Meanwhile Odysseus and the swineherd ate supper in the hut with the other men. When they had eaten and drunk, Odysseus tested Eumaeus again, to see whether he would still keep him kindly or send him off to town.
“Eumaeus, and all of you,” he said, “tomorrow I want to go begging in the city so I am no longer a burden here. Advise me well. Let me go to the house of godlike Odysseus and see if the suitors will give me a meal. I could soon wait on them — no man alive matches me at building a fire, splitting dry wood, carving, roasting, and pouring wine. Such work servants do for nobles.”
The swineherd was troubled. “Why put that thought in your head? If you go among those suitors you will meet their fists and thrown stools. Their servants are not like you. Stay here. No one begrudges you food. I do not, nor any of these men. When Odysseus’s son comes he will give you clothes and send you where you wish.”
Odysseus said, “May you be as dear to Zeus as you are to me for keeping me from that harm. Nothing is worse than wandering and begging because of a hungry belly. Tell me this, and speak truly: what of Odysseus’s mother and father? Are they still in the light of the sun, or dead already under the earth?”
Eumaeus answered, “I will tell you straight. Laertes still lives, and prays the gods to let him die quietly in his own house, for he is worn with grief for his son and for his wise wife, who died of sorrow for Odysseus and brought him to premature old age. I wish no one I love may die as she did. While she lived she liked to ask after me. Now she is gone. Penelope has new cares. Laertes keeps to his farm and never comes to town.”
“As for myself,” he went on when Odysseus pressed him, “I was a child when fate took me far from parents and home. There is an island called Syria — you may have heard of it — above Ortygia, where the sun turns. It is not crowded, but good: cattle, sheep, vines, and wheat. Hunger never enters, nor any hateful sickness; when the people grow old, Apollo and Artemis come with gentle arrows and kill them. Two cities share the island; my father Ctesius, son of Ormenus, was king over both.”
“Phoenician traders came — famous sailors — with a ship full of pretty wares. In my father’s house was a Phoenician woman, tall and skilled, whom Taphian pirates had stolen from Sidon when she left the fields, and sold to my father for a price. Those sailors seduced her in secret. One said, ‘Would you sail home to see your father and mother? They still live and are said to be rich.’ She answered she would go if they swore first to do her no harm. They swore.”
“Then she said, ‘Say nothing if you meet me at the well or in the street. Tell your shipmates to buy a ransom quickly. When the ship is loaded, send word to the house. I will bring whatever gold I can lay hands on — and I will bring the child I nurse. He is a clever boy. You can sell him for a great price wherever you put in.’ She returned indoors. Those sailors lingered a year loading cargo. When the hold was full, a man came to my father’s hall with a golden necklace strung with amber. My mother and the women handled it; he nodded in silence to the Sidonian woman, then went to the ship.”
“She took my hand and led me out. In the porch she found cups and tables from the men’s feast — they had gone to the assembly. She hid three cups in her bosom and carried me off. The sun set. We walked quickly to the harbor and the fast Phoenician ship. They put us aboard and sailed. Zeus sent a following wind. Six days we ran by day and night.”
Odysseus said, “Eumaeus, you have stirred me with that tale. Zeus has given you evil and good together: after much pain you reached the house of a kind man, who gives you food and drink and a good life. I have come wandering to many cities of men.”