II

Twilight had not yielded to day when Odysseus awoke from his

trancelike sleep, and gazed in bewilderment around him. His senses had

not yet fully come back to him, and after his twenty years' absence he

knew not where he was. All seemed strange--the winding paths, the

harbour, the cliffs, and the very trees. With a cry of dismay he

sprang to his feet, and cried aloud: "Good lack, what land have I come

to now, and who be they that dwell there? Are they savage and rude, or

gentle and hospitable to strangers?" Then his eye fell on the gifts

which had been brought with him from Phæacia. What was he to do with

all this wealth? "Now this is a sorry trick which the Phæacians have

played me," he muttered again, "to carry me to a strange land, when

they had promised to convey me safe to Ithaca."

So unworthily did Odysseus deem of his benefactors that he fell to

counting his goods, for fear lest they should have carried off a

portion of the gifts while he slept. He found the tale complete, and

when he had finished counting them he wandered disconsolate along the

sand, mourning for the country which he thought still far away. As he

went thus, with heavy steps and downcast eyes, a shadow fell across

his path, and looking up he saw a fair youth, clad and armed like a

young prince, who stood before him and smiled in his face with kindly

eyes. Glad to meet anyone of so friendly an aspect, Odysseus greeted

him, asked for his countenance and protection, and inquired the name

of the country.

"Either thou art simple," answered the youth, "or thy home is far

away, if thou knowest not this land. It is a place not unknown to

fame, but named with honour wherever mortal speech is heard. Rugged

indeed it is, and unfit for horses and for chariots, but rich in corn

and wine, and blessed by the soft rain of heaven. On its green

pastures roam countless flocks and herds, and streams pour their

abundance from its forest-clad hills. Therefore the name of Ithaca is

spoken far and wide, and hath reached even to the distant land of

Troy."

The wanderer's heart burned within him when he heard his dear native

island described with such loving praise. But dissembling his joy he

set his nimble wits to work, and began to spin a fine fiction for the

stranger's ear. "I have heard of Ithaca," he said, "as thou sayest,

even in Troy, where I fought under Idomeneus, King of Crete. And now I

am an exile, flying from the vengeance of Idomeneus, whose son,

Orsilochus, I slew, because he sought to deprive me of my share in the

Trojan spoil. For he bore a grudge against me, because I would not pay

court to his father at Troy, but made a party of my own, and fought

for my own hand. For him I laid an ambush, and slew him in a secret

place, under cover of night. Then I fled down to the sea, and bribed

the crew of a Phoenician ship to carry me and my goods to Pylos. But

the storm wind drove them out of their course, and they put in here

for shelter. Sore battered and weary we landed here, having hardly

escaped with our lives; and while I slept they brought my goods

ashore, and sailed away for Sidon, leaving me alone with my sorrow."

Intent on his tale, Odysseus had not noticed the sudden change which

had come over his hearer; for his eyes had been turned away, as he

strove to spell out the features of the country, which still seemed

unfamiliar. Now he looked round again, and instead of that dainty

youth he saw a stately female form, tall and fair, in aspect like the

mighty goddess Athene. And in truth it was the daughter of Zeus

herself who answered him, smiling and touching him with a playful

gesture. "Thou naughty rogue!" she said, "wilt thou never forget thy

cunning shifts, wherein none can surpass thee, no, not the gods

themselves? Yea, thou hast a knavish wit, and no man can equal thee in

craft, as no god can rival me. Yet for all thy skill thou knewest me

not for Pallas Athene, who is ever near thee in all thy trials, and

made thee dear to all the Phæacians. And now am I come to help thee

hide thy goods, and weave a plot to ensnare the foes who beset thy

house. Thou hast still much to endure, before thy final triumph, and

thou must enter thy halls as a stranger, and suffer many things by the

hands of violent men."

"It is hard, O goddess," answered Odysseus, "for a mortal man to know

thee, keen though he be of wit; for thou appearest in a hundred

shapes. Yet well I know that thou wast kind to me in days of old, when

I fought with the Greeks at Troy. But since that time I have never

seen thee, in all my wanderings and perils, save once in Phæacia. Now

tell me truly, I implore thee, what is this place where I am

wandering? Thou saidst 'twas Ithaca, but in that I think thou speakest

falsely, with intent to deceive me; or is this indeed my native land?"

"Ever the same Odysseus as of old," said Athene, smiling again,

"cautious and wary, and hard to convince. Verily thou art a man after

mine own heart, and therefore can I never leave thee or forsake thee

in all thy cares. Any other man would have rushed to embrace his wife,

after so many years of wandering; but thou must needs prove her and

make trial of her constancy, before thou takest her to thy heart. And

if thou wouldst know why I held aloof from thee so long, it was

because of Poseidon, my father's brother, who ever pursued thee with

his ire. Yet I knew that thou wouldst return at last, and have waited

patiently for that hour, And now I will open thine eyes, that thou

mayest know the land of thy birth."

As she spoke she touched his eyes, and a mist seemed to fall away from

them, so that he recognised every feature of the place, the slopes of

Neritus, waving with forest trees, the spreading olive-tree, the

harbour, and the cavern where he had many a time sacrificed to the

nymphs. Then Odysseus rejoiced in spirit, and kneeling down he kissed

his native soil, and put up a prayer to the guardian deities of the

place: "Greeting, lovely Naiads, maiden daughters of Zeus! Ne'er hoped

I to see your faces again, Give ear unto my prayer, and if I live and

prosper by the favour of Athene I will pay you rich offerings, as I

was wont to do."

"Doubt not my good-will," said Athene, when he had finished; "that is

assured thee. But it is time to secure these goods of thine in a safe

hiding-place. After that we will advise what is next to be done."

With that she dived into the cave, closely followed by Odysseus, and

showed him where he best might conceal his treasure. When all was

safely bestowed, she set a great stone in the mouth of the cavern, and

sat down at the foot of the olive-tree, motioning Odysseus to take his

place at her side. "Now mark my words," began Athene, "thou hast a

heavy task before thee, to purge thy house of the shameless crew who

for three years past have held the mastery there, and sought to tempt

thy wife from her loyalty to thee. All this time she has been putting

them off with promises which she has no mind to fulfil."

"Tis well," answered Odysseus, "that thou hast warned me; else had I

fallen in my own hall, even as Agamemnon fell. But come, contrive some

cunning device, whereby I may avenge me, and be thou at my side to aid

me, that my heart fail me not. Pour into me the same might and the

same valour as when we sacked Priam's royal citadel; then should I

fear nothing, though I fought single-handed against three hundred

men."

"I will not fail thee, of that be sure," replied Athene, "when the

time comes to enter on that task. They shall pay full dear for thy

substance which they devour, even with their very blood and brains,

which shall be shed upon the ground like water. But thou must not

appear among them in this fashion. I will give thee a disguise which

none can penetrate, not even Penelope herself. And when thou leavest

this place, go first to the swineherd, who abides ever by his charge,

faithful to thee and to thy house. Thou wilt find him sitting by the

swine on their feeding ground, near Raven's Rock and the fountain

Arethusa, where there is abundance of acorns and fair water. Remain

there and inquire of him concerning all things, while I go to Sparta

to summon Telemachus, thy son, who went to visit Menelaus to ask news

of thee."

"Why didst thou permit him to go on a vain errand?" asked Odysseus.

"Was it that he might suffer as I have suffered, in wandering o'er the

deep, while others devour his living?"

"Be not over anxious for him," answered Athene; "I myself sent him on

that quest, that he might win a good name among men. And now he sits

secure in the wealthy house of Menelaus, dwelling in luxury and

honour. The wooers have laid an ambush against his return; but all

their malice shall be brought to naught."

It was now time for Odysseus to start on his way to the swineherd. But

first he had to submit to a strange transformation. Athene touched him

with a rod which she was carrying, and instantly the flesh shrivelled

on his limbs, the clustering locks fell away from his head, and the

keen, piercing glance of his eyes was quenched. He who a moment before

had been a mighty man in his prime was now become a wrinkled, aged

beggar, clad in miserable, grimy rags, with a staff, and a tattered

scrip, hanging by a cord from his shoulder. For a cloak she gave him

an old deer's hide, from which all the hair was gone. Thus totally

disguised, he parted from the goddess, and started inland, following a

rugged mountain path, while Athene went to summon Telemachus from

Sparta.