# Book 18: The Beggar’s Brawl

*A street beggar challenges Odysseus to fight, and the suitors heap insults on a stranger in his own hall.*

A beggar came in, a man who went around the whole town of Ithaca asking for scraps. He was famous for one thing: he could eat and drink without ever stopping. He had no muscle and no real strength, but he was huge to look at, a great hulking shape of a man. His mother had named him Arnaeus at birth, but the young men all called him Irus, because he ran errands for anyone who wanted a message carried.

He came in and tried to drive Odysseus out of his own doorway. "Get away from the door, old man," he snarled, "before someone drags you out by the foot. Don't you see them all winking at me, telling me to throw you out? I'd be ashamed to do it, but get up anyway, before this turns into a fight with fists."

Odysseus gave him a dark look. "You strange fool. I'm doing you no harm. I say nothing against you. I don't begrudge you a thing, no matter how much anyone gives you. This doorway is wide enough for both of us. You've no cause to grudge me what isn't even yours. You look like a wandering beggar, same as me — and the gods may yet decide who gets rich. But don't push me too far with your fists, or you'll make me angry, and old as I am, I'll smear your chest and lips with your own blood. Then I'd have more peace tomorrow, because you'd never come back to the house of Odysseus a second time."

Irus flew into a rage. "Listen to the garbage-eater run his mouth, chattering like some old woman at her oven! I've got half a mind to lay into you with both hands and knock every tooth out of your jaw, like you were a pig caught in the crops. Tie up your rags, then, so everybody here can watch us fight. But how do you think you'll stand up to a younger man?"

So the two of them snapped and quarreled on the polished stone in front of the high doorway. Antinous heard them, and burst out laughing, and called to the suitors. "Friends — this is something new! There's never been entertainment like this in this house. Some god has sent it to us. The stranger and Irus want to fight — actually fight, with their fists. Let's set them at it quickly."

They all jumped up, laughing, and crowded around the two beggars in their rags. Antinous, son of Eupeithes, called out, "Listen to me, you proud suitors. There are goat stomachs roasting on the fire. We stuffed them with fat and blood for our supper. Whichever of these two wins and proves himself the stronger man can stand up and pick whichever one he likes. And from now on he'll always eat with us, and we won't let any other beggar in here to ask for scraps."

They liked the idea. Then crafty Odysseus, with a trap in his mind, spoke up. "Friends, there's no way an old man, worn down by suffering, can fight a young one. But my wretched belly won't quit; it's driving me to take a beating. All right. But first, every one of you swear me a solemn oath: no one is to take Irus's side and hit me with a heavy hand to wreck me by force."

They all swore it the way he asked. And when the oath was done, Telemachus added his own word. "Stranger, if your heart and your pride tell you to take this man on, do it — and don't be afraid of any of the others. Whoever hits you will have a fight with more than one. I'm the host here, and these two kings agree with me — Antinous and Eurymachus, both sensible men."

They all approved. Then Odysseus knotted his rags around his waist, baring his thighs, strong and beautiful, and his broad shoulders showed, his chest, his thick arms. Athena came up close beside him and made the limbs of the shepherd of the people even bigger. The suitors were stunned. One man would lean to the next and say, "Irus is about to get the beating he asked for — Un-Irus, more like. Look at the thigh the old man's got under those rags!"

Irus's heart turned sick with fear. But the servants tied up his rags anyway and dragged him out, terrified, his flesh shaking on his bones. Antinous laid into him. "You braggart, you'd be better off dead, never born at all, if you're shaking like this and scared out of your wits by an old man, worn down by his own troubles. Now hear this, and it's going to happen. If he beats you and proves the stronger, I'll throw you on a black ship and ship you off to the mainland, to King Echetus, the man who mangles everyone. He'll slice off your nose and ears with the pitiless bronze, rip out your privates, and throw them raw to the dogs."

That made Irus shake even harder. But they hauled him to the middle of the floor, and both men put up their fists.

Then Odysseus, who had endured so much, weighed it: should he hit Irus so hard the life left him right there where he fell, or knock him down lightly and stretch him on the ground? He decided the light blow was better, so the suitors wouldn't grow suspicious. So they both swung. Irus hit him on the right shoulder. But Odysseus caught him on the neck, under the ear, and crushed the bones inward. Dark blood gushed up through his mouth, and he dropped in the dust with a bleating cry, grinding his teeth, heels drumming the ground. The lordly suitors threw up their hands and nearly died laughing.

Odysseus took Irus by the foot and dragged him out through the porch into the courtyard, all the way to the gate, and propped him sitting against the wall of the yard. He shoved his staff into his hand. "Sit there now," he said, "and keep off the pigs and the dogs. And don't go playing king of the strangers and beggars anymore, you miserable thing, or you'll catch something even worse."

He slung his ugly old bag, torn full of holes, over his shoulder by its frayed strap, and went back to sit in the doorway. The suitors went inside, laughing, and they greeted him. "May Zeus and all the gods give you whatever you most want, stranger — your heart's wish — for shutting that bottomless tramp up and ending his begging around the country. We'll ship him off to the mainland soon, to King Echetus, the man who mangles everyone."

Odysseus was glad to hear the lucky words. Antinous set a great stomach down beside him, fat and blood, and Amphinomus lifted two loaves from the basket and laid them out, and toasted him with a golden cup. "Cheers to you, old stranger. May you find better luck someday. You're badly off right now."

Odysseus answered him. "Amphinomus, you strike me as a sensible man, like your father, since I heard good things of him: Nisus of Dulichium, brave and rich. They say you're his son, and you have the look of a thoughtful man. So listen, and take in what I tell you. Of everything that breathes and crawls upon the earth, the earth raises nothing weaker than a human being. As long as the gods grant him strength and his knees still move, he thinks no harm will ever come to him later. But when the blessed gods bring misery on him, he carries that too, against his will, with a heart that endures. The mind of a man on this earth is only what the father of gods and men gives him for the day. I myself was once headed for good fortune. And I did many reckless things, giving in to my own force and strength, trusting in my father and brothers. So let no man ever be lawless. Let him take what the gods give him and keep quiet. Look at the reckless things these suitors plot — wasting another man's goods, and dishonoring the wife of a man who, I tell you, will not be far from his home and country much longer. He's very close. May some power lead you home, out of his way, so you don't meet him when he comes back to his own land, because once he's under his own roof, I don't think he and the suitors will be parted without blood."

He poured an offering, drank the honey-sweet wine, and put the cup back into the hands of that leader of men. Amphinomus walked off through the hall heartsick, shaking his head, because his spirit sensed something coming. But it didn't save him. Athena had bound him too, to be brought down by Telemachus's hands and spear. He sat back down on the chair he had risen from.

* * *

Now Athena put it in the mind of wise Penelope, daughter of Icarius, to show herself to the suitors, to set their hearts fluttering, and to make herself more precious in the eyes of her husband and her son than before. She gave a hollow little laugh and spoke to her servant. "Eurynome, my heart wants something it never wanted before: to show myself to the suitors, hateful as they are. And I want to say a word to my son, for his own good: that he shouldn't keep company with those arrogant men, who talk so fair to your face and plot evil behind your back."

Eurynome answered, "Child, everything you've said is right. Go, then, and tell your son, hide nothing, but first wash your face and oil your cheeks. Don't go down like this, your face all smeared with tears. It does no good to grieve without end. And your son — he's grown now, the very age you always prayed to the gods you'd live to see him reach, with the first beard on his chin."

"Eurynome," said wise Penelope, "you mean well, but don't tell me to wash and oil myself. The gods who hold Olympus took my beauty the day he sailed away in the hollow ships. But have Autonoe and Hippodameia come to me, so they can stand beside me in the hall. I won't go among the men alone — I'd be ashamed."

The old woman went out through the hall to fetch the women and tell them to hurry.

Then bright-eyed Athena thought of something else. She poured sweet sleep over Penelope, and the queen leaned back and slept, every limb loose, there on her couch. And while she slept the goddess gave her gifts no mortal has, so the Achaeans would marvel at her. First she cleaned her lovely face with the same divine beauty Aphrodite wears when she joins the lovely dance of the Graces. She made her taller and fuller to look at, and her skin whiter than carved ivory. Then the goddess left.

The white-armed attendants came in from the hall, talking, and the noise woke her. She rubbed her cheeks with her hands. "What a soft, deep sleep wrapped me, suffering as I am," she said. "I wish pure Artemis would give me a death as soft as that, right now, so I wouldn't have to waste away my life grieving in my heart, longing for my dear husband and all his goodness, for he was the finest of the Achaeans."

She came down from her shining upper room, not alone; two attendants came with her. And when she reached the suitors, she stopped by the doorpost of the well-built hall, holding her bright veil before her face, a faithful attendant on either side. The suitors' knees went weak; their hearts melted with desire, and every one of them prayed to lie beside her in her bed.

But she spoke to Telemachus, her dear son. "Telemachus, your good sense and judgment aren't what they were. When you were a child you had more cunning in you. But now you're grown, you've reached the full size of a young man (a stranger looking at your height and your good looks would say you were the son of a wealthy father), and yet you have no sense or judgment left. Look what was allowed to happen in this hall! You let a stranger be treated this brutally. What happens if a guest sits in our house and is dragged about and hurt like that? It's shame and disgrace for you in front of everyone."

Clear-thinking Telemachus answered her. "Mother, I don't blame you for being angry. But I do understand each thing in my heart now: the good and the bad. Before I was just a child. Still, I can't manage everything wisely. These men crowd me on every side, one here, one there, plotting evil, and I have no one to help me. But this fight between the stranger and Irus didn't go the way the suitors wanted. The stranger was the stronger. By Father Zeus and Athena and Apollo, I wish the suitors in our house were beaten down right now and hanging their heads — some out in the yard, some inside — every man with his strength gone out of him, the way Irus is sitting out at the courtyard gate right now, head wobbling like a drunk, not able to stand up on his feet or get himself home, wherever home is, because his legs are gone."

* * *

While they talked, Eurymachus spoke to Penelope. "Daughter of Icarius, wise Penelope, if all the Achaeans across Iasian Argos could see you, you'd have even more suitors feasting in your halls by tomorrow morning. You're above all women in beauty and stature and the steady good sense inside you."

"Eurymachus," said wise Penelope, "the gods destroyed my looks, my beauty and my body, the day the Argives sailed for Troy, and my husband Odysseus went with them. If he came home and looked after my life again, my name would shine greater and finer. But now I grieve — a god has poured so many troubles down on me. When he left, leaving his own country, he took my right hand by the wrist and said: 'Wife, I don't think all the Achaeans will come safely home from Troy. They say the Trojans are good fighting men — spear-throwers, archers, drivers of fast horses who settle the great matters of a hard war in a hurry. So I don't know whether the god will bring me back, or whether I'll go down out there at Troy. You take care of everything here. Watch over my father and mother in the house as you do now, even more, while I'm gone. But when you see our son with a beard, marry whoever you want, and leave this house.' That's what he said, and now it's all coming true. The night is coming when this hateful marriage will fall on me — me, whose happiness Zeus has torn away. And there's a bitter thing that cuts me to the heart: this isn't how suitors used to behave. When men court a worthy woman, a rich man's daughter, and compete for her, they bring their own oxen and fat sheep, a feast for the girl's people, and they give her splendid gifts. They don't eat up someone else's living for free."

Odysseus was glad to hear it, glad she was drawing gifts out of them, charming them with soft words while her mind was set on something else entirely.

Antinous, son of Eupeithes, said, "Daughter of Icarius, wise Penelope, whatever gifts the Achaeans want to bring you, take them. It isn't right to refuse a gift. But we won't go back to our own lands or anywhere else until you marry the best of us."

They liked what he said, and each man sent a herald to fetch a gift. For Antinous, his man brought a great beautiful robe, all embroidered, with twelve gold pins fastened with well-bent clasps. For Eurymachus, a finely worked golden chain strung with amber beads, gleaming like the sun. Eurydamas's two servants brought earrings, three drops to each, glinting with grace. From King Pisander, son of Polyctor, a servant brought a necklace, a gorgeous thing. And every one of the other Achaeans brought some lovely gift.

Then the queen went back up to her room, her attendants carrying the beautiful gifts behind her. And the suitors turned to dancing and the songs they loved, having their fun, waiting for evening to come.

* * *

While they were enjoying themselves, dark evening came. They set up three fire baskets in the hall to give light, and stacked them with dry firewood, old, well-seasoned, freshly split with the bronze, and mixed in torches. The slave women of long-suffering Odysseus took turns keeping the fires bright. Then Odysseus himself spoke to them.

"You slave women of Odysseus, the master gone so long, go inside to the rooms where your noble queen is. Sit by her, spin the thread, keep her happy, or comb the wool in your hands. I'll give light to all these men. Even if they want to wait for Dawn on her bright throne, they won't wear me out. I can take a great deal."

They laughed and looked at one another. And pretty-cheeked Melantho insulted him with filthy words. Dolius was her father, but Penelope had raised her like her own child and given her toys to play with. Even so, she felt nothing for Penelope's grief. She was sleeping with Eurymachus and loved him. Now she threw scorn at Odysseus.

"Miserable stranger — you've gone clean out of your mind. You won't go off and sleep in a blacksmith's shop, or some lodging house. You stay here, running your mouth, bold as you like, among all these men, no fear in your heart at all. The wine's gotten into you, or maybe your head's always like this, and that's why you babble nonsense. Are you giddy because you beat the tramp Irus? Watch out — a better man than Irus may stand up soon, batter your head with his hard fists, and throw you out of the house covered in blood."

Odysseus glared at her. "You bitch, I'll go straight to Telemachus and tell him what you're saying, and he'll cut you to pieces right here."

His words scattered the women in terror. They fled through the hall, knees shaking, sure he meant it.

He stood by the burning fire baskets, holding up the light, watching them all, and his heart was working on other things, things that would not go unfinished.

But Athena would not let the proud suitors stop their stinging insults, she wanted the pain to bite even deeper into the heart of Odysseus. So Eurymachus, son of Polybus, started in, mocking him to get a laugh from his friends. "Listen to me, suitors of the famous queen, while I say what's on my mind. It's no accident this man came to the house of Odysseus. The way I see it, the torchlight is shining straight off his head — there's not a hair on it!"

And he turned to Odysseus, destroyer of cities. "Stranger, how would you like to work for me, if I took you on, out on the edge of my land, good wages and all, building stone walls and planting tall trees? I'd keep you fed all year, give you clothes for your back and shoes for your feet. But no — you've learned only bad ways, you won't do an honest day's work, you'd rather cringe around the town begging to fill that bottomless belly of yours."

Odysseus answered him. "Eurymachus, if there were a work contest between us, in the spring when the days run long, out in the meadow grass, and I had a good curved scythe and so did you, and we tested each other with no food till full dark, plenty of grass to cut — you'd see. Or give us oxen to drive, the best kind, big tawny beasts well-fed on grass, matched in age and pulling-strength, no small power in them — and a four-acre field with soil that gives way under the plow — then you'd see whether I could cut a long unbroken furrow. Or if the son of Cronos started a war somewhere today, and I had a shield and two spears and a bronze helmet snug on my temples, you'd see me up in the front ranks with the best, and you wouldn't be sneering about my belly. No, you're full of arrogance, and your heart is cruel. You think you're some big, mighty man, but only because you keep company with a few weak men. If Odysseus came home, to his own country, these doors — wide as they are — would seem too narrow for you, running to get out through that porch."

That sent Eurymachus into a deeper rage. He glared at him. "You wretch — I'll make you pay for talking like that, bold as anything, in front of all these men, no fear in your heart at all. The wine's gotten into you, or your head's always like this, and that's why you babble nonsense. Are you giddy because you beat the tramp Irus?"

And he grabbed a footstool. But Odysseus ducked down at the knees of Amphinomus of Dulichium, and the stool struck the wine-pourer on the right hand instead. The jug clanged to the floor, and the man fell on his back in the dust with a cry.

The suitors broke into uproar in the shadowy hall. One man would say to the next, "I wish this stranger had died somewhere else, wandering, before he ever came here — then he wouldn't have stirred up all this racket. Now we're brawling over beggars, and there'll be no joy left in a fine feast, with this ugliness winning out."

Then Telemachus spoke up among them. "You're out of your minds. You can't hold your food and drink anymore, some god is stirring you up. You've eaten well, go home and lie down, whenever you feel like it. I'm not driving anyone out."

They bit their lips and stared at Telemachus, amazed that he spoke so boldly. Then Amphinomus spoke up, the bright son of Nisus, son of King Aretias. "Friends, no one should answer a fair speech with hostile words and pick a quarrel. Don't manhandle the stranger, or any of the slaves in the house of godlike Odysseus. Come, let the wine-pourer fill the cups, so we can pour our offerings and go home to bed. As for the stranger, let's leave him in the hall of Odysseus for Telemachus to look after, it's to his house the man has come."

This pleased them all. The herald Mulius of Dulichium, Amphinomus's man, mixed the wine in the bowl and served it round to everyone in turn. They poured offerings to the blessed gods and drank the honey-sweet wine. And when they had poured and drunk as much as they wanted, they went off, each man to his own house, to sleep.