Book XXII: Death of the Suitors

Then did Ulysses cast his rags aside,And, leaping to the threshold, took his standOn its broad space, with bow and quiver filledWith arrows. At his feet the hero pouredThe winged shafts, and to the suitors called:—

“That difficult strife is ended. Now I takeAnother mark, which no man yet has hit.Now shall I see if I attain my aim,And, by the aid of Phoebus, win renown.”

He spake; and, turning, at Antinoüs aimedThe bitter shaft—Antinoüs, who just thenHad grasped a beautiful two-eared cup of gold,About to drink the wine. He little thoughtOf wounds and death; for who, when banquetingAmong his fellows, could suspect that oneAlone against so many men would dare,However bold, to plan his death, and bringOn him the doom of fate? Ulysses struckThe suitor with the arrow at the throat.The point came through the tender neck behind,Sideways he sank to earth; his hand let fallThe cup; the dark blood in a thick warm streamGushed from the nostrils of the smitten man.He spurned the table with his feet, and spilledThe viands; bread and roasted meats were flungTo lie polluted on the floor. Then roseThe suitors in a tumult, when they sawThe fallen man; from all their seats they roseThroughout the hall, and to the massive wallsLooked eagerly; there hung no buckler there,No sturdy lance for them to wield. They calledThus to Ulysses with indignant words:—

“Stranger! in evil hour hast thou presumedTo aim at men; and thou shalt henceforth bearPart in no other contest. Even nowIs thy destruction close to thee. Thy handHath slain the noblest youth in Ithaca.The vultures shall devour thy flesh for this.”

So each one said; they deemed he had not slainThe suitor wittingly; nor did they see,Blind that they were, the doom which in that hourWas closing round them all. Then with a frownThe wise Ulysses looked on them, and said:—

“Dogs! ye had thought I never would come backFrom Ilium’s coast, and therefore ye devouredMy substance here, and offered violenceTo my maidservants, and pursued my wifeAs lovers, while I lived. Ye dreaded notThe gods who dwell in the great heaven, nor fearedVengeance hereafter from the hands of men;And now destruction overhangs you all.”

He spake, and all were pale with fear, and eachLooked round for some escape from death. AloneEurymachus found voice, and answered thus:—

“If thou indeed be he, the IthacanUlysses, now returned to thine old home,Well hast thou spoken of the many wrongsDone to thee by the Achaians in thy houseAnd in thy fields. But there the man lies slainWho was the cause of all. Antinoüs firstBegan this course of wrong. Nor were his thoughtsSo much of marriage as another aim—Which Saturn’s son denied him—to bear ruleHimself o’er those who till the pleasant fieldsOf Ithaca, first having slain thy sonIn ambush. But he now has met his fate.Spare, then, thy people. We will afterwardMake due amends in public for the wasteHere in thy palace of the food and wine.For each of us shall bring thee twenty beeves,And brass and gold, until thy heart shall beContent. Till then we cannot blame thy wrath.”

Sternly the wise Ulysses frowned, and said:“Eurymachus, if thou shouldst offer meAll that thou hast, thy father’s wealth entire,And add yet other gifts, not even thenWould I refrain from bloodshed, ere my handAvenged my wrongs upon the suitor-crew.Choose then to fight or flee, whoever hopesEscape from death and fate; yet none of youWill now, I think, avoid that bitter doom.”

He spake. At once their knees and head grew faint,And thus Eurymachus bespake the rest:—

“This man, O friends, to his untamable armWill give no rest, but with that bow in hand,And quiver, will send forth from where he standsHis shafts, till he has slain us all. PrepareFor combat then, and draw your swords, and holdThe tables up against his deadly shafts,And rush together at him as one man,And drive him from the threshold through the door.Then, hurrying through the city, let us soundThe alarm, and soon he will have shot his last.”

He spake, and, drawing his keen two-edged swordOf brass, sprang toward him with a dreadful cry,Just as the great Ulysses, sending forthAn arrow, smote the suitor on the breast,Beside the nipple. The swift weapon stoodFixed in his liver; to the ground he flungThe sword, and, reeling giddily aroundThe table, fell; he brought with him to earthThe viands and the double cup, and smoteThe pavement with his forehead heavily,And in great agony. With both his feetHe struck and shook his throne, and darkness cameOver his eyes. Then rushed AmphinomusAgainst the glorious chief, and drew his swordTo thrust him from the door. TelemachusO’ertook him, and between his shoulders droveA brazen lance. Right through his breast it went,And he fell headlong, with his forehead dashedAgainst the floor. Telemachus drew back,And left his long spear in Amphinomus,Lest, while he drew it forth, someone amongThe Achaians might attack him with the sword,And thrust him through or hew him down. In hasteHe reached his father’s side, and quickly said:—

“Now, father, will I bring to thee a shield,Two javelins, and a helmet wrought of brass,Well fitted to the temples. I will caseMyself in armor, and will also giveArms to the swineherd, and to him who tendsThe beeves; for men in armor combat best.”

And wise Ulysses answered: “Bring them then,And quickly, while I yet have arrows hereFor my defence, lest, when I am alone,They drive me from my station at the door.”

He spake. Obedient to his father’s word,Telemachus was soon within the roomIn which the glorious arms were laid. He tookFour bucklers thence, eight spears, and helmets fourOf brass, each darkened with its horsehair crest,And bore them forth, and quickly stood againBeside his father. But he first encasedHis limbs in brass; his followers also putTheir shining armor on, and took their placeBeside the wise Ulysses, eminentIn shrewd devices. He, while arrows yetWere ready to his hand, with every aimBrought down a suitor; side by side they fell.But when the shafts were spent, the archer-kingLeaned his good bow beside the shining wall,Against a pillar of the massive pile,And round his shoulders slung a fourfold shield,And crowned his martial forehead with a helmWrought fairly, with a heavy horsehair crestThat nodded gallantly above, and tookIn hand the two stout lances tipped with brass.

In the strong wall there was a postern door,And, near the outer threshold of the pile,A passage from it to a narrow lane,Closed with well-fitting doors. Ulysses badeThe noble swineherd take his station there.And guard it well, as now the only wayOf entrance. Agelaüs called aloudTo all his fellows, and bespake them thus:—

“Friends! will no one among you all go upTo yonder postern door, and make our plightKnown to the people? Then the alarm would spread,And this man haply will have shot his last.”

Melanthius, keeper of the goats, replied:“Nay, noble Agelaüs; ’tis too nearThe palace gate; the entrance of the laneIs narrow, and a single man, if brave,Against us all might hold it. I will bringArms from the chamber to equip you all;For there within, and nowhere else, I deem,Ulysses and his son laid up their arms.”

Thus having said, the keeper of the goats,Melanthius, climbed the palace stairs, and gainedThe chamber of Ulysses. Taking thenceTwelve shields, as many spears, as many helmsOf brass, with each its heavy horsehair plume,He came, and gave them to the suitors’ hands.Then sank the hero’s heart, and his knees shookAs he beheld the suitors putting onTheir armor, and uplifting their long spears.The mighty task appalled him, and he thusBespake Telemachus with winged words:—

“Telemachus, some woman here, or elseMelanthius, makes the battle hard for us.”

And thus discreet Telemachus replied:“Father, I erred in this. I was the cause,And no one else; I left the solid doorAjar; the spy was shrewder far than I.Now, good Eumaeus, shut the chamber door,And see if any of the palace-maidsHave brought these arms, or if I rightly fixThe guilt upon Melanthius, Dolius’ son.”

So talked they with each other, while againMelanthius, stealing toward the chamber, thoughtTo bring yet other shining weapons thence.The noble swineherd marked him as he went,And quickly drawing near Ulysses said:—

“Son of Laertes! nobly born and wise!The knave whom we suspect is on his wayUp to thy chamber. Tell me now, I pray,And plainly, shall I make an end of him,If I may prove the stronger man, or bringThe wretch into thy presence, to endureThe vengeance due to all the iniquitiesPlotted by him against thee in these halls?”

Ulysses, the sagacious, answered thus:“Telemachus and I will keep at bayThe suitors in this place, however fierceTheir onset, while ye two bind fast his handsAnd feet behind his back, and bringing himInto the chamber, with the door made fastBehind you, tie him with a double cord,And draw him up a lofty pillar closeTo the timbers of the roof, that, swinging there,He may live long and suffer grievous pain.”

He spake; they hearkened and obeyed, and wentUp to the chamber unperceived by himWho stood within and searched a nook for arms.On each side of the entrance, by its posts,They waited for Melanthius. Soon appearedThe goatherd at the threshold of the room,Bearing a beautiful helmet in one hand,And in the other a broad ancient shield,Defaced by age and mould. Laertes once,The hero, bore it when a youth, but nowLong time it lay unused, with gaping seams.

They sprang and seized the goatherd, dragging himBack to the chamber by the hair; and thereThey cast him, in an agony of fear,Upon the floor, and bound his hands and feetWith a stout cord behind his back, as badeThe great Ulysses, much-enduring sonOf old Laertes. Round him then they loopedA double cord, and swung him up besideA lofty pillar, till they brought him nearThe timbers of the roof. And then didst thou,Eumaeus, say to him in jeering words:—

“Melanthius, there mayst thou keep watch all nightOn a soft bed, a fitting place for thee;And when the Mother of the Dawn shall comeUpon her golden seat from ocean’s streams,Thou wilt not fail to see her. Thou mayst thenDrive thy goats hither for the suitors’ feast.”

They left him in that painful plight, and putTheir armor on, and closed the shining door,And went, and by Ulysses, versed in wiles,Stood breathing valor. Four were they who stoodUpon that threshold, while their foes withinWere many and brave. Then Pallas, child of Jove,Drew near, like Mentor both in shape and voice.Ulysses saw her, and rejoiced and said:—

“Come, Mentor, to the aid of one who lovesAnd has befriended thee, thy peer in age.”

Thus said Ulysses, but believed he spakeTo Pallas, scatterer of hosts. Fierce shoutsCame from the suitors in the hall, and first,Thus Agelaüs railed, Damastor’s son:—

“Mentor, let not Ulysses wheedle theeTo join him, and make war on us, for thisOur purpose is, and it will be fulfilled:When by our hands the father and the sonAre slain, thou also shalt be put to deathFor this attempt, and thy own head shall beThe forfeit. When we shall have taken thusThy life with our good weapons, we will seizeOn all thou hast, on all thy wealth withinThy dwelling or without, and, mingling itWith the possessions of Ulysses, leaveWithin thy palaces no son of thineOr daughter living, and no virtuous wifeOf thine, abiding here in Ithaca.”

He spake, and woke new anger in the heartOf Pallas, and she chid Ulysses thus:—

“Ulysses, thou art not, in might of armAnd courage, what thou wert when waging warNine years without a pause against the menOf Troy for Helen’s sake, the child of Jove,And many didst thou slay in deadly strife,And Priam’s city, with its spacious streets,Was taken through thy counsels. How is itThat, coming to thy own possessions hereAnd thy own palace, thou dost sadly findThy ancient valor fail thee in the strifeAgainst the suitors? Now draw near, my friend,And stand by me, and see what I shall do,And own that Mentor, son of Alcimus,Amid a press of foes requites thy love.”

She spake, but gave not to Ulysses yetThe certain victory; for she meant to putTo further proof the courage and the mightBoth of Ulysses and his emulous son.To the broad palace roof she rose, and satIn shape a swallow. Agelaüs now,Damastor’s son, cheered on with gallant wordsHis friends; so also did Amphimedon,Eurynomus, and Demoptolemus,Polyctor’s son, Peisander, and with theseSagacious Polybus. These six excelledIn valor all the suitors who survived,And they were fighting for their lives. The bowAnd the fleet shafts had smitten down their peers.Thus to his fellows Agelaüs spake:—

“O friends, this man will now be forced to stayHis fatal hand. See, Mentor leaves his side,After much empty boasting, and those fourAre at the entrance gate alone. Now aimAt him with your long spears—not all at once,Let six first hurl their weapons, and may JoveGrant that we strike Ulysses down, and winGreat glory! For the others at his sideWe care but little, if their leader fail.”

He spake; they hearkened. Eagerly they castTheir lances. Pallas made their aim to err.One struck a pillar of the massive pile;One struck the panelled door; one ashen shaft,Heavy with metal, rang against the wall.

And when they had escaped that flight of spears,Hurled from the crowd, the much-enduring man,Ulysses, thus to his companions said:—

“Now is the time, my friends, to send our spearsInto the suitor-crowd, who, not contentWith wrongs already done us, seek our lives.”

He spake, and, aiming opposite, they castTheir spears. The weapon which Ulysses flungSlew Demoptolemus; his son struck downEuryades; the herdsman smote to deathPeisander, and the swineherd Elatus.These at one moment fell, and bit the dustOf the broad floor. Back flew the suitor-crowdTo a recess; and after them the fourRushed on, and plucked their weapons from the dead.

Again the suitors threw their spears; againDid Pallas cause their aim to err. One struckA pillar of the massive pile, and oneThe panelled door; another ashen shaft,Heavy with metal, rang against the wall.Yet did the weapon of AmphimedonStrike lightly on the wrist Telemachus.The brass just tore the skin. Ctesippus grazedThe shoulder of Eumaeus with his spear,Above the shield; the spear flew over itAnd fell to earth. Then they who stood besideThe sage Ulysses, versed in wiles, once moreFlung their keen spears. The spoiler of walled towns,Ulysses, slew Eurydamas; his sonStruck down Amphimedon; the swineherd tookThe life of Polybus; the herdsman smoteCtesippus, driving through his breast the spear,And called to him, and gloried o’er his fall:—

“O son of Polytherses, prompt to rail!Beware of uttering, in thy foolish pride,Big words hereafter; leave it to the gods,Mightier are they than we. See, I repayThe hospitable gift of a steer’s foot,Which once the great Ulysses from thy handReceived, as he was passing through this hall.”

Thus spake the keeper of the horned herd.Meantime, Ulysses slew Damastor’s sonWith his long spear, in combat hand to hand.Telemachus next smote Evenor’s son,Leiocritus. He sent the brazen spearInto his bowels; through his body passedThe weapon, and he fell upon his face.His forehead struck the floor. Then Pallas heldOn high her fatal aegis. From the roofShe showed it, and their hearts grew wild with fear.They fled along the hall as flees a herdOf kine, when the swift gadfly suddenlyHas come among them, and has scattered themIn springtime, when the days are growing long.Meantime, like falcons with curved claws and beaks,That, coming from the mountain summits, pounceUpon the smaller birds, and make them flyClose to the fields among the snares they dread,And seize and slay, nor can the birds resistOr fly, and at the multitude of preyThe fowlers’ hearts are glad; so did the fourSmite right and left the suitors hurrying throughThe palace-hall, and fearful moans aroseAs heads were smitten by the sword, and allThe pavement swam with blood. Leiodes thenSprang forward to Ulysses, clasped his knees,And supplicated him with winged words:—

“I come, Ulysses, to thy knees. RespectAnd spare me. Never have I said or done,Among the women of thy household, aughtThat could be blamed, and I essayed to checkThe wrongs of other suitors. Little heedThey gave my counsels, nor withheld their handsFrom evil deeds, and therefore have they drawnUpon themselves an evil fate. But I,Who have done nothing—I their soothsayer—Must I too die? Then is there no rewardAmong the sons of men for worthy deeds.”

Ulysses, the sagacious, frowned and said:“If then, in truth, thou wert as thou dost boast,A soothsayer among these men, thy prayerWithin these palace-walls must oft have beenThat far from me might be the blessed dayOf my return, and that my wife might takeWith thee her lot, and bring forth sons to thee,And therefore shalt thou not escape from death.”

He spake, and seizing with his powerful handA falchion lying near, which from the graspOf Agelaüs fell when he was slain,Just at the middle of the neck he smoteLeiodes, while the words were on his lips,And the head fell, and lay amid the dust.

Phemius, the son of Terpius, skilled in song,Alone escaped the bitter doom of death.He by constraint had sung among the trainOf suitors, and was standing now besideThe postern door, and held his sweet-toned lyre,And pondered whether he should leave the hall,And sit before the altar of the greatHerceian Jove, where, with Laertes, onceUlysses oft had burned the thighs of beeves,Or whether he should fling himself beforeUlysses, as a suppliant, at his knees.This to his thought seemed wisest—to approachLaertes’ son, and clasp his knees. He placedHis sweet harp on the floor, between the cupAnd silver-studded seat, and went and claspedThe hero’s knees, and said in winged words:—

“I come, Ulysses, to thy knees. RespectAnd spare me. It will be a grief to thee,Hereafter, shouldst thou slay a bard, who singsFor gods and men alike. I taught myselfThis art; some god has breathed into my mindSongs of all kinds, and I could sing to theeAs to a god. O, seek not then to takeMy life! Thy own dear son TelemachusWill bear me witness that not willinglyNor for the sake of lucre did I comeTo sing before the suitors at their feastsAnd in thy palace, but was forced to comeBy numbers and by mightier men than I.”

He ceased; Telemachus, the mighty, heardAnd thus bespake his father at his side:—

“Refrain; smite not the guiltless with the sword;And be the herald, Medon, also spared,Who in our palace had the care of meThrough all my childhood; if he be not slainAlready by Philoetius, or by himWho tends the swine, or if he have not metThyself, when thou wert ranging through the hail.”

He spake, and the sagacious Medon heard,As crouching underneath a throne he lay,Wrapped in the skin just taken from a steer,To hide from the black doom of death. He cameFrom where he lay, and quickly flung asideThe skin, and, springing forward, clasped the kneesOf the young prince, and said in winged words:—

“Dear youth, behold me here; be merciful;Speak to thy father, that he put not forthHis sword to slay me, eager as he isFor vengeance, and incensed against the menWho haunt these halls to make his wealth a spoil,And in their folly hold thyself in scorn.”

He spake; the sage Ulysses smiled and said:“Be of good cheer, since this my son protectsAnd rescues thee. Now mayst thou well perceive,And say to other men, how much more safeIs doing good than evil. Go thou forthOut of this slaughter to the open court,Thou and the illustrious bard, and sit ye there,While here within I do what yet I must.”

He spake; they moved away and left the hall,And by the altar of almighty JoveSat looking round them, still in fear of death.

Meantime, Ulysses passed with searching lookO’er all the place, to find if yet remainedA single one of all the suitor-crewAlive, and skulking from his bitter doom.He saw that all had fallen in blood and dust,Many as fishes on the shelving beachDrawn from the hoary deep by those who tendThe nets with myriad meshes. Poured abroadUpon the sand, while panting to returnTo the salt sea they lie, till the hot sunTakes their life from them; so the suitors layHeaped on each other. Then Ulysses tookThe word, and thus bespake Telemachus:—

“Go now, Telemachus, and hither callThe nurse, Dame Eurycleia. I would saySomewhat to her that comes into my thought.”

So spake the chief. Telemachus obeyedThe word, and smote the door, and called the nurse:—

“Come hither, ancient dame, who hast in chargeTo oversee the women in their tasks;My father calls thee, and would speak with thee.”

He spake; nor flew the word in vain; she flungApart the portals of those stately rooms,And came in haste. Before her went the prince.Among the corpses of the slain they foundUlysses, stained with blood, and grimed with dust.As when a lion, who has just devouredA bullock of the pasture, moves away,A terror to the sight, with breast and cheeksAll bathed in blood; so did Ulysses seem,His feet and hands steeped in the blood of men.She, when she saw the corpses and the poolsOf blood, and knew the mighty task complete,Was moved to shout for joy. Ulysses checkedHer eager zeal, and said in winged words:—

“Rejoice in spirit, dame, but calm thyself,And shout not. To exult aloud o’er thoseWho lie in death is an unholy thing.The pleasure of the gods, and their own guilt,Brought death on these; for no respect had theyTo any of their fellow-men—the goodOr evil—whosoever he might beThat came to them, and thus on their own headsThey drew this fearful fate. Now name to meThe women of the palace; let me knowWho is disloyal, and who innocent.”

Then thus the well-beloved nurse replied:“My son, I will declare the truth. There dwellHere in thy palace fifty serving-maids,Whom we have taught to work, to comb the fleeceAnd serve the household. Twelve of these have walkedThe way of shame. To me they give no heed,Nor to Penelope herself. Thy sonHas just now grown to manhood, and the queenHas never suffered him to rule the maids;But let me now, ascending to her room—The royal bower—apprise thy wife, to whomSome deity has sent the gift of sleep.”

Ulysses, the sagacious, answered thus:“Wake her not yet, but go and summon allThe women who have wrought these shameful deeds.”

He spake; the matron through the palace wentTo seek the women, and to bid them come.Meanwhile, Ulysses called Telemachus,The herdsman and the swineherd to his side,And thus commanded them with winged words:—

“Begin to carry forth the dead, and callThe women to your aid; and next make clean,With water and with thirsty sponges, allThe sumptuous thrones and tables. When ye thusHave put the hall in order, lead awayThe serving-maids, and in the space betweenThe kitchen vault and solid outer wallSmite them with your long swords till they give upThe ghost, and lose the memory evermoreOf secret meetings with the suitor-train.”

He spake; the women came, lamenting loudWith many tears, and carried forth the dead,Leaning upon each other as they went,And placed them underneath the porticoOf the walled court. Ulysses gave command,Hastening their task, as all unwillinglyThey bore the corpses forth. With water next,And thirsty sponges in their hands, they cleansedThe sumptuous thrones and tables. Then the prince,Telemachus, with shovels cleared the floor,The herdsman and the swineherd aiding him,And made the women bear the rubbish forth.And now when all within was once againIn seemly order, they led forth the maidsFrom that fair pile into the space betweenThe kitchen vault and solid outer wall,A narrow space from which was no escape,And thus discreet Telemachus began:—

“I will not take away these creatures’ livesBy a pure death—these who so long have heapedReproaches on my mother’s head and mine,And played the wanton with the suitor-crew.”

He spake, and made the hawser of a shipFast to a lofty shaft; the other endHe wound about the kitchen vault. So highHe stretched it that the feet of none who hungOn it might touch the ground. As when a flockOf broad-winged thrushes or wild pigeons strikeA net within a thicket, as they seekTheir perch, and find unwelcome durance there,So hung the women, with their heads a-row,And cords about their necks, that they might dieA miserable death. A little while,And but a little, quivered their loose feetIn air. They led Melanthius from the hallAnd through the porch, cut off his nose and ears,Wrenched out the parts of shame, a bloody mealFor dogs, and in their anger from the trunkLopped hands and feet. Then having duly washedTheir feet and hands, they came into the hall,And to Ulysses; they had done their work.And then to the dear nurse Ulysses said:—

“Bring sulphur, dame, the cure of noxious air,And fire, that I may purge the hall with smoke;And go, and bid Penelope come down,With her attendant women, and commandThat all the handmaids of the household come.”

And thus in turn Dame Eurycleia spake:“Well hast thou said, my son, but suffer meTo bring thee clothes, a tunic and a cloak,Nor with those rags on thy broad shoulders standIn thine own palace; it becomes thee not.”

Ulysses, the sagacious, answered thus:“First let a fire be kindled in this hall.”

He spake, and Eurycleia, the dear nurse,Obeyed, and brought the sulphur and the fire.Ulysses steeped in smoke the royal pile.Both hall and court. The matron, passing throughThe stately palace of Ulysses, climbedThe stair to find and summon all the maids.And forth they issued, bearing in their handsTorches, and, crowding round Ulysses, gaveGlad greeting, seized his hands, embraced him, kissedHis hands and brow and shoulders. The desireTo weep for joy o’ercame the chief; his eyesO’erflowed with tears; he sobbed; he knew them all.