Odysseus sat in the courtyard porch turning over how, with Athena's help, he might kill the suitors. He told Telemachus they must gather the armor and take it into the storeroom. If the suitors asked, he should say the smoke had soiled it since Odysseus went away, and that he feared Zeus might set them quarreling over wine — for the sight of weapons sometimes tempts men to use them. Telemachus listened carefully and said he would do all his father ordered.
Telemachus called nurse Euryclea. Shut the women in their room, he said, while I take my father's armor down where the smoke cannot reach it. She asked who would light the way, since he would not let the maids. The stranger will show me a light, he answered; when people eat my bread they must earn it, no matter where they come from. Euryclea wondered at his tone, but she obeyed and bolted the women inside.
Then Odysseus and his son carried in the helmets, shields, and spears, and Athena went before them with a gold lamp that shed a soft brilliant light. Telemachus said the walls and beams glowed as with fire — surely some god had come down from heaven. Hush, Odysseus answered; ask no questions; this is the manner of the gods. Go to bed and leave me to talk with your mother and the maids. Telemachus went by torchlight to his room and lay until morning, while Odysseus stayed in the porch planning the suitors' death.
Then Penelope came down looking like Aphrodite or Artemis. They set her a silver-and-ivory seat near the fire, with a fleece on it, and the maids cleared the suitors' tables and heaped wood on the braziers. The hall grew quiet. Odysseus watched her from his place among the ashes of the fire and kept the beggar's look.
Melantho railed at Odysseus again: Stranger, will you hang about all night spying on the women? Be off to sleep outdoors, or you will be driven out with a firebrand. You are bold beyond measure for a tramp. Odysseus scowled and answered that he too had once been rich and given to travelers; Zeus had taken it all away. Beware, he said, lest you lose your place with your mistress — and lest Odysseus come home. Even if he is dead, Apollo has left him a son who will note what the maids do amiss. Melantho went off muttering, but the other maids kept silent, for they feared Penelope's anger.
Penelope heard and scolded the maid for abusing a guest she meant to question about her husband. You shameless dog, she said, I see what you do, and you shall pay. She told Eurynome to bring a seat with a fleece for the stranger. When he sat, Penelope asked who he was and from what town and parents, and begged him not to grudge her a true answer.
Madam, Odysseus answered, who on earth can find fault with you? Your fame reaches heaven; you are like some blameless king under whom the earth yields grain, the trees fruit, the flocks increase, and the sea fish, and the people prosper under his rule. But do not ask my race and family here, or you will deepen my sorrow. I ought not sit weeping in another person's house; it is unseemly, and your maids or you yourself might say I drink and drown myself in tears.
Penelope said heaven had robbed her of beauty when the Argives sailed for Troy and her dear husband with them. If he came back to care for my life, she said, my fame would be greater and fairer. Now I am worn with grief. The chiefs from Dulichium, Same, Zacynthus, and Ithaca itself were wooing her against her will and wasting her estate. She had set up a great loom and promised a shroud for Laertes, working by day and undoing the stitches by night. For three years she fooled them; in the fourth the maids betrayed her, and she had to finish. Now she saw no further shift, and the night pressed on her like a weight. Still — tell me who you are; you cannot be the son of an oak or a rock.