Then Eurymachus spoke and tried to soothe her. No one, he said, should injure Telemachus while he was alive, for he loved him more than any man on earth. Eurymachus’s words were fair, and Penelope could say no more; yet all the while he was planning the death of her son.
In the evening the swineherd reached his hut again, and found Ulysses changed to the old beggar-man once more, preparing supper with Telemachus.
“What news, good Eumæus?” said the young man. “Have the proud lords come home from their ambush, or are they still waiting out yonder to take me as I return?” And Eumæus replied, “I did not stay, master, to go through the town and find out the news, for when I had given my message I wanted to be at home. But one thing I saw from the brow of the hill as I came along. A swift ship was entering the harbor, full of armor and armed men. They may have been the princes, but I cannot say.”
As he heard this, Telemachus looked at his father and smiled, but he took good care that the swineherd should not see.
[The Vengeance of Ulysses]
[A. His Reception at the Palace]
By F.S. Marvin, R.J.C. Mayor, and F.M. Stowell
Early next morning, when the rosy-fingered dawn was in the sky, Telemachus bound on his sandals and took his stout spear in his hand, and said to the swineherd, “Old friend, I must now be off to the city and let my mother see me, for I know she will weep and sigh until I am there myself. And as for this poor stranger, I would have you take him to the town and let him beg for bite and sup from door to door, and those who choose can give. For I cannot be host to every wanderer with all the trouble I have to bear. And if that makes him angry—well! it is only the worse for him; I am a man that speaks his mind.”
Then Ulysses answered readily, “Sir, I do not ask to stay here myself; a beggar should not beg in the fields. Nor am I young enough to work on a farm at a master’s beck and call. So go your ways, and your man shall take me with him to the town. But I will wait till the sun is high, for I am afraid of the morning frost with these threadbare rags of mine.”