I
Stripping off his rags, and girding them round his waist, Odysseus
took the quiver, and poured out all the arrows on the ground at his
feet. "Now guide my hand, Apollo," he cried, "and make sure mine aim,
for this time I will shoot at a mark which never man hit before."
Therewith he bent his bow again, and pointed the arrow at Antinous,
who just at that moment was raising a full goblet of wine to his lips.
Little thought that proud and insolent man, as the wine gleamed red
before him, that he had tasted his last morsel, and drunk his last
drop. He was in the prime of his manhood, surrounded by his friends,
and in the midst of a joyous revel; who would dream of death and doom
in such an hour? Yet at that very instant he felt a sharp, sudden
pang, and fell back in his seat, pierced through the throat by the
arrow of Odysseus. The blood poured from his nostrils, he let fall the
cup, and spurning the table with his feet in his agony he overset it,
and the bread and meat were scattered on the floor.
Then arose a wild clamour and uproar among the wooers, and starting
from their seats they sought eagerly for the weapons which were wont
to hang along the walls; but not a spear, not a shield, was to be
seen. Finding themselves thus baffled, they turned furiously on
Odysseus, shouting, "Down with the knave!" "Hew him in pieces!" "Fling
his carcass to the vultures!" As yet they had not recognised him, and
they thought that he had slain Antinous by mischance.
They were soon undeceived. "Ye dogs!" he cried, in a terrible voice,
"long have ye made my house into a den of thieves, thinking that I had
died long ago in a distant land. Ye have devoured my living, and wooed
my wife, and mishandled my servants, having no fear of god or man
before your eyes. But now are ye all fallen into the pit which ye have
digged, and are fast bound in the bonds of death."
Like beaten hounds, that dastardly crew cowered before the man whom
they had wronged, and every heart quaked with fear. Presently
Eurymachus stood forward, and tried to make terms for them all. "If
thou be indeed Odysseus," he said, "thou speakest justly concerning
the evil doings of the wooers. And there lies the cause of the
mischief, Antinous, struck down by thy righteous hand. He it was who
sought to slay Telemachus, that he might usurp thy place, and make
himself king in Ithaca. But now that he is gone to his own place, let
us, the rest, find favour in thy sight. And as for thy possessions
which have been wasted, we will pay thee back out of our own goods, as
much as thou shalt require."
But there were no signs of relenting on that stern, set face. "Talk
not to me of payment," he answered, with a brow as black as night; "ye
shall pay me with your lives, every one of you. Fight, if ye will, or
die like sheep. Not one of you shall escape."
Thus driven to extremity, Eurymachus drew his sword and shouting to
the others to follow his example he picked up a table to serve him as
a shield, and raising his war-cry rushed at Odysseus. In the midst of
his onset an arrow struck him in the liver, and he fell doubled-up
over a table, smiting the floor with his forehead. Then he rolled over
with a groan, and his eyes grew dim in death.
Before Odysseus could fix another arrow to the string, Amphinomus was
upon him, with sword uplifted to slay him. Telemachus saw his father's
peril, and thrust Amphinomus in the back with his spear. The fall of
their leaders arrested the advance of the wooers, and they drew back
in a body to the lower end of the hall. Leaving the spear in the body
of the fallen man, Telemachus ran to fetch armour for himself and
Odysseus, and the two herdsmen. Quickly he brought shields and helmets
and lances for the four, and they arrayed themselves and took their
stand together on the platform.
While these preparations were in progress, Odysseus continued
showering his arrows among the huddled troop of terrified men; and at
every shot one of the wooers fell. At last Melanthius, the goatherd,
made a desperate effort to save his party. Assisted by several of the
wooers, he climbed up the wall of the banquet-room, and made his exit
through the open timbers at the top into a narrow passage which gave
access to the inner part of the house. Presently he returned, laden
with spears and shields and helmets, which he had found in the chamber
where they had been stored away by Telemachus.
What was the dismay of Odysseus when he saw his enemies arming
themselves with spear and shield, and brandishing long lances in their
hands! "Telemachus!" he cried, "we are betrayed! The women have sold
us to the wooers." "Alas! I have erred," answered Telemachus, "for I
left the door of the armoury open, and one of them has observed it."
While they thus debated, Eumæus saw the goatherd making his way out of
the hall again by the same exit. "It is the traitor Melanthius," he
whispered; "now have we need of prompt action, or we are all undone."
Odysseus had now recovered his courage, and he issued his orders
without losing another moment. "Go thou with the neatherd," he said to
Eumæus, "and seize that villain before he has time to return. Bind him
hand and foot, and come back with all speed to the hall"
At the side of the hall, close to the platform where Odysseus and his
party were stationed, there was a door leading into the passage
already mentioned. Through this the two men passed, and made their way
stealthily to the armoury. There they waited on either side of the
door for Melanthius, whom they heard moving within. Before long he
came out, bearing in one hand a helmet, and in the other an old
battered shield, once the property of Laertes. Together they fell upon
him, dragged him down by the hair, and having bound him tight with a
long cord they hauled him up to a beam of the roof and left him
hanging. "Long and sweet be thy slumbers, goatherd!" said Eumæus as he
contemplated his work, "thou hast a soft bed, such as thou lovest.
Rest there till the morning light shall call thee to make breakfast
for the wooers."
When they returned to the hall they found that a new ally had joined
their party, in the person of Mentor, the old friend of Odysseus. No
one saw when he came thither; but there he was, and right glad they
were to see him. Very different were the feelings of the wooers when
they saw their enemies thus reinforced, and one of them, named
Agelaus, cried out upon Mentor, and threatened him, saying: "Give
place, rash man, or thou wilt bring destruction on thyself and all thy
house."
When he heard that, Mentor was wroth, and rebuked Odysseus as slow of
hand and cold of heart. "Why standest thou idle?" he cried. "Get thee
to thy weapons, and finish the work which thou hast to do, if thou art
verily that Odysseus who wrought such havoc among the Trojans in the
nine years' war."
With these words the supposed Mentor vanished as mysteriously as he
had appeared, and a little swallow was seen darting hither and thither
among the smoke-blackened beams of the roof.
The wooers understood not in whose presence they had been, and,
thinking that Mentor had fled before their threats, they took courage
again, and prepared to make a fresh assault. Agelaus now took the
lead, and at his command six of them advanced and hurled their spears.
But they were all dazed with drink, and weakened by long habits of
loose indulgence, and not one of their weapons took effect.
"Now hurl ye your spears!" shouted Odysseus, and the four lances flew,
and four wooers bit the dust. At the next discharge from the wooers
Telemachus received a slight wound on the wrist, and Eumæus was
similarly injured on the shoulder by the spear of the brutal
Ctesippus. A moment after Ctesippus himself was struck down by the
lance of Philoetius, who mocked him as he fell saying: "There is for
the ox-foot which thou didst lately bestow on Odysseus, thou noisy
railer!"
And so the great fight went on, and at every cast of the spear
Odysseus and his men added another to the list of the slain. Seeing
their numbers dwindling fast, the wretched remnant of the wooers lost
heart altogether and huddled together like sheep at the end of the
hall. To complete their discomfiture a terrible voice was suddenly
heard in the air, and a gleam as from a bright shield was seen high up
among the rafters. "Tis Athene herself come to our aid!" cried
Odysseus; "advance, and make an end of them. Athene is on our side!"
Forthwith they all sprang down from the platform and charged the
wooers, of whom some dozen still remained alive. What followed was not
a battle, but a massacre. Like a drove of kine plunging frantically
over a field, tortured by the sting of the hovering gadfly--like a
flock of small birds scattered by the sudden swoop of a falcon--the
panic-stricken wooers fled hither and thither through the hall,
seeking shelter behind pillars and under tables from the blows which
rained upon them. But vain was their flight. In a very short time the
last of that guilty band was sent to his account, and the great act of
vengeance was completed.