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The feast continued. The wooers ate and drank but were silent, for an illustrious bard was singing to them of the Trojan war. Telemachos walked forth in the midst of them, his heart inspired with courage. Penelope had heard the song as she sat in her chamber over the hall, and she came down the lofty stairway attended by two maids. She implored the bard, with tears to change the song, since it was the one most sacred to her and made her sad.
Then said Telemachos: "My mother, let thy heart be strong to bear this song which all men love. The bard must sing the song with which he is inspired. Retire now, I pray thee, to thy room, and take thy maids with thee. There teach them to spin and weave—a task meet for a princess. But leave to me the ordering of the feast and the care of the suitors. Such a duty belongs to a man, and the authority is mine." Penelope was amazed at his words. She withdrew to her own rooms with her attendants and wept and mourned for her absent lord until she fell asleep.
When the minstrel had finished his song, the suitors began to be noisy and riotous again. Telemachos could no longer restrain himself. "Ye insolent suitors of my mother," he said to them, "cease your uproar. Your lawlessness knows no bounds. To-morrow I will call a general assembly of all the Ithacans and warn you to depart. If ye remain in my house wasting my goods and eating food that is not your own I will call down vengeance from the gods, and ye shall die in this very palace."
The suitors were astonished at his courage and his words. He had never before spoken out with authority. Antinoös and Eurymachos, the most insolent of them, began to ridicule him and excite the others to make fun of him. And they asked Telemachos what guest he had been entertaining so secretly and what news he had brought from his father. The suitors danced and sang, eating and drinking, until evening, before they went home.
Telemachos then sought his own couch. His old nurse, Eurycleia, led the way with two torches. She had been a faithful servant since Laertes, in his early manhood, had bought her for the price of a hundred oxen.
Telemachos sat down on his bed, and removing his tunic handed it to the nurse, who folded it and smoothed it and hung it up. He lay down and covered himself with soft fleeces, while Eurycleia went out and carefully locked the door. But sleep did not come to him. All night he thought of what the coming day would bring.