Like a lion fresh from the slaughter stood Odysseus, leaning on his
spear, and covered with blood from head to foot. As he glared round
him to see if any of his foes were still alive, his eye fell on
Phemius, the minstrel, who was crouching in a corner near the side
door, and clinging in terror to his harp. Seeing the stern gaze of
Odysseus fixed upon him Phemius sprang forward, with a sudden impulse,
and threw himself at the conqueror's feet, "Pity me, Odysseus," he
cried, "and spare me! Thy days will be darkened by remorse if thou
slay the sweet minstrel whom gods and men revere. I am no common
school-taught bard, who sings what he has learned by rote; but in mine
own heart is a sweet fountain of melody, which shall be shed like the
dew from heaven on thy fame, and keep it green for ever. Therefore
stay thy hand, and harm me not. Telemachus, thy son, knows that it was
not of mine own will, nor for greed of gain, that I sang among the
wooers, but they compelled me by force, being so many, and all
stronger than I."
Thus appealed to, Telemachus readily confirmed what the minstrel had
said, which was indeed the literal truth. Then he thought of the
trusty Medon, who had been kind to him when a child, and remained
loyal to the last to him and Penelope. "I trust he has not been slain
among the wooers," he said. "Medon, if thou art still alive, come
forth and fear nothing."
When he heard that, Medon, who had been huddled in a heap behind a
chair, covered with a freshly-flayed ox-hide, flung off his covering,
and came running to Telemachus. The poor man was still half-mad with
terror. "Here I am!" he gasped, with staring eyes, "speak to thy
father, that he slay me not in his rage and his fury,"
Odysseus smiled grimly at the poor serving-man, and bade him be of
good cheer. "Live," he said, "thou and the minstrel, that ye may know,
and tell it also to others, how much better are good deeds than evil.
Now go ye forth and wait in the courtyard until I have finished what
remains to be done." So forth they went, and sat down by the altar of
Zeus, glancing fearfully about them, as if expecting every moment to
be their last.
As soon as they were gone Odysseus walked slowly up and down the hall
to see if any of the wooers still survived. But there was no sound or
motion, save the tread of his own feet, to break the awful stillness
in that chamber of death. There they lay, stark and silent, heap upon
heap, like a great draught of fishes which have been hauled to shore
in a drag-net, and have gasped out their lives on the beach. Having
assured himself that he had not done the work negligently, he bade
Telemachus summon the nurse, Eurycleia. Telemachus obeyed, and going
to the door of the women's apartments, he smote upon it, and called
aloud to the nurse. A moment after the bolts were drawn back, and
Eurycleia entered the hall. When she saw Odysseus standing among the
heaps of slain wooers, she opened her mouth to utter a cry of triumph,
but Odysseus checked her, saying: "Hold thy peace, dame, and give not
voice to thy joy: it is an impious thing to exult over the dead. They
are the victims of heaven's righteous law, and I was but the
instrument of divine vengeance. Tell me now which of the women in the
house have dishonoured me, and which of them be blameless."
"Behold I will tell thee all the truth," answered the nurse; "fifty
women there are in all in thy house, that card the wool and bear the
yoke of bondage. And of these twelve have been faithless, honouring
neither me nor Penelope, their mistress. But now let me go and tell
the news to thy wife, who all this time has been lying in a deep
sleep."
"Rouse her not yet," said Odysseus, "but go quickly and send those
guilty women hither."
While Eurycleia was gone to summon the maid-servants, Telemachus and
the two herdsmen began, by the command of Odysseus, to set the hall in
order, and wash away the traces of slaughter. Presently, with loud
weeping and lamentation, the wretched women entered, and were
compelled to assist in the horrid task. The bodies of the slain were
carried out, and laid in order along the wall of the courtyard. Then
they washed and scoured the tables, and scraped the floor with spades;
and when all was ready Odysseus bade his son and the two others to
drive the women forth, and slay them with the edge of the sword. So
these three drove them into a corner of the courtyard, and Eumæus and
Philoetius drew their swords to slay them. But Telemachus held them
back saying: "Let them die in shame, even as they have lived." So they
took a long ship's cable, which was lying in an outhouse, and
stretched it across an angle of the wall; to this they attached twelve
nooses, and left the women hanging there by the neck until they were
dead.
A horrid death was reserved for the traitor Melanthius. Dragging him
out into the courtyard, they cut off his nose and ears, and his hands
and feet, and so left him to die.
After that they washed themselves and went back to the hall. Then
Odysseus bade Eurycleia kindle a fire, and bring sulphur to purify the
chamber. And having thoroughly cleansed the house from the fumes of
slaughter, he sat down to wait for the coming of his wife.