So he spoke, and trembling seized Irus’s limbs still more. They led him into the middle. The two put up their hands. Much-enduring godlike Odysseus considered whether to strike so hard that the life left him where he fell, or to hit lightly and only stretch him on the ground. As he thought, it seemed better to strike lightly, so the Achaeans would not suspect him.
The proud suitors flung their hands skyward and choked with laughter. Odysseus caught Irus by the foot and dragged him through the doorway to the court and the gates of the colonnade. He propped him against the courtyard wall, stuck a staff in his hand, and said, “Sit there and keep the dogs and pigs away.”
He threw his miserable tattered wallet over his shoulder by its cord and went back to the threshold and sat down. The suitors went inside laughing sweetly and greeted him: “May Zeus and the other deathless gods grant you what you most want, stranger — you have stopped that endless beggar from roaming our country. We will soon ship him to Echetus, the bane of all men.”
So they spoke, and godlike Odysseus was glad at the omen. Antinous set before him a great goat’s stomach filled with fat and blood. Amphinomus took two loaves from the basket and set them before him, and pledged him with a golden cup: “Welcome, father stranger. May prosperity be yours hereafter — though now you are held under many hardships.”
Odysseus answered, “Amphinomus, you seem a man of sense, as is fitting — your father was one. I have heard of Nisus of Dulichium, a brave and wealthy man. They say you are his son. You look a decent man. So I will tell you something. Listen, and take it to heart. Of all that breathes and creeps on earth, nothing is weaker than man.”
“I too once meant to be a fortunate man among men. I did many reckless things, trusting in my father and my brothers. Therefore let no man ever be lawless. Let him take in silence the gifts of the gods, whatever they give.”
He poured a drink-offering, drank, and put the gold cup back in Amphinomus’s hands. Amphinomus went through the hall heavy-hearted, shaking his head — for his spirit foresaw ruin. Even so he did not escape his fate. Athena had bound him to fall hard under Telemachus’s spear. He sat down again in the chair from which he had risen.
Then grey-eyed Athena put it in Penelope’s mind to show herself to the suitors, so she might set their hearts racing and win still more honor from her husband and her son. She laughed emptily and said to the housekeeper: “Eurynome, my heart longs, as never before, to appear before the suitors, hateful as they are.”
Eurynome answered, “Child, all you say is right. Go tell your son. But first wash yourself and anoint your cheeks. Do not go with your face stained as it is from tears. Mourning forever is a bad thing. Your son is of the age you prayed most to see him reach when you saw him as a child — a bearded man.”
Penelope said, “Eurynome, I know you mean kindness. Do not urge me to wash and anoint myself. The gods who hold Olympus ruined my beauty on the day the Argives sailed for Ilium and my husband Odysseus with them. Tell Autonoe and Hippodameia to come, so they may stand beside me in the hall. I will not go alone among men. I am ashamed.”