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When newborn Dawn came on with her rose-fingered daylight,
they yoked the horse-team, mounted the colorful chariot
and drove along through the gate as the portico echoed.
They lashed and drove the horses which willingly took off,
coming in time to a wheat-filled plain. The journey was over
there and then. Both of the lively horses had held up.
The sun now set and all the roadways were darker.
BOOK 4 With Menelaos and Helen
A Wedding Feast
They came to a land of hollows and dips, Lakedaimon.
They drove to the home of highly praised Menelaos
and found him hosting a wedding feast for his lovely
daughter and son, with family and friends in the household.
♦ He’d send the bride to the son of Akhilleus, breaker of front ranks:
at Troy Menelaos had promised her first when he nodded,
saying, “Yes.” Now the Gods were blessing the marriage.
He’d send the daughter away by chariot horse-team
then to the Murmidons’ well-known city—her man was their ruler.
The son was brought Alektor’s daughter from Sparte.
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♦ She’d marry a strong and well-loved man, Megapenthes.
A slave girl had borne him. The Gods had no children
for Helen after the first. She’d borne one beautiful daughter,
Hermione, having the look of gold Aphrodite.
So they dined in the huge house with its high roof,
family and friends of the highly praised Menelaos,
reveling. Striking his lyre, a God-gifted poet
sang in their midst. A pair of tumblers had started
leading their dances, whirling around in the center.
Welcomed Strangers
Nestor’s renowned son and warlike Telemakhos
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pulled up close to the gate, stopping their horse-team.
Lordly Eteoneus came from the palace and saw them.
The ready squire of highly praised Menelaos,
he carried news through the house to that shepherd of people,
standing close and his words had a feathery swiftness:
“Menelaos, nourished by Zeus, strangers are nearby,
a pair of men who look to be sons of the Day-God.
Tell me, should we unyoke their spirited horses,
or send them off to another host who’ll befriend them?”
Blond-haired Menelaos got angry and told him,
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“Boethous’s son, Eteoneus! Foolishness never
marked you before but now your blather is childish.
We often ate and welcomed men’s presents as strangers
ourselves on the long way home, trusting in great Zeus
to end our sorrow one day. Unharness the strangers’
horses and bring me these men. They’ll join us for dinner.”
He stopped and the squire went fast through the household,
calling on other ready squires to join him and follow.
The sweated horses were eased from under their harness.
Helpers tied them at stalls where horses were well fed:
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they tossed them a mixture of white barley and emmer.
A House of Wonder
Led in the godlike house the guests were in wonder.
They stared at the home of a ruler nourished by great Zeus,
the sunlike glow of the place, its luster like moonlight—
the high-roofed home of the highly praised Menelaos!
After enjoying all they could see with their own eyes,
they went to a smoothly polished bathroom for washing.
Handmaids cleaned and rubbed their bodies with good oil.
They tossed woolen mantles and tunics around them.
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Guests took chairs near Atreus’s son Menelaos.
Bringing them water a maid poured from a stunning
pitcher of gold and they washed their hands in the silver
basin. She set a polished table before them.
A modest housekeeper brought them bread and arranged it.
She gave them plenty of food, gracious and giving.
A carver hoisted meat: salvers of all kinds
were set out. Golden goblets went to each setting.
Join in the Feast
Blond-haired Menelaos welcomed them saying,
“Take some food and enjoy! Later we’ll ask you,
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after you’ve dined and drunk, who are your people.
Your parents’ bloodline is hardly lost on you both here:
I’m sure you’re sons of men nourished by great Zeus,
♦ sceptered kings. Your parents could hardly be low-born.”
He took a chine of rich beef while speaking and laid it
before them—the chine set down to honor his own place.
Their hands went out to the good things lying before them.
After their craving for food and drink was behind them,
Telemakhos turned to the son of Nestor and told him,
his head held close to stop the others from hearing,
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“Son of Nestor, joy of my heart, have you noted
all this gleaming bronze in the echoing household,
amber and gold, the shine of silver and ivory?
It’s like the inner court of Zeus on Olumpos—
so much wealth!—I’m taken by wonder to see it.”
The Riches of Gods and of Men
But blond-haired Menelaos, hearing his low voice,
gave him an answer, the words with a feathery swiftness:
“My youthful friends, no man’s a rival of great Zeus
whose house and all his belongings truly are deathless.
A man might rival me though—or maybe he cannot—
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♦ in wealth. I wandered often and suffered a great deal
hauling treasure home by ship and arriving
eight years after. I wandered past Phoinikia, Kupros
and Egypt, far Ethiopia, Sidon’s tribes and the Eremboi.
Libya too: lambs grow horns early in life there,
ewes bear young three times in the long year.
Lords of that land and shepherds never are lacking
cheese or mutton. The sweetest milk is forever
plentiful—ewes are always nursing their sucklings.
No Joy in All That Wealth
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of goods, another man was killing my brother
without a warning. I damn the wife who misled him.
But I can take no joy as lord of the wealth here.
Maybe you heard from your fathers, whoever they might be,
how much I bore in losing the house of my brother,
so well lived in, storing plenty of great things.
If only I owned one-third of that wealth in my own house,
knowing those men—my friends who died on the spread-out
plains of Troy so far from horse-feeding Argos—
were safe! I’ve often sat and wept in our great hall
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mourning all those deaths, taking a pleasure
at times even in grief. Then at the other
times I’ve stopped: grief is cold, we’re full of it swiftly.
Grief Especially for Odysseus
“But I don’t grieve for them all, whatever my sorrow,
so much as I mourn one man. Each time I recall him
I hate my food and sleep. More than any Akhaian
♦ Odysseus worked and won. He was meant to be troubled,
though, that was his curse. The anguish is always
frightful—how long he’s gon
e! And no one has made out
whether he’s dead or alive. I’m sure that the old one
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mourns today, Laertes, and faithful Penelopeia—
Telemakhos too, just born, a child when he left home.”
The son as he spoke yearned to mourn for his father,
dropping tears to the floor at the name of Odysseus.
Both his hands, holding the purple cloak up,
covered his eyes. Menelaos, watching him closely,
thought for a while. His heart and head were unsure now
whether to wait for the man to ask of his father
or speak out first himself and ask about each point.
Helen
Then as he gave his heart and head to this mulling,
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Helen walked down from her high-roofed and scented
♦ room, resembling Artemis, Goddess of golden arrows.
Adreste joined her, placing a well-made chair for the lady.
Alkippe brought a coverlet fashioned from soft wool.
Phulo carried her silver basket, a gift from Alkandre
once who was Polubos’ wife, living in Egypt
at Thebes—the greatest wealth lies in those houses.
He also gave Menelaos a pair of bathtubs of silver,
a pair of tripods and ten talents of pure gold.
His wife gave too, the loveliest presents for Helen:
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a golden staff to work with, a basket of silver—
the wheels under its frame had gold-plated wheel-rims.
Her handmaid Phulo brought and placed it beside her,
now filled with her spun yarn. Lying across it,
the staff of gold was covered with violet woolens.
A Young Man So Like Odysseus
The lady sat in her chair, her feet on a footstool.
She spoke to her husband promptly to ask about each thing:
“Zeus-bred Menelaos, who do these two men
claim to be now that they’ve entered our household?
And I, shall I feign or be open? My heart has been saying
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strongly to speak. I never saw a resemblance so striking
in man or woman, I’m taken by wonder to see him—
a man like the son of our great-hearted Odysseus!
He left a child behind, Telemakhos, born in the palace
♦ that day when all you Akhaians, because of my own shame,
went to the walls of Troy and planned boldly for battle.”
Blond-haired Menelaos answered by saying,
“I see it now, my wife, the likeness you spotted.
There are the man’s feet, there are his own hands,
the hair and heads are the same, and that throwing of glances.
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Just now when I mentioned the name myself of Odysseus,
remembering how he worked and suffered for my sake,
the young man painfully dropped some tears from his eyelids
and held the purple cloak to cover his wet eyes.”
The Son’s Longing and Anxiety
Then the son of Nestor, Peisistratos, answered,
“Atreus’s son Menelaos, Zeus-bred lord of your people:
just as you say, my friend is truly the man’s son.
His heart is cautious, though, embarrassed to say much,
arriving and talking here in your house for the first time
with you—your voice giving us joy like a God’s voice!
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“Nestor sent me along, the Gerenian horseman,
to guide and help him closely. He wanted to see you,
hoping you’d say some word or move him to action.
The son whose father is gone has plenty of trouble
if no one at home is a strong guard of the great hall.
Telemakhos left that way: right now there is no one
throughout the land to watch and keep him from great harm.”
Longing for Old and Renewed Friendship
Blond-haired Menelaos answered by saying,
“Look at this! Truly the man’s child came to my own house—
the man and friend who suffered so many trials for my sake.
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I knew if he came I’d welcome him better than any
Argive if Zeus on Olumpos, watching from far off,
gave us a homeward course by ship on the wide sea.
I’d give him a city in Argos! I’d build him a new house
after moving his people, all that wealth and his only
son from Ithaka. First I would empty a city
lying about, a place that calls me its master.
Then we could live and meet there, nothing would keep me
away or stop us from sharing friendship and pleasure
until the darkening cloud of death would enshroud us.
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But somehow the God himself must have been jealous.
He caused one wretched man not to return home.”
Grief Pausing
His words were making them all want to be mournful.