Book 17 · Book Guide
Telemachus goes home to a tearful welcome from his mother and tells her what he learned in Pylos and Sparta, while the seer Theoclymenus swears that Odysseus is already in Ithaca. Meanwhile Odysseus, still disguised as a beggar, walks to town with Eumaeus and is abused along the way by the insolent goatherd Melanthius.
At the palace gate, his old dog Argos, neglected and dying, recognizes his master after twenty years and then dies. Inside, Odysseus begs from the suitors to learn which of them are decent, and the cruelest, Antinous, hurls a footstool at him. Odysseus endures it in silence, and Telemachus holds back his anger. Hearing of the outrage, Penelope asks to question the stranger about her husband, and Odysseus arranges to meet her privately after dark.
Odysseus raised him with his own hands but sailed for Troy before he ever got the use of him. In his prime no animal in the deep woods escaped Argos; now he lies dying on a dung heap, old and covered in ticks, forgotten by the household. He is the only creature in the poem who recognizes Odysseus instantly — no scar, no test, no proof needed. He wags his tail, lacks the strength to crawl over, and dies the moment his master passes inside. Odysseus, who cannot break his disguise, wipes away one tear and keeps walking. Twenty years, measured out in a single dog’s lifetime — it may be the most famous small scene in ancient literature.
Begging wasn’t just tolerated in this world; it sat under divine protection. Strangers and beggars come from Zeus, the poem repeats — feeding one was piety, and you could never be sure who was under the rags (a god, the Greeks said, or in this case something almost better). So when Antinous, sitting in another man’s hall eating another man’s food, hits the beggar with a footstool, even the other suitors go quiet: what if he’s a god in disguise? The crime that started the poem — hospitality inverted — is now being committed against the host himself, in person.
A king disguised as a beggar, testing his own household one person at a time — it’s one of the oldest story shapes there is, and Homer runs it with bookkeeper’s precision. The goatherd Melanthius kicks him on the road; Eumaeus shares his food; Antinous throws furniture; Penelope, hearing only that a wanderer has news, wants him treated kindly. Nobody knows they’re being graded, which is exactly why the grades are true. The reckoning of Book 22 is being written in these small scenes, insult by insult, kindness by kindness.
Telemachus returns to the palace, where the nurse Eurycleia and the slave women greet him with joy and Penelope embraces him in tears. He tells her to wash and pray to the gods, and goes to fetch the guest he brought from Pylos.
Telemachus reports to Penelope what he heard: Nestor knew nothing, but Menelaus learned from the sea-god that Odysseus was alive, trapped on Calypso’s island. Then the seer Theoclymenus declares, on the strength of a bird omen, that Odysseus is already home in Ithaca, plotting the suitors’ ruin.
Odysseus and Eumaeus set out from the farm for the city, the hero leaning on a staff and looking every inch a wretched old beggar.
At a fountain on the way, the goatherd Melanthius meets them, heaps foul abuse on the beggar and the swineherd, and kicks Odysseus on the hip. Odysseus restrains the urge to kill him and bears it, while Eumaeus curses the goatherd and prays for his master’s return.
Reaching the palace, Odysseus recognizes his own house. His old hunting dog Argos, now ancient and neglected, lying on a dung heap, knows his master at once and feebly wags his tail. Odysseus secretly wipes away a tear, and the moment Argos has seen him after twenty years, the dog dies.
Eumaeus goes in, and Odysseus follows, sitting humbly on the threshold. Telemachus sends him bread and meat and tells him to beg from each of the suitors, since shame does a needy man no good.
Athena urges Odysseus to beg from each man in turn so he can learn which are decent. Some give and some refuse. Melanthius points him out, and Antinous turns on Eumaeus for bringing him; Telemachus defends the swineherd and the stranger.
Odysseus approaches Antinous with a false tale of his own past wealth and ruin in Egypt. Antinous insults him and hurls a footstool, striking him on the back. Odysseus stands firm as a rock, says nothing, and only broods on revenge.
The other suitors rebuke Antinous, warning that the gods sometimes walk among men disguised as strangers. Telemachus burns with grief at the blow to his father but keeps silent. Word of the outrage reaches Penelope, who curses Antinous.
Penelope asks Eumaeus to bring the beggar so she can question him about Odysseus. Odysseus, wary of the violent suitors, asks her to wait until evening, when he can speak with her alone by the fire. Penelope agrees, taking it as good sense, and notes that her son’s loud sneeze is a sign the suitors are doomed.
His errands done, Eumaeus tells Telemachus he must return to the pigs, warns him to stay safe, and promises to come back in the morning. He leaves the hall full of feasting, dancing suitors as evening comes on.
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