The dogs caught sight of the king as soon as he came up and flew at him, barking, but he had the wit to let go his staff and sit down at once on the ground. Still it might have gone hard with him there in front of his own servant’s house had not Eumæus rushed out of the porch, dropping the leather in his haste, and scolded the dogs, driving them off with a volley of stones.

Then he said to Ulysses, “A little more, old man, and the dogs would have torn you in pieces, and disgraced me forever. And I have my full share of trouble as it is, for I have lost the best master in all the world and must sit here to mourn for him and fatten his swine for other men, while he is wandering somewhere in foreign lands, hungry and thirsty perhaps, if he is still alive at all. But now come in yourself, and let me give you food and drink and tell me your own tale.”

So he took Ulysses into the house and made a seat for him with a pile of brushwood boughs and a great thick shaggy goat-skin which he used for his own bed, and all with so kind a welcome that it warmed the king’s heart and made him pray the Gods to bless him for his goodness. But Eumæus only said, “How could I neglect a stranger, though he were a worse man than you? All strangers and beggars are sent to us by Zeus. Take my gift and welcome, though it is little enough I have to give, a servant such as I, with new masters to lord it over him. For we have lost the king who would have loved me and given me house and lands and all that a faithful servant ought to have, whose work is blest by the Gods and prospers, as mine does here. Alas! he is dead and gone! he went away with Agamemnon to fight at Troy and never came home again.”

So saying, the good swineherd rose and fetched what meat and wine he had, and set it before Ulysses, grieving that he had nothing better for him because the shameless suitors plundered everything.

But Ulysses ate and drank eagerly, and when his strength had come again he asked Eumæus, “My friend, who is this master of yours you tell me of? Did you not say he was lost for Agamemnon’s sake? Perhaps I may have seen him, for I have traveled far.”

But the swineherd answered, “Old man, his wife and son will believe no traveler’s tale. They have heard too many such. Every wandering beggar who comes to Ithaca goes to my mistress with some empty story to get a meal for himself, and she welcomes him and treats him kindly and asks him about it all, with the tears running down her cheeks in a woman’s way. Yes, even you, old man, might learn to weave such tales if you thought they would get you a cloak or a vest. No, he is dead, and dogs and birds have eaten him, or else he has fed the fishes and his bones lie somewhere on the seashore, buried in the sand. And he has left us all to grieve for him, but no one more than me, who can never have so kind a master again, not though I had my heart’s desire and went back to my native land and saw my father and mother, and the dear home where I was born. It is Ulysses above all whom I long to see once more. There, stranger, I have called him by his name, and that I should not do; for he is still my dear master though he is far away.”

Then Ulysses said, “My friend, your hope has gone and you will never believe me. But I tell you this and seal it with an oath: Ulysses will return! Poor as I am, I will take no reward for my news till he comes to his own again, but you shall give me a new vest and cloak that day, and I will wear them.”

But the swineherd answered, “Ah, my friend, I shall never need to pay you that reward. He will never come back again. But now drink your wine in peace, and let us talk of something else, and do not call to mind the sorrow that almost breaks my heart. Tell me of yourself and your own troubles and who you are, and what ship brought you here, for you will not say you came afoot.”

Then Ulysses pretended he was a Cretan and had fought at Troy, and told Eumæus a long tale of adventures and how he had been wrecked at last on the coast of Epirus. The king of the country, he said, had rescued him, and he had learned that Ulysses had been there a little while before, and was already on his way to Ithaca.

The swineherd listened eagerly to it all, but when Ulysses had finished he said, “Poor friend, my heart aches to hear of all your sufferings. But there is one thing you should not have said, one thing I can never believe, and that is that Ulysses will return. And why need you lie to please me? I can see for myself that you are old and unhappy, a wanderer whom the Gods have sent to me. It is not for such a tale I will show you the kindness that you need, but because I pity you myself and reverence the law of Zeus.”