A Loyal Slave
Leaving the bay, he hiked the rugged path through woodland and across the cliffs; Athena had shown him where to go to find the swineherd. Of all those in Odysseus’ household,
this noble slave cared most about preserving the master’s property. Odysseus
found him as he was sitting out on his porch. His yard was high and visible for miles,
of fieldstones topped with twigs of thorny pear. He built it in the absence of his master, 10
with no help from Laertes or the mistress. Around the yard, he set a ring of stakes,
of wood with bark stripped off. Inside the yard, he made twelve sties all next to one another, for breeding sows, with fifty in each one.
The boars slept outside; there were fewer of them, because the suitors kept on eating them.
The swineherd let them have the fattest boars; just three hundred and sixty still remained.
Their captain kept four fierce half-wild dogs 20
to guard the gate. Now he was cutting oxhide to make himself some sandals. Of his men, three herded up the pigs, and ran around
in all directions; he had sent the fourth
to town to take a pig to those proud suitors.
He had no choice; he had to satisfy their cravings for fresh meat.
Then suddenly the guard dogs saw Odysseus, and rushed towards him with loud barks. He kept his head,
and sank down to the ground and dropped his stick. 30
They would have hurt him terribly, and shamed him on his own property—but acting fast
the swineherd dropped his leatherwork and rushed to chase the dogs away. He yelled at them
and pelted them with stones to make them scatter. And then he told his master,
“My dogs almost ripped you apart, old man! You would have brought me shame, when the gods are hurting me already.
I am in mourning for an absent master,
raising his pigs for other men to eat. 40
My lord is lost and maybe even hungry,
in lands where the people speak in foreign tongues— if he is even still alive, still seeing
the sunlight. Well now, follow me, old man, fill up on food and wine, then tell me where
you come from, and the troubles you have borne.”
The noble swineherd heaped up cushy brushwood, and spread a furry goatskin over it—his own
bed-blanket, thick and warm. Odysseus
sat down and was delighted at this welcome. 50
He said,
“May Zeus and all the deathless gods reward you with your heart’s desire, because you welcomed me so willingly.”
And you, Eumaeus, answered, “One must honor guests and foreigners and strangers, even those much poorer than oneself. Zeus watches over beggars and guests and strangers. What I have to give is small, but I will give it gladly.
Life is like this for slaves: we live in fear,
when younger men have power over us. 60
My real lord is kept from home by gods. He would have taken care of me, and given what kindly owners give to loyal slaves:
a house with land, and wife whom many men would want—as recompense for years of labor
which gods have blessed and made to prosper. Master would have been good to me, if he had stayed
here till old age. He must be dead by now.
Damn Helen and her family! So many
have died for her sake. Master went to Troy, 70
to win back Agamemnon’s honor, fighting the Trojans.”
Then he belted up his tunic and hurried to the pen, and chose two piglets.
Inside he butchered them, singed off the bristles, chopped up the meat and roasted it on skewers. He set it, piping hot, before his guest,
sprinkling barley on the top. He mixed wine in an ivy bowl, as sweet as honey,
and then sat down across from him, and urged,
“Now, guest, eat up! This is a poor slave’s meal: 80
a suckling pig. The suitors eat the hogs.
Their hearts have no compassion! They ignore
the gods, who watch and hate such crimes and bless good deeds and justice. Even cutthroat pirates,
who go to plunder other people’s lands, seizing the spoils that Zeus has granted them, and sail home in a ship filled full of treasure— even they feel the watchful eyes of gods.
These suitors must have heard some god’s voice saying, ‘Odysseus has died.’ So they refuse 90
to go back to their own homes or to arrange suitable marriages. Instead they sit,
wasting his wealth on feasts. Each night and day they butcher sheep, not one but dozens of them, and pour out yet more wine for reckless drinking. Those selfish oafs! My lord was very rich;
no others on the mainland or back here in Ithaca, nor twenty all combined, possessed as much. I will list all of it.
Twelve herds of cattle on the mainland, twelve 100
of sheep, and twelve of pigs, and twelve of goats. He had to hire more laborers to help us.
And out here on the far end of the island, eleven herds of goats are grazing, watched by good men. Every day, a herdsman takes
whichever goat seems fattest and most healthy up to the palace. I, who watch these pigs, must choose the best for them.”
Odysseus gratefully wolfed the meat and drank the wine
in silence. He was hatching plots to ruin 110
the suitors. After he had had enough
to eat, he took the wine-cup he had drunk from, filled it again and gave it to Eumaeus,
who took it gladly. Then Odysseus said,
“Friend, who bought you? This rich, noble man that you describe—who is he? You say he
died in the war for Agamemnon’s honor. Perhaps I know him, since he must be famous.
Zeus and the other gods will be aware
if I have seen him and can bring you news. 120
He traveled widely.”
But the swineherd said, “His wife and son will not trust travelers
who claim to bring them news. Tramps always lie to get a meal—they have no cause to tell
the truth. All those who pass through Ithaca go to my mistress spinning foolish tales.
She welcomes them and questions them, while tears stream from her eyes, and rightly so: a wife
should mourn for her dead husband. Sir, you also
would weave tall tales if you got clothes for it. 130
But in reality, my master’s skin
has been ripped off his bones by birds of prey and dogs; his life is gone. Or he has been eaten at sea by fish; his bones are lying
upon the beach, heaped high with sand. His death is ruin for us all, especially me,
since I will never have so kind a master, however far I go, not even if
I go back to the home of my own parents
who gave me birth and brought me up. I wish 140
that I could see them, in my native land. But I grieve less for my own family than for Odysseus. I miss him so.
I hesitate to call him by his name,
stranger: I would prefer to call him ‘brother,’ even when he is far away, because
he loved and cared for me with so much kindness.”
Odysseus was self-restrained. He said, “My friend, you are so adamant, insisting
that he will not come back. You have no faith. 150
But this is no tall tale: I swear to you Odysseus is on his way. And when
he is in his own house, then I will claim
my prize as messenger—some better clothes.
Till then, I will take nothing, though I need them.
I hate like Hades’ gates the man who caves to poverty, and starts to lie. I swear
by Zeus, and by the welcome that you gave me, and by the hearth of great Odysseus,
where I am going: all this will turn out 160
as I say now. Odysseus will come, within this very cycle of the moon:
between the waning and the waxing time,
he will come home, and pay back all those here who disrespect his wife and noble son.”
You answered him, swineherd Eumaeus, “Sir,
I will not give you this reward, since he
will not come home. Relax and drink. Let us think about other things. Do not remind me.
My heart is troubled when a person mentions 170
my faithful master. Never mind your oath.
I hope he comes, as do Penelope and old Laertes and Telemachus.
May it come true. But I cannot forget
my grief for that poor boy, my master’s son. Thanks to the gods, he grew up like a tree, handsome and strong, as if to match his father when he becomes a man. But somebody
or some god ruined his good sense. He went
to Pylos, seeking news about his father. 180
The suitors lie in wait for when he comes back home, and soon Arcesius’ line
will be wiped out on Ithaca. No more. They may catch him, or he may get away,
kept safe by Zeus. Now tell me, sir, the truth about your own adventures. Where are you from? Where do your parents live? Where is your town? On what boat did you sail here? How did sailors bring you to Ithaca? And who were they?
I know you did not reach this land by foot.” 190
Odysseus said cunningly, “I will
tell you the truth, the whole truth. How I wish we two could sit at ease here in this cottage, and we had food and sweet strong wine to last as long as we desired, while all the work
was done by others! Even if I talked
a whole year, I would not complete the story of everything the gods have made me suffer. Proudly I say, I come from spacious Crete,
the son of wealthy Castor Hylacides, 200
whose sons by his main wife were numerous, raised in his house. My mother was a slave, bought as a concubine, and yet my father respected me like all his other sons.
The Cretan people held him in high honor as if he were a god, since he was rich
and had such noble sons. But fate arrived
to take him down to Hades. Then my brothers selfishly seized his property, and gave
only a tiny part to me, with barely 210
a place to live. But I was not a weakling, or cowardly in fighting. My great skill and talent helped me win a wife who had a decent dowry—all lost now. But you
can see in stubble how the grain once grew, though I am crushed by grief. I have the gift of courage from Athena and from Ares.
Whenever I chose warriors to ambush our enemies, I never thought of death.
I leapt out far in front, and ran to catch them 220
and spear them. That was how I was in war. I did not like farmwork or housekeeping,
or raising children. I liked sailing better,
and war with spears and arrows, deadly weapons. Others may shudder at such things, but gods made my heart love them. People’s preferences are different. Before the Greeks went off
to march on Troy, I led my troops and fleet on nine forays, with great success. I had
my pick of all the spoils, and got much more 230
when we shared out the winnings. Soon my house grew rich; I was a fine, important man
among the Cretans. But far-seeing Zeus arranged that expedition of disaster,
which made so many men collapse and fall.
The people wanted me to sail to Troy with Idomeneus. We had no choice;
their will was strong, constraining us. We Greeks fought for nine years, and in the tenth we sacked
the town of Priam, and sailed home. Some god 240
scattered the Greeks, and I was cursed by Zeus. I stayed for just one month at home, enjoying my children and my wife and my possessions. Some impulse made me want to sail to Egypt, with nine ships and a godlike crew. I rushed
to get the fleet prepared and gather up the men. I paid for many animals,
to kill as sacrifices for the gods
and for the men to cook and eat. We feasted
six days, then on the seventh we embarked 250
and sailed from Crete. A fair north wind was blowing so we could drift on easily, like floating
downstream. No one got sick, and all our ships came through undamaged. We sat tight, and let the wind and pilot guide us over seas.
In five days we had reached the river valley of Egypt; my fleet docked inside the Nile.
I told the loyal men to wait and guard
the ships while I sent scouts to check around
from points of higher ground. But they indulged 260
their own aggressive impulses, and started willfully doing damage to the fields
of Egypt and enslaved the little children
and women, and they killed the men. The news
soon reached the city; people heard the screaming, and right away at dawn, they all arrived.
The plain was filled with warriors on foot, and chariots and gleaming bronze, and Zeus,
the Lord of Lightning, caused my men to panic.
They dared not keep on fighting; danger lurked 270
on every side. Then many of my men
were killed with sharp bronze spears; the rest were taken as slaves to work for them. I wish I too
had died in Egypt! But more pain remained. Zeus put another plan into my mind.
I took my helmet off my head and dropped
my shield and sword, and unarmed I approached the king. Beside his chariot I grasped
his knees and kissed them. He was merciful;
he kept me safe, and took me home with him, 280
riding his chariot. My eyes were wet. Many Egyptians were enraged with me,
and tried to kill me with their spears; the king protected me—he feared the wrath of Zeus, the god of strangers, who hates wickedness.
I stayed there seven years and gained great wealth; all the Egyptian people gave me gifts.
But in the eighth, an avaricious man
came from Phoenicia. He was good at lying,
skilled and well practiced at exploiting people. 290
He tricked me into going off with him back to Phoenicia, where he lived. I stayed
a year, but when the hours and days and months had rolled around again, he made me sail
over the seas to Libya, pretending
that I would go with him to do some trading. His true plan was to sell me for a profit.
I had suspicions, but I climbed on board.
The ship sailed out with fair north wind behind her from Crete out into open sea. But Zeus 300
planned to destroy the crew. On leaving Crete,
no other land was visible, but only
the sea and sky. Zeus set a dark-blue cloud across our ship that cast a shadow over
the sea. He thundered and then hurled a bolt of lightning at the ship. The impact whirled
the ship right round and filled her up with sulfur.
The men fell overboard and all were swept away by waves, like cormorants beside
the dark ship, and gods took away their chance 310
of getting home. But in my desperation Zeus rescued me. He put the sturdy mast into my hands. I clung to it and drifted,
propelled by storm winds for nine days. And on the tenth black night, the rolling waters swept me
towards Thesprotia. There the king, named Pheidon, helped me without expecting recompense
because his son had found me all worn out, chilled by the morning air. He took my hand,
raised me and led me to his father’s house, 320
and dressed me. That was where I heard about Odysseus—the king said he had been
a guest there on his journey home. The king showed me the treasure that Odysseus
had gathered: gold and bronze and hard-worked iron.
The royal stores contained enough to feed his family for ten more generations.
Odysseus, the king said, had gone off to Dodona, to ask the holy oak
what Zeus intended. He had been too long 330
away from fertile Ithaca. He wondered
how best to get back home—in some disguise or openly. The king then swore to me, pouring libations, that he had a boat
prepared and crew picked out, to take him back to his dear homeland. But he sent me first;
it happened some Thesprotians were already sailing towards grain-rich Dulichium.
The king told them to treat me well and take me
to King Acastus. But their hearts preferred 340
to bring me once again to misery. After the ship was out upon the sea,
they plotted to enslave me. They stripped off my cloak and tunic, and tossed me these rags in which you see me now. And when night fell they came to Ithaca’s bright fields, and tied me tightly with rope and left me on the ship,
and quickly went ashore to get some dinner.
The gods themselves unloosed my bonds; they slipped easily off. I pulled my ragged clothes 350
over my head, slid down the smooth ship’s plank and plunged chest-forward in the sea. I swam fast with both arms, and quickly got away.
I came ashore beside a flowering thicket
and huddled there in fear. They stomped around, shouting, but in a while they gave up looking, and got back on the ship. The gods themselves
hid me with ease, and brought me to this cottage— a wise man’s home—because it is my fate
to stay alive.”
Eumaeus, you replied, 360
“Poor guest! Your tale of woe is very moving, but pointless; I will not believe a word
about Odysseus. Why did you stoop to tell those silly lies? I know about
my master’s homecoming. The gods detest him; they loathe him, since they did not let him die at Troy or in his friends’ arms, when the war was winding up, so that the Greeks could build a mound to glorify him and his son
in times to come. The robber-winds have snatched him. 370
He has no glory now. I am a loner;
I live here with the pigs, and do not go to town, except when wise Penelope
calls me to share some news. The people cluster around her, asking questions—some in sorrow about their absent master; others glad
to eat at his expense. I ask no questions, since an Aetolian fooled me with his lies.
He came to my house, saying he had killed
a man in distant parts and run away. 380
I welcomed him. He said that he had seen Odysseus with Idomeneus
in Crete, repairing ships that storms had wrecked. He promised that my lord would come in summer or harvesttime, made rich by heaps of treasure, his crew complete. A god has brought you here; but do not try to trick me or make nice
with lies. I will be kind to you, old man, not for your stories, but in fear of Zeus,
the god of strangers, and because I feel 390
pity for you.”
But sly Odysseus answered, “You are too skeptical! Despite my oath, I see you will not trust me. May the gods of Mount Olympus be our witness that if your master ever comes back home
to this house, you will give me clothes to wear, and help me to Dulichium—I want
to go there. But if he does not arrive,
and I am wrong, your slaves can drive me over the cliff tops, so no other beggar tries 400
to trick you.”
But the upright swineherd answered, “Yes, guest, I would be praised enormously
among all men, now and in times to come, if I took you inside and welcomed you, then murdered you! And doing this,
with what clean conscience could I pray to Zeus? In any case, now it is dinnertime.
My men should come inside, so we can cook delicious food.”
That was their conversation.
In came the herdsmen, and they drove the pigs 410
into their usual pens to rest; there rose
a mighty din of grunting pigs. The noble swineherd addressed his men.
“Bring out the best pig for our guest, who comes from distant lands.
And let us all enjoy ourselves. We suffer in bitter toil for these white-tusked pigs, while others eat the food we labor for, and give us nothing.”
With a keen bronze axe he chopped the wood. They brought a fattened pig of five years old and put it on the altar. 420
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The swineherd’s heart was good: he kept in mind the gods. He shaved the bristles off its head, and threw them in the fire, and prayed to all the gods, that through his ingenuity, his master would come home. He stretched up tall, and used a piece of oaken firewood to strike. The life departed, and they slit the throat and singed the hide, and chopped it up. The swineherd made an offering of meat, laid flesh across the fine rich fat, and put it |
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upon the fire with barley-grain on top, and sliced the rest and put it all on skewers, and roasted it with care, then drew the meat off and heaped it high on platters. Next he stood and served it out in seven equal parts, the first with prayers, for Hermes and the Nymphs, and then he served the others to the men. He gave Odysseus the piece of honor, cut from the spine. His master was delighted, and said, |
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“Eumaeus, may Zeus bless and love you 440 as I do, since you give me such good things.” |
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You answered him, swineherd Eumaeus, “Eat, dear guest; enjoy it, simple though it is. Gods give, gods take away, as is their will; to gods all things are possible.” |
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With that,
he made the sacrifices to the gods,
poured a libation from the bright red wine, then gave Odysseus, the city-sacker,
the cup. At last the swineherd sat to eat.
Mesaulius served the food—that was the slave 450
bought by Eumaeus in his master’s absence, with no help from his mistress or Laertes.
He traded him from Taphians. They all
reached out to take the good things set before them. When they had had enough of food and drink,
Mesaulius cleared things away; the men
were full of bread and meat, and wanting sleep. Night fell, a moonless, bitter night. Zeus rained continually; wet Zephyr blew his hardest.
Odysseus—to test out if Eumaeus 460
was kind enough to take his own cloak off, or tell another man to do it—said,
“Eumaeus and you others, all of you. I want to brag a little. I am dizzy,
under the influence of wine, which makes even the wisest people sing and giggle,
and dance, and say things best not spoken. Since I have begun this blabbering, here goes,
I will be honest. I wish I was young
and strong again! As when we planned an ambush 470
under the walls of Troy—the leading men were Menelaus and Odysseus,
and I was chosen as the third commander. When we had reached the city wall, we lay in bushes, reeds, and marshes, hiding under our shields. Night fell, harsh and icy cold,
with North Wind and a sleetlike snow, so cold the ice grew on our weapons. All the others
had cloaks; they slept in comfort, tucked beneath
their shields. But I had foolishly forgotten 480
my cloak and left it, not expecting cold. I carried just my shield and shining belt.
In the last part of night, as stars were setting, I went near to Odysseus and nudged him.
He listened to me carefully. I said, ‘Your Majesty, Odysseus, great general,
I am about to die from this cold weather!
I have no cloak. Some spirit tricked me into wearing my tunic only; now there is
no way to fix it.’ Instantly he thought 490
of this solution. What a strategist
and fighter! Very quietly he whispered, ‘Hush now, do not let any of the others
hear you.’ He propped his head up on his elbow, and told them, ‘Listen, friends. I had a dream sent by the gods. We moved too far away
from where the ships are. Someone needs to speak to Agamemnon, shepherd of the people,
and tell him to send more troops here.’ At that,
Thoas the son of Andraimon leapt up, 500
took off his purple cloak and sprinted down towards the ships. I snuggled down in comfort under his cloak till golden Dawn shone bright. If only I was young and strong again!
Then one of these pig-keepers on this farm would give a cloak to me, both from respect and friendship. As it is, they all despise me for wearing dirty rags.”
Eumaeus, you replied, “That was a splendid tale, old man!
It worked. You will get all the clothes and things 510
a poor old beggar needs—at least for now. But in the morning, you will have to put your old rags on again. We only have
one outfit each, no spares. My master’s son
will give you clothes when he arrives, and help you to travel on wherever you desire.”
With that, he stood and set a bed for him beside the fire, and threw on it some skins of sheep and goats. Odysseus lay down.
Eumaeus tucked him in a big thick cloak, 520
his extra one, for really bitter weather. Odysseus went to sleep; the young men slept beside him. But the swineherd did not like
to sleep so distant from the pigs; he started to leave. Odysseus was glad the slave
took good care of his absent master’s things.
Eumaeus slung his sharp sword belt across
his well-toned back, and wrapped around himself his windproof cloak and fine big furry goatskin.
He took a sharpened knife to ward away 530
humans or dogs, and he went off to sleep
out where the pigs with silver tusks were sleeping; a hanging rock protected them from wind.
