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After the revellers had left the palace, Odysseus said to his son: "Now is the time to hide all these weapons where the suitors cannot find them, when their hour of need shall come. If they ask for them tell them that the arms were losing their polish in these smoky rooms, and also that the gods had warned thee to remove them since some dispute might arise in which the wooers heated with wine and anger would attack each other."
Telemachos at once obeyed. He called his old nurse to see that the servants were in their own apartments and the doors of the palace made fast while he removed the arms to an upper room. Then he retired to rest, leaving Odysseus sitting by the hearth in the large dining-hall awaiting the arrival of Penelope. She was not long in coming. Her maids placed a chair, inlaid with silver and ivory, for her near the fire, and threw a large woolly rug before it for her feet.
The queen, stately as a goddess, took her seat there while her maids carried away the dishes and food left by the suitors. They heaped great logs on the fire. Then Melantho, an impudent maid, said to Odysseus: "Art thou here, thou beggar! Begone, or I will take a firebrand and drive thee out!" Odysseus rejoined: "Such is the fate of beggars. They must wander far and take abuse. It is true that I am ragged, but I am not unclean. Once I was rich and had my own palace. I often gave to beggars and I had many servants. But it pleased the gods to make me poor. Thou pert woman, surely the queen, Penelope, never taught thee, and thy bad conduct will not escape the eye of Telemachos."
Penelope saw and heard all this and the high-breeding of the beggar did not escape her keen notice. She turned to the saucy maid and said: "Shame on thee, thou bold creature. Thou dost know full well that this stranger has remained here at my own request, that I might inquire if he knows aught of my husband."
Then the queen asked her matron to spread a rug for the poor old man. Odysseus sat down and Penelope began to question him. "Who art thou, stranger?" she asked. "Where is thy home? Whence hast thou come?" Odysseus answered her: "My gracious queen, I am the son of a king and I come from Crete. I am a man of sorrows and have wandered far. But do not ask me of these things, for I do not wish to lament over unhappy days.
"Strong ties of friendship bind me to Odysseus. Twenty years ago, when he went to Troy, I received him as a guest in my house, because contrary winds and a stormy sea had thrown him upon my island. I led him to my palace and gave him the best of food and wine. Twelve days he remained with me, both himself and his companions. On the thirteenth a favorable wind arose and they went on to Troy."
Odysseus kept on inventing one tale after another, such as might seem probable, and the tears rolled down Penelope's cheeks. Odysseus could have wept, too, when he saw how deep her loyalty and affection were rooted. The lady had no doubt of the genuine character of her guest, but she cautiously strove to prove the truth of his words, so she questioned him yet farther, asking him to describe Odysseus and his comrades—how he looked and what dress he wore.
Odysseus responded truthfully: "He wore a cloak of purple wool, with two clasps of gold, hand-wrought. The pattern showed a hound struggling with a spotted fawn, intent to kill it. Besides this he had on a delicate tunic of shining cloth, spun, doubtless, by his queen, for the women gazed at it in wonder.
"He was accompanied by a herald named Eurybates, a hunchback with a dark complexion, but Odysseus seemed to value him above all the rest, for he was a clever and a faithful man."
When Odysseus had finished speaking, Penelope exclaimed, with a burst of passionate grief: "Stranger, I was moved to pity when I first saw thee in my halls, but thou shalt be held as an honored guest from this time forward. Thou hast spoken truly of the garments, for I shaped the folds in them myself and put on the clasps. Alas! I shall never see him again. It was a cruel fate that took him from me."
Odysseus was deeply moved, and tried to speak consoling words. "Weep not," he said, "for grief will wear away thy beauty and thy health. Odysseus lives and will return. I met him lately on his homeward way, laden with wealth which he had gathered in the country of the Thesprotians.
"He will come alone, for his comrades were destroyed off the island of Trinacria, for they had slain the oxen of the Sun. He would have arrived here before me, only that he stopped to consult an oracle whether to come secretly or not. He is safe and will not long remain away from thee. Here I take the great oath that Odysseus will come within a month."
The wise queen answered him: "I would that thy words might prove true, O stranger, but the thought is deep in my heart that Odysseus is no more. My maidens, lead this guest to the bath and spread a couch for him where he can rest quietly, and to-morrow he shall share the morning meal with Telemachos."
Then said Odysseus to her: "Fair queen, I care not for fine covers and soft beds. Wilt thou permit me to lie down on the floor near the fire, as I am used to do? I care not for the bath, either, unless there is some old servant who knows how to give a foot-bath to aged feet."