Ulysses placed a firm hand upon his shoulder, and he took up his tale once more. “And when she waved her wand behold a horror! For suddenly my comrades dwindled, and were changed to swine. The bristles of swine grew out upon them, and they grunted like swine, but still the souls of men shone out of their eyes. And she drove them away into a pen, and threw them beech nuts, laughing most musically. And I, the unhappy one, fled and am come hither with my tale.”
Ulysses rose with a pale set face, and stern hard lines flashed out round his lips. For a moment he prayed in silence to Athene. Then he slung his strung bow upon his shoulder, and loosened the arrows in the quiver, testing each one for a flaw in the shaft. He took his great silver-studded sword and buckled it round his waist. “I alone, my comrades, must go to the palace of the enchantress,” he said. “I have no choice but to go and strive. May the gods preserve you, friends.”
He was preparing to move away when they all entreated him to remain with them, but he would not listen, and as he moved away and was lost to their sight they broke out into loud praises of him among themselves.
It was ever thus. Their father and captain was first in wisdom and courage, and had always seemed to them more god than man.
Ulysses passed over the meadows with slow sure step, thinking deeply. The forest closed about him, dark and lonely, and his walk changed. He became alert, walking warily and softly. His keen eyes roved over the untrodden paths, seeking to pierce the mystery of the greenwood.
He had halted by a brook for a moment, debating which path he should venture, when help came to him.
There was a crash in the tree tops above him, a glittering ball of light fell through the green, and a wind rushed among the leaves, suddenly rousing all the voices of the wood.
THEN HE CAME SWIFTLY UPON THE GLEAMING PALACE.