The Odyssey
Chapter 6 - [Book XIII-XVI]
As Odysseus enjoyed the feast in his honor that evening, he often turned to watch the journey of the fiery sun. The sooner it set, the sooner his journey homeward would begin, and his heart was filled with thoughts of his family and his homeland. As a farmer hungers for his evening meal after he has spent the long day driving his oxen to plow a fresh field, and with joy in his heart watches the sun set so he can drag his weak legs home to dinner, so Odysseus longed for his return home and happily observed the setting sun.
Then he said to the king, “You have given me what my heart has wished for: gifts of friendship and a swift passage home. May the deathless gods grant me these gifts. May I find, upon my return home, that my wife has been faithful and my family is well. May the gods permit you to prosper in every way, and may they keep all harm from your people.”
When Odysseus went on board the swift Phaeacian ship, he lay down upon the rug spread on the deck for him and went to sleep. As four yoked horses spring forward together beneath the lashes of the whip, so the swift ship leaped forward upon the wine-dark sea, leaving in its wake waves of foaming white. The ship moved so quickly that even a hawk could not have kept up with it. Odysseus, who was the equal of the gods in counsel and who had endured countless trials both in the war with Troy and in his wanderings upon the salt sea, slept peacefully at last, confident that he would return home safely and soon.
However, with anger in his heart, the lord of the sea confronted the lord of Olympus. “I was kind enough, Brother, to honor your promise that Odysseus would return home,” Poseidon complained. “Yet for all the suffering that he has endured, Odysseus has landed in Ithaca with more bronze, gold, and other gifts than he ever earned for himself in the war with Troy! How will the deathless gods continue to honor me when my own people, the Phaeacians of the long oars, show so little respect for my wishes?”
Zeus replied, “The gods would never dishonor you, for you are the oldest and best of the immortals. You should feel free to punish any mortal who dishonors you.”
“I would have done so,” the Earthshaker confessed, “but I did not wish to anger you. On its return voyage I would like to strike the ship that has taken Odysseus to Ithaca and then remove the city from the coast so that the Phaeacians never again will be able to transport strangers across the wine-dark sea.”
“Then do so,” the lord of black clouds responded. “When the Phaeacians gather by the shore to welcome their sailors home, turn the swift ship to stone as it approaches the harbor and raise a ring of mountains around their fair city.”
So it came to pass that the Phaeacians of the long oars, famous for their swift black ships, became a landlocked people. And Poseidon finally put aside his anger against the long-suffering Odysseus.
When Odysseus awoke, he stood upon the soil of Ithaca, but he did not recognize his homeland. Athena had shrouded the country in mist so that she could talk with him before he proceeded on his way.
“Surely I must be the most unfortunate of men!” Odysseus exclaimed. “What land have I come to this time? Are the people who live here wild and without welcome, or do they befriend the stranger in their midst and honor the deathless gods? What should I do with my possessions? And where should I go myself?”
As he walked this way and that along the shore of the loud-sounding sea, the bright-eyed goddess approached him in the form of a well-born young shepherd boy. Odysseus greeted her warmly and asked what land this was.
Athena replied, “If you do not know where you are, either you must be a foolish person or you hail from some distant land, for even the horse-taming Trojans have heard of Ithaca.”
Odysseus, man of many schemes, responded with a long, false tale of how he had just arrived from his native land of Crete.
When he had finished his story, the goddess of the flashing eyes smiled and put her hand on his arm. Transforming herself into a beautiful woman, she said, “Only the cleverest among the deathless gods can surpass your ability to scheme and to deceive! You are a shrewd and daring man, and such a lover of misleading fabrications that you continue to create them even when you have returned to your homeland.
“But let us talk of other matters,” Athena continued. “I am very surprised that you did not know me when you saw me, especially since I am always by your side and protect you whenever you are in danger. Did I not make all the Phaeacians love you?”
Odysseus replied, “Goddess, it is hard for any mortal to recognize you, for you appear in whatever guise you choose. I know that you befriended me during the years I fought against the horse-taming Trojans, but since we sacked Priam’s great city and set sail for Ithaca, I have never seen you, either on board my hollow ship or on land.
“In fact, I have wandered from land to land, and from one disaster to another, with my heart overflowing with grief. If you have made any effort to lessen my suffering, I am certainly unaware of it! By the time you reappeared in Phaeacia, my troubles were behind me.
“Tell me,” he then asked, “am I really in Ithaca?”
“I knew that you would have to come home alone, as you have,” Athena explained. “I simply could not oppose Poseidon when you angered him by blinding his son, the Cyclops. And now I shall prove to you that this is indeed Ithaca.” With these words, the goddess caused the mist to disappear.
Odysseus was so glad to be home that he kissed the grain-giving earth. Athena helped him store his gifts deep within a hollow cave, sealing the entrance with a large rock. When they had finished, she said, “I admire you because you are intelligent and careful. Any other man, upon returning home after twenty years, would immediately seek out his wife and children. Yet you will test the loyalty of your wife before you are at ease in your homeland.
“You will find that Penelope is the same faithful wife you remember,” the goddess said. “But you will have to punish the arrogant suitors who for three years have been living without shame in your house, consuming your goods, and offering your godlike wife marriage gifts.”
“Without this knowledge, I would have met the same fate as wide-ruling Agamemnon,” said Odysseus, “for surely the suitors would have plotted against me in my house as Clytemnestra and her new husband devised his death. If you will help me I can fight the suitors, even if there are 300 of them!”
“Be assured that I shall help you,” Athena responded. “The blood and brains of these men will spill upon the earth? However, first I shall disguise you so that no mortal will recognize you. I shall wither your skin with the wrinkles of old age, spoil your blond hair, and dress you in such disgustingly dirty and tattered clothing that you will be repulsive to gaze upon. Then I shall dim your shining eyes so that even your wife and your son will not know you.
“Stay with your loyal swineherd,” the goddess counseled, “while I bring your steadfast son, Telemachus, home from Sparta. He has been visiting wise Nestor and now Menelaus, seeking knowledge about you.”
Athena touched her wand to the long-suffering Odysseus. When she had completed his transformation, she gave him a staff to lean upon and an old, ragged bag to carry by its twisted string. Then they parted.
Odysseus and the swineherd were preparing their breakfast in the swineherd’s hut when Telemachus quietly entered. As a father, his heart overflowing with love, greets his only son upon his return from a distant land after an absence of ten years, so the swineherd embraced the prince.
“Father,” Telemachus said to the swineherd, “please go quickly and tell my mother that I have returned safely from Pylos and Sparta. Be certain that no one else hears your words, for there are many in my father’s house who are contriving to bring death upon me.”
When the swineherd had put on his sandals and left for the city, Athena appeared as a beautiful woman whom only Odysseus could see. She motioned him to join her outside and said, “Now is the time to reveal your true self to Telemachus, so that the two of you can plan how you will bring black death upon the suitors. Then you can proceed into the city. I shall remain near you, for I intend to be present at the battle.”
The bright-eyed goddess placed her golden wand upon Odysseus. She exchanged his old clothes for clean ones, then made him much taller, younger, and more handsome.
When Odysseus reentered the hut, Telemachus exclaimed, “You suddenly look quite different, stranger. Before you were a shabby old man, and now you look like a god!”
The long-suffering Odysseus replied, “I am not a god, Telemachus. I am your father, whose absence has brought you great grief and has forced you to live with cruel men in your house. I have returned home after twenty years of pain and wandering.” Odysseus kissed his son and let a tear roll down his cheek, for the first time permitting himself to express some emotion.
Wise Telemachus could not yet believe that this stranger was his father. “No mortal could transform himself in this way,” he said. “I cannot help but think that you must be one of the deathless gods.”
“It is easy for a god to transform a mortal,” Odysseus explained. “Athena causes me to appear sometimes as a beggar and sometimes as my true self.”
then Telemachus threw his arms around his great father and wept for all the years that he had not known him. Odysseus, too, wept for all the years that he had been deprived of his son. Just as birds tear the air with shrill cries when they return to their nests with food, expecting to feed their hungry young chicks, and find their nests empty because farmers have stolen their young, so Odysseus and Telemachus cried for the years they had lost.
When they had had their fill of weeping, and Odysseus had told Telemachus of his travels, the man of many schemes said, “Now tell me how many suitors there are and what kind of men they are. I must decide whether the two of us alone can deal with them or whether we will need to enlist the aid of others.”
Wise Telemachus replied, “Father, your friends have told me what a mighty warrior you were and how wise in counsel, but I question your judgment here. Do you really expect the two of us to conquer more than 100 strong men? We will need help.”
“All right, then,” Odysseus responded. “Will Athena and Zeus be help enough, or should I try to think of others also?”
“They are enough, of course,” Telemachus said, “except that they spend their time on Mount Olympus.”
“I think they will be with us when we need them,” his father replied. “But for the time being, go home and join the arrogant suitors. I will come later as an aged beggar. No matter how I am treated, I want you to wait patiently, even if someone throws something at me or hits me or drags me by my feet out the door.
“When Athena puts it into my mind, I will nod my head as a sign that you should remove all the weapons and armor that line the walls of our great hall and hide them in the storeroom. If any suitor questions your actions, simply tell him that, over the years, they have become covered with soot from the fire that burns in the center of the great hall.
“Leave a sword, a spear, and an oxhide shield behind, for you and me,” the man of many schemes concluded, “and if you are truly my son, you will tell no one, not even your mother, that I have returned.”
Just before the swineherd returned from the city, Athena transformed Odysseus so that the swineherd would find the same old stranger he had left in his hut. As loyal as the swineherd was, he had so much love in his heart for Odysseus and for the steadfast Penelope that Athena was not sure he would be able to keep the knowledge of his master’s return locked safely in his heart.