Book XXIV · Ῥαψωδία ω

And Hermes of Cyllene was out there summoning the ghosts up, full ritual mode,

the souls of the suitors: he had that staff locked in his grip the whole time,

the gorgeous golden one, the one he uses to charm the eyes right shut on a man,

whoever he feels like, and to jolt the others wide awake straight out of sleep:

with that he waved them moving, and they trailed him, squeaking the whole way down.

go flapping about, squeaking their heads off, the second one of them drops loose

off the rock from the cluster where they're all clinging onto each other,

that's how those souls went, squeaking along in a string: and leading the way for them was

Hermes the kind one, walking them down the dank, mouldering back-paths.

and past the gates of Helios and the whole district of Dreams

they went: and quick as that they hit the meadow of asphodel,

where the souls are posted up, those ghostly shadows of the worn-out dead.

And there they clocked the soul of Achilles, son of Peleus,

and Ajax, who was built the best of anybody in looks and frame

out of every other Danaan after Peleus's flawless boy.

So that whole crowd was gathered round him: and pulling up close

came the soul of Agamemnon, son of Atreus, heavy with it,

gone down in Aegisthus's house and met their fate right there beside him.

And the soul of Peleus's son was the first to speak up to him:

"Son of Atreus, we always reckoned that out of all the hero men

you were the one Zeus, who's mad for the thunderbolt, held dearest, day in day out,

in the land of the Trojans, where we Achaeans soaked up all that pain.

But yeah, turns out even you had it lined up to run into

that deadly fate good and early, the one nobody born ever dodges.

If only you'd cashed out on the honour you held while you were still on the throne,

then all the Achaeans together would've heaped you up a tomb,

and you'd have handed your son massive glory down the line:

but as it stands, you got dealt the most pitiful death there is, no mercy."

Then the soul of Atreus's son came back at him with this:

you who went down at Troy, miles from Argos: and around you the others

kept dropping, the best sons of the Trojans and the Achaeans both,

scrapping it out over your body: while you, in that swirling cloud of dust,

just lay there sprawled out massive in your hugeness, done forgetting the chariot days.

on the war at all, if Zeus hadn't shut the thing down with a storm.

But once we'd hauled you off to the ships and out of the fighting,

we laid you out on a bed, after we'd washed your gorgeous skin clean

with warm water and oil: and all around you the Danaans

And your mother came rising up out of the sea with the deathless sea-nymphs

the second she caught wind of the news: and an eerie wail went rolling out

over the water, full supernatural, and a shiver ripped through all the Achaeans.

And right then they'd have jumped up and bolted for the hollow ships,

Nestor, whose advice had always landed as the cleanest one before:

he, thinking it through for everybody's good, took the floor and let it out:

'Hold it right there, Argives, don't you dare run, you young Achaeans.

This here's his own mother coming up out of the sea

That's what he said, and the big-hearted Achaeans choked the panic back down.

And around you the daughters of the old man of the sea took their stand,

sobbing their pitiful hearts out, and dressed you up in immortal robes.

And all nine of the Muses, trading off in that gorgeous voice,

of the Argives with dry eyes, that's how hard the clear-voiced Muse hit them.

And for seventeen straight nights and days, no break in it,

we wept over you, the deathless gods and us mortal folk alike:

and on the eighteenth we handed you over to the fire: and over you

And you burned wrapped in the robes of the gods, in heaps of oil

and sweet honey: and loads of Achaean heroes

geared up in their armour and paraded round the burning pyre,

foot soldiers and chariot men both: and a massive roar went up.

come dawn we gathered up your white bones, Achilles,

in straight-no-chaser wine and oil. And your mother handed over

a golden urn: she swore it was a gift from Dionysus,

the handiwork of the famous Hephaestus himself.

mixed in with dead Patroclus, son of Menoetius,

but set apart from Antilochus, the one you honoured above everyone

out of the rest of your boys after Patroclus had gone down.

And then around all of them a huge, flawless tomb

right on a jutting headland out over the wide Hellespont,

so it'd show up plain from way out at sea for men,

the ones knocking about now and the ones who'll come after.

And your mother went and asked the gods for gorgeous prizes

By now you've pulled up to the funeral of plenty of hero men,

when, after some king's dropped dead and gone,

the young ones strap up and lock in to compete for the prizes:

but those ones would've gagged you the most, laying eyes on them,

silver-footed Thetis: because you were properly beloved of the gods.

So even dead you didn't fumble your name, no, forever

your good fame's gonna run across all mankind, Achilles:

but me, what joy is even in this for me, now that I grinded out the whole war?

under the hands of Aegisthus and my own cursed wife."

So those two were trading lines like this, back and forth:

and pulling up close came the messenger, the Argus-slayer himself,

leading down the souls of the suitors that Odysseus put under.

And the soul of Agamemnon, son of Atreus, clocked

the dear son of Melaneus, the much-hyped Amphimedon:

because he'd been a guest-friend, posted up in his house over in Ithaca.

And the soul of Atreus's son was the first to speak up to him:

all handpicked and all the same age? You couldn't possibly

go comb a whole city and round up a finer batch of men any other way.

Was it Poseidon who took you down out there on the ships,

whipping up nasty winds and towering walls of wave,

while you were out rustling their cattle and their fine flocks of sheep,

or scrapping over their city and their women?

Tell me, since I'm the one asking: I'm proud to call myself your guest-friend.

Don't you remember when I came down there to your place,

to Ilion on the well-benched ships, the whole crew of us?

And it took a solid month to cross the entire wide sea,

seeing as we could barely talk Odysseus the city-wrecker into coming at all."

Then the soul of Amphimedon came back at him with this:

I remember the whole thing, your majesty, exactly how you're laying it out:

and I'm gonna spill all of it for you, every detail, zero filter,

the grim ending of how we died, the way it all went down.

We were out there courting the wife of Odysseus, the man gone forever:

just quietly plotting our death and our dark doom the whole time,

while she cooked up this one other trick deep in her head:

she set up a massive loom in the halls and got to weaving,

this fine, oversized thing: and straight off the bat she told us:

hold up, ease off rushing my marriage, just until I finish off

this cloak, so my thread doesn't all unravel for nothing,

a burial shroud for the hero Laertes, for whenever

the deadly fate of long-aching death finally takes him down,

if a man who racked up that much wealth lies there with no shroud.'

That's what she said, and our proud spirits straight up bought it.

And there she'd be, weaving the big loom all through the day,

then unravelling it by night, soon as she'd got the torches set up beside her.

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

the months wearing away, and loads of days got ticked clean off,

that's when one of the women told us, the one who knew the real deal,

and we caught her in the act, unravelling that glorious cloth.

And right when she showed us the cloak, the big loom done at last,

washed and shining like the literal sun or the moon,

that's when some cruel spirit dragged Odysseus in from somewhere

out to the edge of the farmland, where the swineherd was living.

rolling in from sandy Pylos on his black ship:

and the two of them, after rigging up a nasty death for the suitors,

came down to the famous town, well, Odysseus

came later, but Telemachus led the way out front.

looking like some wretched beggar and an old man,

leaning on a stick: and those grim rags hung off his body:

and not one of us could clock who he actually was,

turning up out of nowhere, not even the older heads among us,

But he just took it all on the chin in his own halls,

getting hit and slammed with insults, keeping his temper on lock:

but when the mind of Zeus who holds the aegis finally got him moving,

together with Telemachus he hauled the gorgeous gear off

then with that big brain of his he told his wife to set out

the bow for the suitors and the grey iron right with it,

as a contest for us doomed men and the kickoff of the slaughter.

And not one of us could string that mighty bow,

But the second the great bow came round into Odysseus's hands,

right then we all started shouting him down, the whole lot of us,

told him not to hand the bow over, no matter how much he ran his mouth,

but Telemachus, him alone, hyped him on and gave him the green light.

strung the bow easy as breathing and sent it clean through the iron:

and he stood up on the threshold and tipped out the swift arrows,

glaring something terrifying, and he dropped king Antinous first.

And then he kept loosing those groan-bringing shafts at the rest of us,

And it was obvious as anything one of the gods was backing his play:

because right away, charging through the halls in their fury,

they kept killing left and right, and an ugly groaning went up

from heads getting caved in, and the whole floor was steaming with blood.

our bodies are lying there neglected in the halls of Odysseus:

because the loved ones back in each man's house don't even know yet,

the ones who'd wash the black gore off our wounds

and lay us out and mourn us properly: that's the one honour owed the dead."

"Lucky son of Laertes, Odysseus, you eternal schemer,

no joke, you landed yourself a wife with massive worth:

that's how solid the head sat on flawless Penelope,

daughter of Icarius, how well she kept Odysseus on her mind,

will never die, no, the deathless gods will craft for the people on earth

a lovely song for level-headed Penelope,

not like the daughter of Tyndareus, who plotted vile deeds,

murdering the man she'd wed, and a hateful song

down to all womankind, even the one who's actually good."

So those two were trading lines like this, back and forth,

standing in the house of Hades, way down in the hidden depths of the earth:

meanwhile those others, once they'd headed down out of the city, quick reached the farmland,

once grafted for and got, Laertes, after he'd put in serious work.

That's where his house was posted, and round it on every side ran a shed,

where they used to eat and sit and crash for the night,

the bound servants, the ones who put in the work he liked:

the old man with proper care out on the farm, miles from the city.

And there Odysseus laid the whole plan out to his servants and his son:

"You lot, head on inside the well-built house now,

and quick, take down the best pig for dinner:

see if he clocks me and pieces it together with his own eyes,

or if he won't have a clue, what with me being gone so long."

Saying this he handed the servants the gear of war.

And after that they made smartly for the house, but Odysseus

And he didn't find Dolius heading down into the big orchard,

not him, not a single servant, not one of the sons: nah, those ones

were off gathering up stones to wall the orchard in,

and the old man was the one leading them down the road.

spading round a sapling: and he had a filthy tunic on him,

patched and shabby, and round his shins he had

stitched leather greaves strapped on, keeping the scrapes off,

and gloves on his hands because of the brambles: and up top

And when that goat who's been through it, Odysseus, clocked him,

worn right down with old age, hauling massive grief in his chest,

he stood under a towering pear tree and let the tears just roll.

And then he turned it over in his mind and in his chest,

every single thing, how he'd made it home and reached his own soil,

or to grill him first and put him through the test.

And mulling it over, this seemed the smarter play to him:

to feel him out first with some cutting, needling words.

Now the old man, head down, was digging away round the sapling:

and his golden boy pulled up beside him and spoke:

"Old man, it's no lack of skill that's got you tending

this orchard, nah, the upkeep's properly on point, there's not a single thing,

not the pear tree, not one garden bed, that's been left to slide.

But I'll tell you something else, and don't take it as me coming for you:

the upkeep on yourself, though, that's not good, nah, on top of your grim

old age you're hauling, you look filthy and you're dressed in rags.

and there's nothing slave-coded about you when I clock

your build and your size: nah, you look like a kingly man, full stop.

You look like the kind of guy who, once he's washed up and eaten,

ought to sleep soft and easy: because that's the proper due for old men.

whose servant are you? Whose orchard are you out here tending?

And spill me this honestly too, so I actually get the deal,

whether it's true this place I've pulled up to is Ithaca, like that guy

told me, the one who ran into me just now on my way coming through,

every detail or even hear me out when I asked

about my guest-friend, whether he's somewhere alive and still out there,

or already gone, down in the house of Hades.

Because I'll tell you straight, so lock in and take it in:

who pulled up to our place, and never has any other mortal

of guests from far-off lands rolled up dearer to my house:

and he was proud to claim his line ran straight out of Ithaca, and he kept saying

his father was Laertes, son of Arceisius, no less.

treating him real warm, seeing as the house was fully stacked back then,

and I slid him guest-gifts too, the kind of stuff that fits the occasion:

I handed him seven talents of well-worked gold, no skimping whatsoever,

and I slid him a mixing-bowl too, the whole thing pure silver and flowered all over, an absolute serve,

and the same count of fine wraps, and stacked on top of that lot, that many tunics again,

and then, kept separate, four women who absolutely know their craft, flawless hands on them,

proper stunners every one, the ones he got to handpick himself, no settling."

And his old man came back at him with the tears just leaking down his face:

but it's bullies running it now, savage entitled men who've got the place on lock.

And all those gifts, the thousands you handed over? Straight up wasted, fully for nothing,

because if you'd caught him breathing somewhere out in the Ithacan ends,

he'd have matched you gift for gift and sent you packing happy, no question,

But come on, tell me this and lay it out for me dead straight:

how many years has it actually been since you hosted that guy,

your unlucky guest, my own kid, if there ever even was one, my boy?

Doomed lad: somewhere far from his people and his home soil

he turned into a snack for the beasts and the birds: and his own mother

never wrapped him for burial or wept over him, nor did his father, us who made him,

nor his deep-dowried wife, switched-on Penelope, none of us,

ever wailed over her man on his bier the way it should've gone down,

And spill me this honestly too, so I can actually clock the deal:

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

And where's that fast ship parked, the one that hauled you and your

godlike crew here? Or did you pull up as a paying passenger

Then Odysseus, the big-brain who's always three moves ahead, fired back at him:

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

I'm out of Alybas, where I've got a famous house posted up,

son of lord Apheidas, who's son of Polypemon himself,

knocked me off course out of Sicania and washed me up here, fully against my will,

and my ship's parked out in the sticks, away from the city.

But as for Odysseus, yeah, this is the fifth year running now

since he peaced out of that place and dipped out of my homeland,

on the right and everything, so I was buzzing sending that man on his way,

and he was buzzing heading out too: and both our hearts were fully expecting

to link back up as guest-friends and trade some glorious gifts down the line."

That's what he said, and a black cloud of grief just swallowed Laertes whole:

and poured it down over his grey head, sobbing nonstop, gutted to the bone.

And Odysseus felt his chest crack wide open, and up through his nose already

a sharp sting came punching as he clocked his dear dad in that state.

He lunged in, threw his arms right round him, kissed him, and let the words fly:

I've touched down on my homeland in the twentieth year, no cap.

But pump the brakes on the crying and the tears and the wailing,

because I'm about to spell it all out, and we genuinely need to move fast:

I bodied the suitors in our own halls, every last one,

Then Laertes came back at him and finally found his voice:

"If you really are Odysseus, my kid, the one who's pulled up here,

then drop me a sign right now, something dead obvious, so I can actually buy it."

Then Odysseus, the big-brain who's always three moves ahead, came back at him with this:

the one a boar carved into me with its white tusk up on Parnassus

when I'd gone off out there: because you and my queen of a mother sent me out

to my mum's dad Autolycus, so I could go collect those

gifts he'd promised me and nodded on when he came rolling through.

the ones you handed me back when I was begging you for each single one

as a little kid, trailing right behind you through the garden: and we walked

straight through them, and you named every one off and gave me the rundown.

You gave me thirteen pear trees and ten apple trees,

said you'd give me fifty, and every single one

ripening at its own time, with grapes of all kinds hanging heavy

once the seasons of Zeus came down weighing on them from above."

That's what he said, and right there Laertes's knees and dear heart just went,

he flung both arms round his dear son: and Odysseus, that goat who's been through it,

pulled him in close as the old man was straight up passing out.

But once he caught his breath and the spirit gathered back into his chest,

he answered him again and let the words come rolling out:

if the suitors genuinely paid the whole bill for their reckless arrogance.

But now I'm scared sick deep in my chest that pretty soon the lot of them,

all the Ithacans, are gonna come marching here, and they'll fire off

the news everywhere, to every single city of the Cephallenians."

"Chill, dad, don't let that one rattle around your head.

Let's just roll to the house that's posted up close to the orchard:

I already sent Telemachus on ahead, plus the cowherd and the swineherd,

so they'd get dinner sorted fast as humanly possible."

And when they pulled up at the well-built halls,

they found Telemachus and the cowherd and the swineherd

carving up loads of meat and mixing the sparkling wine.

Meanwhile big-hearted Laertes, back in his own house,

and she draped a gorgeous cloak round him: and Athena,

pulling up close, padded his limbs back out, this shepherd of the people,

making him bigger than before and thicker built to look at.

He stepped up out of the bath, and his dear son was straight up gagged,

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

"Dad, no joke, one of the forever-living gods has clearly

given you a whole glow-up, your build and your frame and everything."

Then switched-on Laertes came right back at him with this:

the way I was when I took Nericus, that well-built stronghold,

out on the mainland headland, ruling over the Cephallenians,

exactly that build, if only I'd been there yesterday in our halls

with the gear up on my shoulders, posted up and beating back

in the halls, and your heart would've been glowing inside you, dead chuffed."

So the two of them went back and forth, trading it like this.

And the others, once they'd knocked off the work and got the feast laid on,

dropped into their seats in order along the chairs and the thrones.

came old Dolius, and trailing him the sons of that old man,

proper knackered from the fields, because their mother had gone out and called them in,

the old Sicilian woman, the one who fed them and minded the old guy

devotedly, now that old age had grabbed him by the throat.

they froze where they stood in the halls, fully gobsmacked: but Odysseus

laid into them with soft, easy words and said:

"Old man, park yourself for dinner, and shake off the shock, all of you,

because we've been hanging on in the halls for ages, dying to get our hands on the food,

So he said, and Dolius came straight at him with both arms

flung wide, and Odysseus grabbed his hand and kissed it right at the wrist,

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

"Dear guy, since you've made it back to us who wanted it so bad,

all the best to you, big welcome, and may the gods stack blessings on you.

And spill me this honestly too, so I can actually clock the deal:

does switched-on Penelope already know for sure

that you've pulled back up here, or should we fire off a messenger?"

"Old man, she already knows: why stress yourself out with that?"

So he said, and the man dropped right back down onto the polished stool.

And just the same, the sons of Dolius crowded round famous Odysseus,

hyping him with words and latching onto his hands,

So they were busy with dinner in the halls, all sorted:

meanwhile Rumour, the messenger, shot off quick all through the city in every direction,

spreading the grim death and the doom of the suitors far and wide.

And the people, soon as they caught it, came flooding from all over, one from here, one from there,

and each family hauled their own dead out of the halls and buried them,

and the ones from other cities, they shipped each body off

to be carried home, loading them onto the fast boats for the fishermen:

and they themselves headed to the assembly in a crowd, gutted to the core.

Eupeithes got to his feet among them and started talking,

because the grief for his son sat unkillable in his chest and would not let go,

his son Antinous, the very first man Odysseus, that goat, took out:

so weeping for him he spoke up in the assembly and went off:

some of them he led off in his ships, loads of good men,

and he lost the hollow ships and lost the people right along with them,

and the others, soon as he got home, he killed, the best by far of the Cephallenians.

But come on, before this guy speedruns it off to Pylos

let's move: or else we'll be heads-down ashamed for the rest of our lives.

Because this is straight disgrace even for people not born yet to hear about,

if we don't collect payback on the killers of our own sons

and our brothers: there's no way it'd ever sit sweet in my chest

So let's move, before those guys slip across the water first."

So he said, weeping, and pity gripped every last one of the Achaeans.

And right up close came Medon and the godlike bard

out of Odysseus's halls, since sleep had only just let them go,

And switched-on Medon, the one who knew exactly what was up, spoke to them:

"Hear me out now, Ithacans: because Odysseus

did not pull these moves off without the deathless gods backing his play.

I personally laid eyes on an immortal god, the one who was standing

And the immortal god, sometimes posted up out front of Odysseus,

showed up hyping him on, and sometimes spooking the suitors

went tearing through the hall: and they kept dropping in piles."

So he said, and a sickly green dread grabbed every single one of them.

son of Mastor, the one guy who could see what's coming and what's gone:

he, meaning nothing but good, took the floor in the assembly and said:

"Hear me out now, Ithacans, whatever it is I'm about to say.

This whole mess went down because of your own slackness, my guys, fully on you:

to get your sons to knock off their foolishness,

the ones who pulled an absolute massive stunt with their nasty reckless choices,

shredding the property and disrespecting the wife

of a top-tier man: they reckoned he was never coming back.

let's not move, in case somebody catches an l they brought on themselves."

So he said, and they leaped up with a massive uproar,

more than half of them: but the rest stayed put together,

because that speech didn't sit right in their chests, nah, they were

And once they'd strapped the gleaming bronze round their bodies,

they massed up in a crowd out front of the wide-open city.

And Eupeithes led them out, full smooth-brained, no thoughts head empty:

he reckoned he'd collect payback for his son's killing, but he wasn't ever gonna

Meanwhile Athena was talking to Zeus, son of Kronos:

"Father of ours, son of Kronos, lowkey the absolute top of every throne,

answer me, since I'm asking: what's the plan your mind's got hidden in there?

Are you about to crank up even more evil war and brutal fighting,

Then Zeus the cloud-gatherer came back at her with this:

"My child, why you grilling me about all this, why you digging into it?

Wasn't it you who cooked up this whole plan yourself in the first place,

the one where Odysseus comes back and collects on those guys?

Now that Odysseus, that goat, has taken his payback on the suitors,

let them cut faithful oaths, and let him be king forever after,

and us, let's drop a clean forgetting over the killing of the sons

and the brothers: let them love each other all over again

Saying this, he hyped up Athena, who was already itching to go,

and she shot down, diving straight off the peaks of Olympus.

And the others, once they'd put away the craving for the honey-sweet food,

Odysseus, that goat who's been through it, kicked off the talk among them:

So he said: and a son of Dolius headed out, just like he ordered,

and stood on the threshold as he stepped out, and clocked the whole lot of them up close.

And quick as anything he hit Odysseus with these winged words:

"They're literally right here on top of us: come on, let's gear up fast."

four around Odysseus, and the six sons of Dolius:

and in there too Laertes and Dolius pulled the gear on,

grey-haired as they were, fighters by sheer necessity.

And once they'd strapped the gleaming bronze round their bodies,

And right up close to them came Athena, daughter of Zeus,

cosplaying Mentor down to the build and the voice.

Clocking her, Odysseus, that goat who's been through it, was buzzing,

and quick he called over to Telemachus, his dear son:

where men scrap it out and the best ones get sorted from the rest,

don't go shaming your fathers' bloodline, since way back

we've been crushing it in strength and courage all across the earth."

Then switched-on Telemachus came back at him with this:

I'm not gonna shame your bloodline one single bit, like you're saying."

So he said, and Laertes was buzzing and let the words out:

"What kind of day is this for me, dear gods? I'm absolutely made up:

my son and my grandson are out here scrapping over who's the bravest."

"Son of Arceisius, by far the dearest of all my ride-or-dies,

say a prayer to the grey-eyed girl and to Zeus the father,

then quick as anything wind up and let that long-shadowed spear fly."

So she said, and Pallas Athena breathed massive strength straight into him.

then quick as anything wound up and let the long-shadowed spear fly

and tagged Eupeithes clean through the bronze-cheeked helmet.

And it didn't hold the spear off one bit, nah, the bronze punched straight on through:

he went down with a thud, and his gear clattered down round him.

swinging away with their swords and their double-edged spears.

And now they'd have wrecked the whole lot and cancelled every last comeback,

if Athena, daughter of Zeus who holds the storm-shield,

hadn't shouted out with her voice and pulled the whole crowd up short:

so you can split up quick and clean, no more blood spilled."

So said Athena, and a sickly green dread grabbed hold of them:

and out of the hands of the terrified men the gear went flying,

all of it dropping to the ground when the goddess raised her voice:

And Odysseus, that goat who's been through it, let rip a terrifying roar,

gathered himself in tight and swooped like a high-flying eagle.

And right then the son of Kronos hurled down a smoking thunderbolt,

and it dropped in front of the grey-eyed daughter of a mighty father.

"Zeus-born son of Laertes, Odysseus, you who's forever cooking something up,

hold up now, ease off the quarrel of this levelling war,

in case Zeus, son of Kronos, the wide-seeing one, gets heated at you."

So said Athena, and he listened, and his heart was glad deep down.

Pallas Athena, daughter of Zeus who holds the storm-shield,

cosplaying Mentor, right down to the build and the voice.