III

With a strange elation of spirits Telemachus returned to the hall, and sat down among the suitors.  Hitherto he had shown a certain weakness and indecision of character, natural in a young lad, who had grown up without the strong guiding hand of a father, and who, since the first dawn of his manhood, had been surrounded by a host of subtle foes.  But the words of Athene have gone home, and he resolves that from this hour he will take his proper place in the house as his mother’s guardian and the heir of a great prince.

There was an unwonted stillness among that lawless troop, and they sat silent and attentive in the great, dimly lighted chamber.  For the minstrel was singing a sweet and solemn strain, which told of the home-coming of the Greeks from Troy, and of all the disasters which befell them on the way.  Suddenly the singer paused in the midst of his lay, for his fine ear had caught the sound of a sobbing sigh.  Looking round, he saw a tall and stately lady standing in the doorway which led to the women’s apartments at the back of the house.  She was closely veiled, but he instantly recognised the form of Penelope, his beloved mistress.

“Phemius,” said Penelope, in a tone of gentle reproach, “hast thou no other lay to sing, but must needs recite this tale of woe, which fills my soul with tears, by calling up the image of him for whom I sorrow night and day?”

Phemius stood abashed, and ventured no reply; but Telemachus answered for him.  “Mother,” he said, “blame not the sweet minstrel for his song.  The bard is not the author of the woes of which he sings, but Zeus assigns to each his portion of good and ill; and thou must submit to his ordinance, like many another lady who has lost her lord.  Thou hast thy province in the house, and I mine; thine is to govern thy handmaids, and mine to take the lead where the men are gathered together.  And I say that the minstrel has chosen well.”

There was a new note of command in the voice of Telemachus as he uttered these words.  Penelope heard it, and wondered what change had come over her son; but a hundred bold eyes were gazing insolently at her, and without another word she turned away, and ascended the steep stairs which led to her bower.  There she reclined on a couch, and her tears flowed freely; for the song of Phemius had reopened the fountain of her grief.  Presently the sound of sobbing died away, and she drew her breath gently in a sweet and placid sleep.

The sudden appearance of Penelope had excited the suitors, and they began to brawl noisily among themselves.  Presently Telemachus raised his voice, commanding silence for the minstrel.  “And I have something else to say unto you,” he added.  “To-morrow at dawn I bid you come to the place of assembly, that we may make an end of these wild doings in my house.  I will bear it no longer, but will publish your evil deeds to the ears of gods and men.”