The wanderer’s heart burned within him when he heard his dear native island described with such loving praise.  But dissembling his joy he set his nimble wits to work, and began to spin a fine fiction for the stranger’s ear.  “I have heard of Ithaca,” he said, “as thou sayest, even in Troy, where I fought under Idomeneus, King of Crete.  And now I am an exile, flying from the vengeance of Idomeneus, whose son, Orsilochus, I slew, because he sought to deprive me of my share in the Trojan spoil.  For he bore a grudge against me, because I would not pay court to his father at Troy, but made a party of my own, and fought for my own hand.  For him I laid an ambush, and slew him in a secret place, under cover of night.  Then I fled down to the sea, and bribed the crew of a Phoenician ship to carry me and my goods to Pylos.  But the storm wind drove them out of their course, and they put in here for shelter.  Sore battered and weary we landed here, having hardly escaped with our lives; and while I slept they brought my goods ashore, and sailed away for Sidon, leaving me alone with my sorrow.”

Intent on his tale, Odysseus had not noticed the sudden change which had come over his hearer; for his eyes had been turned away, as he strove to spell out the features of the country, which still seemed unfamiliar.  Now he looked round again, and instead of that dainty youth he saw a stately female form, tall and fair, in aspect like the mighty goddess Athene.  And in truth it was the daughter of Zeus herself who answered him, smiling and touching him with a playful gesture.  “Thou naughty rogue!” she said, “wilt thou never forget thy cunning shifts, wherein none can surpass thee, no, not the gods themselves?  Yea, thou hast a knavish wit, and no man can equal thee in craft, as no god can rival me.  Yet for all thy skill thou knewest me not for Pallas Athene, who is ever near thee in all thy trials, and made thee dear to all the Phaeacians.  And now am I come to help thee hide thy goods, and weave a plot to ensnare the foes who beset thy house.  Thou hast still much to endure, before thy final triumph, and thou must enter thy halls as a stranger, and suffer many things by the hands of violent men.”

“It is hard, O goddess,” answered Odysseus, “for a mortal man to know thee, keen though he be of wit; for thou appearest in a hundred shapes.  Yet well I know that thou wast kind to me in days of old, when I fought with the Greeks at Troy.  But since that time I have never seen thee, in all my wanderings and perils, save once in Phaeacia.  Now tell me truly, I implore thee, what is this place where I am wandering?  Thou saidst ’twas Ithaca, but in that I think thou speakest falsely, with intent to deceive me; or is this indeed my native land?”