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Before the sun was fairly up, they all arose and seated themselves on the smooth stone benches that loomed up in the gloaming, white and shining, before the gates of the palace. Nestor bade one of his sons to prepare an offering to Athena, of the best heifer in the fields. He sent another son to call a skilled workman to plate the heifer's horns with gold, and two others yet to bring the crew from the ship. He told the remaining two sons to bid the maids prepare a sumptuous feast in honor of their guest.
In a moment there was a busy scene. The heifer was brought up from the fields, and her horns were adorned with pure gold in hopes that Athena would see it and be pleased. The sailors came from the ship, except two who were left as guards. The heifer was slain and parts were burned as an offering to the goddess, and cakes and wine also were thrown into the flames to complete the sacrifice. They roasted the flesh on long iron forks with five prongs, and feasted upon it.
Then Nestor said to his sons: "Bring now the chariot and horses and let our guest depart in search of news concerning his renowned father." The horses were soon harnessed to the car, which was stored with wine and bread and dainties fit for a prince. Telemachos climbed into the seat. Peisistratos took his place beside him and grasped the reins. The horses dashed off in high spirit, and Pylos was soon left in the distance. All day the horses sped along. At night they rested by the way and early the next morning went on again as swiftly as before. As the sun went down they found themselves in Sparta, the land of plenty, and at the gates of Menelaos, the king.
Here they found many guests assembled at the wedding banquet of Hermione, the daughter of Menelaos. That day she had been given as a bride to Neoptolemos, the son of Achilles. A minstrel was playing a harp and singing, while two dancers performed graceful feats to give life to the feast.
One of the attendants of Menelaos saw the strangers drive up, and stepped out to see who was coming. Then he hastened back to Menelaos and told him that two strangers of princely bearing were at the palace gate, and asked if he should unharness their horses or send them on their way. Menelaos was vexed that any of his servants should be so lax in hospitality, and told him he had acted like a foolish child, and reminded him of the gifts that had been showered on them when they wandered so long in foreign lands. And he bade him hasten to unharness the steeds, and give them oats and barley, and bid the strangers welcome to the feast.
Telemachos and Peisistratos were amazed at the beauty of the palace. They bathed in the marble baths, rubbed themselves with oil and put on the splendid tunics that were brought them. After that they entered the great hall, where each was seated on a throne near the king. A handmaid brought a golden pitcher and a silver bowl for their hands, and a table was placed before them laden with choice food. When they had eaten enough, golden beakers of wine were handed them, and then the monarch gave his hand to each of them, saying: "Ye have come in good time, my friends. As soon as ye have finished your feast, I will ask your names and whence ye come, for ye look like sons of kings."
As they sat there Telemachos, bending his head toward Peisistratos, said, in a low tone, so that he thought no one else would hear: "Surely, O son of Nestor, the Olympian home of Zeus himself could not be more glorious than this palace. See the gold and ivory, and shining brass. These things are beyond price in richness." Menelaos caught the words, although he spoke so low, and said: "My sons, there is no palace that can compare with the home of the gods. The riches which you look at in astonishment I collected while wandering in Egypt and in Crete. I find no pleasure in them, however, for I found my brother, King Agamemnon slain when I reached home. Would that the men who fought before Troy had their share of this wealth! I often weep and mourn for them in my palace, and am unable to eat or sleep on account of the misery I have brought upon my friends.
"For none of them do I mourn so much as I do for Odysseus, who suffered the most of all on my behalf. I would gladly give all my wealth, if I only knew him to be safe. But we do not know whether he is dead or living. How much his old father must have grieved for him. How many tears his wife, Penelope, must have shed, and his high-minded son, Telemachos, what sorrow he has suffered."
New despair filled the heart of Telemachos, and tears fell from his eyes. He held his purple mantle to hide his grief and wept in silence. When Menelaos saw this, he at once suspected that the young man was no other than the sorrowing son of Odysseus, and he felt perplexed for want of suitable words. He could not decide whether to question him about his father, or to wait and let the youth speak out of his own will.
Just then Helen entered the hall from her high-roofed chamber, looking like a goddess in her dazzling beauty. She sat down at her husband's feet, while servants ran to bring the mat which she was weaving and the distaff filled with fine-spun purple thread. Her fingers flew over the dainty work while she questioned the king: "Didst thou ask the strangers their names? It is not possible that there can be any man so like to Odysseus except his son, as is this youth! I see him with astonishment. His father left him at home a little babe, when the Greeks went forth to war for my sake. Is it not true that this is Telemachos?"
Menelaos replied: "My wife, I think thou hast spoken truly. The young man has the hands, the feet, and the features of Odysseus, and he cannot hide his grief at the mention of that hero's name." Peisistratos took up the word and said: "He is, indeed, the son of Odysseus, O king! My father, Nestor, sent me with him to inquire what you might know of the long-lost chieftain, and to beg you to give him advice, for he has to suffer great wrongs in his house and there is no one to assist him."
Menelaos was heartily glad to hear that his guest was really Telemachos. But the remembrance of his old friend overcame him and he wept bitter tears. "I thought when I was in Troy," he said, "that I should one day welcome Odysseus to my home. I would have given him land and cities and brought to Sparta all his people and his wealth. Then we would always have lived close together and nothing could have parted us. But he has never returned." The tears fell from his eyes and Helen wept as well. Peisistratos then said to Menelaos: "Son of Atreus, my father says that thou art good and wise. Let us not, I entreat, continue this sad discourse, since this is a day that should not be given to lamentations. I lost a brother, also, at Troy. But we will honor these heroes at a proper time, with tears and by cutting off our locks. Let us not spoil the feast with mourning."
They spent the rest of the day in making the festival as cheerful as if there were no grief to be hidden, and when night came the Argive Helen ordered the servants to prepare beds for them in the portico and cover them with tapestries, while she poured for them a soothing wine and dismissed them to their slumbers. The heralds led them to their couches, where they found a welcome rest.