Book XIV · Ῥαψωδία ξ

Meanwhile our guy peaced out from the harbour and hit the rough little goat-track,

heading up through the woods over the ridges, to the exact spot Athena

had dropped a pin on: the goat of a swineherd, the one who looked after the estate

the hardest of all the help that Odysseus, that legend, had racked up.

And he clocked him sitting out front in the porch, where the man had a courtyard

proper big and lovely, you could circle the whole thing: this is the yard the swineherd

had thrown up himself for the pigs while his lord was off ghosting somewhere,

no help from the lady of the house, no help from old man Laertes,

stacking it from quarry stones and topping the wall with a crown of thorny bush.

packed in tight and close together, splitting black heartwood of oak to do it.

And inside the yard he'd built twelve pig-pens, lined up

right next to each other, full-on beds for the pigs: and in every single one

fifty ground-sleeping sows were penned up and posted,

way fewer in number, because the godlike suitors kept thinning them out,

chowing them down, since the swineherd was always sending up to the house

the fattest, finest hog of the whole well-fed bunch, every time.

And those males came to three hundred and sixty, no more.

the ones the swineherd raised, the head honcho over all the lads.

And the man himself was busy fitting sandals round his own two feet,

cutting up a nice piece of ox-hide: meanwhile the rest of the crew

had scattered off, each one going his own way with the herded pigs,

to haul a hog over to the suitors, those entitled clowns, basically forced to,

so they could do the sacrifice and stuff their faces full of meat.

And out of nowhere the loud-barking dogs clocked Odysseus.

They came charging at him yapping their heads off: but Odysseus,

Right there, at his own pig-farm, he was about to catch a humiliating mauling:

but the swineherd, quick on those fast feet, came tearing after them

and shot out through the porch, and the hide dropped out of his hand.

He bawled the dogs down and scattered them off every which way

"Old man, those dogs nearly absolutely demolished you out of nowhere just now,

and you'd have dragged my name through the mud for it, no cap.

And honestly the gods have handed me enough other grief and groaning already:

because here I sit, crying and aching over a lord who's basically a literal god,

while that man, dead set craving even a scrap of food somewhere,

is out here wandering through the cities and lands of people who talk all different,

if he's even still breathing and clocking the light of the sun.

But come on, follow me, let's head into the hut, old timer, so you yourself,

can spill where you're actually from and how much grief you've slogged through."

Saying that, the goat of a swineherd led the way to the hut,

brought him in and sat him down, raking up a thick pile of brushwood,

then spreading the hide of a shaggy wild goat over the top of it,

that the man took him in like that, and he found his voice and went off:

"May Zeus hook you up, my guy, and the rest of the deathless gods too,

with whatever you want most, since you took me in this kindly without blinking."

And then you fired back at him, Eumaeus, my swineherd guy:

if a sorrier one than you pulled up: because they all come straight from Zeus,

the guests and the beggars alike. And the gift I give is small but it comes from the heart,

that's how it is for us: because that's literally the deal with servants,

forever shook, especially when the lords running the place

the one who would've shown me love, properly, and set me up with my own stuff,

the kind of thing a warm-hearted lord hands his loyal worker:

a house, a plot of land, a wife everyone's lining up to marry,

to anybody who grinds hard for him and the gods bless the work he's doing,

So my lord would've blessed me up big-time, if he'd just grown old right here:

but he's gone. I swear, the whole bloodline of Helen should've been wiped out

flat to the ground, since she folded the knees of so many men:

because that man too went off on Agamemnon's behalf, for his honour,

Saying that, he quickly cinched his tunic up tight with his belt,

and headed off to the pens where the squads of piglets were locked in.

He grabbed two from in there, hauled them out, and offered up both,

singed them, chopped them up, and skewered the bits on the spits.

piping hot, still on the spits, and sprinkled white barley-meal over the top.

And in a wooden bowl he mixed up the honey-sweet wine,

then plopped down across from him, and hyping him up to dig in, he said:

"Eat up now, stranger, the stuff that's on hand for us servants,

zero thought in their heads for divine payback, zero pity in their chests.

And believe me, the blessed gods do not vibe with reckless deeds,

nah, they hand out respect for fair play and decent acts from people.

And even hostile, lawless men, the ones who roll onto somebody else's

and they load up their ships and sail off back home,

even into their chests a serious dread of divine payback drops.

But these guys here, they know something, they caught wind of some god's voice,

the grim fate of that man, the way they refuse to do the marriage straight,

gobbling down his property like animals, no holding back, no shame.

Because for every single night and day that comes down from Zeus,

they never sacrifice just one victim, or only two:

and they're tearing through the wine, draining it dry, way past reasonable.

hero of a man had so much, not on the dark mainland

nor on Ithaca itself: not even twenty men together

have got wealth stacked that high: lemme break it all down for you.

Twelve herds of cattle on the mainland: just as many flocks of sheep,

all of it grazed by hired hands and his own herdsmen too:

and over here eleven wide-roaming herds of goats in total

graze out at the far edge, and decent men keep an eye on them.

And every single day each of those guys brings him a beast,

But me, I'm the one minding and guarding these pigs right here,

and I pick out the best of the hogs, dead careful, and ship it off to them."

That's what he said: meanwhile the guy was tucking into the meat and downing wine

fast and greedy, dead silent, planting bad vibes for the suitors deep down.

the swineherd filled up the cup he'd been drinking from himself and handed it over,

brimming full of wine: the guy took it, buzzing in his chest,

and found his voice and hit him with these winged words:

"My guy, so who actually bought you with his own wealth,

You say he died for Agamemnon's honour, on his behalf.

Tell me, in case I happen to know a man like that out there.

Because Zeus knows, see, and the rest of the deathless gods too,

whether I could bring you word, having seen him: I've wandered a whole lot."

"Old man, no wandering guy who pulls up here with so-called news

about that man is ever gonna convince the wife and the dear son,

nah, instead the drifters, the ones desperate for a free handout,

just spin lies and have zero intention of telling the truth.

goes straight to my lady and starts feeding her deceiving little tales:

and she takes him in nice and warm and quizzes him on every detail,

and the tears come dripping from her eyelids while she's grieving,

exactly the way it goes with a woman when her man dies somewhere else.

if somebody handed you a cloak and a tunic, some clothes to wear.

But that man, by now the dogs and the swift birds have likely

ripped the skin clean off his bones, and his soul has bounced:

or the fish ate him out in the deep, and his bones are lying there

So that's how he's perished out there, leaving grief behind for his people,

all of them, but for me most of all: because never again will I find

another lord this gentle, no matter how far I roam,

not even if I went back again to the house of my father and mother,

And honestly I don't even ache that much over them, much as I'm dying

to lay eyes on them again, back in my own homeland:

nah, it's the longing for Odysseus, gone missing, that's got me in a chokehold.

That man, stranger, even with him not here, I feel weird

so I call him my big brother, even though he's miles away."

And then Odysseus, that goat who's been through it, came back at him with this:

"My guy, since you're flat-out refusing it and you keep saying

that man's never coming back, and your heart's locked into doubt:

Odysseus is coming home: pay me the good-news reward

the second that man rolls in and reaches his own halls:

kit me out in a cloak and a tunic, some proper nice clothes:

but before that, even though I'm desperate, I won't take a single thing.

the one who, caving to poverty, spins out deceiving little tales.

So now let Zeus be my witness first of the gods, and this welcome table,

and the hearth of flawless Odysseus, the one I've pulled up to:

all of this is gonna play out, for real, exactly the way I'm calling it.

just as this month wanes out and the next one's clocking in,

he'll make it back home, and he'll collect on whoever

is out here disrespecting his wife and his golden boy."

And then you fired back at him, Eumaeus, my swineherd guy:

and Odysseus is never coming home: so just chill,

drink, and let's keep our minds on something else, and don't

keep bringing this up: because honestly the heart inside my chest

goes to pieces every time somebody reminds me of my loyal lord.

may he come back, the way I want it, and Penelope wants it,

and old man Laertes, and godlike Telemachus too.

But right now it's the boy I can't stop grieving over, the one Odysseus fathered,

Telemachus. After the gods raised him up like a young sapling,

than his own dear father, gorgeous in build and looks to match,

well, one of the immortals scrambled the steady sense inside him,

or maybe some human did, and off he went chasing news of his dad

to holy Pylos: and the proud suitors are lying in ambush

godlike Arceisius nameless clean off Ithaca.

But you know what, let's leave the kid alone too, whether he gets nabbed

or whether he slips away and the son of Kronos holds a hand over him.

But come on, old timer, spill me your own troubles, all of them,

who are you and where from? Where's your city and your folks?

What kind of ship did you pull up on? And how did the sailors

bring you to Ithaca? Who'd they claim to even be?

Because there's no way I think you got here on foot, let's be real."

"Alright then, I'll lay all of this out for you super straight.

I just wish the two of us had food sorted for ages

and sweet wine too, parked here inside the hut,

to feast in peace while others got on with the work:

and still not finish telling you the griefs of my heart,

all the suffering I've slogged through by the gods' will, every bit.

I'm proud to say my bloodline comes out of broad Crete,

the son of a loaded man: and plenty of other

legit ones from his wife: but me, a bought woman birthed me,

a concubine, yet he honoured me same as his trueborn kids,

Castor son of Hylax, the one I'm proud to claim as my line:

back then he was honoured like a god among the people in Crete,

But you know how it goes, the death-spirits came carrying him off

to the house of Hades: and his sons, those proud-spirited boys,

divided up the living and cast lots over the estate,

but to me they handed barely a scrap and parcelled out a house.

all thanks to my own worth: because I was no useless waste of space,

no battle-dodger: now though, all of that's gone and left me:

but still, I reckon if you look at the stubble you can size up

what the crop once was: because grief's got me clamped down good and proper.

and the muscle to break enemy ranks: any time I'd pick out

the best men for an ambush, planting bad news for the foes,

never once did my proud heart see death coming up ahead,

nah, far out front I'd come leaping and snatch with the spear

That's the kind of guy I was in war: but farm work was never my vibe,

nor running a household, the stuff that raises up shining kids,

nah, what I always loved was oared ships

and wars and polished javelins and arrows,

But to me they were a vibe, the stuff a god slotted into my chest:

because different men get hyped on different kinds of work.

See, before the sons of the Achaeans even set foot on Troy,

nine times I'd led men and fast-running ships

Out of that haul I'd pick what suited me, and a whole lot more

fell to me by lot: my house shot up rich in no time, and after that

I was a feared and respected figure among the Cretans.

But once wide-thundering Zeus cooked up that hateful journey,

that's when they ordered me and famous Idomeneus

to lead the ships to Ilios: and there was no way

to wriggle out of it, the people's harsh word had me boxed in.

So there we sons of the Achaeans fought it out nine years,

back home with the ships, but a god scattered the Achaeans.

And for poor little me, Zeus the schemer was plotting trouble:

because I only stuck around one month, kicking it with my kids

and my wedded wife and my stuff: but after that

once I'd rigged the ships up nice, with godlike crewmates.

I fitted out nine ships, and the people gathered up fast.

Then for six straight days my trusty crewmates

feasted: and I was the one laying out loads of sacrificial beasts

On the seventh we boarded up and pushed off from broad Crete,

sailing on a North Wind, fresh and fair and gusting fine,

easy as cruising downstream: and not a single one

of my ships took any damage, no, safe and sound and healthy

On the fifth day we reached the fair-flowing river of Egypt,

and I anchored my curved ships right there in the Egyptian river.

And there, see, I told my trusty crewmates

to hang back by the ships and keep watch over them,

but they, caving to their own arrogance, chasing their own hunger for it,

went straight to work trashing the gorgeous fields

of the Egyptian men, hauling off the women and little kids,

and slaughtering the men themselves: and quick as anything the screaming hit the city.

came pulling up: and the whole plain got packed out with foot-soldiers and horses

of bronze flashing everywhere. And right in the thick of it Zeus, the one who gets off on hurling lightning,

chucked a nasty wave of pure panic onto my boys, and not one of them had the nerve

to stand and hold the line: because the bad vibes had us boxed in from every angle.

and the rest got hauled off alive, forced to grind as slaves for the rest of their days.

But me, Zeus himself slipped this one idea straight into my head,

honestly I lowkey wish I'd just died and met my fate right then,

out there in Egypt: because there was still way more pain waiting to ambush me later.

and the shield off my shoulders, and chucked the spear clean out of my hand,

and I rolled right up in front of the king's chariot horses,

grabbed his knees and kissed them: and he covered for me and actually felt for me,

sat me up in his chariot and drove me home while I was full-on crying.

properly itching to finish me off: because they were heated past belief.

But that man kept them off me, scared of Zeus's wrath, you know,

Zeus who guards guests, the one who gets the most furious at foul plays.

So there I stayed for seven whole years, and stacked up a fat bag

But once the eighth year came rolling round on me, full circle,

that's when a Phoenician guy pulled up, a man who knew every con in the book,

a proper grifter, who'd already done a load of people dirty in his time:

he sweet-talked me with his slick brain and dragged me along, till we landed in

And I stayed there beside him for one full year, the seasons doing their lap.

But once the months and the days had all run themselves out,

the year cycling back round again and the seasons coming back on shift,

he loaded me onto a sea-crossing ship bound for Libya,

but the real plan was to sell me off out there and cash in some unreal price.

So I followed him onto the ship, fully clocking the scam, but I had zero choice.

And she ran on with the north wind, fresh and strong and lovely,

out over the middle of the sea past Crete: but Zeus was plotting our ruin.

land in sight, just sky and sea and nothing else,

that's when the son of Kronos parked a dark navy cloud

right over our hollow ship, and the sea went all murky underneath it.

And Zeus let the thunder rip and slammed a lightning bolt straight into the ship:

the whole thing filled up with sulphur smoke: and everybody got chucked out of the ship.

And they bobbed around the black ship like a bunch of seabirds,

tossed about on the swells: and the god cancelled their comeback right there.

But me, even with all the pain locked in my chest, Zeus himself

straight into my hands, so I could maybe dodge disaster one more time.

So I wrapped myself round it and got carried off by the deadly winds.

Nine days I got dragged along, and on the tenth, in the black of the night,

a great big rolling wave nudged me up against the land of the Thesprotians.

the hero, free of charge: because his own son came across me

wrecked by the cold and the exhaustion and walked me to his house,

hauling me up by the hand, until we reached his father's halls:

and he wrapped me up in a cloak and tunic, proper clothes.

he'd hosted him and treated him right on his way back to his homeland,

and he even showed me the loot, all the treasure Odysseus had stacked up,

the bronze and the gold and the iron worked with so much sweat.

And honestly it could keep some other guy fed all the way to the tenth generation:

And he said the man had gone off to Dodona, so he could hear straight from the god,

from the tall leafy oak, what Zeus's actual game plan was,

on how he should head back to Ithaca's rich open land,

seeing as he'd been gone forever, whether he should roll in loud or sneak in quiet.

that the ship was hauled down to the water and the crew was prepped and ready,

the ones who'd ferry that man back to his beloved homeland.

But he packed me off first: because a Thesprotian ship just happened

to be heading out for Dulichium, where the wheat grows thick.

nice and careful: but a wicked little plan landed sweet in their heads

about me, so I'd be dragged all the way to rock bottom of misery.

But once the sea-crossing ship had sailed a fair stretch from the land,

right away they started cooking up a day of slavery for me.

and threw some other rag over me, a sorry one, and a tunic,

all torn up, the same ones you can see on me with your own eyes right now.

And by evening they reached the fields of sunny clear-skied Ithaca.

There they lashed me down tight inside the well-benched ship

and rushed off to grab a quick supper down on the shore of the sea.

But for me the gods themselves bent the knot loose,

easy as anything: and wrapping the rag over my head,

I slid down the polished gangplank and lowered my chest into the sea,

swimming, and real quick I was out and clear, way off past them.

There I climbed up where there was a thicket of forest in full bloom,

and lay there crouched down low. They went stomping around,

groaning loud: but since it just didn't seem worth the trouble

onto the hollow ship: and the gods themselves hid me away,

easy as that, and guided me along and pulled me up at the steading

of a switched-on man: because clearly it's still my fate to keep living."

Then you came back at him with this, Eumaeus the swineherd:

spilling all this, each piece of it, everything you went through and wandered.

But this part's off the script, I reckon, you're not gonna convince me,

talking about Odysseus. Why's a man like you gotta

lie for absolutely no reason? I know it well enough myself,

every last one, since they didn't take him down among the Trojans

or in the arms of his people, after he'd wrapped up the whole war.

Then all the Achaeans together would've built him a tomb,

and he'd have racked up massive clout for his son down the line.

Meanwhile I'm posted off here by the pigs, keeping to myself: I don't even

head into town, unless maybe switched-on Penelope

calls me up to come, whenever some news pulls in from somewhere.

But the rest of them sit round him and grill him on every detail,

and the ones who are buzzing, eating up his livelihood for free:

but for me, it's no fun anymore to ask around or dig,

not since an Aetolian guy played me dirty with his story,

who'd killed a man and wandered over loads of country

He swore he'd seen the man in Crete, hanging with Idomeneus,

fixing up the ships that the storms had busted to pieces for him:

and he said he'd be back either by summer or by harvest time,

hauling loads of treasure, rolling deep with his godlike crew.

don't be buttering me up with lies or trying to put a spell on me:

because that's not why I'm gonna respect you or treat you kind,

nah, it's out of fear for Zeus who guards guests, and out of straight-up pity for you."

Then big-brain Odysseus came back at him with this:

the way I couldn't even reel you in with an oath, couldn't talk you round.

But come on, let's draw up a proper deal, and after this

let the gods be witnesses for both of us, the ones who run Olympus.

If your master actually comes back home to this place,

on my way to Dulichium, the place my heart's been set on:

but if your master doesn't come back the way I'm telling you,

sic the servants on me and chuck me off a great big cliff,

so the next beggar thinks twice before running his mouth with cons."

"Guest, that would honestly be a real clout move and a good name for me

among people, both right now and forever after,

if after I led you to my hut and handed you guest-treats,

I then turned around and killed you and ripped the dear life out of you:

But anyway it's suppertime now: I hope my crew rolls in

real soon, so we can rustle up a tasty supper in the hut."

So the two of them were going back and forth like this,

and right up close the pigs and the swineherd men came strolling in.

and an absolute racket went up from the pigs settling into their pens.

Then the goat of a swineherd called out to his own crew:

"Bring up the best of the hogs, so I can sacrifice it for the guest

who's come from far away: and we'll get a little something out of it too, since we're the ones

while other men eat up all our hard work for free, no payback."

Saying this he split the firewood with the pitiless bronze:

and they led in a hog, properly fat, five years old.

Then they stood it up at the hearth: and the swineherd, no joke,

so as the first offering he tossed bristles from the head into the fire,

the white-tusked hog's, and he prayed it up to all the gods

for big-brain Odysseus to make his comeback home.

Then he reared back and clubbed it with an oak log he'd left from chopping:

and butchered it quick: and the swineherd laid out raw cuts,

a piece from every limb to start, wrapping them in rich fat.

And those he chucked in the fire, after dusting them with barley meal,

then they carved the rest up and skewered it onto the spits

and dumped it onto the carving boards in a heap. And the swineherd

stood up to portion it out: because his head was full of the right way to do things.

And he split the whole lot into seven shares, carving it up clean:

one share he set aside for the Nymphs and for Hermes, Maia's son,

and he honoured Odysseus with the long cuts off the chine,

the white-tusked hog's, and it gassed up the master's whole spirit.

And big-brain Odysseus found his voice and hit him with this:

"Eumaeus, I hope you end up as beloved to Father Zeus

Then you came back at him with this, Eumaeus the swineherd:

"Eat up, you blessed mess of a guest, and enjoy this spread,

whatever's on hand: the god will hand out the one thing and hold back the other,

whatever his heart's feeling: because honestly he can pull off anything."

and poured out the gleaming wine, then placed it in the hands

of Odysseus the city-sacker: and he sat down by his own portion.

And Mesaulius dished out the bread for them, the one the swineherd

had bought for himself, all on his own, while the master was off and gone,

he'd bought him with his own wealth off the Taphians.

So they all sent it on the good food laid out ready in front of them.

But once they'd killed the craving for drinking and eating,

Mesaulius cleared the bread away, and they made a break for bed,

And the night rolled in, a nasty one, pitch-black no-moon: and Zeus poured rain

the whole night through, and the west wind howled, the soggy big-blowing kind.

Then Odysseus spoke up among them, testing the swineherd a little,

to see if maybe he'd peel off his own cloak and hand it over, or get one

"Hear me out now, Eumaeus and the rest of you crew,

I'm gonna say one boastful little thing: it's the wine making me do it,

the trickster wine, the stuff that gets even a big-brain guy to sing

and to giggle real soft and gets him up dancing,

But anyway, since I've already blurted it out, I'm not gonna bottle it now.

Man, I wish I was young again and my strength was locked in solid,

like back when we set up the ambush and ran it down under Troy.

Odysseus and Atreus's son Menelaus were running the show,

But once we'd crept up to the city and the steep high wall,

we hunkered down round the town in the thick brushwood,

in among the reeds and the marsh, crouched low under our armour,

and we just lay there, and a nasty night rolled in once the north wind dropped,

icy, and ice crusted up all over our shields.

There everybody else had cloaks and tunics on them,

and they slept easy, shoulders all wrapped up in their shields:

but me, like a clown I'd left my cloak behind with my mates

so I'd come along with nothing but my shield and a shiny loincloth.

But when the night had hit its last third and the stars had wheeled over,

that's when I gave Odysseus a nudge, since he was right next to me,

jabbing him with my elbow: and he snapped awake straight away:

I'm not gonna be among the living much longer, the cold's

absolutely finishing me off: because I've got no cloak, some power tricked me

into setting out in just my tunic: and now there's no escaping it.'

That's what I said, and then he got this one idea locked in his mind,

and dropping his voice down real low he hit me with this:

'Quiet now, before any of the other Achaeans catches you.'

He spoke, then propped his head on his elbow and said this:

'Listen up, lads: a divine dream just came to me in my sleep.

to go tell Agamemnon, Atreus's son, shepherd of the people,

to see if he'll rally more men down by the ships to come up here.'

That's what he said, and Thoas, Andraemon's son, jumped right up,

quick as anything, and flung off his crimson cloak,

real happy, and lay there till Dawn pulled up on her golden throne.

So yeah, I wish I was young again and my strength was locked in solid:

then somebody in this swineherd steading would hand me a cloak,

out of both reasons, kindness and respect for a decent man:

Then you came back at him with this, Eumaeus the swineherd:

"Old man, that's a flawless little tale you've laid out for us,

and nothing in it was off the script or wasted breath:

so you won't go short on clothing or anything else,

not for tonight: but come morning you'll be shaking out your own rags.

Because we don't exactly have loads of spare cloaks and swap-out tunics

to wear round here, each man's just got the one.

But once Odysseus's beloved son rolls in,

and send you off wherever your heart and spirit are telling you to go."

Saying this he jumped up and set a bed for him near the fire,

and threw down sheepskins and goatskins on top.

That's where Odysseus crashed: and he tossed a cloak over him,

to throw on whenever some monster of a storm kicked off.

So that's where Odysseus bedded down, and right beside him

the young lads bedded down too. But the swineherd wasn't feeling

sleeping there, in a bed away from the hogs,

because the man cared so hard about his livelihood while he was gone.

First off he slung the sharp sword round his sturdy shoulders,

then wrapped a cloak around himself, a real thick wind-blocker,

and grabbed the fleece of a big well-fed goat,

And off he went to crash where the white-tusked hogs

were sleeping under a hollow rock, tucked out of the north wind's blast.