The Odyssey: Book 14

Outside he'd driven stakes in a long-line stockade,
a ring of thickset palings split from an oak's dark heart.

But guarding them all the time were dogs like savage beasts,
a pack of four, reared by the swineherd, foreman of men.

As for his men, three were off with their pigs,
herding them here or there. Under orders he'd sent
a fourth to town, with hog in tow for the gorging suitors
to slaughter off and glut themselves with pork.

No other prince on earth could match his riches,
not on the loamy mainland or here at home in Ithaca—
no twenty men in the world could equal his great treasures!

And many other sons
he brought up in his palace, born in wedlock,
sprung of his lawful wife. Unlike my mother.
She was a slave, a concubine he'd purchased, yes,
but he treated me on a par with all his true-born sons—
Castor, Hylax' son.

But the deadly spirits soon swept him down
to the House of Death, and his high and mighty sons
carved up his lands and then cast lots for the parts
and gave me just a pittance, a paltry house as well.

But the deadly spirits soon swept him down
to the House of Death, and his high and mighty sons
carved up his lands and then cast lots for the parts
and gave me just a pittance, a paltry house as well.

I was no fool
and never shirked a fight.

But now my heyday's gone—
I've had my share of blows. Yet look hard at the husk
and you'll still see, I think, the grain that gave it life.

Then, at last, when the eighth had come full turn,
along comes this Phoenician one fine day...
a scoundrel, swindler, an old hand at lies
who'd already done the world a lot of damage.

They raised a hue and cry,
wildly beat the bushes, but when it seemed no use
to pursue the hunt, back they trudged again and
boarded their empty ship.

But if your master doesn't return as I predict,
set your men on me—fling me off some rocky crag
so the next beggar here may just think twice
before he peddles lies.

Calling out
as he split up kindling now with a good sharp ax
and his men hauled in a tusker five years old,
rippling fat, and stood him steady by the hearth.

A foul night came on—the dark of the moon—and Zeus
rained from dusk to dawn and a sodden West Wind raged.

First, over his broad shoulders he slung a whetted sword,
wrapped himself in a cloak stitched tight to block the wind,
and adding a cape, the pelt of a shaggy well-fed goat,
he took a good sharp lance to fight off men and dogs.