💡 This is a chapter from The Wanderings of Odysseus, by C. Witt & F. Younghusband ← Go there to read the full book free online; it is also available in paperback and Kindle editions.
Odysseus again sat down upon the threshold, and presently there came in from the street a man who looked ill-pleased when he saw the place already taken. He was a beggar of Ithaca whom the suitors had nicknamed Irus because, like the goddess Iris, who conveyed the messages of Zeus, he went on all the errands with which they commissioned him. He had grown big and stout and could eat enough for three men, but he had no strength nor pluck. The stranger did not look likely to be a formidable enemy, so he cried out, “Get thee gone from the door, old man, or else will I drag thee away by the legs. Look around, and thou wilt see that the lords in the hall are beckoning to me to let thee have a taste of my fists.”
With bent brows, Odysseus answered, “I am doing thee no harm, and do not grudge thy going into the hall and getting as much as thou canst. On the threshold there is room enough for us both. But beware of provoking me too far, for, should the old man grow angry, he might handle thee in such a manner that thou wouldst forget to pay him back.”
Irus thought this was a mere boast and said boldly, “Very well then, gird thee for the fight. I will soon give thee some good bruises and knock in thy teeth for thee. How dost thou expect to prosper against a younger man?”
Antinous had heard what passed, and he now cried out gaily to the others, “Here is a joke such as we have never enjoyed before. Irus and the strange beggar are challenging one another to fight. We will stand by and set them on.”
At these words, they all rose laughing and grouped themselves around the two beggars, and, in order to induce them to fight with the more zest, Antinous decreed a prize for the winner which might well stimulate the ardor of a hungry beggar. Two dainty sausages of an enormous size were just then roasting before the fire, and of these the winner was to choose the best; moreover, he alone in future was to be admitted to the feasts of the suitors.
Odysseus placed himself carefully in position, saying, “An old man must needs be timid when he has to fight with a younger than himself, especially when he has gone through so much as I have; but hunger compels me to do my best. But swear to me, at least, that ye will not help Irus.” They agreed to this, and Odysseus laid aside his clothes and girded himself with an apron.
The suitors were astonished to see how powerful were his thighs, his shoulders, and his breast, and they cried out, “Irus, Irus, look at the limbs of the old man; thou wilt be an unfortunate Irus, even to the last.” Irus was shaking with fright and wishing with all his heart that he had never given the challenge; even now, in spite of the disgrace, he would gladly have drawn back, but the servants stripped off his clothes and prepared him for the fight.
He looked a piteous object as he stood there, trembling in every limb, and Antinous chid him. “Thou braggart,” he said, “art thou afraid of the old man? Thou hadst best pull thyself together, for I tell thee that, if thou art beaten, I will have thee put into a ship and taken to King Echetus the Torturer, who will cut off thy nose and ears.” At which words Irus only trembled the more.
When the two stood up one against the other, each with his right hand raised to strike his adversary, Odysseus considered whether he should give Irus such a blow as to strike him dead or should only smite him gently and lay him on the ground. He decided on the latter course, for he feared lest otherwise he might betray who it was that had been disguised in the rags of the beggar.
They both struck one another at the same moment — Irus hit Odysseus on the shoulder with a feeble blow, but Odysseus smote Irus on the cheek, breaking his jawbone, and he fell upon the ground, howling. The suitors nearly died of laughter at the sight. Odysseus dragged the cowardly boaster by the feet through the courtyard and propped him up against the wall; then he placed a stick in his hand and said, “Now thou canst keep off the swine and the dogs, but beware of presuming again to lord it over other beggars and strangers, or it may be still worse for thee the next time.”
Then he went quietly back to his place, put on his clothes, and hung his beggar’s scrip round his neck. The suitors came around him and drank his health. “May the gods grant thee the wish that lies nearest to thy heart,” they said, little deeming —fools that they were— that they were thus drinking death and destruction to themselves.
Antinous, still laughing, brought him the largest of the two sausages, and Amphinomus gave him two loaves, saying, as he drank his health, “Mayest thou prosper, father, and may thy present misery be soon exchanged for happiness.”
It had not escaped the keen observation of Odysseus that Amphinomus was by far the best of the suitors, and, wishing to warn him of the danger that was at hand, he said, “Thou appearest to me to have more understanding than the rest, Amphinomus. Hear then what I have to say. We men, in our days of good fortune, are apt to forget what may come to us in the way of adversity. I too was once a prosperous man, but I let myself be led away to do evil, and thus I fell into the miserable condition in which thou seest me. Ye suitors, in like manner, have fallen into the habit of doing evil in this house, and ye think not that Odysseus may yet return; but I tell you that he will, yea, he is already close at hand. Therefore, may some god prompt thee to leave this house in time, for, when he comes again beneath this roof, it will not be without bloodshed.”
Thus Odysseus spoke, and, when he had poured out a libation to the gods, he drank and gave back the cup to Amphinomus, who went away staggered by the warning he had received and thinking anxiously about the future. Yet he could not make up his mind to forsake the merry feast in the palace, and he soon seated himself again in his old place.