a scream of triumph sped away to the mountains with his booty. "Consider now, my prince," said Pisistratus, "whether this omen was sent to us or to thee."

Menelaus, who was somewhat slow of wit, paused to deliberate; but before he could frame an answer, the quick brain of Helen was ready with an interpretation. "The eagle is thy father, Odysseus," she said to Telemachus, "and the meaning of the omen is that he is already in Ithaca, or close at hand, bringing death and doom to his foes."

Thus encouraged by fair portents, they took leave of their kind hosts, and started on their way to Pylos, where they arrived on the following day. As they drew near to the house of Nestor, Telemachus begged his friend to drive straight down to the sea. "For I know," he said, "that thy father will constrain me to abide with him, and will take no denial; and I wish to embark for Ithaca without further delay."

Pisistratus agreed, and avoiding the house of Nestor they pa.s.sed on to the place where the ship lay moored.

Having summoned his crew, Telemachus was preparing to embark, when a man armed and equipped as a traveller approached the vessel, and inquired who he was and whither he was bound. Having received an answer, he requested Telemachus to carry him to Ithaca. "My name," he said, "is Theoclymenus, and I am descended from Melampus, the famous seer, from whom I have inherited the prophetic gift. I am an exile from my native land of Argos, for I have slain a man of my own tribe, and am flying from the avenger of blood. Set me, I pray thee, on thy ship, and take me with you, for sore is my need."

"Heaven forbid," answered Telemachus, "that I should deny thee, seeing that thy very life is at stake. Make haste, and come on board"; and he made room for the stranger to sit by him in the stern of the vessel.

After a quick and prosperous voyage they sighted the coast of Ithaca, and landed on a deserted part of the coast within easy reach of the swineherd's dwelling. Here Telemachus dismissed his company, bidding them take the galley round to the harbour of Ithaca, and promising to reward them for their good service. He was just about to depart when Theoclymenus detained him and asked where he was to find shelter.

Telemachus answered in some embarra.s.sment. "'Twere no friendly act,"

he said, "to send thee to my house, for my mother lives apart in her own chamber and sees no man, and I fear lest thou suffer some harm from the lawless men who riot in my halls. Therefore I advise thee to go to Eurymachus, who is now the most powerful man in Ithaca, and hopes to sit in my father's seat; but perchance Zeus will send him another issue of his wooing."

Just as he spoke a rushing of wings was heard on the right, and they saw a falcon pa.s.sing close at hand with a dove clutched in his talons, and tearing his prey so that the feathers fluttered down at their feet. Then Theoclymenus, who was deeply skilled in augury, drew Telemachus apart and said: "It is a manifest sign of victory to thee and to thy house." "May Heaven fulfil thy prophecy," answered Telemachus, "and if thy words prove true I will load thee with benefits, and give thee cause to bless this hour." Being now convinced that he had found a friend, he called Peiraeus, in whom he had full confidence, and bade him take Theoclymenus under his care until he himself returned to the town. Peiraeus readily undertook the charge, and this point being settled they thrust out from the sh.o.r.e and rowed away in the direction of the harbour, while Telemachus strode off with rapid footsteps along the path which led to the swineherd's hut.

II

On the evening before the arrival of Telemachus Odysseus was sitting after supper with Eumaeus and the other herdsmen, and wishing to learn the purpose of Eumaeus towards him he said: "I will no longer be a burden to thee and thy fellows. To-morrow I will go to the town and beg my living, if thou wilt send one of thy men to show me the way.

Perchance also I might visit the house of Odysseus, and have speech with Penelope. And it may be that the wooers will take me into their service, for I would have thee know that by favour of Hermes I am right skilful of my hands, and no one can match me in laying a fire and cleaving dry logs, in carving and roasting meat, and in pouring of wine."

But this proposal found no favour with the honest swineherd. "Who put such a thought," he asked, "into thy mind? Serve with the wooers! They would put a speedy end to thy service, and pay thee thy wages in blood. Those who wait upon them are of a different sort from thee--gay striplings, daintily clad, with glossy hair and comely faces. Remain with us until Telemachus comes home; thou art no burden either to me or to my men."

"Be it so, then," answered Odysseus, "and may Heaven requite thee for thy goodness to a poor homeless outcast, who wanders in misery, driven by hunger from door to door! And since I am still to be thy guest, tell me something of thy master's mother, and of the father whom he left behind when he went to the wars. Do they still live, or have they gone to their rest?"

"This also thou shalt know," replied Eumaeus. "Laertes his father still lives, though sore stricken with years and sorrows; for his son's long absence and his wife's miserable end have brought him to the verge of the grave. She died long ago, and by such a death as I pray may never come to anyone who is dear to me--she, my kind mistress, who brought me up with her youngest daughter, and hardly loved me less. As long as she lived I would often go down to the house, and she ever entertained me kindly, and gave me something to carry back with me to my dwelling on the land. Full well she knew how to sweeten the lot of a thrall with pleasant words, and little acts of tenderness and love. But now I seldom leave my charge, for since the wooers brought this curse upon my master's house Penelope hides her face from us, and has no comfort for us either in word or deed."

Odysseus listened with deep interest, and when Eumaeus paused he expressed a desire to hear the story of his life. "How was it," he asked, "that already in early childhood thou wast cast on the mercy of strangers? Wast thou taken captive in war, or did robbers seize thee as thou satst watching sheep on the lonely hills, and sell thee into bondage?"

"Fill thy cup," answered Eumaeus, "we will pledge each other in a hearty draught, and then thou shalt hear my tale. The nights are long at this season, and we shall have time enough to sleep when I have done. Fate has dealt hardly with me, even as with thee; and we can find some comfort in telling over our sorrows to each other.

"There is a certain island called Syria, lying north of Ortygia, not very large or populous, but a good land, rich in pasture, with waving cornfields and goodly vineyards. There famine never comes, nor sickness, but all the people reach a good old age, and then die by the painless shafts of Artemis or of Apollo. There are two cities which divide the territory equally between them; and there was one king over both, my father, Ctesius, son of Ormenus.

"When I was still very young there came to the island a Phoenician ship, laden with trinkets for barter. Now in my father's house was a Phoenician woman, tall and fair, and skilled in needlework. She was my nurse, and I was wont to run about the town with her. One day, as she was washing clothes not far from the ship, she was recognised by a Phoenician sailor as being of his own race, and he inquired how she came to the island. She answered that she was a native of Sidon, and a rich man's daughter, stolen from her home by pirates, and sold across the seas. 'And hast thou a mind to see thy native land again?' asked the fellow. 'Thy father and mother still live and prosper'; for she had told him that her father's name was Arybas. 'I will go with you,'

answered the woman, 'if ye will swear an oath to carry me home unharmed.' They all swore to do as she said, and after that she instructed them how to proceed. 'Keep close counsel,' she said, 'and let none of you seem to know me when ye meet me in the street, nor yet by the well, lest anyone tell it to my master; for if he suspects that aught is amiss it will be the ruin of us all. Lose no time in selling your wares, and when the ship is freighted for her homeward voyage let one of you come up to the house and give me a sign. I will not come empty-handed, but will bring with me vessels of gold to pay for my pa.s.sage. Furthermore, I have charge of my master's child, a knowing little lad; and, if it be possible, I will bring him with me, that ye may sell him for a great price.'

"The bargain was struck, and the woman departed. Then for a whole year they remained among us and traded; at last, when they had sold out all their goods, and stowed their cargo, they sent up a man to my father's house, to warn the woman that the time was come. He brought with him a necklace of gold and amber, a thing of most rare device; and while my mother and her women were handling it, and bargaining for the price, the fellow made a sign to my nurse. When he was gone she took me by the hand and led me with her into the courtyard before the house.

There she found tables set with vessels of gold, where my father had been dining with his guests. They had now gone forth to attend the council, and the place was deserted; so she caught up three goblets and hid them in her bosom. Then with one rapid glance round, to make sure that she was not observed, she hastened down to the spot where the Phoenician ship lay moored; and I, poor child, followed her, fearing nothing.

"Evening was coming on as we reached the sh.o.r.e, and the crew were sitting ready at their oars, only waiting for our arrival. They took us on board, rowed their galley into open water, and, a strong breeze springing up from the land, they hoisted sail, and were soon beyond the reach of pursuit. On the seventh day of the voyage the hand of vengeance fell upon the woman, and she was struck dead by an invisible blow. They flung her body to the fishes, and soon after we landed in Ithaca, where they sold me as a slave to Laertes."

"Twas a sad fate for one of thy tender years," remarked Odysseus, when Eumaeus had finished his story. "Nevertheless thou wast happy to find such a master--happier far than I, who am still a vagabond and a wanderer in my old age."

The Meeting of Telemachus and Odysseus

I

Early next day Eumaeus and Odysseus were preparing their morning meal, when they heard the sound of footsteps approaching the hut. The hounds p.r.i.c.ked up their ears at the sound, and ran fawning round the new-comer, who was evidently well known to them. Odysseus called to Eumaeus, who was busy drawing wine, and said: "Some friend of thine is coming; for the dogs fawn upon him, and bark not."

Even as he spoke, a tall figure appeared in the open doorway, and his own dear son stood before him. Eumaeus sprang up amazed, and let fall the pitcher into which he had been drawing the wine. Then with a cry of joy he ran to greet his young lord, kissed his hands and his face, and wept over him. Even as a father yearns over his only son, just returned from abroad after a ten years' absence, so Eumaeus yearned over Telemachus, and hailed him as one returned from the dead. "Thou art come, Telemachus," he faltered at last, when his emotion suffered him to speak, "thou art come back again, dear as mine own life! Ne'er thought I to see thee again, after thou wast gone to Pylos. Sit thee down, that I may feast mine eyes upon thee; seldom dost thou come this way, but abidest in the house, to watch the wasteful deeds of the wooers."

Odysseus, in his character of beggar, rose respectfully from his seat, to make room for the young prince, but Telemachus motioned him to resume his place, and sat down himself on a heap of brushwood, on which the swineherd had spread a fleece. While Eumaeus was bringing bread and meat, and filling the cups with wine, Telemachus questioned him as to his mother, and learnt that no change had occurred in her relation to the wooers since he left Ithaca. Breakfast being over, Eumaeus, in answer to his inquiry, told him the story of the supposed stranger. "I have done what I could for him," he added, when he had repeated what he had heard from Odysseus. "Now I deliver him unto thee, to do with him as thou wilt; all his hopes are in thy grace."

"What can I do?" answered Telemachus, in perplexity. "Thou knowest that I am not master in my own house, and my mother is torn between two purposes: whether to wait still in patience for her lord's coming, or to choose a new husband from the n.o.blest of the suitors. Neither she nor I can give protection to such a guest as this. Therefore I will bestow upon him a new cloak and doublet, with sandals for his feet, and arm him with a good sword, and send him whithersoever he chooses to go. Or if thou art willing, thou canst keep him here with thee, and I will send down food and raiment for him, that he may not be a burden to thee and thy men. But I will not allow him to go among the wooers, and suffer ill-treatment which I have no power to prevent."

Odysseus, who had not seen his son since he was an infant, desired to learn something more of his mind and character; and in order to draw him into further speech he asked, with an air of indignation, who the wooers were, and how it was that he submitted to their violence. "Is the public voice against thee," he asked, "or art thou at feud with thy brethren, so that they will not help thee? If I were in thy place I would fall upon them singlehanded, for it were better to die once for all than tamely to submit to such outrage."

"Behold I will tell thee all the truth," answered Telemachus. "'Tis neither by the consent of the people nor by the ill-will of my brethren, that this evil hath come upon me. But Heaven hath ordained that the honours and the burden of our house should ever rest upon one alone. Laertes, my grandsire, was an only son, and Odysseus was the sole issue of his marriage; and even so I am the only child of Odysseus. Therefore I sit helpless and alone, at the mercy of this ruffian band. But enough of this! We have no hope left, save in the justice of Heaven." Then he turned to Eumaeus, and said: "Make haste now, go down to the house, and tell Penelope that I have come back safe from Pylos. Let none else hear it, but come back hither at once, when thou hast delivered thy message, and I will wait here until thy return."

"Shall I not go to Laertes, and tell him also?" asked the swineherd.

"Since the day of thy departure he has tasted neither meat nor drink, but sits alone in his sorrow, and will not be comforted."

"My mother can send a handmaid to inform him," answered Telemachus.

"But as for thee, see that thou return here straightway, and lose no time."

II

Soon after the departure of Eumaeus, Odysseus and Telemachus were sitting before the door of the hut, each lost in his own thoughts, when their attention was attracted by the strange behaviour of the dogs. These animals, which had been lying basking in the sun, all at once started up with a stifled cry, and ran whining, with every sign of terror, to a distant corner of the courtyard. "What ails the hounds?" said Telemachus, looking up in surprise. But Odysseus was not long before he saw the cause of their alarm: standing at the outer gate was a tall female figure, of majestic countenance, and more than mortal beauty. Telemachus saw her not, but Odysseus instantly knew who she was, and, obeying a gesture of her hand, he rose from his seat and went out through the gate. She led him to a place where they were out of hearing, and then said: "It is time for thee to reveal thyself to thy son, that together ye may contrive destruction for the wooers.

When the hour of reckoning comes, I shall be near to aid you."

Thereupon she touched him with her wand, and in a moment he was once more the old Odysseus, still in the full vigour of his manhood, dark and sunburnt, with thick black hair and curling beard. His rags also had been replaced by fair clean raiment; and thus completely transformed he went back to the hut to reveal himself to Telemachus.

Athene, having done her part, had forthwith disappeared.

Fear came upon Telemachus, and he marvelled exceedingly, when the real Odysseus appeared before him. "Who art thou," he asked, "that comest back in a moment thus wondrously transfigured? If thou be a G.o.d, as methinks thou art, let me find favour in thy sight, and we will honour thee with rich offerings of gold, and with humble prayers."

"No G.o.d am I," answered Odysseus, "but thine own dear father, for whose sake thou hast suffered so long with groanings and tears."

With that he kissed him, and giving vent to the tenderness which he had hitherto restrained he lifted up his voice and wept. But Telemachus could not yet believe that it was indeed his father whom he saw before him. "It cannot be," he said, drawing back in affright. "It is mere magic and glamour practised against me by some hostile power, to mock my sorrow. No being of flesh and blood could work such a change upon himself. A moment since thou wast an old man in sordid raiment, and now thou art like unto the sons of heaven."

"Forbear!" said Odysseus, "no more amazement! I am thy father, and no other; if not, thou shalt never see him more. Much have I suffered, and wandered far, and now in the twentieth year I am come back to my native land. This change at which thou marvellest is no work of mine, but was wrought by Athene, daughter of Zeus. The G.o.ds can deal with us as they will, both for our glory and for our shame."

Then Telemachus was convinced, and fell into his father's arms, and they wept long and sore over each other, for joy and grief are near neighbours. Presently they grew calmer, and Odysseus, in answer to his son's inquiry, told how the Phaeacians had conveyed him to Ithaca, and of all the treasures which he had brought with him.

"But now we must speak of a sterner task," said Odysseus, when his story was ended. "Tell me now the number of the wooers, that I may know how many and what manner of men they be, and thereafter contrive how we may best a.s.sail them, whether by ourselves or with others to help us."

"Father," answered Telemachus, "I knew thy high renown, as a warrior mighty in word and deed. But I fear me greatly that this task is too hard for us; how shall two men prevail against so many? Listen now and I will tell thee their number. From Dulichium are two and fifty, with six men-servants, from Same twenty-four, from Zacynthus twenty, and from Ithaca itself twelve, all proper men and tall. If we twain fall upon such a host, we may find the work of vengeance a bitter morsel, and our bane. It were better, then, to look for some other help."

"Helpers we shall find, and stout ones too," said Odysseus. "What sayest thou to Athene and her father, Zeus? Is their aid enough or shall we look for more?"

"Mighty indeed are the champions thou namest," replied Telemachus, "though throned far remote among the clouds; supreme are they in sovereignty, both on earth and in heaven."