"It was wrong of my daughter not to bring thee to the palace when she came with her maids," said the King.
But Odysseus told him why it was that Nausicaa had bade him stay behind.
"Be not vexed with this blameless maiden," he said. "Truly she is the sweetest and the fairest maiden I ever saw."
Then Odysseus went to the bed that the servants had prepared for him. They had spread fair purple blankets over it, and when it was ready they stood beside it with their torches blazing, golden and red.
"Up now, stranger, get thee to sleep," said they. "Thy bed is made."
Sleep was very sweet to Odysseus that night as he lay in the soft bed with warm blankets over him. He was no longer tossed and beaten by angry seas, no longer wet and cold and hungry. The roar of furious waves did not beat in his ears, for all was still in the great halls where the flickering firelight played on the frieze of blue, and turned the brass walls into gold.
Next day the King gave a great entertainment for Odysseus. There were boxing and wrestling and leaping and running, and in all of these the brothers of Nausicaa were better than all others who tried.
But when they came to throw the weight, and begged Odysseus to try, he cast a stone heavier than all others, far beyond where the Phæacians had thrown.
That night there was feasting in the royal halls, and the King's minstrels played and sang songs of the taking of Troy, and of the bravery of the great Odysseus. And Odysseus listened until his heart could bear no more, and tears trickled down his cheeks. Only the King saw him weep. He wondered much why Odysseus wept, and at last he asked him.