THE ODYSSEY — AI Adaptation
Book 15: The Road Home and the Hawk’s Sign

Athena went to the wide plains of Lacedaemon to find the brave son of Odysseus and remind him it was time to head home. She found Telemachus and Nestor's bright son asleep in the entrance hall of Menelaus's house. Pisistratus was deep in soft sleep, but Telemachus lay awake. All through the holy night, worry about his father kept sleep from him.

Athena stood close and spoke. "Telemachus, you've been away from home too long. You left your property behind, and men in your house who think they own the place. Watch out — they'll carve up everything you have and eat it, and your whole journey will have been for nothing. Push Menelaus to send you off right now, while you can still find your mother at home. Her father and brothers are already pressing her to marry Eurymachus. He's outbid all the other suitors with gifts and keeps piling on more wedding presents. Don't let her carry something valuable out of your house against your will. You know how a woman's heart works: she wants to build up the house of whatever man marries her, and forgets her old children and her dead husband, and stops asking about him. So go home and put everything in the care of whichever slave woman seems best to you, until the gods show you a wife of your own.

"And there's something else you need to hear, so listen close. The best of the suitors are lying in wait for you on purpose, in the strait between Ithaca and rocky Samos. They want to kill you before you reach home. But I don't think they'll do it. Sooner the earth will swallow some of those men who are eating up your living. Keep your good ship well clear of the islands and sail through the night. The god who watches over you and guards you will send a wind at your back. As soon as you touch the first shore of Ithaca, send the ship and all your crew on to the city, but you yourself go straight to the swineherd who keeps your pigs. He's loyal to you. Stay the night there, then send him into town to tell wise Penelope that you're safe and back from Pylos."

She finished and went off to high Olympus.

Telemachus woke Nestor's son by nudging him with his heel. "Wake up, Pisistratus. Harness the horses to the chariot. We've got a journey to make."

But Pisistratus answered, "Telemachus, no matter how much we want to go, we can't drive through the dark. It'll be dawn soon. Wait until Menelaus brings out his gifts and packs them in the chariot, and sends us off with kind words. A guest remembers all his days the host who showed him friendship."

  

As he spoke, golden Dawn arrived. Menelaus came toward them, up from his bed beside lovely Helen. When Odysseus's son saw him, he quickly pulled his shining tunic over his body, threw a great cloak over his broad shoulders, and went to meet him.

"Menelaus, raised by the gods, leader of men, send me home now to my own country. My heart longs to be there."

"Telemachus," Menelaus answered, "I won't keep you here long if you want to go. I think badly of a host who's too fond of his guest, and just as badly of one who can't stand him. Moderation in all things is best. It's just as wrong to push a guest out the door when he wants to stay as it is to hold him back when he wants to leave. Treat a guest well while he's here, and speed him off when he wishes. Just wait until I load my fine gifts into your chariot (you can see them with your own eyes) and let me tell the women to fix a meal from what's in the house. There's plenty. It's the proper thing, and good sense too: a man should eat before setting out across the wide world. And if you'd like to swing through Hellas and the middle of Argos, I'll come with you myself and harness the horses and guide you through the towns. No one will send us away empty-handed. Everyone will give us something: a fine bronze tripod or a cauldron, a pair of mules, or a gold cup."

"Menelaus, raised by the gods, leader of men," said clear-thinking Telemachus, "I want to go straight home. When I left, I set no guard over my property. I'm afraid that while I'm searching for my godlike father I'll lose my own life, or that some fine treasure will be stolen from my halls."

When Menelaus heard this, he told his wife and the slave women to prepare a meal from what was in the house. Just then Eteoneus, son of Boethous, came up; he lived nearby and had only just risen. Menelaus told him to light a fire and roast some meat, and he obeyed.

Then Menelaus went down into the fragrant storeroom, and Helen and Megapenthes came with him. When they reached the place where the treasures lay, Menelaus picked up a two-handled cup and told his son Megapenthes to carry a silver mixing bowl. Helen went to the chests where she kept her embroidered robes, the ones she had made herself. She lifted out the most beautiful of them, richest in needlework and largest (it shone like a star), and it had been lying at the very bottom, beneath all the others.

They walked back through the house until they came to Telemachus, and golden-haired Menelaus spoke. "Telemachus, may Zeus, the thundering husband of Hera, bring you home as your heart desires. Out of all the treasures stored in my house, I'll give you the finest and most precious. I'll give you this mixing bowl. It's solid silver, with a gold rim, the work of Hephaestus himself. The hero Phaedimus, king of the Sidonians, gave it to me when his house took me in on my way home. Now I want to pass it on to you."

He put the two-handled cup into the young man's hands, and strong Megapenthes set the gleaming silver bowl before him. Then Helen of the lovely cheeks came up with the robe in her hands. "I too have a gift for you, dear child — a keepsake from Helen's own hands, for the day of your longed-for wedding. Let your bride wear it. Until then, let it lie at home with your dear mother. And may you come with joy to your well-built house and your own country."

She placed it in his hands, and he took it gladly. Pisistratus received the gifts and stowed them in the basket of the chariot, marveling at them all. Then golden-haired Menelaus led the two of them into the house, and they sat down on chairs and benches.

An attendant brought water in a beautiful golden pitcher and poured it over a silver basin so they could wash their hands, and she pulled a polished table up beside them. The honored housekeeper brought bread and laid out many dishes, generous with what she had. Eteoneus carved the meat and shared out the portions, and the son of Menelaus poured the wine. They reached for the good food spread before them.

When they had eaten and drunk their fill, Telemachus and Nestor's bright son harnessed the horses, climbed into the painted chariot, and drove out through the gateway and the echoing porch. Golden-haired Menelaus came after them with sweet wine in a gold cup in his right hand, so they could pour an offering before they left. He stood in front of the horses and raised the cup.

"Farewell to you both. Give my greetings to Nestor, shepherd of his people. He was kind to me as a father while we sons of the Achaeans fought at Troy."

"We'll tell him all of it as soon as we get there," Telemachus answered. "I only wish I were as sure of finding Odysseus home in Ithaca, so I could tell him how you treated me with such full friendship, and show him all the fine treasures I'm bringing back."

As he finished speaking, a bird flew by on the right — an eagle, gripping in its talons a great white goose it had snatched from the yard. Men and women came running and shouting behind it. The eagle swept close, then veered off to the right in front of the horses. When they saw it they were glad, and warmth came back into every heart.

Pisistratus spoke first. "Tell us, Menelaus, raised by the gods, did the god send this sign for the two of us, or for you?"

Menelaus turned it over in his mind, hunting for the right answer. But Helen in her long robe spoke before him. "Listen to me. I'll read it the way the gods have put it in my heart, and the way I think it will come true. Just as that eagle came down from the mountain where it was born and bred, and snatched up the goose raised in the house, so Odysseus — after all his suffering and wandering — will come home and take his revenge. Or perhaps he's home already, planting ruin for every one of the suitors."

"May Zeus, the thundering husband of Hera, make it so," said Telemachus. "Then even at home I would pray to you as to a god."

He cracked the whip, and the horses bolted through the city toward the open plain. All day they ran, the harness swaying on their necks. The sun went down and the roads grew dark, and they reached Pherae, the house of Diocles, son of Ortilochus, whom Alpheus fathered. There they stayed the night, and Diocles gave them a guest's welcome.

When rosy-fingered Dawn came up, they harnessed the horses again, climbed into the painted chariot, and drove out through the gate and the echoing porch. Pisistratus cracked the whip and the horses flew, willing, until they came at last to the steep city of Pylos.

  

Then Telemachus spoke to Nestor's son. "Pisistratus, will you promise to do what I ask? Our fathers were friends, you and I are the same age, and this journey has made us closer still. Don't take me past my ship — leave me there. I'm afraid the old man will keep me at his house, out of pure kindness, when I need to get home fast."

Pisistratus thought it over and decided the best thing was to do as asked. He turned the horses toward the swift ship and the edge of the sea, unloaded the fine gifts (the clothing and gold Menelaus had given) into the ship's stern, and urged Telemachus on. "Get aboard fast, and tell your men to do the same, before I reach home and tell the old man. I know him through and through. His heart is so strong-willed he won't let you go. He'll come down here himself to fetch you, and he won't go back empty-handed. He'll be furious no matter what."

With that he drove his horses with fine manes back to the city of the Pylians and quickly reached his home.

Telemachus called to his crew. "Get the gear in order on the black ship, men, and let's go aboard. We have a voyage to make." They obeyed at once, climbing in and taking their places at the oars.

While Telemachus was busy at the stern, praying and offering sacrifice to Athena, a man came up to him — a stranger from a far country, fleeing from Argos because he had killed a man. He was a seer, descended from Melampus, who long ago had lived in Pylos, mother of flocks, a rich man with a fine house. But he had been driven into exile, away from his homeland and from great-hearted Neleus, the proudest of living men, who had seized his goods and held them for a full year. During that year Melampus was bound in chains in the house of Phylacus, suffering terribly, all on account of the daughter of Neleus and a heavy blindness laid on his mind by the dread goddess, the Fury. But he escaped death, drove the loud-lowing cattle from Phylace to Pylos, paid Neleus back for that shameful wrong, and brought the woman home to be his brother's wife. Then he went off to another land, to Argos, where horses graze, for it was his fate to live there and rule over many Argives. There he married and built a high-roofed house, and fathered two strong sons, Antiphates and Mantius.

Antiphates fathered great-hearted Oicleus, and Oicleus fathered Amphiaraus, rouser of armies, whom Zeus and Apollo loved dearly with every kind of love. But he never reached the edge of old age. He died at Thebes, betrayed for a woman's bribe. His sons were Alcmaeon and Amphilochus. Mantius fathered Polypheides and Cleitus. Cleitus was carried off by Dawn on her golden throne for his beauty, to live among the immortals. And Apollo made proud Polypheides the greatest seer among men, now that Amphiaraus was dead. Angry at his father, Polypheides moved away to Hyperesia, and there he lived and prophesied to all who came.

It was his son, named Theoclymenus, who now came up to Telemachus. He found him pouring wine and praying beside the swift black ship, and spoke to him. "Friend, since I find you making offerings here, I beg you by these sacrifices and by the god you honor, by your own life and the lives of the men who follow you, tell me the truth, hide nothing. Who are you? Where do you come from? Where is your city, and who are your parents?"

"I'll tell you the plain truth," said Telemachus. "I'm from Ithaca. My father is Odysseus — if he ever lived at all. By now he's surely dead, lost to some bitter end. That's why I've taken a crew and a black ship and come searching for news of him, gone so long."

"I too am far from home," said godlike Theoclymenus. "I killed a man of my own people. He has many brothers and kinsmen in Argos, where horses graze, and they hold great power among the Achaeans. I'm running to escape death and dark fate at their hands. It's my lot now to wander among strangers. Take me aboard your ship. I come begging for protection, in flight. Don't let them kill me. I think they're already on my trail."

"I won't push you away from my ship if you truly want to come," said Telemachus. "Come aboard. In Ithaca we'll treat you well, with whatever we have."

He took the man's bronze spear and laid it along the deck, then climbed aboard the seagoing ship and sat down in the stern, with Theoclymenus beside him. The crew cast off the stern lines. Telemachus called to them to lay hold of the rigging, and they jumped to it. They raised the pine mast and set it in its socket in the crossbeam, lashed it firmly in place, and hauled up the white sail with ropes of twisted oxhide. Athena sent them a following wind, blowing hard through the bright air, so the ship would race fast over the salt water. They ran past Crouni and past Chalcis with its clear streams.

The sun went down and the roads grew dark. The ship, driven by the wind of Zeus, bore on past Pheae and on past holy Elis, where the Epeans rule. From there Telemachus steered her toward the swift islands, wondering whether he would slip past death or be caught.

  

Meanwhile, in the hut, Odysseus and the loyal swineherd were eating supper, and the other men ate with them. When they had had their fill of food and drink, Odysseus spoke, to test the swineherd, to see whether he would keep treating him kindly and ask him to stay on at the farm, or send him off to the city.

"Listen, Eumaeus, and the rest of you. In the morning I want to go into town and beg, so I'm no more burden to you and your men. Give me good advice, and a guide to take me there. Once in the city I'll have to wander on my own, hoping someone gives me a cup of water and a crust of bread. I could go to the house of godlike Odysseus and bring news to wise Penelope. And I could mix in with those overbearing suitors. Maybe they'd give me a meal, with all the food they've got. I'd serve them well at anything they wanted. Let me tell you, and listen close: by the favor of Hermes the guide, who gives grace and glory to all men's work, no one alive could match me as a servant: building up a fire just right, splitting dry wood, carving, roasting, pouring wine, all the things lowly men do for their betters."

Eumaeus, you were deeply troubled, and you answered him: "Stranger, what put that idea into your head? You must want to die on the spot. If you go into the crowd of suitors, their pride and violence reach up to the sky. They wouldn't take a man like you as a servant; their servants are young men, dressed in fine cloaks and tunics, hair always oiled, faces handsome. The polished tables groan with bread and meat and wine. No. Stay here. Nobody's bothered by your being here — not me, not any of the men with me. And when the dear son of Odysseus comes, he'll give you a cloak and tunic to wear and send you wherever your heart wants to go."

Then long-suffering Odysseus answered, "Eumaeus, I hope you become as dear to Father Zeus as you are to me, for ending my wandering and bitter misery. There's nothing worse for a man than roaming the world. It's the cursed belly that brings men so much grief, when wandering and pain and sorrow come on them. But now, since you want me to stay and wait for him, tell me about the mother of godlike Odysseus, and his father, whom he left on the edge of old age when he sailed. Are they still alive under the sun's light, or are they dead now, down in the house of Hades?"

"I'll tell you the plain truth," said the swineherd, leader of men. "Laertes is still alive, but he prays to Zeus every day to let the life slip from his limbs in his own halls. He grieves terribly for his son, gone so long, and for his wise wife, whose death hurt him most of all and aged him before his time. She died of grief for her noble son, a wretched death — may no one I care for, no friend who's been good to me, die that way. As long as she lived, sad as she was, I used to find comfort in asking after her and talking with her, because she raised me alongside her own daughter Ctimene in her long robe, the youngest of her children. We grew up together, and she honored me almost as much as her own. But when we both came to the age of love, they married Ctimene off to Same and got a fortune for her, and the lady dressed me in a fine cloak and tunic, gave me sandals for my feet, and sent me out to the farm. But she loved me in her heart even more than before.

"Now all that's gone. Still, the blessed gods make the work I tend prosper: I eat from it and drink from it and give to those who deserve it. But there's no kind word or deed to be had from my mistress anymore, not since trouble fell on the house, these overbearing men. Slaves miss it badly: being able to speak with their mistress, to ask how things stand, to eat and drink in her presence, and carry something back to the farm. Those are the things that always warm a slave's heart."

Then crafty Odysseus said, "Well now, Eumaeus — you were just a little boy when you were carried so far from your home and parents. Tell me the truth: was the city sacked, the town with the wide streets where your father and noble mother lived? Or did enemies catch you alone with the sheep or the cattle, drag you onto their ships, and sell you off to this man's house, where he paid a good price?"

"Stranger, since you ask," said the swineherd, "sit quiet and enjoy it, drink your wine, and listen. These nights are endless. There's time to sleep, and time to take pleasure in a story. You don't need to lie down before the right hour; too much sleep is a burden too. Any of the others who wants to can go out and sleep; in the morning, after breakfast, he can follow the master's pigs out. We two will sit here in the hut, drinking and eating, and take some comfort in trading the bitter sorrows we've each known. A man can even find pleasure in old pain, once he's suffered much and wandered far.

"Here's my answer, then. There's an island called Syra (maybe you've heard of it) above Ortygia, where the sun turns. It's not too crowded, but it's good land: rich in cattle and sheep, full of wine and wheat. Hunger never comes to its people, and no other hateful sickness strikes the poor mortals there. When they grow old, Apollo of the silver bow comes with Artemis and brings them down with his gentle arrows. There are two cities on it, and everything is split between them. My father ruled them both — Ctesius, son of Ormenus, a man like the immortals.

"Phoenician traders came there — men famous for their ships, but cheats, with a black ship loaded with countless trinkets. There was a Phoenician woman in my father's house, tall and beautiful and skilled at fine handwork. The cunning Phoenicians seduced her. One of them lay with her by the hollow ship while she was washing clothes — and that's the kind of thing that fools a woman's mind, even a good one. He asked her who she was and where she came from, and she pointed at once to my father's high-roofed house. 'I'm proud to say I'm from Sidon, rich in bronze,' she said. 'I'm the daughter of Arybas, a man flowing with wealth. But Taphian pirates snatched me up as I came in from the fields, and they carried me here and sold me to the man who owns this house. He paid a good price.'

"The man who'd been sleeping with her in secret said, 'Then would you come back home with us now, to see your father's and mother's high house — and them too? They're still alive, and people still call them rich.'

"The woman answered him, 'That could happen, sailors, if you'll swear me an oath to bring me home safe and unharmed.'

"They all swore as she asked. When they'd finished the oath, she spoke again. 'Now keep quiet. If any of your men meets me in the street or at the well, don't let him speak to me: someone might go to the house and tell the old man, and if he grew suspicious he'd bind me in cruel chains and plot your deaths. Keep the plan in your hearts, and finish buying your goods fast. When the ship is loaded with provisions, send word to the house quickly. I'll bring gold too, whatever comes to hand — and I'll gladly pay another kind of fare. I'm nursing the master's son in the house, a clever little thing, running along at my side out the door. I'll bring him aboard, and he'll fetch you a huge price wherever you sell him, among people of a foreign tongue.'

"With that she went back to the fine house. The Phoenicians stayed with us a whole year, building up a great cargo in their hollow ship. When it was loaded and ready to sail, they sent a messenger to the woman. A crafty man came to my father's house with a gold necklace strung with amber beads. While the slave women and my honored mother were turning it over in their hands, looking at it and bargaining for it, he gave the woman a silent nod, then went back to the ship. She took me by the hand and led me out the door. In the front hall she found the cups and tables of the men who had been feasting with my father, his attendants, but they had just gone out to the assembly and the talk of the people. Quick as that, she hid three cups in the folds of her dress and carried them off, and I followed her, in my childish ignorance.

"The sun went down and the roads grew dark, and we came fast to the famous harbor where the Phoenicians' swift ship lay. They went aboard and put us both on too, and set sail over the watery ways, and Zeus sent a wind. Six days we sailed, night and day alike. But when Zeus, son of Cronos, brought the seventh day, Artemis the archer struck the woman down. She dropped into the bottom of the ship with a thud, like a sea bird plunging. They threw her overboard for the seals and fish to feed on, and I was left behind, sick at heart. The wind and the water carried the ship on to Ithaca, where Laertes bought me with his own goods. And that's how my eyes first saw this land."

Then Odysseus, born of Zeus, answered, "Eumaeus, you've stirred my heart deep, telling me all the sorrows you've suffered. But Zeus has set good alongside the bad for you. After all your hardship you came to the house of a kind man, who gives you plenty of food and drink, and you live a good life. I'm the one still wandering from city to city of men, and only now have I come here."

So they talked, and slept only a little while, for Dawn on her golden throne came soon.

  

By then Telemachus's men were near the shore. They loosed the sail and quickly lowered the mast, then rowed the ship into harbor. They dropped the anchor stones, made the stern lines fast, and went ashore on the beach. They fixed their meal and mixed the gleaming wine.

When they had eaten and drunk their fill, Telemachus spoke. "Take the black ship on into the city. I'm going up to the fields and my herdsmen. In the evening, after I've looked over my land, I'll come down to town. In the morning I'll lay out a good traveling feast for you: meat and sweet wine."

Then godlike Theoclymenus asked, "And where do I go, dear boy? Which of the men who rule rocky Ithaca should I go to? Or should I go straight to your mother and your own house?"

"At any other time I'd tell you to come to our house," said Telemachus. "There's no shortage of welcome there. But right now it would be worse for you, because I'll be away, and my mother won't see you. She doesn't often appear before the suitors. She keeps away from them, weaving at her loom in an upstairs room. But there's another man I can point you to. Go to Eurymachus, the splendid son of wise Polybus. The people of Ithaca look on him almost like a god. He's by far the best of them, and the one most eager to marry my mother and take the honor that was Odysseus's. But only Zeus on Olympus, in the high air, knows whether they'll meet an evil day before the wedding."

As he finished speaking, a bird flew by on the right — a hawk, Apollo's swift messenger. In its talons it gripped a dove, plucking it, and the feathers drifted down to the ground between Telemachus and the ship. Theoclymenus called him aside, away from the others, gripped his hand, and spoke.

"Telemachus, that bird didn't fly past on your right without a god behind it. I knew it for an omen the moment I looked at it. There is no line more royal than yours in all the land of Ithaca. Your house will hold power forever."

"I wish it could come true, friend," said Telemachus. "Then you'd soon learn my friendship and my gifts: anyone who met you would call you blessed."

He turned to his trusted companion. "Piraeus, son of Clytius, of all the men who came with me to Pylos you've always been the one I can count on most. Take this stranger to your house now, and treat him with kindness and honor until I come."

"Telemachus," answered Piraeus, famous with the spear, "stay away as long as you like. I'll take care of him, and he'll lack nothing a guest should have."

He went aboard and told the others to climb in and cast off the stern lines, and they took their places at the oars. Telemachus tied fine sandals on his feet and took up his strong spear, tipped with sharp bronze, from the deck. The crew loosed the lines, pushed off, and sailed for the city, as Telemachus had ordered.

But his own feet carried him swiftly on, until he reached the farmyard where his countless pigs were penned, and where the loyal swineherd slept, a man who cared for his masters with all his heart.