💡 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.
The sun had not long risen when the ship reached Pylos, and Athena and Telemachus at once landed, leaving their companions on board. It happened to be a feast day, and the aged king and his people were offering a great sacrifice to Poseidon. Thousands of citizens were assembled on the seashore and lay stretched out on the sand, eating the flesh of the animals that had been sacrificed, while the heralds passed up and down among them, filling up the cups with wine.
As they were going towards the place of sacrifice, Telemachus was filled with confusion at the thought of having to address the king, and he said to Athena, “How shall I make known my errand? In measured speech I am not practiced, and good cause has a youth to feel embarrassed when he is about to address himself to an older man.”
But Athena encouraged him. “Forget thy timidity,” she said, “and remember that thou art come hither for no other purpose than to enquire of Nestor about thy father. Much of what thou shouldst say will of itself occur to thee, and the rest will be put into thy mouth by the gods, for I am sure that they wish thee well.”
When the sons of Nestor saw the two strangers approaching, they advanced to meet them, and Pisistratus, who was the youngest, led them to the place where his father was sitting. Here they found skins spread out upon the sand, and, when they had seated themselves, Pisistratus handed to Athena a cup of wine, saying, “Stranger, make thy prayer to Poseidon, for it is in his honor that we hold our feast today. And when thou hast prayed and hast poured out a drink offering, pass the cup to thy companion that he may do likewise, for we all stand in need of the help of the gods.”
Then Athena prayed aloud and said, “Hear me, great Poseidon, and fulfill my desire! Grant to Nestor and his sons great renown, and do thou recompense all the men of Pylos for the sacrifices which today they offer thee. Grant also that we may prosper in the purpose for which we are come hither.” Thus she prayed, meaning herself to accomplish all that she had asked from Poseidon. Then she handed the cup to Telemachus, who prayed in like manner.
When they had finished eating and drinking, Nestor said, “Now has the time come to enquire of our guests concerning their name and the place of their birth. Tell us, therefore, who ye are, and what has brought you hither.”
At these words, Telemachus summoned his courage and with an effort replied, “We come from Ithaca. The son of Odysseus am I. Of my unhappy father we have no tidings, and we know not whether he is alive or dead. Therefore I pray thee, tell me what thou canst concerning him. Even if the tale be sad, I entreat thee, by all the love which thou didst bear to my father when ye were fighting together before Troy, that thou hide nothing from me.”
“My son,” replied Nestor, “when the war was over, we divided into two bands — the one followed Menelaus, and the other, Agamemnon. Thus were we parted, thy father and I, and since then have I heard nothing of him. But thou bringest to my memory the countless toils and dangers which in that land we passed through. Yea, often it went hard with us, and many of our bravest were snatched away by death. The brave Ajax and Achilles and his friend Patroclus and my dear son Antilochus, all lie buried there in foreign soil. Afterwards also, when the war was over, many of our heroes perished. To me indeed the gods granted a speedy return, but others have wandered, some for a longer, others for a shorter time, before reaching their homes. Of many have I heard, here in Pylos, how it has fared with them, though not of all. Of the fate of Agamemnon I am not ignorant. He was slain by the hand of Aegisthus — but now his son Orestes has avenged him by slaying the murderer. Good indeed it is for a man to leave behind him a brave son.”
“Alas!” replied Telemachus despondingly, “would that the gods had granted me strength to punish the insolent suitors in our house. But that has not been so, and I must endure their violence with what patience I can.”
“I have heard,” answered Nestor, “of the unseemly manner in which the suitors besiege thy house. Yet if Athena loves thee as she loved thy father, whom she so often helped openly when we were fighting against Troy, many a suitor will yet have cause to regret that he has joined the band of evildoers. And perhaps —who can tell?— thy father himself may yet return to his home.”
With a heart full of despair, Telemachus answered, “Oh, king, how should such good fortune come to me? That is more than I dare to hope for. It hardly could be possible, even should the gods themselves will it.”
But Athena blamed him, saying, “What words are these, Telemachus? A god, if he will, can easily deliver, even in the greatest extremity. Far rather would I, for my part, spend long years in banishment like thy father, and have at last a prosperous homecoming, than, like Agamemnon, return speedily to be slain at a banquet.”
Telemachus then proceeded to make further inquiries of Nestor. “But where,” he asked, “was Menelaus when the murder of his brother took place?”
“In a distant land was Menelaus,” replied Nestor. “Had he on his return home found the treacherous Aegisthus still alive, thou mayest well believe that no mound of earth would have covered his dead body; his corpse would have been thrown to the dogs to devour. But Menelaus was driven by storms far away from his home — as far as Egypt and other strange lands, from which it would take a bird longer than a year to fly to the land of Greece — and thus Aegisthus was left for many years to enjoy the fruits of his crime.
“When Agamemnon went away to Troy, he entrusted to a faithful minstrel the care of his house and his wife, fearing lest she might be led away by the flattery of Aegisthus. But when through weakness she yielded and became the wife of that traitor, the faithful singer was sent away to a solitary island, where he died, and his corpse was devoured by birds. And so great was the influence which Aegisthus had gained over the queen, that she consented willingly to the murder of her husband when he returned from the war. After the crime was committed, Aegisthus ruled for seven years over the dominions of Agamemnon. But the young Orestes had been conveyed by friends of his father to Athens, where he was safe from the murderous hands of Aegisthus, and in the eighth year he returned and slew him — his mother being already dead. That very same day, Menelaus at last reached his home and grieved that he had arrived too late to accomplish the revenge with his own hands.
“But to thee, it is my counsel that thou do not long remain away, leaving thy mother and thy household in the hands of the suitors. Yet must thou not fail to go to Menelaus. He has lately returned from his far journey and may be able to give thee tidings of thy father. Sail therefore to Sparta without any great delay, or, if thou wilt rather go by land, I will gladly supply thee with horses and a chariot, and one of my sons shall go with thee.”
When the sun was about to set, Athena reminded Nestor that it was time to bring the sacrificial feast to a conclusion, for it was considered profane to continue till darkness had overspread the earth. The last ceremonies were therefore performed: water was poured by heralds over the hands of the guests, wine was again mixed, and the cups replenished; and lastly, while a prayer was offered up to Poseidon and the other gods, the tongues of the animals that had been sacrificed were laid in the flames and sprinkled with drops of wine by the king and his sons. Then the feast was at an end, and the people began to disperse.