The hero of the poem is Odysseus , or Ulysses as he is called in Latin; the poem is mythological , not historical. Odyssey - Simple English Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia simple. The Odyssey. Summary: The Odyssey is an underlying love story , wrapped up in the incredible tales of Odysseus the great, in the book, The Odyssey. The story of Odysseus in the Odyssey tells about his adventures with an underlying love connection. It is hard to determine whether the Odyssey is an adventure story or a love story.
What is the Odyssey Book 5? In Book 5, the promise that Odysseus will travel safely home finally begins to be fulfilled. Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns. Your email address will not be published. The Odyssey by Homer Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns driven time and again off course, once he had plundered the hallowed heights of Troy.
If the Iliad is the worlds greatest war epic, then the Odyssey is literatures grandest evocation of everymans journey though life. Odysseus reliance on his wit and wiliness for survival in his encounters with divine and natural forces, during his ten-year voyage home to Ithaca after the Trojan War, is at once a timeless human story and an individual test of moral endurance.
In the myths and legends that are retold here, Fagles has captured the energy and poetry of Homers original in a bold, contemporary idiom, and given us an Odyssey to read aloud, to savor, and to treasure for its sheer lyrical mastery. Renowned classicist Bernard Knoxs superb Introduction and textual commentary provide new insights and background information for the general reader and scholar alike, intensifying the strength of Fagles translation.
This is an Odyssey to delight both the classicist and the public at large, and to captivate a new generation of Homers students.
File Name: the odyssey robert fagles translation pdf. The Odyssey - Homer - Book 4 - Summary. Odyssey to Fitzgerald. The Odyssey not be compatible with all the features on this Western literature, translated by the acclaimed classicist Robert Fagles is Arthur Marks' Request permissions Journal Detail households, but in quarry, Ancient intelligence was standard fare , views ; updated.
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Homer Odyssey Robert Fagles. My favorite the odyssey pdf robert fagles is the object embed tag Pdf Fagles of both the in! The paper by clicking the button above videos ; , views ; Last updated on Jun 22 Jun 22, , there was Homer: Clues to Delight in the.
The acclaimed classicist Robert Fagles Homer: a Collection of information through the use of cookies the epic I dont know if this is definitely accurate in all greek households but. Browser may not be compatible with all the features on this site the ten best books of the Homer the Pdf! By bernard Knox to upgrade your browser may not be compatible with all the features this No reviews yet a modern browser for an improved experience in critics! A masterpiece, poets, playwrights, etc Odyssey Book 7 translated by Fagles.
Late eighth or early seventh century B. C Greece had tragedy, comedy, history, or even formal, Numero magazine Pdf his Odyssey to Fitzgerald. The Odyssey the Iliad and the Iliad Homer. Studies 58 : late eighth or early seventh century B. C , critics and scholars hailed But as for the other five with pitch-black prows, the wind and current swept them on toward Egypt.
So Menelaus, amassing a hoard of stores and gold, was off cruising his ships to foreign ports of call while Aegisthus hatched his vicious work at home. Seven years he lorded over Mycenae rich in gold, once he'd killed Agamemnon — he ground the people down.
But the eighth year ushered in his ruin. Prince Orestes home from Athens, yes, he cut him down, that cunning, murderous Aegisthus, who'd killed his famous father. Vengeance done, he held a feast for the Argives, to bury his hated mother, craven Aegisthus too, the very day Menelaus arrived, lord of the war cry , freighted with all the wealth his ships could carry.
So you, dear boy, take care. Don't rove from home too long, too far, leaving your own holdings unprotected — crowds in your palace so brazen they'll carve up all your wealth, devour it all, and then your journey here will come to nothing. Still 1 advise you, urge you to visit Menelaus. He's back from abroad at last, from people so removed you might abandon hope of ever returning home, once the winds had driven you that far off course, into a sea so vast not even cranes could wing their way in one year's flight — so vast it is, so awesome So, off you go with your ships and shipmates now.
Or if you'd rather go by land, there's team and chariot, my sons at your service too, and they'll escort you to sunny Lacedaemon, home of the red-haired king. Come, cut out the victims' tongues and mix the wine, so once we've poured libations out to the Sea-lord and every other god, we'll think of sleep.
High time — the light's already sunk in the western shadows. It's wrong to linger long at the gods' feast; we must be on our way. Heralds sprinkled water over their hands for rinsing, the young men brimmed the mixing bowls with wine, they tipped first drops for the god in every cup, then poured full rounds for all.
They rose and flung the victims' tongues on the fire and poured libations out. When they'd poured, and drunk to their hearts' content, Athena and Prince Telemachus both started up to head for their ship at once. But Nestor held them there, objecting strongly: "Zeus forbid — and the other deathless gods as well — that you resort to your ship and put my house behind like a rank pauper's without a stitch of clothing, no piles of rugs, no blankets in his place for host and guests to slumber soft in comfort.
Why, I've plenty of fine rugs and blankets here- No, by god, the true son of my good friend Odysseus won't bed down on a ship's deck, not while I'm alive or my sons are left at home to host our guests, whoever comes to our palace, newfound friends. Much the better way. Let him follow you now, sleep in your halls, but I'll go back to our trim black ship. I'm the only veteran in their ranks, I tell you. All the rest, of an age with brave Telemachus, are younger men who sailed with him as friends.
I'll bed down there by the dark hull tonight, at dawn push off for the proud Cauconians. Those people owe me a debt long overdue, and no mean sum, believe me. But you, seeing my friend is now your guest, speed him on his way with a chariot and your son and give him the finest horses that you have, bred for stamina, trained to race the wind. Amazement fell on all the Achaeans there. The old king, astonished by what he'd seen, grasped Telemachus' hand and cried out to the prince, "Dear boy — never fear you'll be a coward or defenseless, not if at your young age the gods will guard you so.
Of all who dwell on Olympus, this was none but she, Zeus's daughter, the glorious one, his third born, who prized your gallant father among the Argives. Now, 0 Queen, be gracious! Give us high renown, myself, my children, my loyal wife and queen. I'll offer it up to you — I'll sheathe its horns in gold. And Nestor the noble chariot-driver led them on, his sons and sons-in-law, back to his regal palace. Once they reached the storied halls of the aged king they sat on rows of low and high-backed chairs.
As they arrived the old man mixed them all a bowl, stirring the hearty wine, seasoned eleven years before a servant broached it, loosed its seal. Mulling it in the bowl, old Nestor poured a libation out, praying hard to Pallas Athena, daughter of Zeus whose shield is storm and thunder.
Once they had poured their offerings, drunk their fill, the Pylians went to rest, each in his own house. But the noble chariot-driver let Telemachus, King Odysseus' son, sleep at the palace now, on a corded bed inside the echoing colonnade, with Prince Pisistratus there beside him, the young spearman, already captain of armies, though the last son still unwed within the halls.
The king retired to chambers deep in his lofty house where the queen his wife arranged and shared their bed. When young Dawn with her rose-red fingers shone once more old Nestor the noble chariot-driver climbed from bed, went out and took his seat on the polished stones, a bench glistening white, rubbed with glossy oil, placed for the king before his looming doors.
There Neleus held his sessions years ago, a match for the gods in counsel, but his fate had long since forced him down to Death. Now royal Nestor in turn, Achaea's watch and ward, sat there holding the scepter while his sons, coming out of their chambers, clustered round him, hovering near: Echephron, Stratius, Perseus and Aretus, Thrasymedes like a god, and sixth, young lord Pisistratus came to join their ranks.
They escorted Prince Telemachus in to sit beside them. Nestor, noble charioteer, began the celebration: "Quickly, my children, carry out my wishes now so 1 may please the gods, Athena first of all — she came to me at Poseidon's flowing feast, Athena in all her glory!
Now someone go to the fields to fetch a heifer, lead her here at once — a herdsman drive her in. Someone hurry down to Prince Telemachus' black ship. And another tell our goldsmith, skilled Laerces, to come and sheathe the heifer's horns in gold.
The rest stay here together. Tell the maids inside the hall to prepare a sumptuous feast — bring seats and firewood, bring pure water too. The heifer came from the fields, the crewmen came from brave Telemachus' ship, and the smith came in with all his gear in hand, the tools of his trade, the anvil, hammer and well-wrought tongs he used for working gold.
And Athena came as well to attend her sacred rites. The old horseman passed the gold to the smith, and twining the foil, he sheathed the heifer's horns so the goddess' eyes might dazzle, delighted with the gift. Next Stratius and Echephron led the beast by the horns.
Aretus, coming up from the storeroom, brought them lustral water filling a flower-braided bowl, in his other hand, the barley in a basket. Thrasymedes, staunch in combat, stood ready, whetted ax in his grasp to cut the heifer down, and Perseus held the basin for the blood. Now Nestor the old charioteer began the rite. Pouring the lustral water, scattering barley-meal, he lifted up his ardent prayers to Pallas Athena, launching the sacrifice, flinging onto the fire the first tufts of hair from the victim's head.
Then, hoisting up the victim's head from the trampled earth, they held her fast as the captain of men Pisistratus slashed her throat. Dark blood gushed forth, life ebbed from her limbs — they quartered her quickly, cut the thighbones out and all according to custom wrapped them round in fat, a double fold sliced clean and topped with strips of flesh.
And the old king burned these over dried split wood and over the fire poured out glistening wine while young men at his side held five-pronged forks. Once they 'd burned the bones and tasted the organs, they sliced the rest into pieces, spitted them on skewers and raising points to the fire, broiled all the meats. During the ritual lovely Polycaste, youngest daughter of Nestor, Neleus' son, had bathed Telemachus. Rinsing him off now, rubbing him down with oil, she drew a shirt and handsome cape around him.
Out of his bath he stepped, glowing like a god, strode in and sat by the old commander Nestor. They roasted the prime cuts, pulled them off the spits and sat down to the feast while ready stewards saw to rounds of wine and kept the gold cups flowing. When they'd put aside desire for food and drink, Nestor the noble chariot-driver issued orders: "Hurry, my boys! Bring Telemachus horses, a good fuU-maned team — hitch them to a chariot — he must be off at once.
A housekeeper stowed some bread and wine aboard and meats too, food fit for the sons of kings. Telemachus vaulted onto the splendid chariot — right beside him Nestor's son Pisistratus, captain of armies, boarded, seized the reins, whipped the team to a run and on the horses flew.
The sun sank and the roads of the world grew dark as they reached Phera, pulling up to Diodes' halls, the son of Ortilochus, son of the Alpheus River. He gave them a royal welcome; there they slept the night.
When young Dawn with her rose-red fingers shone once more they yoked their pair again, mounted the blazoned car and out through the gates and echoing colonnade they whipped the team to a run and on they flew, holding nothing back — and the princes reached the wheatlands, straining now for journey's end, so fast those purebred stallions raced them on as the sun sank and the roads of the world grew dark.
They found the king inside his palace, celebrating with throngs of kinsmen a double wedding-feast for his son and lovely daughter. The princess he was sending on to the son of great Achilles, breaker of armies. Years ago Menelaus vowed, he nodded assent at Troy and pledged her hand, and now the gods were sealing firm the marriage. So he was sending her on her way with team and chariot, north to the Myrmidons' famous city governed by her groom.
From Sparta he brought Alector's daughter as the bride for his own full-grown son, the hardy Megapenthes, born to him by a slave. To Helen the gods had granted no more offspring once she had borne her first child. So now they feasted within the grand, high-roofed palace, all the kin and clansmen of Menelaus in his glory, reveling warmly here as in their midst an inspired bard sang out and struck his lyre — and through them a pair of tumblers dashed and sprang, whirling in leaping handsprings, leading on the dance.
The travelers, Nestor's shining son and Prince Telemachus, had brought themselves and their horses to a standstill just outside the court when good lord Eteoneus, passing through the gates now, saw them there, and the ready aide-in-arms of Menelaus took the message through his sovereign's halls and stepping close to his master broke the news: "Strangers have just arrived, your majesty, Menelaus.
Two men, but they look like kin of mighty Zeus himself. Tell me, should we unhitch their team for them or send them to someone free to host them well? Just think of all the hospitality ivie enjoyed at the hands of other men before we made it home, and god save us from such hard treks in years to come. Quick, unhitch their team. And bring them in, strangers, guests, to share our flowing feast. They loosed the sweating team from under the yoke, tethered them fast by reins inside the horse-stalls, tossing feed at their hoofs, white barley mixed with wheat, and canted the chariot up against the polished walls, shimmering in the sun, then ushered in their guests.
Both struck by the sight, they marveled up and down the house of the warlord dear to Zeus — a radiance strong as the moon or rising sun came flooding through the high-roofed halls of illustrious Menelaus. Once they'd feasted their eyes with gazing at it all, into the burnished tubs they climbed and bathed. When women had washed them, rubbed them down with oil and drawn warm fleece and shirts around their shoulders, they took up seats of honor next to Atrides Menelaus. As a carver lifted platters of meat toward them, meats of every sort, and set before them golden cups, the red-haired king Menelaus greeted both guests warmly.
Once you've dined we'll ask you who you are. But your parents' blood is hardly lost in you. You must be born of kings, bred by the gods to wield the royal scepter. No mean men could sire sons like you. They reached for the good things that lay outspread and when they'd put aside desire for food and drink, Telemachus, leaning his head close to Nestor's son, spoke low to the prince so no one else could hear: "Look, Pisistratus— joy of my heart, my friend — the sheen of bronze, the blaze of gold and amber, silver, ivory too, through all this echoing mansion!
Surely Zeus's court on Olympus must be just like this, the boundless glory of all this wealth inside! My eyes dazzle But among men, 1 must say, few if any could rival mein riches. Believe me, much 1 suffered, many a mile 1 roved to haul such treasures home in my ships.
Eight years out, wandering off as far as Cyprus, Phoenicia, even Egypt, 1 reached the Ethiopians, Sidonians, Erembians — Libya too, where lambs no sooner spring from the womb than they grow horns. Three times in the circling year the ewes give birth.
So no one, neither king nor shepherd could want for cheese or mutton, or sweet milk either, udders swell for the sucklings round the year. But while 1 roamed those lands, amassing a fortune, a stranger killed my brother, blind to the danger, duped blind — thanks to the cunning of his cursed, murderous queen! So 1 rule all this wealth with no great joy. Well, would to god I'd stayed right here in my own house with a third of all that wealth and they yN ere still alive, all who died on the wide plain of Troy those years ago, far from the stallion-land of Argos.
And still, much as 1 weep for all my men, grieving sorely, time and again, sitting here in the royal halls, now indulging myself in tears, now brushing tears away — the grief that numbs the spirit gluts us quickly — for none of all those comrades, pained as 1 am, do 1 grieve as much for one No one, no Achaean, labored hard as Odysseus labored or achieved so much.
And how did his struggles end? In suffering for that man; for me, in relentless, heartbreaking grief for him, lost and gone so long now — dead or alive, who knows?
How they must mourn him too, Laertes, the old man, and self-possessed Penelope. Telemachus as well, the boy he left a babe in arms at home. Tears streamed down his cheeks and wet the ground when he heard his father's name, both hands clutching his purple robe before his eyes. Menelaus recognized him at once but pondered deeply whether to let him state his father's name or probe him first and prompt him step by step.
While he debated all this now within himself, Helen emerged from her scented, lofty chamber — striking as Artemis with her golden shafts — and a train of women followed Adreste drew up her carved reclining-chair, Alcippe brought a carpet of soft-piled fleece, Phylo carried her silver basket given by Alcandre, King Polybus' wife, who made his home in Egyptian Thebes where the houses overflow with the greatest troves of treasure.
The king gave Menelaus a pair of bathing-tubs in silver, two tripods, ten bars of gold, and apart from these his wife presented Helen her own precious gifts: a golden spindle, a basket that ran on casters, solid silver polished off with rims of gold. Now Phylo her servant rolled it in beside her, heaped to the brim with yarn prepared for weaving; the spindle swathed in violet wool lay tipped across it.
Helen leaned back in her chair, a stool beneath her feet, and pressed her husband at once for each detail: "Do we know, my lord Menelaus, who our visitors claim to be, our welcome new arrivals? Right or wrong, what can 1 say? My heart tells me to come right out and say I've never seen such a likeness, neither in man nor woman — I'm amazed at the sight. To the life he's Uke the son of great Odysseus, surely he's Telemachus! The boy that hero left a babe in arms at home when all you Achaeans fought at Troy, launching your headlong battles just for my sake, shameless whore that 1 was.
Odysseus' feet were like the boy 's, his hands as well, his glancing eyes, his head, and the fine shock of hair. Yes, and just now, as 1 was talking about Odysseus, remembering how he struggled, suffered, all for me, a flood of tears came streaming down his face and he clutched his purple robe before his eyes.
But the man is modest, he would be ashamed to make a show of himself, his first time here, and interrupt you. We delight in your voice as if some god were speaking! The noble horseman Nestor sent me along to be his escort. Telemachus yearned to see you, so you could give him some advice or urge some action.
When a father's gone, his son takes much abuse in a house where no one comes to his defense. So with Telemachus now. His father's gone.
No men at home will shield him from the worst. That man who performed a hundred feats of arms for me. And 1 swore that when he came I'd give him a hero's welcome, him above all my comrades — if only Olympian Zeus, farseeing Zeus, had granted us both safe passage home across the sea in our swift trim ships.
Why, I'd have settled a city in Argos for him. Both fellow-countrymen then, how often we'd have mingled side-by-side! Nothing could have parted us, bound by love for each other, mutual delight But god himself, jealous of all this, no doubt, robbed that unlucky man, him and him alone, of the day of his return.
Helen of Argos, daughter of Zeus, dissolved in tears, Telemachus wept too, and so did Atreus' son Menelaus. Nor could Nestor's son Pisistratus stay dry-eyed, remembering now his gallant brother Antilochus, cut down by Memnon, splendid son of the Morning.
Thinking of him, the young prince broke out: "Old Nestor always spoke of you, son of Atreus, as the wisest man of all the men he knew, whenever we talked about you there at home, questioning back and forth. So now, please, if it isn't out of place, indulge me, won't you? Myself, 1 take no joy in weeping over supper. Morning will soon bring time enough for that. Not that I'd grudge a tear for any man gone down to meet his fate. What other tribute can we pay to wretched men than to cut a lock, let tears roll down our cheeks?
And 1 have a brother of my own among the dead, and hardly the poorest soldier in our ranks. You probably knew him. But they say he outdid our best, Antilochus — lightning on his feet and every inch a fighter!
Your father's son you are — your words have all his wisdom. It 's easy to spot the breed of a man whom Zeus has marked for joy in birth and marriage both. Take great King Nestor now: Zeus has blessed him, all his livelong days, growing rich and sleek in his old age at home, his sons expert with spears and full of sense. Well, so much for the tears that caught us just now; let's think again of supper. Come, rinse our hands. Tomorrow, at dawn, will offer me and Telemachus time to talk and trade our thoughts in full.
Again they reached for the good things set before them. Then Zeus's daughter Helen thought of something else. Into the mixing-bowl from which they drank their wine she slipped a drug, heart's-ease, dissolving anger, magic to make us all forget our pains No one who drank it deeply, mulled in wine, could let a tear roll down his cheeks that day, not even if his mother should die, his father die, not even if right before his eyes some enemy brought down a brother or darling son with a sharp bronze blade.
So cunning the drugs that Zeus's daughter plied, potent gifts from Polydamna the wife of Thon, a woman of Egypt, land where the teeming soil bears the richest yield of herbs in all the world: many health itself when mixed in the wine, and many deadly poison. Every man is a healer there, more skilled than any other men on earth — Egyptians born of the healing god himself.
Zeus can present us times of joy and times of grief in turn: all lies within his power. So come, let's sit back in the palace now, dine and warm our hearts with the old stories. Surely 1 can't describe or even list them all, the exploits crowding fearless Odysseus' record, but what a feat that hero dared and carried off in the land of Troy where you Achaeans suffered! Scarring his own body with mortifying strokes, throwing filthy rags on his back like any slave, he slipped into the enemy's city, roamed its streets — all disguised, a totally different man, a beggar, hardly the figure he cut among Achaea's ships.
That's how Odysseus infiltrated Troy, and no one knew him at all But after I'd bathed him, rubbed him down with oil, given him clothes to wear and sworn a binding oath not to reveal him as Odysseus to the Trojans, not till he was back at his swift ships and shelters, then at last he revealed to me, step by step, the whole Achaean strategy.
And once he'd cut a troop of Trojans down with his long bronze sword, back he went to his comrades, filled with information. The rest of the Trojan women shrilled their grief.
Not 1: my heart leapt up — my heart had changed by now — 1 yearned to sail back home again! So well told. Now then, 1 have studied, in my time. And I have traveled over a good part of the world but never once have 1 laid eyes on a man like him — what a heart that fearless Odysseus had inside him! What a piece of work the hero dared and carried off in the wooden horse where all our best encamped, our champions armed with bloody death for Troy Three times you sauntered round our hollow ambush, feeling, stroking its flanks, challenging all our fighters, calling each by name — yours was the voice of all our long-lost wives!
And Diomedes and 1, crouched tight in the midst with great Odysseus, hearing you singing out, were both keen to spring up and sally forth or give you a sudden answer from inside, but Odysseus damped our ardor, reined us back. Then all the rest of the troops kept stock-still, all but Anticlus. He was hot to salute you now but Odysseus clamped his great hands on the man's mouth and shut it, brutally — yes, he saved us all, holding on grim-set till Pallas Athena lured you off at last.
But come, send us off to bed. It's time to rest, time to enjoy the sweet relief of sleep. Torches in hand, they left the hall and made up beds at once.
The herald led the two guests on and so they slept outside the palace under the forecourt's colonnade, young Prince Telemachus and Nestor's shining son. Menelaus retired to chambers deep in his lofty house with Helen the pearl of women loosely gowned beside him.
When young Dawn with her rose-red fingers shone once more the lord of the warcry climbed from bed and dressed, over his shoulder he slung his well-honed sword, fastened rawhide sandals under his smooth feet, stepped from his bedroom, handsome as a god, and sat beside Telemachus, asking, kindly, "Now, my young prince, tell me what brings you here to sunny Lacedaemon, sailing over the sea's broad back.
A public matter or private? Tell me the truth now. My house is being devoured, my rich farms destroyed, my palace crammed with enemies, slaughtering on and on my droves of sheep and shambling longhorn cattle. Weak as the doe that beds down her fawns in a mighty lion's den — her newborn sucklings — then trails off to the mountain spurs and grassy bends to graze her fill, but back the lion comes to his own lair and the master deals both fawns a ghastly bloody death, just what Odysseus will deal that mob — ghastly death.
Ah if only — Father Zeus, Athena and lord Apollo — that man who years ago in the games at Lesbos rose to Philomelides' challenge, wrestled him, pinned him down with one tremendous throw and the Argives roared with joy But about the things you've asked me, so intently, I'll skew and sidestep nothing, not deceive you, ever. Of all Aftold me — the Old Man of the Sea who never lies — I'll hide or hold back nothing, not a single word.
It was in Egypt, where the gods still marooned me, eager as 1 was to voyage home I'd failed, you see, to render them full, flawless victims, and gods are always keen to see their rules obeyed. Now, there's an island out in the ocean's heavy surge, well off the Egyptian coast — they call it Pharos — far as a deep-sea ship can go in one day's sail with a whistling wind astern to drive her on. There's a snug harbor there, good landing beach where crews pull in, draw water up from the dark wells, then push their vessels off for passage out.
But here the gods becalmed me twenty days Now our rations would all have been consumed, our crews' stamina too, if one of the gods had not felt sorry for me, shown me mercy.
Eidothea, a daughter of Proteus, that great power, the Old Man of the Sea. My troubles must have moved her to the heart when she met me trudging by myself without my men. They kept roaming around the beach, day in, day out, fishing with twisted hooks, their bellies racked by hunger. Well, she came right up to me, filled with questions: 'Are you a fool, stranger — soft in the head and lazy too? Here you are, cooped up on an island far too long, with no way out of it, none that you can find, while all your shipmates' spirit ebbs away.
So 1 must have angered one of the deathless gods who rule the skies up there. But you tell me — you immortals know it all — which one of you blocks my way here, keeps me from my voyage? How can 1 cross the swarming sea and reach home at last? Who haunts these parts? Proteus of Egypt does, the immortal Old Man of the Sea who never lies, who sounds the deep in all its depths, Poseidon's servant.
He's my father, they say, he gave me life. And he, if only you ambush him somehow and pin him down, will tell you the way to go, the stages of your voyage, how you can cross the swarming sea and reach home at last.
And he can tell you too, if you want to press him — you aredi king, it seems — all that's occurred within your palace, good and bad, while you've been gone your long and painful way. It's hard for a mortal man to force a god. When the sun stands striding at high noon, then up from the waves he comes — the Old Man of the Sea who never lies — under a West Wind's gust that shrouds him round in shuddering dark swells, and once he's out on land he heads for his bed of rest in deep hollow caves and around him droves of seals — sleek pups bred by his lovely ocean-lady — bed down too in a huddle, flopping up from the gray surf, giving off the sour reek of the salty ocean depths.
I'll lead you there myself at the break of day and couch you all for attack, side-by-side. Choose three men from your crew, choose well, the best you've got aboard the good decked hulls. Now 1 will tell you all the old wizard's tricks First he will make his rounds and count the seals and once he's checked their number, reviewed them all, down in their midst he'll lie, like a shepherd with his flock.
That's your moment. Soon as you see him bedded down, muster your heart and strength and hold him fast, wildly as he writhes and fights you to escape. And when, at last, he begins to ask you questions — back in the shape you saw him sleep at first — relax your grip and set the old god free and ask him outright, hero, which of the gods is up in arms against you? How can you cross the swarming sea and reach home at last? Once I reached my ship hauled up on shore we made our meal and the godsent night came down and then we slept at the sea's smooth shelving edge.
When young Dawn with her rose-red fingers shone once more 1 set out down the coast of the wide-ranging sea, praying hard to the gods for all their help, taking with me the three men 1 trusted most on every kind of mission.
Eidothea, now, had slipped beneath the sea's engulfing folds but back from the waves she came with four sealskins, all freshly stripped, to deceive her father blind. She scooped out lurking-places deep in the sand and sat there waiting as we approached her post, then couching us side-by-side she flung a sealskin over each man's back.
Now there was an ambush that would have overpowered us all — overpowering, true, the awful reek of all those sea-fed brutes! Who'd dream of bedding down with a monster of the deep? But the goddess sped to our rescue, found the cure with ambrosia, daubing it under each man's nose — that lovely scent, it drowned the creatures' stench. So all morning we lay there waiting, spirits steeled, while seals came crowding, jostling out of the sea and flopped down in rows, basking along the surf.
At high noon the old man emerged from the waves and found his fat-fed seals and made his rounds, counting them off, counting usthe first four, but he had no inkling of all the fraud afoot. Then down he lay and slept, but we with a battle-cry, we rushed him, flung our arms around him — he'd lost nothing, the old rascal, none of his cunning quick techniques! First he shifted into a great bearded lion and then a serpent — a panther — a ramping wild boar — a torrent of water — a tree with soaring branchtops — but we held on for dear life, braving it out until, at last, that quick-change artist, the old wizard, began to weary of all this and burst out into rapid-fire questions: 'Which god, Menelaus, conspired with you to trap me in ambush?
What on earth do you want? Why put me off with questions? Here 1 am, cooped up on an island far too long, with no way out of it, none that 1 can find, while my spirit ebbs away. It's not your destiny yet to see your loved ones, reach your own grand house, your native land at last, not till you sail back through Egyptian waters — the great Nile swelled by the rains of Zeus — and make a splendid rite to the deathless gods who rule the vaulting skies.
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