“Ah!” cried Antinous, “I know now why neither any of you nor I myself can bend this bow. It is not the great strength of Ulysses, for I am stronger than he ever was. This is Apollo’s festival, the Archer-God, and it is useless to strive to bend this bow to-day. Let us sacrifice to Helios to-day, and then to-morrow come again to the trial.”
Then the old beggar man came forward.
“My lords,” he said, “I pray you give me the bow, since you have done your trial for to-day. I was once strong in my youth. Let me have this honour.”
Antinous scowled at him, and stepped toward him to strike such insolence, but the clear voice of Penelope called sharply down the lane of men,—
“Who insults even the meanest in my palace? Have more regard, sir, for I am still queen here. Give the old man the bow since that is his whim.”
Antinous was cowed, but still murmured, when Telemachus stepped quickly up to him. The boy seemed taller, his eyes shone with a cold, fierce light they had never seen in them before. His voice rang with a new authority.
“Be silent, sir!” he said in a keen, threatening voice. “The bow is mine, and mine alone, to give or refuse as I decide. Mother, the trial is over for to-day. Go with your maidens into your own chamber. I will see to this old man, and I am master here and will be so.”
With a frightened pride and wonder the queen withdrew.
The suitors began to whisper to each other, wondering what this might mean. Their confidence seemed to be slipping away from them. Each and all felt uneasy. There was some strange influence in the air which sapped their courage and silenced the loud insolent words which were ever on their lips.
The shadow of death was creeping into the hall.