Book XXIV

1And Hermes of Cyllene was calling out the souls¹

of the suitor-men. He held in his hands the rod,

beautiful, golden, with which he charms men's eyes

to sleep, whose eyes he wills, and wakes others from their slumber;

5with this he set them moving and led them, and they followed, squeaking.

As when bats in the corner of a wondrous cave²

flit squeaking, when one drops off

the chain of them clinging to the rock and to each other:

so these went with him, squeaking; and Hermes

10the kindly led them down along the dank ways.

Past the streams of Ocean they went, past the White Rock,³

past the gates of the Sun and the country of dreams,

and soon they came to the meadow of asphodel,

where the souls have their dwelling — the phantoms of the worn-out dead.⁴

15There they found the soul of Achilles, Peleus' son,

and of Patroclus, and of blameless Antilochus,

and of Ajax, who was first in beauty and in build

of all the Danaans after the blameless son of Peleus.⁵

These were gathered around Achilles; and close to them

20came the soul of Agamemnon, Atreus' son,

grieving; and around him others were gathered — all who died

beside him in Aegisthus' house, and met their fate.

And the soul of Peleus' son spoke to him first:

"Son of Atreus, we used to say that you, of all

25the hero-men, were dear to Zeus who delights in thunder

all your days — because you were lord over many strong men

in the land of the Trojans, where we Achaeans suffered.

And yet it was to you that ruinous doom

would come so early — the doom no man born escapes.

30If only, in the fullness of the honor you were lord of,⁶

you had met your death and fate in the land of the Trojans:

then all the Achaeans together would have made your tomb,

and you would have won great fame for your son hereafter.

As it was, your portion was to be caught by the most pitiful of deaths."

35Then the soul of Atreus' son answered him:

"Blessed son of Peleus, Achilles like the gods,

who died at Troy, far from Argos — and around you the others

fell, the best of the sons of Trojans and Achaeans,

fighting over your body; and you in the swirl of the dust

40lay great in your greatness, your horsemanship forgotten.⁷

And we fought the whole day through, and would never

have ceased from the fighting, had Zeus not stopped us with a storm.

And when we had carried you out of the battle to the ships,

we laid you on a bier, and cleansed your beautiful body

45with warm water and with oil; and over you the Danaans

shed many hot tears, and cut their hair.

And out of the sea your mother came, with the deathless sea-women,

when she heard the news; and a cry went up over the deep,

unearthly — and trembling took hold of all the Achaeans.

50They would have sprung up then and fled to the hollow ships,

had not a man held them back, one deep in old wisdom:

Nestor, whose counsel had shown truest long before.

With good will toward them he spoke out and said:

'Hold, Argives! Do not run, young men of the Achaeans!

55It is his mother coming out of the sea, with the deathless

sea-women, to look on the face of her dead son.'

So he spoke, and the great-hearted Achaeans checked their flight.

And around you stood the daughters of the old man of the sea,

mourning piteously; and they wrapped you in imperishable clothing.

60And the Muses, all nine, answering voice to lovely voice,⁸

sang the dirge. Not one Argive could you have seen

unweeping then, so keen was the clear Muse's song.

Seventeen days together, nights and days alike,

we mourned you — deathless gods and mortal men;

65on the eighteenth we gave you to the fire, and around you

slaughtered fat sheep in plenty and spiral-horned cattle.

You burned in the clothing of the gods, in oil in plenty

and in sweet honey; and many Achaean heroes

moved in armor around your burning pyre,

70men on foot and horsemen, and a great roar went up.

And when the flame of Hephaestus had made an end of you,

at dawn we gathered your white bones, Achilles,

into unmixed wine and oil. Your mother gave

a golden two-eared jar — a gift of Dionysus,⁹

75she said, and the work of famous Hephaestus.

In that lie your white bones, shining Achilles,

mingled with the bones of dead Patroclus, Menoetius' son,

and apart lie Antilochus', whom you honored beyond

all your other companions after Patroclus died.

80And over them all we heaped a great and blameless tomb —

we, the sacred army of Argive spearmen —

on a jutting headland over the broad Hellespont,

so it might be seen far off, from the open sea,

by men now living and by men to come.¹⁰

85And your mother asked the gods for prizes of great beauty

and set them in the middle of the field, for the best of the Achaeans.

You have stood by now at the funeral games of many

heroes — when a king has died, and the young men

belt themselves and make ready for the prizes —

90but had you seen those, your heart would have wondered most:

what beautiful prizes the goddess set out in your honor,

silver-footed Thetis. For you were most dear to the gods.

So not even in death did you lose your name: forever,¹¹

among all mankind, your fame will be noble, Achilles.

95But I? What joy of it had I, when I had wound the war to its end?

On my homecoming Zeus devised a wretched death for me

at the hands of Aegisthus and my accursed wife."

So they spoke to one another of such things.

And the guide came near them, the slayer of Argus,

100leading down the souls of the suitors Odysseus broke;¹²

and the two, amazed, went straight toward them at the sight.

And the soul of Agamemnon, Atreus' son, knew

the dear son of Melaneus, far-famed Amphimedon:

for he had been his guest-friend, with his home in Ithaca.

105The soul of Atreus' son spoke to him first:

"Amphimedon, what has happened to you, that you plunge under the dark earth,

all of you picked men, all of an age? A man choosing

the best in a city could not have chosen better.

Did Poseidon break you in your ships,

110raising cruel winds and long waves?

Or did enemies on land destroy you

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

or as they fought for their city and their women?¹³

Answer what I ask: I declare myself your guest-friend.

115Do you not remember when I came to your house there,

with godlike Menelaus, to urge Odysseus

to follow with us to Ilium on the well-benched ships?

A whole month it took us to cross all that wide sea,

and hard work to win over Odysseus, sacker of cities."¹⁴

120Then the soul of Amphimedon answered him:

"Most glorious son of Atreus, Agamemnon lord of men,

I remember all of it, Zeus-nurtured, as you tell it;

and I will recount to you everything, fully and truly —

the evil end of our death, how it was brought to pass.

125We were courting the wife of Odysseus — of the man so long away.

She neither refused the marriage she loathed, nor would she make an end,

plotting for us death and the black doom;¹⁵

no — here is another trick her heart devised:

she set up a great loom in the halls and wove at it,

130fine-threaded, beyond all measure wide, and told us straightway:

'Young men, my suitors — since noble Odysseus is dead,

wait, though you burn for my wedding, till I finish

this cloth — let my spinning not be wasted on the wind —

a shroud for the hero Laertes, against the day

135the ruinous doom of death that lays men low will take him:

let no Achaean woman in the land hold it against me

that a man who won so much should lie without his winding-sheet.'

So she spoke, and our proud hearts were persuaded.

Then every day she wove at the great loom,

140and every night she unwove it by torchlight.

Three years her trick escaped us, and she kept the Achaeans persuaded;

but when the fourth year came, as the seasons rolled on,

the months waning away, the long tale of days accomplished,

then one of her women, who knew it all, told us,

145and we caught her unweaving the shining web.

So she finished it — against her will, under force.¹⁶

And when she had shown us the robe — the great web woven

and washed — and it shone like the sun or the moon,¹⁷

just then some evil god brought Odysseus from somewhere

150to the border of the land, where the swineherd had his house.

There came also the dear son of godlike Odysseus,

back in his black ship out of sandy Pylos;

and the two of them plotted an evil death for the suitors

and came to the famous town — Odysseus

155later; it was Telemachus who led the way before him.

The swineherd brought the master, in bad clothes on his body,

in the likeness of a beggar, wretched and old,

leaning on a stick, with miserable clothing on his body;

and not one of us could know him for the man he was,

160breaking on us suddenly like that — not even the older men —

no: we went at him with ugly words, and with things thrown.

And he for a while endured it in his own halls,

pelted and taunted, with an enduring heart;

but when the mind of Zeus who bears the aegis roused him,

165with Telemachus he lifted the beautiful armor away

and stowed it in the storeroom and shot the bolts,

and then — his cunning at work — he ordered his wife¹⁸

to set before the suitors the bow and the gray iron,

the contest for us star-crossed men, and the beginning of the slaughter.

170And not one of us could stretch the string

of that strong bow: we fell far, far short of it.

But when the great bow came into Odysseus' hands,

then all of us together shouted out threats

not to give him the bow, however much he pleaded;

175only Telemachus urged him on and commanded it.

And he took it in his hand, much-enduring noble Odysseus,

and strung the bow with ease, and shot through the iron,

and went and stood on the threshold, and poured out the swift arrows,

glaring terribly — and he shot Antinous the king.

180And then he sent his groaning shafts into the others,

aiming straight ahead; and they fell in heaps.

It was plain some god was their helper in the fight:

for storming down the hall in their fury they killed

left and right, and hideous groaning rose

185as heads were smashed, and the whole floor smoked with blood.

So we perished, Agamemnon — and even now

our bodies lie uncared-for in the halls of Odysseus:¹⁹

for the friends in each man's house do not yet know —

the ones who would wash the black gore from our wounds

190and lay us out with wailing: for that is the portion of the dead."

Then the soul of Atreus' son answered him:

"Blessed son of Laertes, Odysseus of the many devices —²⁰

truly you won a wife of great excellence!

How sound the mind of blameless Penelope,

195Icarius' daughter! How faithfully she kept the memory

of Odysseus, her wedded husband! And so the fame of her excellence

will never perish; and the deathless ones will make

a song for those on earth, a song of grace, for steady-hearted Penelope —²¹

not like the daughter of Tyndareus, who plotted evil,

200who killed her wedded husband: a song of loathing

she will be among mankind; and she brings hard fame

on all women — on womankind, even on those who do right."²²

So the two of them spoke to one another of such things,

standing in the house of Hades, under the hidden places of the earth.²³

205And the others — when they had gone down from the city, they soon reached

the beautiful well-worked farm of Laertes, which Laertes himself

had won long ago, when his labors for it were many.²⁴

There was his house, and running all around it the sheds

where the bound slaves ate, and sat, and slept —

210the ones whose labor did his will.

And in the house was an old Sicilian woman, who cared

for the old man devotedly, out on the farm far from the town.

And there Odysseus spoke to the slaves and to his son:

"You now — go inside the well-built house,

215and slaughter for dinner, right away, the best of the pigs;

and I will make a trial of my father —²⁵

whether he will know me, whether his eyes will make me out,

or fail to know a son so long away."

So speaking he handed the slaves his weapons of war.

220They went quickly on into the house; and Odysseus

moved up toward the fruited orchard, testing.

And going down into the great garden he found no Dolius,

none of the slaves, none of the sons: they had gone off

gathering fieldstones for the orchard wall,

225and the old man had led them the way.

So he found his father alone in the well-worked orchard,

spading round a young tree — in a filthy tunic,

patched, disgraceful; round his shins he had bound

stitched leggings of oxhide, to fend off the scratches,

230and gloves on his hands because of the thorns; and on his head

he wore a goatskin cap — feeding his sorrow.²⁶

And when much-enduring noble Odysseus saw him —

broken with old age, the great grief packed inside him —

he stopped beneath a towering pear tree, and wept.²⁷

235Then he weighed it in his mind and in his heart:

to kiss his father, and hold him, and tell him everything —

how he had come, how he had reached his fathers' land —

or question him first, and test him through and through.

And as he weighed it, this seemed to him the better way:

240to try him first with words that bite.

With this in mind, noble Odysseus went straight up to him.

He was holding his head down, spading round his tree,

and standing beside him his shining son spoke to him:

"Old man — no lack of skill in you at tending

245an orchard! Everything is beautifully kept: not one thing —

no plant, no fig tree, no vine, no olive,

no pear tree, no vegetable bed — goes untended in this garden.

But another thing I will say — and do not take anger into your heart:

you — you are not well kept. Hard old age is on you,

250and with it you are shabby with grime, and clothed in disgrace.

It cannot be for idleness that your master neglects you;

and there is nothing of the slave to be seen in you,

in your face or your stature: you look like a kingly man.²⁸

You look like one who, after his bath and his dinner,

255should sleep on softness: for that is the right of the old.

But come, tell me this, and tell it to me truly:

Whose slave are you? Whose orchard do you tend?

And tell me this too, honestly, so that I may know it:

is this land we have come to truly Ithaca, as that man

260told me who met me on the road just now —

not too well furnished in the wits: he had not the patience

to tell me everything or hear out my question

about a guest-friend of mine — whether he lives still,

or is dead by now, and down in the house of Hades.

265For I will tell you this; mark it and hear me:

I once played host, in my own dear country, to a man

who came to our place; and never has another mortal

of all the far-come strangers been more welcome in my house.

He declared his stock was out of Ithaca; he said

270his father was Laertes, Arceisius' son.

So I brought him to the house and gave him welcome,

warm and openhanded — the house had plenty in it —

and I gave him gifts of friendship, such as fitted:

seven talents of well-worked gold I gave him,

275a mixing-bowl all silver, worked with flowers,

twelve single cloaks, as many coverlets,

as many beautiful mantles, tunics with them,

and besides all this, four women skilled in blameless

handwork, good-looking ones — his own choice, whichever he would."²⁹

280And his father answered him, weeping:

"Stranger, you have come indeed to the land you ask for —

but violent men hold it now, men lost to decency.

The gifts you showered on him — the countless gifts — were wasted.

If you had found him alive in the land of Ithaca,

285he would have sent you off well matched in gifts,

well hosted too: that is the law, for whoever begins the kindness.³⁰

But come, tell me this, and tell it to me truly:

how many years is it since you hosted him —

that guest of yours, that luckless man — my son, if he ever was:³¹

290my ill-starred son? Whom, far from his friends and his fathers' land,

either the fish have eaten in the sea, or on dry ground

he has become the spoil of beasts and birds; and his mother

never shrouded and mourned him, nor his father — we who bore him;

nor did his richly dowered wife, steady-hearted Penelope,

295keen over her own husband on the bier, as was fitting,

or close his eyes: and that is the portion of the dead.³²

And tell me this too, honestly, so that I may know it:

What man are you, and from where? Where are your city and your parents?³³

And where is the fast ship standing that brought you here

300with your godlike companions? Or did you come a passenger

on another's ship, which set you down and went on?"

Then Odysseus of the many designs answered him:

"Then I will tell you everything exactly.

I am from Alybas, where I have my famous house:

305son of Apheidas, the son of lord Polypemon;

my own name is Eperitus. But a god³⁴

drove me wandering here from Sicania, against my will,

and my ship stands off the fields, away from the town.

As for Odysseus — this is now the fifth year

310since he went from there, and left my country —

the ill-starred man! And yet the birds were good when he set out:

on the right; and I rejoiced in them as I sent him off,

and he rejoiced as he went. And the heart in both of us hoped

we would meet again as guest-friends, and give each other shining gifts."³⁵

315So he spoke; and a black cloud of grief closed over the old man:

with both hands he scooped up the scorched gray dust

and poured it down over his white head, sobbing thick and fast.³⁶

And the heart of Odysseus was shaken; up through his nostrils

shot the sharp sting of tears — his father before his eyes.³⁷

320He sprang to him, and caught him in his arms, and kissed him:

"Father — I am he. I myself, the man you ask for,³⁸

come home in the twentieth year to my fathers' land.

Stop now — no more weeping, no more tears and mourning.

For I tell you this — and the need to hurry is very great:

325I have killed the suitors in our own halls;

I have punished their heart-stinging outrage and their evil deeds."

Then Laertes answered him and said:

"If you are truly Odysseus — my son — come home,

tell me some sign, some plain one, so I can believe."³⁹

330Then Odysseus of the many designs answered him:

"First — this scar: see it with your own eyes —

where the boar dealt me its white tusk, on Parnassus,

the time I went there. It was you who sent me — you and my honored

mother — to Autolycus, her dear father, to collect

335the gifts he promised me, and nodded to, when he came here.⁴⁰

And then — come — let me tell you the trees in the well-worked orchard

you gave me once. I was begging you for each of them,

a little boy, trailing you through the garden. We wound

among these very trees, and you named them one by one:

340you gave me thirteen pear trees, and ten apple trees,

and forty fig trees; and you named fifty rows of vines

as mine to come, each one ripening in its own turn —

clusters of every kind hanging along them —

whenever the seasons of Zeus came down and weighed them low."⁴¹

345So he spoke; and the old man's knees went slack where he stood, and his dear heart,

as he recognized the tokens Odysseus described so surely.⁴²

He threw his arms around his dear son — and fainting

he was caught against him by much-enduring noble Odysseus.

And when he had got his breath, and the spirit gathered back into his heart,

350once more he found his words, and answered:

"Father Zeus — you gods are still there on high Olympus,⁴³

if truly the suitors have paid for their reckless outrage!

But now the terror in my heart is this: that soon

the men of Ithaca will all come here against us,

355and send out messengers everywhere, to every Cephallenian town."

Then Odysseus of the many designs answered him:

"Courage. Do not let that trouble the heart in your breast.

Come — let us go to the house that stands here by the orchard:

I sent Telemachus ahead there, with the cowherd

360and the swineherd, to make the meal as quickly as they can."

So the two of them talked, and made their way to the beautiful house.

And when they came to the well-settled house,

they found Telemachus and the cowherd and the swineherd

carving meat in plenty and mixing the sparkling wine.

365Meanwhile the great-hearted Laertes, in his own house,

was bathed by the Sicilian serving-woman, and rubbed with oil,

and she threw a beautiful cloak around him; and Athena

came and stood close by, and filled out the limbs of the shepherd

of the people: taller than before she made him, and broader to the eye.

370Out of the bath he came; and his dear son wondered at him,

seeing him face to face like the deathless gods,⁴⁴

and lifting his voice he spoke winged words to him:

"Father — surely one of the gods who are forever

has made you finer to look at, in beauty and in stature!"

375Then Laertes the clear-headed answered him:

"If only — father Zeus, Athena, Apollo! —⁴⁵

such a man as I was when I took Nericus, the strong-built

citadel on the mainland cape, lording it over the Cephallenians —

such a man, in armor, I had stood beside you yesterday

380in our own house, and beaten at the suitor-men:

then I would have unstrung the knees of many of them

there in the halls — and the heart in you would have been glad!"

So they spoke to one another of such things.

And when the others had finished their work and made the meal,

385they sat down in order on the benches and the chairs,

and were just putting their hands to the food, when up came

the old man Dolius, and with him the old man's sons,⁴⁶

tired out from their field-work: their mother had gone out

and called them — the old Sicilian woman, who raised them

390and tended the old man devotedly, now that age had hold of him.

And when they saw Odysseus, and their hearts took it in,

they stopped in the hall, astounded. But Odysseus

fastened on them with gentle words and said:

"Old man — sit down to dinner, and all of you, forget your wonder.

395We have been waiting in the hall a long while, eager

to put our hands to the bread, expecting you every minute."

So he spoke; and Dolius came straight at him, both arms

spread wide; and he caught Odysseus' hand and kissed it at the wrist,⁴⁷

and lifting his voice he spoke winged words:

400"Dear master — since you have come home to us who longed for you

and had given up believing, and the gods themselves have brought you:

health, and all joy to you, and may the gods give you happiness!

But tell me this thing truly, so that I may know it:

does watchful-minded Penelope know already

405that you are home — or shall we send a messenger?"⁴⁸

Then Odysseus of the many designs answered him:

"Old man, she knows already. Why should you be busied with that?"⁴⁹

So he spoke; and Dolius sat back down on the polished stool.

And in the same way the sons of Dolius, around famous Odysseus,

410pressed his hands and welcomed him with words,

and sat down in order beside Dolius their father.

So they were busy with dinner in the house.

But Rumor the messenger went darting through the city everywhere,⁵⁰

crying the hateful death and doom of the suitors.

415And the people heard it all at once, and gathered

from every side, with groans and wailing, before the house of Odysseus.

Each family carried its dead out of the house, and buried them;

and the dead of the other cities they sent home,

laying each man aboard the fishermen's fast ships;⁵¹

420and they went in a body to the assembly-place, grieving at heart.

And when they were assembled, all gathered together,

Eupeithes rose among them and spoke:

for a grief there was no forgetting lay upon his heart —⁵²

for his son, Antinous, the first man noble Odysseus killed;

425weeping for him he rose and spoke among them:

"Friends — a monstrous work this man has wrought against the Achaeans!

Some he led off in the ships — many men, and brave ones —

and he lost the hollow ships, and lost the people;⁵³

and some he has killed on his return — far the best of the Cephallenians.

430Come then — before he can get away quickly to Pylos,

or to shining Elis, where the Epeians hold power —

let us move! Or we hang our heads in shame forever after.

This is a disgrace even for men unborn to hear of,⁵⁴

if we do not take vengeance on the murderers of our sons

435and our brothers. For me — there would be no sweetness left

in living: I would rather die at once and be among the perished.

Move — before they get across the water and away from us!"

So he spoke, weeping; and pity took hold of all the Achaeans.

But now Medon came up to them, and the godlike singer,

440out of the halls of Odysseus, for sleep had let them go;

they stood in the middle of them; and amazement took every man.

And Medon, whose mind knew wisdom, spoke among them:

"Hear me now, men of Ithaca. Not without the will

of the deathless gods did Odysseus devise these things.

445I myself saw a deathless god, who stood

close beside Odysseus, and looked in all things like Mentor;

and this deathless god now showed in front of Odysseus,

heartening him — and now he stormed the hall,

stampeding the suitors; and they fell in heaps."⁵⁵

450So he spoke; and the pale terror took hold of them all.

And the old hero Halitherses spoke among them,

Mastor's son — for he alone saw before and behind:⁵⁶

with good will toward them he spoke out and said:

"Hear me now, men of Ithaca, hear what I say.

455By your own fault, friends, these things have come to pass:⁵⁷

you would not listen to me, nor to Mentor, shepherd of the people,

and make your sons leave off their reckless folly —

your sons who did a monstrous work in their wicked blindness,

shearing away the goods and dishonoring the wife

460of a man of the first rank, saying he would come home no more.

So now — let it rest here. Do as I say:

do not march. Some of us may draw the evil down on his own head."

So he spoke; and more than half leapt up

with a great battle-shout — but the rest stayed there in a body:⁵⁸

465for the word did not please them in their hearts; it was Eupeithes

they followed; and they rushed at once for their weapons.

And when they had cased their flesh in the flashing bronze,

they gathered in a body before the wide-spaced town;

and Eupeithes led them, in his folly:

470he was sure he would avenge the killing of his son — and he was never

to come back again: he was to meet his own fate there.⁵⁹

And now Athena spoke to Zeus, the son of Cronos:

"Father of us all, son of Cronos, highest of the mighty,

answer me when I ask: what is your mind hiding now within?

475Will you push on with evil war and the terrible battle-din,

or set the two sides now in friendship?"⁶⁰

Then Zeus who gathers the clouds answered her:

"My child, why do you ask me? Why question me on this?

Was it not you who framed this plan yourself —

480that Odysseus should come home and pay those men in full?

Do as you will. But I will tell you what is fitting.

Now that noble Odysseus has paid the suitors out,

let them cut faithful oaths — he to be king all his days —

and let us, for our part, set a forgetting of the killing

485of sons and of brothers. Let them love one another

as before; and let wealth and peace be there in plenty."⁶¹

So speaking he stirred Athena — eager long before —

and down she went darting from the peaks of Olympus.

Now when they had put from them the desire for honey-hearted food,

490much-enduring noble Odysseus began among them:

"Someone go out and look — in case they are close, and coming."

So he spoke; and a son of Dolius went out, as he ordered,

and stood on the threshold, and saw them — all of them — near,

and quickly he spoke winged words to Odysseus:

495"Here they are — close! Quick — to arms!"

Up they sprang and got into their armor —

the four around Odysseus, and the six sons of Dolius;

and with them Laertes and Dolius got into armor too,

gray though they were: fighters because they must be.⁶²

500And when they had cased their flesh in the flashing bronze,

they opened the doors and went out; and Odysseus led.

And near them came the daughter of Zeus, Athena,

likened to Mentor in body and in voice;

and much-enduring noble Odysseus was glad at the sight of her,

505and quickly he spoke to Telemachus his dear son:

"Telemachus — now you will learn it for yourself, standing where

men fight it out, and the best are sorted from the rest:

shame nothing of your fathers' line. In strength and manhood

we have excelled from of old across the whole earth."⁶³

510Then clear-headed Telemachus answered him:

"You will see me, if you care to look, dear father, in this temper

shaming nothing of your line — as you have said."

So he spoke; and Laertes exulted, and cried out:

"What a day this is for me, dear gods! Great is my joy:

515my son and my son's son are striving over excellence!"⁶⁴

And gray-eyed Athena came and stood by him and said:

"Son of Arceisius — far the dearest of all my companions —⁶⁵

pray to the gray-eyed girl, and to Zeus her father,

then swing the long-shadowed spear up, and let it fly."

520So spoke Pallas Athena, and breathed great strength into him;

and he prayed then to the daughter of great Zeus,

and swung the long-shadowed spear up, and let it fly,

and struck Eupeithes through the bronze-cheeked helmet:

the helmet did not stop the spear; the point drove through,

525and he fell with a crash, and his armor clattered upon him.⁶⁶

And Odysseus and his shining son fell on the front-fighters,

hacking with swords and double-pointed spears;

and they would have destroyed them all, cut them off from homecoming,

had not Athena, daughter of Zeus who bears the aegis,

530cried out with her voice, and checked the whole array:

"Hold back, men of Ithaca, from grinding war —

separate now, quickly, and without blood!"⁶⁷

So spoke Athena; and the pale terror seized them:

out of their frightened hands the weapons flew,

535and all fell on the ground at the goddess's cry,

and they turned toward the city, aching to live.⁶⁸

And terribly then cried out much-enduring noble Odysseus,

and gathering himself he swooped like a high-flown eagle.

But then the son of Cronos let fly his smoking bolt,

540and it fell in front of the gray-eyed one, the great Father's daughter.⁶⁹

And then gray-eyed Athena said to Odysseus:

"Zeus-born son of Laertes, Odysseus of the many devices,

hold! Stop the strife of leveling war —

for fear the son of Cronos be angered with you: Zeus of the wide voice."

545So spoke Athena. He obeyed — and his heart was glad.⁷⁰

And a sworn peace between the two sides, for all days to come,

was set by Pallas Athena, daughter of Zeus who bears the aegis,

likened to Mentor in body and in voice.⁷¹