There arrived next a public beggar known all through Ithaca — a man forever hungry, famous for his endless appetite and for drinking, with no strength or force in him, though he was big to look at. His true name was Arnaeus; the young men nicknamed him Irus for the errands he ran at anyone’s bidding. He came now and tried to drive Odysseus from his own doorway, and began to abuse him:
“Get away from the door, old man, or I will drag you out by the foot. Do you not see they are all winking at me to haul you off? Even so I am ashamed to do it. Up with you, or our hands will meet in anger.”
Odysseus scowled and said, “Friend, I do you no harm in word or deed. I do not grudge what people give you, though you take much. This doorway will hold us both. You need not envy another’s gifts. You look like a tramp, as I do. Success belongs to the gods. Do not challenge me to fists, or you will anger me.”
Irus flared up: “Listen to this greasy glutton, how he talks like a market hag. I will hit him and knock every tooth from his jaws onto the ground, as they say of a crop-eating sow. Belt yourself, so these men can all see us fight. How could you match a younger man?”
So they wrangled on the smooth pavement before the doors. Antinous, that sacred prince, heard them and laughed with pleasure. He called to the suitors: “Friends, something new — and a godsend. The stranger and Irus are quarreling and mean to fight. Let us set them at it quickly.”
They rose in a roar of laughter and ringed the two ragged fighters. Antinous said, “Listen, proud suitors. These goats’ stomachs are roasting at the fire for dinner — we stuffed them with fat and blood. Whichever of these two wins and proves the better man, let him stand up and take his pick of the stomachs. And from now on he shall always feast with us.”
They all agreed. Then Odysseus, crafty in purpose, said, “Friends, an old man worn with pain cannot fight a younger. Yet my hungry belly drives me on, meaning to get me beaten. Come — swear me a strong oath that none of you will favor Irus and strike me a foul blow to help him and beat me down.”
They swore as he asked. When the oath was done Telemachus spoke with power: “Stranger, if your heart and proud spirit urge you to drive this man off, you need fear no other Achaean. Anyone who hits you answers to more than a single man. I stand as your host. And Antinous and Eurymachus, men of sense, agree.”
All assented. Odysseus belted his rags about his waist and showed his powerful thighs, his broad shoulders, his chest, and his sturdy arms. Athena stood near and filled out the limbs of the shepherd of the people. The suitors were all amazed. Looking at his neighbor, one would say, “Irus will soon be un-Irused — trouble of his own making. What thighs the old man shows under those rags.”
So they spoke, and Irus’s spirit shook. Even so the servants belted him by force and led him out, frightened, his flesh quivering on his limbs. Antinous abused him and said, “Better you were dead, braggart, or had never been born, if you tremble before this man and are so afraid — an old man broken by the pain that is on him.”