When the meal was ready they sat down. Old Dolius and his sons came, woken by the Sicilian woman. Seeing Odysseus they stood astonished. He told them gently to sit and eat; they had waited for them. Dolius clasped his master's hand and kissed it: Friend — since you have come back to us who longed for you — hail, and may the gods give you happiness. Does Penelope already know, or shall we send word? She knows already, Odysseus said. Why take thought for that? Then Dolius's sons greeted him and sat by their father.
Meanwhile Rumor went swiftly through the city telling of the suitors' dreadful fate. The people gathered before Odysseus's halls with moaning. They took their own dead for burial; those from elsewhere they put on ships for home. Then they met in assembly, sick at heart. Eupeithes rose — grief for Antinous, the first Odysseus had killed, lay on him — and wept:
Friends — this man has done a monstrous deed. He took many good men in ships and lost them, and now he has killed the best of the Cephallenians. Before he slips away to Pylos or Elis, let us go, or we shall be shamed forever. I would rather die at once than live without vengeance for our sons and brothers.
Pity seized them. Then Medon and the minstrel came from Odysseus's halls. Medon said: Hear me, men of Ithaca. Odysseus did not do this without the immortals' will. I myself saw a god stand by him in Mentor's likeness — now in front encouraging him, now storming the hall and driving the suitors in panic until they fell thick.
Pale fear took them. Then old Halitherses son of Mastor, who alone saw before and after, spoke: Through your own baseness these deeds were done. You would not obey me or Mentor to check your sons' folly — they wasted a prince's goods and dishonored his wife, thinking he would never return. Now do as I say: do not go out against Odysseus, or you may bring evil on your own heads.
More than half sprang up and left; the rest stayed, persuaded by Eupeithes. They ran for arms, gathered before the town, and Eupeithes led them in his folly — thinking to avenge his son, though he himself was never to return.