II

Odysseus sat watching the wooers from his place at the upper end of

the hall, and his heart misgave him when he thought of the appalling

task which he had undertaken. He had acquitted himself like a hero in

many a hard-fought field, but never in all his life had he faced such

odds as these. While he thus mused, and weighed the chances in his

mind, he saw Eumæus and Philoetius leave the hall together, and pass

out through the courtyard gate. Then a sudden thought struck him, and

muttering to himself, "I must risk it," he rose and followed the two

men. He found them talking together outside the courtyard fence, and

in order to make trial of their temper he addressed them in these

cautious terms: "Tell me truly, good friends, which side would ye

take, if by some miracle Odysseus suddenly appeared in this house?

Would ye be for the wooers or for him?"

Eumæus and Philoetius with one voice protested that they were ready to

hazard their lives for the rights of their master, whereupon Odysseus

hesitated no longer, but answered: "The miracle has been wrought; I am

he! After twenty years of toil and wandering Heaven hath brought me

home. I have watched ye both, and I know that ye alone among all the

thralls remain true to me. Only continue steadfast for this day, and

your reward is assured. I will build houses for ye both, close to my

own, and ye shall dwell there with your wives, as my friends and

neighbours, equals in honour with Telemachus, my son."

The swineherd and neatherd listened with amazement, willing to

believe, but still half in doubt; but when Odysseus showed them the

scar, which they had seen many a time before, they were convinced, and

embraced their old master with tears and cries of joy. Having allowed

them some moments to indulge their feelings, Odysseus checked them

with a warning gesture. "Take heed to yourselves," he said, "or your

cries will betray us. And now mark what I shall tell you. I will go

back to the house first, and do ye two follow me one by one. To thee,

Philoetius, I give charge to make fast the gate of the courtyard, with

bolt, and with bar, and with cord. And thou, Eumæus, when the time

comes, shalt bring the bow and place it in my hands, whether the

wooers cry out on thee or not; and when thou hast given me the bow, go

straightway and command the women to make fast the doors of their

apartments, and remain quiet by their work until I have finished what

I have to do."

At the moment when Odysseus returned to his place in the hall,

Eurymachus was just making a last attempt to bend the bow. "Out on

it!" he cried, finding all his efforts of no avail. "It is a shame to

think how far beneath Odysseus we all are in the strength of our

hands; 'tis this that stings me, much more than the loss of the lady."

"Thou mistakest the cause," answered Antinous. "This day is the holy

feast of the divine archer, Apollo, and doubtless he is jealous

because we try our skill in his own art on his sacred day. Let us

leave the axes where they stand, and try our fortune again to-morrow."

The proposal was received with general applause, and forthwith the

whole company called loud for wine, and began drinking heavily to

drown their disappointment Odysseus watched the progress of the revel

with grim satisfaction, and when the flushed faces and thick talk of

the wooers showed that they were far gone in drunkenness he asked,

with an air of deep humility, to be allowed to try his hand at

stringing the bow. His request was greeted with a loud cry of contempt

and indignation from all the wooers; and Antinous especially was

highly incensed, threatening him with dire pains and penalties for his

presumption. Hereupon Penelope interposed, and rebuked Antinous for

his violence. "Why should not the stranger try his skill with the

rest?" asked she. "Thinkest thou that the poor man will win me for his

wife if he succeeds? Sure I am that he is not so foolish as to

entertain such a thought."

"'Tis not for that," said Eurymachus, answering her. "He cannot be so

mad as that. But what a shame to all this noble company if a houseless

beggar should accomplish a feat which none of us was able to perform."

"Talk not of shame," replied Penelope with scorn. "Are ye not covered

with shame already, by your foul deeds done in this house in the

absence of its lord? Give him the bow, I say! And if he string it, by

Apollo's grace, I will clothe him in a new cloak and doublet, and give

him a sharp javelin, to keep off dogs and men, and a two-edged sword,

and sandals for his feet, and give him safe conduct to whatsoever

place he desires to reach."

The decisive moment was at hand, and Telemachus saw the necessity of

removing his mother from the scene of the approaching conflict.

"Mother," he said in a tone of authority, "leave these things to me; I

am master here. Evening draws on, and it is time for thee to retire."

When Penelope had withdrawn, Eumæus took the bow, and was about to

carry it to Odysseus, but paused half-way, in doubt and alarm, for a

perfect storm of threats and abuse assailed his ears. "Halt, thou dog!

Put down the bow! Art thou tired of thy life?" Appalled by the

menacing cries of the wooers, the swineherd stood hesitating; but

Telemachus raised his voice, and commanded him instantly to deliver

the bow to Odysseus. "I will teach thee," he said, "who is thy master;

thou shalt carry the marks of my hands to thy farm, if thou do not as

I tell thee. Would that I could as easily drive the whole of this

drunken rout from my doors!"

"Well bragged, Sir Valiant!" cried Antinous; and all the wooers

laughed boisterously when they heard him. Seizing his opportunity

while their attention was thus diverted, Eumæus came and placed the

bow in the hands of Odysseus; then, calling Eurycleia, he bade her

make fast the door of the women's apartments. Meanwhile Philoetius

secured the gates of the courtyard, and returning to his place sat

watching the movements of Odysseus. With anxious eye the hero

scrutinised the great weapon, turning it this way and that, to see if

it had been injured by worms or natural decay. To his great joy he

found that it was sound and untouched. Then, easily as a minstrel

fastens a new cord to a lyre, without effort he strung the bow, and

bending it made the string twang loud and clear, like the shrill voice

of the swallow.

A hundred mocking eyes and sneering faces had been turned towards him,

as he sat fingering the bow and weighing it in his hands; but pale

grew those faces now, and blank was that gaze. To add to their terror,

at this moment a loud peal of thunder shook the house. Filled with

high courage by the happy omen, Odysseus took an arrow, and, fitting

it to the string, sent it with sure aim from the place where he sat

along the whole line of axeheads, from the first to the last.

"Telemachus," he said, "thy guest hath not shamed thee. My hand is

firm, and mine eye is true, poor worn-out wanderer though I be. Now

let us give these fair guests their supper, and afterwards entertain

them with music and with dancing, which are the fit accompaniment of a

feast."

Then he beckoned to his son to draw near; and Telemachus made haste,

and came and stood by his father's side, armed with sword and lance.