Away went Telemachus, much comforted in spirit, though his heart fluttered when he thought of the great adventure which lay before him.  When he entered the courtyard of his house he found the suitors flaying goats and singeing swine for the midday feast.  Antinous hailed his coming with a rude laugh, and running up to him seized his hand and said mockingly:  “Well met, Sir Eloquence!  Thy face, I see, is full of care, as of one who is bent on high designs.  But lay thy graver burdens aside for awhile, and eat and drink with us.  Thou shalt want neither ship nor men to carry thee to holy Pylos.”

Telemachus snatched his hand away, and answered sternly:  “My thoughts are not of feasting and merry-making, nor would I eat and drink with you if they were.  I am no longer a child, to be flouted and robbed without a word.  I tell you I shall find it in my heart to do you a mischief, before many days are passed.  But now I am going, as I said, on this journey.  I must go as a passenger, since ye will not lend me a ship.”

Many a scornful face was turned upon him, and many a taunt aimed at him, as he uttered these bold words.  “We are all undone!” cried one in pretended alarm, “Telemachus is gone to gather an army in Pylos or in Sparta, and he will come back with his mighty men and take all our lives.”  “Or perhaps he is going to bring poison from Ephyra,” said another, “and he will cast it in the bowl, and we shall be all dead corpses.[1]” And a third cried:  “Take care of thyself, Telemachus, or we shall have double labour because of thee, in dividing thy goods among us.”

[Footnote 1:  2 Kings xix. 35.]

But the taunts of fools and knaves have no sting for honest ears.  Without another word Telemachus left that gibing mob, and went straight to the strong-room where his father’s treasure was stored.  There lay heaps of gold and silver, and chests full of fine raiment, and great jars of fragrant olive-oil.  Along the wall was a long row of portly casks, filled with the choicest wine; there they had stood untouched for twenty years, awaiting the master’s return.  All this wealth was given in charge to Eurycleia, the nurse of Telemachus, a wise and careful dame, who watched the chamber day and night.  Her Telemachus now summoned, and said:  “Fill me twelve jars of wine—­not the best, which thou art keeping for my father, but the next best to that.  And take twenty measures of barley-meal, and store it in sacks of leather, and keep all these things together till I send for them.  Keep close counsel, and above all let not my mother know.  I am going to Sparta and to sandy Pylos to inquire of my father’s return; and I shall start in the evening when my mother is gone to rest.”

“Who put such a thought into thy heart?” cried Eurycleia in wailing tones.  “Why wilt thou take this dreadful journey, thou, an only child, so loved, and so dear?  Odysseus is lost for ever, and if thou go we shall lose thee too, for the suitors will plot thy ruin while thou art far away.”