Book II · Ῥαψωδία β

The second rosy-fingered Dawn pulled up doing her early-bird glow-up,

up out of bed sprang Odysseus's golden boy, zero snooze, fully locked in,

threw the fit on, slung the sharp sword across his shoulder like it was nothing,

laced the gorgeous sandals onto his soft, oiled-up feet,

and strode out of his room serving full deity, god-tier energy to your face.

and put out the call, herding the long-haired Achaeans into assembly.

So the heralds ran the announcement, and the people pulled up mad fast.

And once they'd all rolled in and the crowd was packed shoulder to shoulder,

he made his entrance to the meeting, bronze spear gripped in his palm,

And Athena poured this otherworldly main-character glow all over the boy,

so the whole crowd just stood there gagged, gawking as he walked through.

He dropped into his father's seat, and the elders parted for him, no contest.

Then the hero Aegyptius was the first to grab the floor and start spitting,

And here's the lore: his own boy had shipped out alongside godlike Odysseus,

off to Ilium, that city absolutely stacked with fine horses, in the hollow ships,

Antiphus the spearman: but a savage Cyclops straight bodied him

in some hollow cave, made the lad the very last course of his dinner, grim.

Eurynomus, while the other two stayed posted on the family farmwork as ever:

but even so he never got over that lost boy, just stayed gutted, mourning him.

Tears still rolling for him, he stood up and laid it on the room:

"Hear me out now, Ithacans, lend me a sec for what I'm about to drop.

not since the day Odysseus, that legend, shipped off in the hollow ships.

So who herded us all here today? Who caught a need this big,

one of the younger lads, or somebody from the older heads?

Did someone catch word the army's finally rolling back home,

Or is it some other community business he's flagging up for the lot of us?

He's giving solid energy to me, a real w. May Zeus deliver

something good for the man himself, whatever his heart's locked onto."

That's what he said, and Odysseus's son was buzzing off the omen in those words,

so he stood up dead centre of the assembly: and the herald slid the staff

into his hand, Peisenor, a man who knew his stuff and had the big-brain smarts.

Then, rounding on the old man first, he opened up with this:

"Old timer, that man's not far off, you'll clock him yourself in a sec:

I haven't caught any word the army's rolling back our way,

the kind of intel I'd lay out for you straight, having clocked it first,

and I'm not flagging up some other community business either, no,

it's my own personal mess, the trouble that's crashed down onto my house,

the show over all of you here, gentle as a dad to his own kids.

And now there's an even bigger one, the kind that's about to fully total

my whole house, top to bottom, and burn clean through everything I've got.

The suitors are swarming my mum, and she is not vibing with it at all,

the ones too scared to make the trip over to the house of her father

Icarius, who could set the bride-price himself for his own daughter

and hand her to whoever he likes, whoever pulls up in his good books:

nah, instead they're rolling through our place every single day,

throwing themselves a feast and downing the glowing wine

like it's nothing: and the whole estate's just draining out. Because there's no man,

not the way Odysseus was, to keep this ruin off the house.

And we're not built for that fight, not us, not yet: honestly even later

Trust me, I'd be defending it, if the strength were actually mine to throw:

because these are unbearable things going down now, and it's not in any clean way

my house is getting torn apart. Get heated about it yourselves,

and feel some shame in front of the neighbours all around too,

in case they flip the whole script, disgusted at these foul deeds.

I'm begging you, by Olympian Zeus and by Themis herself,

the one who breaks up the assemblies of men and seats them right back down:

back off, my friends, leave me on my own to get ground down

straight up did the well-greaved Achaeans dirty out of spite,

and to settle that score you're doing me dirty on purpose,

egging this lot on. It'd honestly hit better for me

if you were the ones eating up my treasures and my herds.

because then I'd go round the town pressing my case in words,

demanding the goods back, till every last scrap got handed over:

but as it stands you're just dropping hopeless agony straight into my chest."

That's what he said, fully raging, and he slammed the staff down to the ground,

At that point everyone else went dead silent, nobody had the nerve

to fire back at Telemachus with anything harsh:

only Antinous wasn't having it, and he came back at him with this:

"Telemachus, you big-mouth, can't-be-stopped energy, what a thing to say,

The Achaean suitors are not the ones at fault for your situation here,

nah, it's your own dear mum, the one with the schemes fully on lock.

Because it's already the third year now, and the fourth's coming in hot,

that she's been jerking around the hearts in the chests of the Achaeans.

firing off little messages: but her mind's plotting something else entirely.

And here's another trick her clever head cooked up out of nowhere:

she set up a massive loom in the halls and started weaving away,

fine thread, a huge stretch of it: then she hit us all with this:

pump the brakes on this wedding you're rushing me into, until I finish

this cloak, so the threads don't go to waste on me for absolutely nothing,

a burial shroud for the hero Laertes, for the day when

the wretched fate of long-grieving death finally drags him down,

if a man who'd raked in this much were left lying with no shroud.'

That's the line she ran, and our proud hearts went and bought it whole.

So in the daytime she'd be weaving away at the massive loom,

but every night she'd quietly unpick the whole lot, once she'd set the torches by.

but when the fourth year rolled round and the seasons cycled back through,

that's when one of the women, who knew the real tea, spilled it,

and we caught her in the act, unravelling the gorgeous weave with our own eyes.

So she finished the thing, against her will, fully forced into it.

deep in your chest, and so every last Achaean knows it too:

send your mum packing, and tell her to marry whoever

her father picks out and whoever's a vibe for her.

But if she keeps stringing along the sons of the Achaeans much longer,

the skill at gorgeous handiwork and a properly sharp mind

and clever schemes the likes of which we've never even heard,

not even from the old days, from the lovely-haired Achaean women

of way back, Tyro and Alcmene and well-crowned Mycene:

on lock: but on this one move, lowkey, she's reading the room dead wrong.

Because they'll keep eating clean through your livelihood and your goods

for exactly as long as she clings to this mindset the gods

are dropping into her chest right now: she's banking serious clout for herself,

we're not heading off to our work or anywhere else, full stop,

not before she marries whichever Achaean she pleases."

Then big-brain Telemachus fired straight back at him with this:

"Antinous, there's just no way I'm shoving her out of the house against her will,

is either alive or gone. It'd be a brutal bill to pay back

to Icarius, if I willingly send my own mother packing.

Because from her father I'd catch trouble, and a god would hand me

plenty more, since my mum would call down the dreaded Furies on me

So no, I am never going to be the one to say those words.

But if your own hearts feel even a scrap of shame over this,

then get out of my halls, go organise your feasts somewhere else,

eating up your own stuff, taking turns from house to house.

to keep it exactly like this, grinding down one man's whole living for free,

then chow down: but I'll be crying out to the gods who live forever,

in case Zeus somehow lets the payback deeds actually land:

then you'd all get wrecked right here inside this house, no compensation owed."

swooping down to him, launched off the high peak of the mountain.

For a while the pair just rode the breath of the wind, vibing,

gliding side by side, wings cranked right out wide:

but the second they hit dead centre of the buzzing assembly,

glaring down on all their heads, basically clocking everyone's funeral:

then they raked their own cheeks and necks raw with their talons

and shot off to the right, straight over the houses and their town.

And the people froze, fully shook at the birds, once they clocked it with their eyes:

Then the old hero Halitherses spoke up to them,

son of Mastor: because he was the one and only of his generation who had it on lock,

reading the birds and laying out what they actually meant:

meaning nothing but good by them, he took the floor and said his piece:

And it's the suitors most of all I'm flagging this up for.

Because a massive disaster's rolling their way: yeah, Odysseus

won't be far from his people much longer, no, he's probably already

posted up close by, planting slaughter and doom for this whole lot,

us lot living in clear-skied Ithaca. So way before that lands

let's figure out how to shut these guys down: or let them

shut themselves down: honestly that's the smarter move for them, and quick.

Because I'm not prophesying as some clueless amateur, no, I know my stuff:

exactly the way I called it for him when the Argives

were boarding for Ilium, and big-brain Odysseus rolled with them.

I said he'd suffer a heap of pain, lose every last one of his crew,

unrecognised by the whole world, and in the twentieth year

Then Eurymachus, son of Polybus, came back at him with this:

"Old man, come on, take your prophecies home to your own kids,

in case some trouble lands on them down the line:

when it comes to this stuff, trust, I read it way better than you ever could.

and not every one of them means a single thing: anyway, Odysseus

died far away, and honestly I wish you'd been finished off right alongside

him: then you wouldn't be standing here yapping all this prophecy,

and you wouldn't be winding up Telemachus, already heated like this,

But here's the thing, and trust me, this one's gonna come true for real:

if you, knowing a load of ancient lore, go and talk a younger man round

with your words and stir him up to act all difficult,

first off, it'll be even more grief for the lad himself,

and on you, old timer, we'll slap a fine that'll make your heart

ache as you pay it out: it'll be a painful sorrow for you, no doubt.

And as for Telemachus, here's my own advice, in front of everyone:

let him tell his mum to head back off to her father's place,

loads of them, as many as should follow a beloved daughter.

Because I don't reckon the sons of the Achaeans are gonna quit

this exhausting courtship anytime soon, since we honestly fear nobody at all,

not even Telemachus, big talker that he is,

the stuff you spout that never lands, which only makes us hate you more.

And his goods will keep getting eaten up in the worst way, with no payback,

not ever, for as long as she keeps stalling the Achaeans

on this wedding of hers: meanwhile we'll be parked here waiting every single day,

to court other women, the ones it'd be perfectly fitting for each of us to wed."

Then big-brain Telemachus fired straight back at him with this:

"Eurymachus, and the rest of you, all you proud suitors,

I'm done begging you about this, done laying it all out:

But come on, hand me a fast ship and twenty crew,

the kind who'll knock out the journey for me, there and back, no fuss.

Because I'm going to Sparta and to sandy Pylos

to get the tea on my dad's comeback, gone all this time,

straight from Zeus, the kind that mostly carries word to people.

If I hear my dad's alive and on his way back,

then yeah, worn down as I am, I could grind out one more year:

but if I hear he's dead and no longer with us at all,

and heap up a tomb for him and do all the funeral rites,

loads of them, as is proper, and hand my mum off to a husband."

With that he dropped back into his seat, and up among them stood

Mentor, who'd been the ride-or-die mate of flawless Odysseus,

to mind the old man and keep the whole place on lock:

meaning nothing but good by them, he took the floor and said his piece:

"Hear me out now, Ithacans, lend me a sec for what I'm about to drop.

May no sceptre-bearing king ever again bother being kind,

but let him always be harsh and pull straight-up wicked stunts,

since not one of the people that godlike Odysseus used to run

even bothers to remember him now, gentle as a dad though he was.

But honestly, I don't even begrudge the arrogant suitors

because they're gambling their own necks, eating up by force

the house of Odysseus, the man they reckon's never rolling home.

No, it's the rest of the community I'm heated at, the way you're all

just sitting there in dead silence, not even rounding on these few

Then Leiocritus, son of Euenor, came back at him with this:

"Mentor, you menace, off your head entirely, what a thing to say,

egging them on to shut us down. It's a rough gig, trust,

to throw down with grown men over a feast, even when you've got the numbers.

and clocked the proud suitors feasting all over his house,

and his heart was dead set on driving the lot of them out of the hall,

his wife would get zero joy out of him coming back, however much

she's been aching for it, no, right there he'd meet a grim end

But come on, people, scatter, each of you off to your own work,

and as for this kid's trip, Mentor and Halitherses can hurry it along,

the ones who've been his father's mates from way back.

But honestly, I reckon he'll be sitting tight a good long while yet,

That's what he said, and just like that he broke the assembly up on the spot.

So they scattered, each man peeling off to his own house,

and the suitors headed back to godlike Odysseus's place.

But Telemachus slipped off solo, down to the shore of the sea,

"Hear me out, you, the god who pulled up at our house yesterday

and told me to take a ship across the misty sea,

to go get the tea on my dad's comeback, gone all this time:

but the Achaeans are dragging the whole thing out on me,

That's what he prayed, and Athena slid up close beside him,

the spitting image of Mentor, the body and the voice both,

and finding her words she hit him with these winged things:

"Telemachus, you won't turn out a coward or a clueless one down the line,

the kind of man he was, who could finish a job and a word both,

then this trip of yours won't come out wasted or left half-done.

But if you're not the true blood of him and Penelope,

then no, I'm not betting you pull off what you're aiming for.

most come out worse, and only a handful land better than their dad.

But since you won't turn out a coward or a clueless one down the line,

and Odysseus's cleverness hasn't fully ghosted you,

there's real hope you'll get all this done.

those fools, since they've got no sense and no justice in them at all:

they've got no clue about death and the black doom

that's posted right beside them, ready to finish the lot of them in one day.

And the trip you're set on won't be far off for you any longer:

the one who'll kit you out a fast ship and tag along myself.

But you, head back to the house and mingle with the suitors,

get the provisions sorted and pack the whole haul into containers,

wine in the two-handled jars, and barley meal, the marrow of men,

and quick scoop up volunteers for the crew. There are loads of ships

in sea-ringed Ithaca, fresh ones and old ones both:

out of that whole lot I'll go scope out the absolute best one for you,

and once we've kitted it out fast, we'll launch her onto the wide sea."

did Telemachus hang about, once he'd caught the voice of the god.

He set off for the house, his heart all heavy inside him,

and found the suitors right there in his halls, large as you like,

skinning goats and singeing fat hogs out in the courtyard.

grabbed him by the hand, said his bit and called him out by name:

"Telemachus, you big-mouth, can't-be-stopped energy, listen up,

don't let any other nasty business weigh down your chest, no deed, no word,

just eat and drink, the way you used to before all this.

the ship and the hand-picked rowers, so you get there faster,

to sacred Pylos, chasing word of your noble father."

Then big-brain Telemachus fired straight back at him with this:

"Antinous, there's just no way I'm sitting at the feast with you lot,

Isn't it enough, the way you've already shredded a whole heap of my fine

goods, you suitors, back when I was still just a kid?

But now that I'm grown, and I'm picking up the full story

from listening to others, and the spirit's swelling right up inside me,

whether I head to Pylos or stay posted right here in my own community.

I'm going, and the trip I'm telling you about won't come out wasted,

even riding as a passenger: because I don't own a ship or rowers,

do I, since clearly you lot reckoned that worked out better for you."

easy: and the suitors got busy with the feast all over the house.

And they started clowning on him, taking the mick with their words:

this is the kind of thing one of those arrogant young guys would chuck out:

"For real, Telemachus is out here plotting our murder.

or maybe from Sparta, since he's so desperately keen on it:

or maybe he wants to head all the way to Ephyra, that fertile farmland,

to fetch some soul-destroying poisons from over there,

chuck them in the mixing bowl and finish the whole lot of us off."

"Who knows, maybe he heads off on his hollow ship himself

and dies far from his people, drifting about, just like Odysseus did?

Honestly that'd just pile even more work onto us,

because we'd split up all his goods between us, and the house

That's how they ran their mouths: and he went down into his father's high-roofed storeroom,

a big one, where heaps of gold and bronze were stacked up,

and clothing in chests, and plenty of fragrant olive oil.

And the jars of old sweet-sipping wine were lined up in there too,

posted along the wall in a row, saving themselves for the day Odysseus

might finally pull off the comeback, even after grinding through so much pain.

And the double doors stayed locked, fitted tight with zero gaps,

and a housekeeper was on guard duty there, full-on round the clock,

none other than Eurycleia, daughter of Ops, Peisenor's son.

Telemachus called her into the storeroom and hit her with this:

"Nurse, cmon, rack me up some wine in the two-handled jars,

the sweet stuff, the absolute tastiest after the bottle you've got on lock,

Zeus-born Odysseus, somehow having dodged death and all the dooms.

Fill twelve of them right up and cap every single one tight.

And load me up some barley meal in the tight-stitched leather skins,

make it twenty measures of proper mill-ground barley.

because I'm swinging by to grab it this evening, the second

my mum heads upstairs and her mind clocks out for sleep:

because I'm going to Sparta and to sandy Pylos

to get the tea on my dear dad's comeback, in case I hear something."

and full of grief she hit him with these winged words:

"Why, my dear child, has this idea even formed

in your head? Where do you want to go, across so much land,

the one and only beloved son? He's perished far from home,

And these guys, the second you leave, will be plotting nasty things behind you,

to take you out by some trick, and then carve up everything between them.

No, just stay put, sit tight on what's yours: there's no need at all

for you to suffer on the barren sea or go drifting about."

"Chin up, nurse, because this plan didn't come about without a god behind it.

But swear to me you won't breathe a word of this to my dear mum,

not until the eleventh or the twelfth day rolls around,

or until she misses me herself and hears that I've shipped out,

That's what he said, and the old woman swore the great oath of the gods.

And once she'd sworn it and finished off the oath proper,

straight after that she drew the wine into the two-handled jars for him,

and poured the barley meal into the well-stitched leather skins:

Then Athena, eyes glinting, cooked up another move entirely:

disguised as Telemachus, she did the rounds all over the town,

posting up beside each man and slipping him a word,

telling the lot of them to gather at the fast ship come evening.

she put in for a fast ship: and he handed it over, happy to.

The sun clocked out and all the streets sank down into shadow:

that's when she dragged the fast ship down to the sea, and loaded into her

all the gear that the well-benched ships haul around with them.

came gathering round in a pack: and the goddess fired up every single one.

Then Athena, eyes glinting, cooked up yet another move:

she set off straight for the house of godlike Odysseus,

and once there she poured sweet sleep all over the suitors,

So they hauled themselves off to crash out, scattering across the town, no longer

parked at the tables, since sleep was dropping heavy over their eyelids.

Then Athena, eyes glinting, spoke up to Telemachus,

calling him out from the cosy, well-lived-in halls,

"Telemachus, your well-greaved crew are already

parked at the oars, just waiting on your call to push off:

come on, let's move, no point dragging this trip out any longer."

With that, Pallas Athena led the way out

And once they'd come on down to the ship and the sea,

they found the long-haired crew posted up there on the shore.

Then the sacred force of Telemachus said his piece to them:

"This way, lads, let's haul the provisions over: it's all already

nor the other servant women, just one alone caught the plan."

With that he led the way out, and they fell in right behind him.

And carrying the whole lot, they stowed it down inside the well-benched ship,

exactly the way Odysseus's son had told them to.

and she settled down at the stern of the ship: and right next to her

sat Telemachus. And the crew cast off the stern cables,

then they too climbed aboard and dropped into their seats at the oar-locks.

And Athena, eyes glinting, sent them a fair following wind,

And Telemachus, hyping up his crew, gave the order

to grab the rigging: and they heard him calling them on.

They hoisted the pinewood mast up and stood it bolt upright

inside the hollow socket, strapped it down snug with the forestays,

The wind punched into the belly of the sail, and round the prow

the dark wave was hissing and roaring big-time as the ship sent it:

and she just ran, eating up the swell, fully locked onto her course.

Once they had the tackle all lashed down along the swift black ship,

and poured one out for the deathless gods who never age,

and most of all for the eyes-glinting daughter of Zeus.

And all night long and into the dawn she carved a path straight through.