“Eurymachus,” answered Penelope, “all the bloom of my womanhood was blighted on the evil day when the Greeks embarked for Troy, and Odysseus, my lord, went with them.  But now I am like some poor hunted creature, hard beset by the hounds of fate.  Well I remember my husband’s parting words.  Holding my right hand he said:  ’Dear wife, I am going into the midst of perils, and it may be that we shall never see each other again.  Be thou but faithful to thy trust, and remember whose daughter thou art; and when thou seest thy son with a beard on his cheeks, thou art free to marry whom thou wilt.’  Such were his words, and now they shall shortly be fulfilled.  I see the day approaching which shall make me another man’s wife; better for me if I were the bride of death!  For who ever beheld such wooing as yours?  ’Twas ever the custom among those who sought the daughter of a wealthy house in marriage to bring with them their own sheep and oxen to make good cheer for the friends of the bride; but ye sit here as unbidden guests, and devour my living.”

Odysseus smiled to himself with pleasure when he heard this artful speech of Penelope, for he perceived her intention, which was to draw gifts from the wooers, and raise their hopes by the prospect of her approaching marriage.  And the artifice was successful, for the wooers, following the lead of Antinous and Eurymachus, at once despatched their servants to bring the bride gifts from their houses.  Antinous gave a splendid embroidered robe, with twelve golden clasps, Eurymachus a necklace of amber and gold, and Eurydamas a pair of jewelled earrings.  These and other costly offerings were brought to Penelope in her chamber.

II

When evening came on, the wooers ordered three braziers to be set up in the hall, to give them light as they sat at their pastimes.  The braziers were fed with dry chips of pine-wood, and the maid-servants relieved each other from time to time in the duty of keeping up the fires.  Presently Odysseus drew near to the handmaids, and said:  “Go ye and attend the queen in her chamber, I will serve the fires, and give light to the company.  Yea, though they sit here all night they shall not tire me out, for I am a much-enduring man.”

The women laughed, and glanced at one another; and one of them, whose name was Melantho, spoke bitterly to Odysseus, and reviled him, saying:  “Thou wretched old man, why goest thou not to find a bed in the smithy, or wherever else thou canst, instead of loitering here, and vexing us with thy prate?  Either thou hast drunk a cup too much, or else thou art stricken in thy wits.  Get thee gone, lest a stronger than Irus lay his hand upon thee and break thy bones.”

“Now will I go straightway to Telemachus,” answered Odysseus fiercely, “yonder where he sits, and tell him what thou sayest, thou vixen, that he may hew thee in pieces on the spot.”

So menacing were his looks and his tones that the women fled quaking from the hall and left him to tend the fires.  So there he stood in view of the whole company, to their eyes a poor outcast, intent on his menial task; but thoughts other than of the fires filled his heart.