Athena went to Lacedaemon to urge Odysseus’s son home. She found the two young men at Menelaus’s gate-yard — Pisistratus stretched outside, Telemachus indoors under soft fleeces, his mind heavy with thought of his father.
Standing near his head she said, “Telemachus, it is no longer safe to wander so far while reckless men eat through your stores. They may divide your goods among them and destroy your journey’s purpose. Urge Menelaus to send you at once, so you may find your mother still at home. Her father and brothers press her to marry Eurymachus, who outbids the rest. She may carry off some treasure from the house against your will.”
“You know a woman’s mind,” the goddess went on. “She wants to enrich the house she enters. When you reach Ithaca, leave your ship and go first to the swineherd who has always been loyal. Spend the night there and send him to town to tell Penelope you are safe from Pylos. One more word: the suitors’ best men wait in the strait between Ithaca and rugged Samos, meaning to kill you before you reach home. Keep clear of the islands and sail by night. Whichever of the deathless gods guards you will bring you through.”
She left for Olympus. Telemachus nudged Pisistratus with his heel. “Wake. Yoke the horses. We must drive.” Pisistratus answered, “We cannot race through the dark. Dawn is near. Wait until Menelaus brings the gifts to the chariot. A guest should remember a host’s kindness all his days.”
As he spoke Dawn showed. Menelaus rose, left Helen sleeping, and came toward them. Telemachus pulled on his tunic, swung a broad cloak across his back, and went to meet him. “Menelaus, son of Atreus, send me home now to my own land. My heart is eager for the return.”
Menelaus said, “Telemachus, I will not hold you if you insist. I hate a host who loves too much or too little. Measure is best. Stay and feast, and I will hitch horses and guide you through the towns, and give you fine gifts — a three-legged cauldron, or a golden cup.”
Telemachus answered, “Son of Atreus, do not keep me longer. I left my property unguarded. I fear that while I hunt news of my father I may myself be ruined at home. As for gifts, let them be what I can carry — I will not drive horses to Ithaca. Your plains are wide; my islands have no broad courses for chariots, only goat pasture.”
Menelaus smiled and took his hand. “Your blood shows in that speech. I will change the gifts. Of all the treasures in my house I will give you the finest and most precious — a mixing bowl of worked silver with a rim of gold, Hephaestus’s work, which the king of the Sidonians gave me when I lodged in his house on my way home.”
He told Helen and the servants to prepare a meal from what was in the house. Eteoneus came and kindled the fire. Menelaus went to his fragrant store-chamber with Megapenthes and took out the bowl. Helen went to her chests, where she kept embroidered robes she herself had made, and chose the largest and most beautiful, shining like a star, which lay beneath the rest.
Menelaus set the double cup in Telemachus’s hands. Megapenthes brought the mixing bowl. Helen came near and said, “I too give you a gift, child — a keepsake from Helen’s hands for your bride to wear on her wedding day. Until then let your mother keep it in the house.” She laid the robe in his arms, and he received it gladly.