Episode 72V – The Beggar King – Myths Your Teacher Hated

Episode 72V Show Notes

Source: Greek Mythology

This week on MYTH, Odysseus is going to have a chance to size up the competition. You’ll discover that it’s hard out there for a beggar, that some things are too cruel even for the other villains, and that everyone is ready to murder the suitors. Then, in Gods and Monsters, you’ll learn how seven stars can become six in only 100,000 years. This is the Myths Your Teacher Hated podcast, where I tell the stories of cultures from around the world in all of their original, bloody, uncensored glory. Modern tellings of these stories have become dry and dusty, but I’ll be trying to breathe new life into them. This is Episode 72V, “The Beggar King”. As always, this episode is not safe for work.
When we left the story last time, we’d picked up just after the end of the Trojan War. Odysseus spent nearly ten years sailing around the mythical world getting into shenanigans and getting every last one of his men killed along the way. He’d dallied with the witch Circe for a year and with the nymph Calypso for 7 years before finally washing up on the island of the Phaeacians and meeting the princess Nausicaa. Her father had helped Odysseus out with a ride on one of their magical ships, depositing him back on the shores of Ithaca once more at long last. Of course, as we’ve seen, things have gone to shit while the king has been away, and Odysseus’ son Telemachus has been on his own mini odyssey in search of news of his father. Athena has helped him come up with a lot of great stories but not much in the way of concrete information, so he decides to head back home. Unbeknownst to him, the suitors who have invaded the palace to try and marry Odysseus’ wife Penelope and take his throne have laid an ambush for the young prince, intent on murdering him and removing one of the last remaining obstacles. Odysseus finally made it home and Athena revealed herself before using god magic to disguise the returning hero as an old beggar. Telemachus returned and met his long lost father, who finally revealed his true identity to much crying and hugging before the two set down to plot their bloody revenge. Two different messengers had notified Penelope (and the suitors) that Telemachus had returned – though Odysseus was still a secret.
The sun was just starting to set when the swineherd Eumaeus returned to his hut from his mission to deliver the news of Telemachus’ return. He found Telemachus and Odysseus (once more in disguise as an old beggar) roasting a yearling pig for their evening meal. Athena had wrinkled and uglied him up again to keep the loyal servant from blurting out the news of the king’s return before the time was right. Telemachus was the first to notice the man’s approach, and asked him if the suitors were already back in the palace or still waiting in their failed ambush to try and murder the prince.
“Couldn’t say, my prince. I went to the palace and delivered your message like you asked, but I had too much work to do back here to spend time wandering around town listening to the gossip. I did meet a runner from your shipmates on the way to the palace though. He announced to the court that you had returned first, though I gave your personal message for her ear alone. On my way back, I saw a black ship pulling into harbor, loaded down with a crew bristling with spears and shields. I suspect those are the men you mean, coming back to Ithaca, but I don’t know for sure.” Telemachus gave his father a secret look and a sly smile at this news. They had hoped the entire pack of mangy suitors would be together. The three men ate dinner and then went to bed, a long day of work ahead of them in the morning.
At dawn, Telemachus arose and strapped on his leather sandals. Taking up his spear, he set out for the city with a final word to his loyal swineherd. “It’s been nice hanging out with you out here and catching up, but I promised that I would go into town today and present myself to my mother. If I know her, she’s not going to stop weeping and worrying about me until she sees my face safe and sound personally. You’ve been a real help, Eumaeus, and I have one more task for you before I go. Take that luckless wanderer into town today so he can beg for his supper. You did the right thing by putting him up, but it’s high time he was someone else’s problem. I’ve got enough mouths gnawing at my estate, and every passerby can’t be my responsibility. If the old man doesn’t like it, tough – at least I’m being up front and honest with him. It’s the proper way to be.”
Odysseus piped up at this. “No worries, my young friend. I have no desire to linger here any longer. It’s a lot easier to cadge a meal in town than out here in the country. I’m too old to work a field or jump at the orders of younger men, so I’ll happily go with your man into the city. As soon as I’ve had a chance to warm my bones by the fire, and the sun is good and strong so I don’t catch my death of cold on the way, I’ll head out. I mean, look at these tattered rags, right? The dawn’s frost will cut right through these measly things before I’ve made the long, hard trek to town.”
With a nod of assent, Telemachus strode out onto the road. The whole walk home, he brooded on the plague of suitors still wreaking havoc on his home and plotting their destruction. When he finally reached the sturdy palace, he left his spear beside a pillar at the front door and went inside. His nurse Eurycleia was the first to see him enter. Telemachus had left her in a bit of a pickle back in Episode 72L, ordering her to keep his departure secret from the queen, so she was understandably delighted to see him return alive. She rushed to greet him with tears in her eyes, drawing the attentions and welcomes of the rest of the staff. The palace servants genuinely liked Telemachus, especially in comparison to the douchebaggery of the suitors.
The commotion quickly caught the attention of Penelope, and she rushed to embrace her son, tears streaming down her face. “You’re home! You’re home! Sweet Zeus, I never thought I’d see your face again, my dear son! Once I’d heard that you shipped off to Pylos in secret and against my wishes to search for news of your father, I feared the worst. But now that you’re back, tell me – did you learn anything? Did you maybe even see him?”
Telemachus had promised his father to keep his return a secret, even from Penelope, but he also wasn’t super thrilled about lying to her so he instead talked a very fine line. “No tears, mother. I’m emotional enough as it is having had a brush with death and escaped with my life. We can catch up after you’ve had a chance to head upstairs, take a nice relaxing bath, and change clothes. It might be wise to offer up a particularly nice sacrifice to Zeus asking for his help if he ever grants us the revenge we so desperately desire. I’ve still got some business to take care of. I only stopped by to see you because I knew you were worrying, but I’ve got to go meet a guest I met on my travels. He’s been staying with my friend Piraeus, but it’s only proper to host him here myself now that I’m back.” Penelope couldn’t really argue with her son’s desire to be a proper host, so she watched him leave and then went upstairs to pray to Zeus for his aid in some very ill-defined venture.
Taking up his spear again, Telemachus left the hall with a pair of his faithful hounds at his heels. Athena, who just kind of hangs around Odysseus’ clan without seeming to have anything better to do, dropped a little glamour on him to give him an aura of marvelous splendor. Everyone stopped and stared at the new air of authority hanging on the shoulders of the prince, who seemed to have grown a great deal on his jaunt at sea. The thronged suitors pressed forward to greet the young prince, mouths full of false sweetness and hearts full of bloody murder, but he swung wide to avoid them. He made a beeline for Mentor, who was sitting with Antiphus and Halitherses – loyal friends of Odysseus all. He sat with the old men, who began to pepper him with questions, but he was spared having to answer by the arrival of faithful Piraeus and the foreign stranger.
Telemachus leapt to his feet to be the first to greet the seer Theoclymenus as he arrived into town proper, but Piraeus spoke first. “Telemachus, you should send some serving women to my house to fetch the gifts that Menelaus gave you, and quickly.” “Not just yet, old friend. There’s still a lot of uncertainty on how this whole thing is going to finally play out. If the suitors manage to slip the dagger into my back when I’m not looking and carve up my father’s estate, I’d much rather you and the rest of the crew have those treasures than those asshats. If I manage to be the one standing victorious over the broken bodies instead, then we can share the wealth and the joy on that day.”
Piraeus saw the wisdom in this plan and agreed. Telemachus then led the visiting seer to his home for a warm, relaxing bath to scrub off the salt and the dust of travel. Once they were cleaned and oiled by the serving women, a meal was laid for the pair with Penelope looking on from her seat across the room. She sat in her usual low chair, spinning wool into yarn as she often did. She held her composure while her son and her guest ate, as was proper, but once they finished she could contain herself no longer.
“Telemachus, I’m going to go lay down in my room shortly. I’m worn out with worry and grief from years of pain since Odysseus sailed away with the sons of Atreus. Before I do, are you going to tell me what, if anything, you learned on your travels? You neatly dodged the question the first time we spoke, and you haven’t said plainly if you had news of your father or not.”
“Of course, mother. I didn’t mean to leave you in suspense. I’m afraid I didn’t learn much in Pylos. I was received warmly by Nestor there, and he treated me almost as a long-lost son, but he had no news of Odysseus since they left Troy a decade ago. He sent me on to see King Menelaus in a borrowed chariot, and I saw the famous Helen there. Helen of Argos, for whom all those Achaeans and Trojans suffered and died. The king of Sparta was horrified at the way these suitors have behaved and vowed that they would fall like lambs before the roaring lion when Odysseus finally returns home. If only Father Zeus, Athena, and Apollo would grant that the man who rose to the challenge of Philomelides in the games at Lesbos and pinned him with one incredible throw – if only that Odysseus would stride through the doors and put paid to these suitors once and for all. You know how honest the old warrior of the sea is, and he too said he’d had no word of Odysseus for many, many years. He said that he’d last seen Odysseus stranded on the island home of the nymph Calypso, held by force against his will with no ship to bring him home.” Which is definitely not news he got from Menelaus, but from the crafty old sailor himself.
This was the freshest news that Penelope had received of her missing husband in years, and it at least gave some hope that he yet lived.The visiting seer Theoclymenus piped up to add his two cents. “My noble lady, Menelaus’ words, honest though they are, can have no great revelations. My word, on the other hand, can. Listen well and mark me true for I speak you a prophecy. I swear by Zeus above and the laws of hospitality of the table I sit at now, by the hearth whose hospitality I have sought out – Odysseus is, even now, on his native soil. He walks this island as we speak, listening and learning of the foul crimes committed against you and yours and he plots the ruin and death of the suitors who have wronged you. I saw it, clear and true, in the flight of the birds that swirled around your son as I sat on the beached ship with your son, the future prince.”
Penelope sighed. She’d heard such proclamations before, and they’d always turned out to be lies and false hopes. Of course, we know that he’s abso-fucking-lutely right, as does Telemachus. She gave the seer a hopeful smile all the same. “If only your words could come to pass, my friend. You would know the depths of my gratitude; I would heap gifts upon your shoulders until any man who met you would name you blessed.”
While these three thus conferred about the future (with Telemachus probably having to fight to keep his face from giving away the game at the seer’s extremely accurate prediction), the suitors were back to their usual antics downstairs. They whiled away the hours until dinner with sports and games, tossing the discus and throwing spears for distance. When the food was ready, Medon the herald summoned them like sheep in from the fields. They butchered sheep and goats and hogs and a young cow for their nightly feast on someone else’s dime.
Meanwhile, back on the farm (literally this time), Eumaeus and the disguised Odysseus were finally setting out for town. “Look man, I know you’re keen on heading into town like the prince said. I like the boy and he’s a good kid, but I’d personally rather have you hang here a little longer and watch the farm for me. Still, the prince gives the orders and I don’t want to have to explain to him later why I disobeyed so off we go. The bulk of the day has already passed us by, and it’ll get colder the longer we wait.”
Odysseus nodded his agreement. “You’re absolutely right. If you could kindly get me a stick to lean on, I’d appreciate it. You said that the road is treacherous, and I don’t want to slip and tumble down ass over teakettle.” Eumaeus gave him a serviceable staff and, flinging his beggar’s bag across his shoulders on its frayed rope, off they went, leaving behind two herdsmen and a few dogs to watch the farm. Thus did Odysseus finally come to his city in secret.
In due time, the pair came to the stone-rimmed fountain where the people of the city all came to draw their water, near an altar to the local nymphs. Melanthius, son of Dolius, happened to be there as they approached, herding his flock of goats with the help of a pair of drovers to the palace for the nightly meal. He was a miserable dick and, seeing the pig herder (who he considered beneath his own glorious station of goat herder) walking along with a disgusting beggar, he began to insult them both for funsies. “Well lookee here – the scum has found even worse scum to get chummy with. Shit always finds more shit, it never fails. Where are you taking your dirty pig, you filthy stinking pig-boy? Oh, sorry – that’s not a pig, it’s even worse – a miserable beggar! You two off to lick the pots after the feast? It’s disgraceful, hanging by the doors and hopping to scavenge some scraps like some mangy cur. Give him to me, pig-boy, and I’ll put his lazy ass to work. No? Of course not, you miserable waste of space – you like being lazy too much, mooching off your betters and begging for a crust of bread to stuff your greedy guts! If you’re planning on taking that piece of shit to Odysseus’ palace, I promise you that they’re going to bash his head in with a fucking salvo of stools and chairs. They know better than to let such filth in there!”
Being a miserable shithead, he stuck out a foot as he passed the pair in an attempt to kick the feet out from under the apparent beggar and knock him off the path for a little humiliation. The guy’s a bully, taking out his insecurities on those he thinks are his inferiors. Odysseus avoided being knocked from his feet and held his ground, but he debated internally about his next move. Should he crack the asshat’s head open with his walking stick or should he knock the wind out of him instead and then crush his skull with a rock? Of course, he quickly realized that he had to maintain his disguise, which meant letting this insult pass in silence. Eumaeus had no such disguise to maintain and he felt completely free to cast a curse on this dude’s head.
“Nymphs of the fountain, daughters of mighty Zeus, hear me! If ever great Odysseus made sacrifices to you, burned the long thighbones of lambs covered in glistening fat, answer my prayer, I beg you! Let the man himself return, some god guide him home! If he does, I swear that he’ll carve you to mincemeat Melanthius. You strut around town like the king shit, but you can’t even control your fieldhands. Your flocks a shaggy shamble, and it’s all your fault, you dick.”
Far from being cowed, Melanthius crowed with laughter. “Listen to this arrogant prick! All bark and no bite, just like the toothless dog he is. One of these days, pig-boy, I’m going to haul your ass onto a ship and sell you somewhere for a good price. As soon as Apollo puts a silver arrow in that miserable prince Telemachus’ heart or those wonderful suitors finally leave his entrails steaming on the floor, you’re mine. We both know that the king is never coming back, and thank the gods for that.”
Still laughing, the goat herder wandered off, leaving Eumaeus and Odysseus to continue on to the palace. The goatherd slipped in and took a seat among the suitors, picking a chair facing Eurymachus who was something of a patron of his. A plate of meat and bread was set before him as he joined the feast in Odysseus’ hall. The king and the pig herder were not far behind, halting outside the doors just as the lute started up. Odysseus grabbed his friend’s hand and feigned surprise at the greatness of the palace, saying that this place was so grand that it could only belong to the missing king. It’s a pretty impressive humble-brag that Eumaeus won’t pick up on until much later. He also commented on the familiar sounds of feasting from inside – voices and lyre music most notably.
Eumaeus nodded. “Right in one, though it was an easy guess to make. How do you want to proceed here, friend? Do you want to go inside and I stay behind so you can mix with the suitors without them knowing you’re with me or would you rather I go inside first to smooth things over? Don’t linger too long behind me if you do that or someone may see you lurking outside the door and drive you off with rocks.”
“I think it’s probably best if you go in first. Rocks don’t worry me much – I’ve got a pretty thick skull and besides, me and pain are old friends by now. I’ve had many long years to perfect the art of enduring suffering in the wars and on the waves. A few rocks will hardly add to the total. My stomach is starting to growl, and there’s no denying it when it gets like this, so bring on the trial. Like everyone else, I’ll do whatever I have to do to put some food in my belly. Mark me – it’s hunger that puts men on black ships to ride out on the salt seas to bring death to our enemies.”
As the two men spoke there in the courtyard, their voices carried to the sun-warmed stones where an old dog was taking a little snoozle. This particular hound was named Argos, and he was a very, very old dog for he had been trained by Odysseus himself when he was but a pup. The doggo had loved the king, and he’d been heartbroken when the man shipped out to Troy so early in his canine life. He’d spent his days as a hunting dog, chasing down deer and harts and wild goats on swift feet, but now he was old and forgotten by everyone on the island. Neglected, the poor pup stuck around outside the castle where the dung from the mules and cattle were heaped until it could be carted off since it was the one place no one bothered him. The poor thing was filthy, covered in ticks and fleas, and half-dead from starvation and neglect. It truly is one of the most pitiable scenes in the whole damned epic.
Old Argos heard Odysseus speak and, even through Athena’s magical disguise, he knew that man. He sniffed the wind and then the old dog knew for sure that this man was his old friend returned at last after so long away. His ragged old tail thumped loudly and he did his best to drag himself over to the old beggar, though he didn’t have the strength to stand any more. Odysseus saw the movement and recognized his faithful old hound. In that moment, he had to turn away to hide a tear from Eumaeus so as to not give away his disguise so close to his goal.
“Look at that old dog lying amongst the dung heaps there, Eumaeus. He must have been a handsome hound once – just look at the line of him! I wonder if he had speed to match his looks or if he was the pampered sort of pup that rich people like to show off but can’t actually do anything useful.” “Ah, he’s a good boy, the dog of a man who died long ago and far away. If only you could have seen ol’ Argos the way he was when Odysseus first sailed away, leaving him behind. He was one hell of a hunting dog, I tell you what. Nothing he chased ever got away from him and no scent was ever lost to his keen nose. With his master dead, none of the serving women take care of him in his old age. You know how slaves are – they don’t work that hard without someone around to make them, because why would they? Old Thunderhead himself, Zeus on high, robs a man of half his virtue and self respect the day that yoke clamps around his neck.” With another glance at the old dog, Odysseus and Eumaeus went inside, leaving Argos behind. There, amidst the mud and the shit, poor Argos died, having finally seen the man he’d been missing for 20 years. The poor pup really deserved better.
Telemachus was the first to note the entrance of the swineherd into the palace, mostly because he’d been expecting it. He waved Eumaeus over with a nod. Eumaeus grabbed an empty stool and seated himself at the table with the prince, where a steward set a plate of roasted meat in front of him. Just as he settled himself, Odysseus entered the hall as well. Looking for all the world like a filthy, broken old beggar, he hobbled along with the help of his walking stick, settling himself just inside the doorway at the ashwood threshold. Telemachus grabbed a tray and piled it up with an entire loaf and as much meat as the tray could safely carry, then told Eumaeus to take it to their guest. “Give him this food then tell him he should make his rounds to the suitors and beg from each and every one of them. A man in need can’t afford to be shy.”
Eumaeus rose and did as he was bid, repeating verbatim the prince’s message. Odysseus nodded gratefully and with false submission, intoning a blessing on the prince for his kindness. He settled himself down to eat his meal by the door as the singer broke into a new song. By the time he’d finished the generous portion, the singer had finished his performance, prompting the suitors to break into loud conversation. Unseen by all but the king himself, Athena slipped through the assembly to his side. “Go now and gather crusts from all the suitors. Test them each and all so that we may judge them and know the innocent from the guilty.” They both suspected that every last bastard among them was guilty as sin, but Odysseus needed to be sure.
He made a wide circuit of the room, begging from each man in turn with all of the skill at deception and deceit he had in his sly bones. Most pitied the wretched old man and gave him scraps, but they were also puzzled by his unexpected appearance among them. They asked each other who the hell this guy was and where exactly he’d come from, but no one seemed to know until the buzz reached that asshole of a goatherd Melanthius. “You noble lords who court our queen, I’ve seen this stranger before. He’s just some asshole that one of the dirty swineherds let in, though I didn’t bother to catch his name.”
Disgust immediately rippled through the ranks of the suitors. It was one thing to take pity on some poor wretch that one of them had decided to show mercy to, but a filthy pig-boy had no right to do something like that! Antinous rose to his feet to shout at Eumaeus and voice his anger. “How dare you bring this man here, swineherd! Don’t we have enough of our own vagabonds to deal with in the city without the help dragging more in from the country to lick our plates? How in the hell do you think it’s your place to invite the hobo into your master’s hall?”
Eumaeus had expected pretty much this response, so he was hardly surprised. “Antinous, you might be rich and nobly born, but that was a pretty shitty speech. Who would go out and invite some stranger into the house unless the man had some skills to serve the house? Prophets and healers and god-blessed bards are welcomed at every hearth, but a beggar? Have some basic human decency, for Zeus’ sake. You’re always the cruelest to the servants around here, and on me in particular for some reason. I can put up with it, as long as the queen still dwells here, and Prince Telemachus as well.”
Telemachus now stood to face Antinous. “Don’t waste your breath on this waste of space, Eumaeus. He likes the sound of his own voice too much, especially when he’s encouraging others to some new abuse. And you, Antinous – how kind you are, worrying about how much this one poor beggar can eat from my household during yet another endless feast for you and your companions. The beggar stays. You have no manners, no virtue, no honor! You don’t worry about whether your gifts are offensive to my mother or to my household because you’re too busy stuffing your own face and somehow getting offended that someone actually in need might take a crumb from you.”
Antinous was not used to being spoken to like this, especially not from that young whelp Telemachus and he wasn’t about to stand for it. “You certainly think very highly of yourself, mighty prince. You’re weak and soft. If all of the suitors were to give him the kind of gift I bring, we’d be rid of his filthy ass for three whole months!” As he spoke, he whirled around to seize the stool that had, until moments ago, been propping up his feet. No one else seemed inclined to follow his dickish lead. All gave Odysseus morsels to put into his begging bag and he finished the circuit. He was about to head out the door again, done with testing the worth of the suitors, when he stopped in front of Antinous one last time. “Please, sir – just a crust of bread? You’re hardly the worst of the Achaeans here; why, you seem like you might even be the noblest, a king even! It would be fit for you to give a bigger crust than everyone else and show them how it’s done.
“Once, long ago, I also lived in a large, splendid house that was the envy of men, rolling in my wealth and power. I often gave freely to men like I have become, down on their luck and in need of a little kindness. But Zeus took it all away when he shipped me off with a band of roving pirates bound for Egypt. I ordered our ships of war moored in the Nile delta and sent a patrol to scout things out while the rest of the crew was supposed to watch our fleet. Those murderous bastards got swept up in their own bloodlust and rushed off with a howl to plunder the lush Egyptian farms, stealing the women and children and murdering the men.
“Their pitiful cries soon reached the nearby city and they rushed us at dawn. Their ranks filled the valley, gleaming bronze and flashing chariots. Zeus flung panic amongst my troops like lightning bolts, and no one dared to stand and fight. My men were slaughtered and the few who survived were enslaved. I was passed off to a wandering stranger who was headed for Cyprus who sold me to Dmetor, who ruled the island with an iron fist. After years of toil and hardship, I finally managed to sail to Ithaca as you see me now, ground down by years of suffering…”
Antinous was in no mood for this beggar’s old war stories. He cut the man off with an exasperated shout. “By the almighty gods, will you shut up? What terrible spirit brought this plague to our feast? Get ye gone from here, gods damn you, or I’ll make sure your ass gets dumped back in Egypt or Cyprus to suffer some more. What a shameless piece of shit you are, scrounging for food from your betters without the decency to be ashamed of yourself. You certainly have no qualms about making off with everyone’s shit, one after the other.”
“A pity, my lord. No sense in your head to match your fine looks. You seem the kind of man who’d begrudge his servant a pinch of salt from his larder even as you lounge at another man’s table and refuse to share a crust of bread that isn’t even yours with me, though the gods know there’s plenty here.” If Antinous was outraged at being lectured by the prince, he was positively furious about being spoken to like this by a fucking beggar. “I’ll beat you bloody, you filthy shit-stain for talking to me like that!” He hurled the stool he’d been holding this whole time, catching Odysseus square in the back.
The stoic king took the blow and shrugged it off, steady and unyielding. He shook his head sadly, mind churning with plans for his bloody work. He hobbled back to the doorsill, then turned to face the suitors and pronounce judgment. “Hear me and hear me well, you lords who court our noble queen. It’s honorable to take a blow in trying to save your flocks from the wolves, but your Antinous struck me just for asking for scraps of food, the curse of hunger that all men bear. If gods and furies hear the prayers of beggars, then let Antinous meet bloody death before he meets his bride!”
“Get out get out get out or I swear that we will hold you down and skin you alive!” That was too much, even for the other suitors, who all agreed that he had committed a terrible crime and would surely be punished. Antinous paid them no heed. Telemachus ached at the abuse his father was enduring, but he let none of it show on his face. He too let bloody vengeance roil in his mind behind a placid face. Queen Penelope had no such need for calmness and, when she heard about how the beggar had been treated in her hall, she was loudly furious. She dressed Antinous down, asking Apollo to put a silver arrow through his heart for his sins, and her housekeeper Eurynome added that tomorrow wouldn’t be too soon. She complained that Antinous was the worst of their terrible, terrible lot, confirming her disdain for the whole group of them.
Penelope then asked Eumaeus to call the stranger in so she could give him a warm welcome and ask for news of her husband. “My queen, if the honorable nobles mucking up your halls would shut up for five minutes, he could tell you such stories of the wide world. He’s been living with me for the last three days by pure chance – I just happened to be the first person he stumbled into when he arrived, fleeing from pirates. He wiled away the hours that entire time telling me his troubles, and even so he hasn’t finished. He’s one hell of a storyteller, and he says that he goes way back with Odysseus’ father. He’s from Crete originally, but he’s rolled around the world like a tumbling boulder before winding up here. What’s more, he does indeed have news of Odysseus – he claims that the king yet lives, and will be coming home soon from Thesprotia laden with treasure!”
This was far from the first time some wandering stranger had claimed to have met the missing king, so Penelope was only cautiously optimistic. She desperately wanted it to be true, so she asked Eumaeus to bring the man in to see her. “I want to hear his tale from his own lips. Our gathered friends can sit at the gates or sprawl through the halls playing their silly games and getting blind drunk. Why shouldn’t they have a good time? Their own food sits uneaten in their halls while they hang out here and eat ours instead, feasting themselves sick on our goats and cattle. Wherever he is, Odysseus isn’t here to drive this plague from our home, to rid us of this curse. If he were here now, if he could see what has become of his home, he and his son would ravage these men and avenge this outrage.”
Telemachus hadn’t heard this particular version of Odysseus’ string of lies yet, and it caught him a little bit by surprise. So much so, in fact, that he let out a truly massive sneeze. You know, the kind where you have to rear back first because it’s going to be so loud and explosive? Yeah, one of those. It broke the tension, and the queen laughed as the sneeze echoed through the suddenly silent halls. “Go, Eumaeus, and bring me this traveler. My son sealed all I said with his lovely sneeze – let death come on grim wings for these suitors, one and all. Spare not a single one of those bastards! If your new friend tells me true, I’ll dress him in finery myself.”
Eumaeus raced off to bring his beggar buddy the news, letting him know that the queen had promised new clothes if she believed his words. Odysseus nodded sagely. “Of course, my good man, I’m happy to tell her everything I know about her missing husband. One thing worries me though – I have to go through that mob of vicious animals to get to the queen, and I fear they mean me harm. I mean, I was just there and one of them hurled a stool at me, and not a one of them raised a hand in my defense. Telemachus would probably try, but no one else. I’m as anxious to talk to the queen as she is to hear my story, but please tell her that I fear to come to speak with her until after dark. If she could save me a seat by the fire, I’d appreciate it. In these rags, the nights are chilly.
Eumaeus dutifully went back up to the queen, who was understandably confused as to why the swineherd hadn’t just brought the beggar with him since he was already coming back. What, was he shy or something? Eumaeus explained the man’s supposed fear of being attacked and his request of waiting until sundown to come up to see her. Penelope realized that he made a good point – the suitors were dicks, no doubt about it, and she wouldn’t put arbitrary violence against a beggar past them.
Having completed his mission, Eumaeus slipped back down to let the prince know the score and give him one final warning. “Look after yourself, prince. You’re the only one who can keep order here, so watch your own back first. Hordes of your own countrymen plot your death, so make sure you get them first.” Telemachus agreed to be careful and asked the swineherd to come back in the morning with some good boars for the slaughter. The sun was diving for the horizon as the suitors set to their nightly feast with gusto, dancing and drinking and gorging themselves. Odysseus and Telemachus didn’t intend for them to see very many more sunrises before taking their vengeance. But that’s tomorrow’s problem, which means it’s time for Gods and Monsters. This is a segment where I get into a little more detail about the personalities and history of one of the gods or monsters from this week’s pantheon that was not discussed in the main story. This week’s victims are the Pleiades.
I briefly mentioned these seven nymphs during the Gods and Monsters segment in Episode 72T, but I figured they deserved a more thorough discussion. The seven sisters are usually considered to be daughters of the great Titan Atlas, who was condemned to hold up the sky for leading the Titanomachy back in Episode 1A and the Oceanid Pleione. The specifics of the stories about these sisters are, as is so often the case, fragmentary and contradictory. They are usually considered to be half sisters of the Hyades, daughters of the Oceanid Aethra. Both she and her sister Pleione were daughters of Oceanus and Tethys, Titans who ruled the seas before being supplanted by Poseidon.
The names of the Pleiades vary from account to account but, according to Pseudo-Apollodorus in Bibliotheca, they are Alcyone, Merope, Celaeno, Electra, Sterope, Taygete, and Maia and, also according to him, Zeus took his usual horny interest in each of them in turn. The specifics are a mishmash from many, many sources and fragments. By many accounts, Maia was the oldest and the most beautiful (as well as lending her name to the month of May). We met her back in Episode 72P and saw exactly how Zeus mistreated her.
The second, Electra, was married to an Italian king named Corythus. The couple had two children: Iasion, a companion of the goddess Demeter, and Dardanus, who survived the great flood of Episode 1B and whose line would eventually give rise to the Trojans. Zeus chased her as well, though the outcome of that assault has been lost to time.
Zeus next laid eyes on Taygete, a companion of Artemis (other tales say that all seven sisters were friends with the wild goddess). Much like her older sister Maia, she had no interest in catching Zeus’ rapey eye and so, when she realized that he was descending on her like a thunderbolt, she ran. Fleeing desperately into the woods, she called on Artemis for aid, asking her to transform her into a swift-footed deer to give her a fighting chance at escape. Artemis heard this prayer and answered, but too late. By the time the transformation caught up to the poor nymph, Zeus had already caught her first, raped her, and left her alone and pregnant. As a deer, she gave birth to Lacedaemon, first king of Sparta.
The tale of Alcyone and Zeus has been lost aside from vague statements that Zeus pursued each of the sisters in turn. What did survive is a story of Poseidon taking after his brother. Alcyone caught his eye and attention, eventually giving birth to two sons: Hyrieus and Hyperenor.
Like her sister, Celaeno also found herself chased by Zeus and Poseidon both. She too eventually gave birth to two sons by Poseidon – Lycus, king of Thebes, and Eurypylus, king of Cyrene. In some stories, Poseidon later raised them to the rulers of the Islands of the Blessed in the Elysian Fields. A different version says that her sons were Lycus and Chimaerus by Prometheus instead.
Sterope’s pursuit by Zeus has likewise been lost, but tales survive of her assault by Ares, god of war. She too got pregnant, giving birth to a son named Oenomaus, father of Hippodamia and therefore ancestor of the house of Atreus, including Agamemnon and Orestes, who we’ve discussed several times. In some accounts, Oenomaus is not her son but instead her husband.
Last of the seven was Merope, who also has no surviving stories of her pursuit by Zeus. She famously married the mortal man Sisyphus – yes, that Sisyphus from Episode 26G. With him, she gave birth to several sons, including Glaucus and Almus.
As we discussed previously, the dipshit hunter Orion decided to take a very bad page out of Zeus’ playbook and pursue all seven of the Pleiades (having already attempted and been punished for a similar crime). As I noted, their father Atlas was trapped in his punishment, bearing up the sky, and so could not come to their aid against the mighty hunter. They fled his advances for seven long years, but he was unwilling to give up the chase. Some or all of the sisters, depending on the version, were in service to Artemis, and so it was her they called upon for assistance in escaping his predation. Artemis was already pretty peeved that her attendants had been ravaged by several of her own family members, and so she called upon Zeus to make it up to them by helping now. He agreed, and changed them into doves on the wing so they could make their escape (possibly giving rise to their names as peleiades means flock of doves).
Being the relentless hunter who could walk on water that he was, Orion began to track them down just the same. Being doves just wasn’t going to be enough to avoid being assaulted by this particular mortal (and apparently, no one had any giant scorpions lying around just yet). Zeus therefore changed them again, this time into stars, which worked for a while but, as we noted previously, Orion himself later became a constellation. Even now, he tracks the sisters across the sky each night, relentless in his pursuit, but is likewise pursued by the scorpion. An alternate version has the sisters committing suicide after hearing the news of the death of their half-siblings Hyades and Hyas.
If you look up into the night sky, you might realize that wait a minute there are only six stars in that cluster. What gives? Modern astronomers have plotted the movement of the stars back 100,000 years and found that two stars which appear as one to the naked eye in modern times would indeed have been distinct stars long ago. Similar stories to the one we’re about to cover, explaining the disappearing star, can be found in European, African, Asian, Native American, and Aboriginal cultures. It’s unclear if these stories all share a common thread somewhere in the distant, distant past or if multiple cultures simply found similar inspiration in the movement of the stars.
The first two alternatives are both mentioned by Ovid. In one version of the story, Electra (who’s children gave rise to the line of Troy) was heartbroken at the end of the Trojan war. As she watched the city burn and its people be put to the sword or clapped in chains, she veiled her face away to hide the awful sight and was never seen again. In others, it was Merope who was shamed by the other immortals for the capital offense of marrying a mortal. As we’ve seen a few times already, dallying with a human is one thing, but marrying them is strictly forbidden. In her shame, she hid away or, having shared in his mortality, she simply faded away when he died. In a third, Celaeno was struck by a thunderbolt and shattered for reasons that have been lost.
That’s it for this episode of Myths Your Teacher Hated. Keep up with new episodes on our Facebook page, on iTunes, on Stitcher, on TuneIn, on Vurbl, and on Spotify, or you can follow us on Twitter as @HardcoreMyth and on Instagram as Myths Your Teacher Hated Pod. You can also find news and episodes on our website at myths your teacher hated dot com. If you have any questions, any gods or monsters you’d want to learn about, or any ideas for future stories that you’d like to hear, feel free to drop me a line. I’m trying to pull as much material from as many different cultures as possible, but there are all sorts of stories I’ve never heard, so suggestions are appreciated. The theme music is by Tiny Cheese Puff.
Atlanta Comic Con is coming up on August 6-8, and I’ll be there again this year to talk about all things mythology. I’ll put specific dates and times on Facebook since these things always seem to shift around at the last minute, but I’ll be hosting panels on the adaptations of Cinderella, on the life and times of Loki, on Camelot and the Green Knight, and on the use of mythology in the Assassin’s Creed franchise on Saturday and Sunday. Come and check it out!
Next time, things are going to keep getting worse for, well, everyone. You’ll see that Odysseus has a wicked scar that’s never been mentioned before but it’s definitely been there the whole time I promise, that Telemachus is starting to take after his father, and that Penelope is just as indecisive as everyone else in this story. Then, in Gods and Monsters, you’ll learn why child murder is almost never an appropriate response. That’s all for now. Thanks for listening.