Book VI · Ῥαψωδία ζ

So that's where he stayed knocked out, Odysseus, that goat who's been through it,

absolutely cooked by sleep and the bone-deep kind of exhaustion: meanwhile Athena

was already on the move, beelining for the turf and the city of the Phaeacian men.

These were folks who way back in the day used to be posted up in roomy Hypereia,

right next door to the Cyclopes, those oversized brutes who play by zero rules,

So godlike Nausithous said "we're not doing this" and relocated the whole lot,

parking them out in Scheria, miles from any people who graft for their bread,

and he ran a wall round the city and got the houses fully built up,

threw up temples for the gods and chopped the farmland into neat little shares.

and Alcinous was the one running things, with the gods literally briefing his brain.

It was his house she locked onto and made a beeline for, Athena, eyes glinting and dialled in,

out here cooking up the whole comeback for big-hearted Odysseus.

She slid straight into the fancy, all-decked-out bedroom, where a girl lay

Nausicaa, daughter of big-hearted Alcinous,

plus two handmaids beside her, blessed with looks the Graces personally handed out,

posted up either side of the doorposts: and the shiny doors sat fully shut.

Like a literal gust of wind she breezed over to where the girl was sleeping,

wearing the face of the daughter of Dymas, that famous sailor's kid,

who was her own age and properly close to her heart, a real ride-or-die.

Looking exactly like that girl, Athena, grey-eyed and locked in, came through with this:

"Nausicaa, why'd your mum go and birth such a let-it-all-slide girl, hmm?

and your wedding's basically right round the corner, when you need to be serving

clean on your own body and have nice stuff lined up for the people walking you in:

because it's off the back of things like this that a good word about a person

travels round the crowd, and your dad and your queen mum are buzzing about it.

and I'm tagging along as your wash-buddy, so you get yourself sorted

quick as humanly possible, since you're not staying single much longer, sis,

not the way the best men across the whole region are already

sliding into your line, every last Phaeacian, seeing as that's your bloodline too.

get him to prep the mules and the wagon, the one that can haul

your sashes and your dresses and the shiny blankets along.

And honestly, rolling out this way hits way nicer for you than going on foot,

since the washing pools are a serious trek out from the city, no joke."

back up to Olympus, where they say the gods have their forever spot,

locked in solid: never rattled by the winds, never gets soaked

by the rain, no snow ever piles up there, nah, the clearest sky

just stretches out cloudless, and a white shine runs all over the top of it:

That's where eyes-glinting dipped off to, once she'd fully briefed the girl on the plan.

And in no time Dawn pulled up on her gorgeous throne and woke her,

Nausicaa in the lovely dress: she was instantly shook by the dream,

and she headed off through the halls to spill the news to her parents,

Her mum was posted at the hearth with the handmaid women,

spinning the sea-purple wool: and as her dad was heading out the door

she crossed paths with him, off to link up with the famous kings

at the council, the one the noble Phaeacians had summoned him to.

"Daddy, would you not get the wagon sorted out for me,

the tall one with the good wheels, so I can haul the nice fits

down to the river to wash, the ones lying here all grubby and gross?

And honestly it suits you too, being among the top dogs,

Plus you've got five sons of your own born under this roof,

two of them married off, three still thriving as single lads:

and they're forever begging for freshly washed kit on their backs

when they head out to the dance: handling all this lands on me."

in front of her dear dad: but he clocked everything and came back with:

"I'm not about to gatekeep the mules from you, kid, or anything else.

Off you pop: and the servants will get the wagon prepped for you,

the tall one with the good wheels, kitted out with a top box and all."

Out front they wheeled the smooth-rolling mule-wagon out and got it set,

walked the mules up and buckled them in tight under the yoke:

meanwhile the girl carried the shiny clothes out from the bedroom.

And she stacked the whole load onto the polished wagon, neat as anything:

all kinds of it, slid in the good savoury bits, and glugged the wine

into a goatskin: and the girl swung herself up onto the wagon.

And her mum passed her smooth olive oil in a golden flask,

so her and the handmaid women could oil up proper after the wash.

gave them a flick to set off: the mules clattered up a proper racket,

and they leaned into it full-send nonstop, hauling the laundry and her too,

not on her own: the other handmaids stepped out right alongside her.

And once they pulled up at the gorgeous flowing stream of the river,

water came welling up it could strip the grime off the filthiest gear going,

that's the exact spot where they slipped the mules loose from the wagon.

They shooed them off along the swirling river to graze

on the honey-sweet grass: then off the wagon they scooped

and stamped them down in the pits, full speed, racing each other for the w.

And once they'd washed and scrubbed every last speck of grime clean out,

they laid the whole lot out in a row along the seashore, right where

the waves spat the most pebbles up onto the dry land.

they sat down to dinner, posted up along the banks of the river,

while the clothes lay out catching the rays of the sun to dry.

But once she and the handmaids had filled right up on food,

they flung off their headscarves and got stuck into a ball game,

Just like Artemis goes roaming down the mountains, the archer girl,

either down sky-high Taygetus or down Erymanthus,

having an absolute blast with the wild boars and the quick-footed deer:

and right alongside her the Nymphs, daughters of Zeus who runs the storm,

she carries her head and her brow that bit higher, mogging the whole crew,

easy to clock in the crowd, even though every single one of them is lovely:

that's how this untouched girl was out here mogging every handmaid in the squad.

But when she was just about ready to head back home,

that's when she had another idea, Athena, eyes glinting and three moves ahead,

so that Odysseus would wake up and lay eyes on the gorgeous-faced girl,

the one set to lead him into the city of the Phaeacian men.

So the princess fired the ball off towards one of her handmaids:

And they let out a long scream: that woke up Odysseus, that goat,

and sitting up he turned it over in his head and his chest:

"Oh no, not again, whose land have I rolled up in this time?

Are these people violent, savage, with zero sense of what's right,

Some high girlish scream just wrapped itself round me out of nowhere,

from Nymphs, the ones who hold down the steep peaks of the mountains

and the springheads of the rivers and the grassy meadows:

or am I maybe close to people who actually talk my kind of talk?

After saying this, Odysseus, that goat, slid out from under the bushes,

and out of the thick brush he snapped off a branch with his big paw,

a leafy one, to throw some cover over the man-parts on his body.

He stepped forward like a mountain-bred lion fully sure of its own muscle,

straight up blazing: and it goes after the cattle or the sheep

or chases down the wild deer: its belly is literally ordering it

to make a run at the flocks, even right up into a well-built fold:

that's how Odysseus was about to wade into a bunch of pretty-haired girls,

He showed up looking absolutely horrifying, all crusted over with brine,

and they bolted every which way onto the jutting bits of shore.

Only Alcinous's daughter held her ground and stayed put: because Athena

dropped pure courage into her chest and yanked the fear clean out of her limbs.

whether to grab the gorgeous-faced girl by the knees and beg outright,

or to keep his distance and beg her with honey-soft words instead,

hoping she'd point him to the city and hand over some clothes.

And as he turned it over, this came out looking like the smarter play,

so the girl wouldn't catch the ick in her heart if he grabbed at her knees.

So right away he came out with this honey-soft, big-brain little speech:

"I'm at your knees, my queen: are you some god, or are you mortal?

If you're one of the gods, the ones who hold down the wide sky,

in your face and your height and the whole way you're built:

but if you're one of the mortals who live their lives down here on the earth,

then three times blessed are your dad and your queen mum,

three times blessed your brothers: their whole spirit, no doubt about it,

watching a young bloom like you step out into the dance.

And then the most blessed of the lot, way past anybody else,

is whoever weighs you down with bride-gifts and walks you home.

Because I've genuinely never laid eyes on a mortal like this,

Once on Delos, right by Apollo's altar, I clocked something like this,

a young palm shoot pushing its way up fresh out of the ground:

because I rocked up there too, with a big crowd trailing after me,

on the journey that was set to be the start of all my grim troubles:

for the longest while, since no shoot like that had ever sprung from the earth,

just like, lady, I'm in awe of you and stunned, and honestly properly terrified

to grab at your knees: a heavy grief has come down hard on me.

Yesterday, on the twentieth day, I finally escaped the wine-dark sea:

clean from the island of Ogygia: and now some power's dumped me here,

so I'll probably catch grief in this spot too: because I don't reckon

it's about to let up, nah, the gods have plenty more lined up first.

But please, my queen, have a bit of pity: it's you I've reached first

one of the other people who hold down this city and this land.

Just point me to the town, and toss me a rag to throw on,

if you brought any wrapping for the clothes when you came out here.

And may the gods grant you everything your heart is set on,

like-mindedness too: because there's nothing stronger or better

than when two people, matched in how they think, run a household,

a man and a woman: a load of pain for the haters,

and pure joy for the ones who wish them well: but they feel it best themselves."

"Stranger, since you don't come across as a bad guy or a smooth-brained one,

and Zeus himself, the Olympian, is the one personally handing out the good fortune,

to the worthy and the worthless, however he feels, to each one:

he probably handed you this lot, and you've just gotta ride it out.

you won't go short on clothes or anything else

that's owed to a battered suppliant who pulls up here needing help.

I'll point you to the town and give you the name of the people:

the Phaeacians are the ones who hold down this city and this land,

the one the Phaeacians' whole strength and power literally hangs on."

She said it, then called out to her pretty-haired handmaids:

"Hold up for me, handmaids: where you running off to just from clocking a man?

You don't actually reckon this guy's some enemy, do you, for real?

who could rock up to the land of the Phaeacian men

bringing a fight: because we're seriously beloved by the immortals.

We live way out, set apart in the much-pounded sea,

right at the edge of the map, and no other mortal mixes with us.

and he's the one we've got to look after now: because they all come from Zeus,

the strangers and the beggars, and a gift's a small thing but a dear one.

So come on, handmaids, sort the stranger out with food and drink,

and bathe him in the river, somewhere there's shelter from the wind."

and they sat Odysseus down in the sheltered spot, just like she'd told them,

Nausicaa, daughter of big-hearted Alcinous:

they laid out clothes beside him, a cloak and a tunic,

and handed him smooth olive oil in the golden flask,

And right then Odysseus, that goat, spoke up to the handmaids:

"Handmaids, just hang back over there a sec, so I can do this myself,

scrub the brine off my shoulders and oil myself up

all over: it's been forever since my skin's seen any of this.

to be standing here fully naked among pretty-haired girls."

That's what he said, and they backed off and went and told the girl.

Then Odysseus, that goat, rinsed his skin clean off in the river,

the brine that was caked across his back and his broad shoulders,

But once he'd washed it all off and slicked himself with the oil,

and thrown on the clothes the untouched girl had given him,

Athena, the one sprung straight from Zeus, looksmaxxed him taller

to look at and broader in the build, and down from his head

Just like when some skilled craftsman pours gold all over silver,

a guy taught by Hephaestus and Pallas Athena themselves

in every kind of art, and he turns out absolutely gorgeous work,

that's how she poured grace all over his head and his shoulders, fully glow-maxxed.

glowing with beauty and grace: and the girl was just dead staring.

And right then she spoke up to her pretty-haired handmaids:

"Listen up, white-armed handmaids, while I say something real quick.

This man's not mixing it with the godlike Phaeacians

because before, he came across to me as a bit of a mess,

but now he's maxxed into something god-tier, like the ones who hold down the wide sky.

If only a husband like this could be mine, called my very own,

living right here, and if only he'd be happy enough to stay put.

That's what she said, and they listened up good and did as she said,

and they set food and drink down right beside Odysseus.

And he drank and ate, Odysseus, that goat who's been through it,

ravenously, going to town: because it had been forever since he'd touched a bite.

she folded the clothes back up neat and laid them on the lovely wagon,

yoked up the strong-hooved mules, and climbed aboard herself.

She nudged Odysseus and spoke up, calling out to him:

"Get up now, stranger, let's head to the city, so I can send you on

you'll get to know all the Phaeacians, everyone who's anyone.

But here's exactly how to play it, since you don't seem slow to me:

while we're rolling through the farmland and the works of people,

just keep up quick with the handmaids behind the mules

But once we're about to step into the city, the one ringed by a wall,

a tall one, with a lovely harbour on either side of the city,

and the entrance is dead narrow: the curved ships

get hauled up along the road, since every man's got his own slipway.

fitted out with hauled-in stones bedded deep down in the ground.

That's where they handle all the gear for the black ships,

the cables and the sails, and where they shave the oars down sharp.

Because the Phaeacians couldn't care less about the bow or the quiver,

the ones they take serious pride in crossing the grey sea on.

And it's their nasty gossip I'm dodging, in case somebody later

runs their mouth: they're proper full of themselves round here:

and some lower sort of person who crosses our path might say this:

Where'd she even dig him up? He's gonna be her husband for sure.

Maybe she scooped up some random castaway off his ship,

some guy from far-off lands, since there's nobody from round here:

or some god she'd been praying for hard came down to her,

Better that way, honestly, if she went out and bagged herself a husband

from somewhere else: because she's clearly looking down her nose at the lot of us

Phaeacians round here, even though loads of good men are courting her.'

That's exactly what they'll say, and stuff like that would land on me as a disgrace.

the kind who, while her dear dad and mum are still around,

links up with men before going to a wedding out in the open.

So, stranger, take in what I'm saying quick, so you score

your send-off and your comeback from my dad fast as possible.

poplar trees, with a spring flowing in it and a meadow all round:

that's where my dad's plot is, and his lush thriving vineyard,

as far out from the city as a man's shout would carry.

Sit yourself down right there and wait a bit, until we

But once you reckon we've made it home,

that's when you head into the Phaeacians' city and ask round for

the house of my dad, big-hearted Alcinous.

It's dead easy to spot, even a little kid could lead you there,

anything like it, that's how grand the place of the hero

Alcinous is. But once the house and the courtyard have swallowed you up,

move quick straight through the hall, until you reach

my mum: she's posted at the hearth in the glow of the fire,

leaning against a pillar: and her handmaids sit behind her.

And there my dad's throne is propped up right beside her,

where he sits sipping his wine like one of the deathless ones.

Slip past him and throw your arms around my mum's knees,

fast, full of joy, even if you're from really far away.

If she takes a proper liking to you down in her heart,

then there's real hope for you to see your people and reach

your well-built home and your homeland soil."

on the mules: and quick they left the river's streams behind.

And they trotted along sweet, and worked their legs sweet:

and she handled the reins with care, so the ones on foot could keep up,

the handmaids and Odysseus: she laid the whip on with sense.

the one sacred to Athena, where Odysseus, that goat, parked himself.

And straight away he sent up a prayer to the daughter of mighty Zeus:

"Hear me out, child of Zeus who runs the storm, you who never tire:

listen to me now at least, since before you never once listened

Grant that I roll up to the Phaeacians welcome and pitied."

That's what he prayed, and Pallas Athena clocked every word:

but she didn't show up face to face just yet: she was wary

of her dad's brother: he was raging hard, full heat,