Episode 72S – Return of the King – Myths Your Teacher Hated

Episode 72S Show Notes

Source: Greek Mythology

This week on MYTH, Odysseus is home. You’ll see that Athena is finally ready to come clean, that Odysseus can be shockingly oblivious, and that swineherds are the best people. Then, in Gods and Monsters, you’ll discover why you should never be the lookout for a cheating god. 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 72S, “Return of the 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 awoke from the enchanted sleep he had been under during his magical voyage from the kingdom of Phaeacia. He looked around, expecting to see the familiar sights of home but instead saw only endless billowing mist. It was a favorite trick of Athena, as we’ve seen, and this was definitely her work once more. This time, she was using it to create her own private changing room to pull off another of her favorite tricks – disguising Odysseus. He had a lot of enemies waiting for him that he didn’t know about yet, and she didn’t want this whole journey to end in a major anticlimax. Besides, she wanted a moment to speak with the man she’d been helping in semi-secret for years now.
Odysseus looked around but, through the swirling mist, his native land looked strange to his eyes. He slapped his thighs in despair and lamented aloud, as he was wont to do because these stories are and were an audio medium. “Man of misery, whose gods-forsaken land have I landed in now? When the native inhabitants find me, as they always do, will they be friendly, god-fearing men or lawless, savage monsters? The Phaeacians left me with my treasure, which does me fuck all here in the wilderness. If they could have dropped me off at the court of some mighty king, I could have presented him with a worthy gift and been hosted and actually sent home instead of dumped on the side of the fucking road to die! What am I supposed to do now? I can’t exactly carry all of this treasure but I can’t imagine just abandoning it here for the bandits.
“Damn those faithless Phaeacians! Honest and trustworthy my ass! They swore they’d take me back to my sunny Ithaca and instead abandoned me in this nameless no-man’s-land. May Zeus, patron of wanderers, punish them for their betrayal. I guess I’ll go check the treasure and make sure they didn’t take anything while I was asleep.” He took a quick inventory and found that, much to his surprise, everything was exactly where it was supposed to be. Of course, that left him with nothing to do but worry about how he was going to ever get home with all of this treasure.
Just about then, out of the obscuring fog came Athena in the disguise of a shepherd boy. As is pretty much always the case with her disguises though, there was a bit of a tell – her shepherd boy looked more like a secret prince than a proper shepherd. Her form was elegant and graceful, dressed in a well-cut cloak falling in folds across broad shoulders down to shining sandaled feet. In her hand, she bore a hunting spear.
The thing Athena was really good at was making her costumed figures seem utterly non-threatening to Odysseus, and this shepherd boy was no exception. He was overjoyed to see this solitary but trustworthy looking youth headed his way and he stood to go and meet the secret goddess. “Hail friend! You’re the first person I’ve seen since washing up on these distant shores, so I beg you to be kind. I’ve had my fill of cruelty. Please, save me and save these treasures too. I beg you, I pray to you as a god on earth – show mercy! Also, could you tell me just where the hell I am? What land is this? Who lives here? Does it have a name, or is it just some tiny piece of rock jutting out of the sea?”
Athena’s eyes twinkled with a combination of joy and mischief. She was about to make her favorite human very happy, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to enjoy tweaking his nose a bit first. “You must be an utter fool, stranger, or else the biggest rube to ever stumble into civilization if you don’t know what island this is. It’s a very special and important place, with a name known throughout the world from those who live to the east where the sun rises out of the sea to those in the distant west, facing the endless mists and darkness. It’s a rugged place, too cramped to properly drive horses and it’s not the biggest island in the world, but it’s got it’s fair share of riches. There’s grain for bread, grapes for wine, good grazing for goats and cattle, and even a nice stand of timber for shipbuilding. The name of fair Ithaca has traveled as far as the tall towers of Troy and, as they say, Troy is a long, hard sail from Greece.”
That one word – Ithaca – struck his heart like a spear. Ithaca. Home. He was home! His heart raced and a massive smile spread across his face at the words of the disguised Athena. He stood on his native soil again at last, and his first instinct was to shout for joy that he was home again, but Odysseus was a cunning man and he had long since realized that things might not be well at home. He’d been gone a long time, and he knew that it might be prudent to hide the return of the king. Not to put too fine a point on it, he lied. “Ithaca…Ithaca, hmm. Yeah I think I heard of there once all the way on Crete, across the sea. It seems I’ve found myself there with all this loot, although I left as much again behind for my children. I’m a fugitive you see, on the run from vengeance. I killed Orsilochus, the son of Idomeneus (one of Helen’s suitors from the Iliad and, incidentally, from Crete where Odysseus is pretending to hail from). He ran like lightning on legs, beating every other racer on that long island back in the day. He tried to rob me of my rightful spoils on the fields of Troy, plunder I’d gone to hell and back to earn, just because I refused to place myself under his father’s command. I had my own troop and my pride.
“He tried to make off with my treasure, so a friend and I lay in wait for him beside the road in the pitch black darkness one night. No one could see us as I drove my bronze spear through his heart in a single lightning stroke. No one saw me tear the life out of his chest. Once he lay bleeding out on the dusty earth, we raced for the harbor and begged a Phoenician crew for mercy. I think our begging mattered less than the share of my treasure we paid them to carry us away. They agreed to take us to Pylos or maybe Elis, but a storm drove us off course. It was just bad luck, not treachery on the part of the sailors.
“We made landfall here around midnight and rowed for dear life to escape the raging sea, winding up in the harbor there. We were all famished, but we were all far too exhausted to do anything but collapse to the deck and pass the hell out as soon as we were safe. I somehow managed to outsleep everyone else and, while I snoozed, the Phoenicians carried me and my treasure here and laid me out on the sand. I imagine they’re homeward bound for Sidon, leaving me stranded here, alone and homesick.”
Like many liars, Odysseus is providing way more details than anyone asked for or needed. He’s also seemed to have forgotten to account for what happened to his imaginary friend that helped him murder a man and escaped with him. The nameless man vanished somewhere between Troy and Ithaca. As he finished up his whopper of a lie, Athena smiled and dropped her disguise. In her true form as a shining, beautiful woman, she ran her hand down his face in a fond gesture. He had a terrifying moment to realize that he had just lied bald-faced to a goddess who might very well strike him down for the audacity of it before the obvious amusement in her words reassured him.
“You’re one hell of a liar, and I mean that as a compliment. Any man, any god even, would have to do some top notch bullshitting to outdo you. You terrible, sly, ingenious, clever man! You never tire of your tricks and schemes, not even when you finally make it back to your long lost home. The jig is up though, my dear mortal. You can’t trick a trickster, and we’re both old hands at intrigue and deceit. You’re one of the best mortal tacticians to ever live, but I am the goddess of wisdom and cunning.”
She grinned at the slight widening of his eyes that was all the shock he allowed himself to show. “You never guessed, did you. You never quite sussed out that you had Athena at your side throughout your journey. I’m the reason that the Phaeacians were so willing to help you out, so what can I say except you’re welcome! I’ve dropped the pretense now that you’re back on Ithaca so that you’ll listen and believe when I tell you of the last trials you must yet endure in your own palace. I know, I know. Your journey has been long and arduous and you hoped that you could rest at last, but you must persevere a little while longer. Tell no one that you meet, not a single living soul, who you actually are. They must not know that the king has returned – not yet.”
A roguish, lopsided grin lit up Odysseus’ face as he took in the goddess’ presence. “You’re a hard one to recognize, no matter how shrewd a mortal man might be – you seem to have an endless variety of forms and figures to put on and cast off at whim. I know that you were with me during the long years of war at Troy, that you fought beside the Achaean army during the endless siege. Once the city fell and a vengeful god scattered our fleets to the winds, I never saw you striding across my decks, never saw your hand shielding us from disaster. I thought for sure that the gods had abandoned me to wander bitter and heartbroken from tragedy to tragedy. And now you say I’ve finally done it, that I’m actually home and, no offense, I can’t help but fear some last trick, some new tale to lead me astray once more. Tell me true, goddess – am I really home?”
This is another instance where Odysseus’ mistrust bordering on insolence could easily have gotten him smited by a wrathful deity, but Athena was fond of the wily old sailor and so she smiled warmly at his suspicion. “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks, can you? Always so wary, which is why I like you. You’re my favorite combination of wise and world-weary. Anyone else would have rushed home at once, delighted to see his children and wife after two decades away, but not you. You can’t just accept what seems to be true, you must test it, probe it. You’ll be testing your poor wife as well, I suspect. She too is long suffering, and she still waits for you in your hall amidst a sea of her own troubles. I knew that you would return home one day, alone of all your shipmates, but I could not fight my father and my uncle both. Poseidon is still furious at you for blinding his son, but I was able to convince Zeus to let you come home again.
“Come, let me show you around and prove to you that my words are true. Look around. This grotto is named after Phorcys, the old god of the deep. You see there the branching olive stand where you used to offer gifts to the naiads and nymphs for their favor? And there, surely you recognize the jagged slopes of Mount Neriton, bedecked in emerald forests?” As she spoke, the goddess swept her arm across the vista in a grand gesture, dismissing the obscuring mist and revealing Ithaca to Odysseus’ eyes for the first time. Now that he could see the land clearly, he knew that Athena was telling the truth – he was home. He dropped to his knees there at the base of the olive tree and kissed the earth, then offered up a small prayer to the local nymphs (as well as throwing in a little something for Athena who, after all, is standing right there).
Athena then led the old sailor into the cave to find a good place to bury his treasures until he could complete his final trials and return for them in triumph (or die trying, if things went poorly). The goddess scouted the cave while the mortal did the manual labor of actually hauling the piles of heavy goods. Once they were all safely stowed, Pallas Athena sealed the cave mouth with a stone. Then the mortal and the goddess sat down to talk strategy. She told him all about how his home had been overrun with asshole suitors and they both agreed that the only reasonable response was to murder every last miserable bastard.
“Odysseus, those awful suitors have been leeching off your estate for three years now, courting your wife and trying to win her hand (though none of them seem to care about her heart that much). She still mourns your loss and hopes for your return and, broken-hearted, she strings them along: dangling promises, dropping hints, convincing them that she’s offering more than she says and then moving on to another. She has some larger scheme in mind and is desperately playing the men against each other.”
Odysseus whistled. “Shit, I could easily have ended up dying the same ignoble death that befell Agamemnon when he went home if you hadn’t given me a heads up. Well, forewarned is forearmed.” He showed his teeth in a wolf’s red grin. “Come clever goddess of wily battle – let us weave a scheme to end their lives. Stand beside me when I stride into that place, as fierce and deadly as the day that we set fire to the towers of Troy, and I would gladly take on 300 men by myself with only you at my back.”
Her gray eyes flashed in fierce joy at his battle-lust. “You’re goddamned right I’ll be by your side when that bloody day comes for us to go to work. Those shitty men will be splashed across your walls, their brains splattered on the stone. Come – I will weave a glamour around you to hide your true self from their eyes and make you look less…impressive. I’ll wrinkle up your skin and shrivel your muscular limbs; I’ll strip the lustre from your curls and dress you in rags so miserable that you would pity any poor soul wearing them. The fire in your eyes will dim and you will become hateful to everyone’s eyes, even your wife and son. Head to the hovel of the swineherd that lives near here, the one in charge of your pigs. He’s still loyal to you, to your wife, and to your son. You’ll find him with his swine out by Raven’s Rock where the Arethusa spring trickles down. Wait there with him, speak with him, and learn what he knows. I’ll head to Sparta to get your son Telemachus headed back home to you. He sailed there to see Menelaus in hopes of news of you, that you yet live.”
“Why not tell him the truth? You know the whole tale.” He paused. “Or is he also doomed to suffer, to rove across the salt sea while strangers devour his home?” Athena shook her head reassuringly. “No need to fear on that front, Odysseus. I escorted your son myself so that he could make something of a name for himself by sailing on the wide sea and meeting some of your staunchest allies. At present, he is safe and comfortable in the halls of your old friend Menelaus (where we left Telemachus back in Episode 72M). Trouble does lurk on the horizon for him when he comes back to find a pack of vicious sharks waiting in ambush in their black ships, but I have faith that your son will be up to the challenge. Now hush. To business.”
Athena took out a wand and waved it over Odysseus, transforming him in all of the ways that she had warned him she was about to. Once he was suitably old and ragged and filthy, she handed him a gnarled staff and a threadbare beggar’s sack slung from a fraying rope to complete the ensemble. Stepping back to admire her work, she declared herself satisfied with the disguise and they parted ways to go off on their separate tasks. Odysseus watched the goddess vanish to help his son find his way safely home again and could only offer a silent, fervent prayer that she would guide him wisely and well before turning away from the tractless ocean for Ithaca.
He trudged his way up a narrow, rugged path that Athena had pointed out to him towards the swineherds hovel. He was perhaps the most loyal man in Odysseus’ service for all that he was also the most humble. The wandering king was cautiously optimistic about finding someone he could maybe trust here now that he had finally made it home again.
Odysseus found the old man sitting outside the door of his farmstead, which was a lot larger and grander than Odysseus had expected. I mean, it was no palace to be sure, but the swineherd had built the walls himself from quarried stone and lined them with a fence of wild pear trees. His home stood on a small rise that he had cleared, giving him a good view of the surrounding area and plenty of space for his pigs to wander. There were fewer of the large boars than there had been a few years ago, thanks to the near-constant feasting of the suitors on Odysseus’ dime. As of now, he only had 360 pigs, which is still a whole lot of hogs. The swineherd had four assistants and several guard dogs, but three of the men were out with the various herds of pigs while the fourth had driven the day’s pig to be slaughtered for yet another feast.
The dogs caught Odysseus’ scent and, having never met their theoretical master before, charged at him in a chorus of barks and snarls. The wily king, aware of his current appearance, dropped his staff and fell to the earth in feigned fear, prompting the herdsman to charge out from the stoop to call off the dogs (apparently throwing rocks at them to scatter them, which just seems needlessly cruel).
“Ye gods, man, you’re lucky to be alive! If I’d been just a bit slower, my pack would have torn you limb from limb and I would have been deeply ashamed at the needless bloodshed. I really don’t need any more bad news right now as I’m already in a pretty deep funk. It sucks to spend my days fattening up my king’s hogs for accursed interlopers to devour while he no doubt wanders adrift somewhere, begging for scraps of food in some foreign land abuzz with foreign tongues. If he’s even still alive, I guess. Anyway, it’s nice to have a visitor and someone I can offer a little aid and goodwill to. Come on inside and share my bread and wine with me. You can eat your fill and then tell me your story.”
He led his disguised liege lord inside and made him a comfortable seat on some leaves and twigs covered in the skin of a shaggy goat (his own bedding and the best available in the house) for a serviceable cushion. The king was delighted to be so well received by this humble, honorable soul. “My host, may Zeus and the gods grant you your heart’s desire for the royal welcome you have shown me today!”
The swineherd, who’s name was Eumaeus, smiled at the compliment. “Think nothing of it, friend. It’s wrong to send any stranger packing, even one in worse shape than you! Every beggar is under the protection of Zeus and it’s only right that we help them as much as we can. Sometimes it’s the best we humble servants can manage, cowed as we so often are by the high and mighty masters in their tall towers, especially that new flock of young asshats who’ve taken up residence the last few years. They’re nothing like the old master of this island, who treated everyone well and saw to it that hard work was always repaid. It’s such a waste that he had to go and throw his life away for Agamemnon’s honor to fight the Trojans.”
Talking about the supposedly dead king clearly upset the man, and he stalked off to calm himself down and get dinner started, which meant slaughtering and roasting two of his own scrawny pigs. “I’m sorry that the fare is so meager, friend. We slaves have to make do on skin and bones while the distant lords feast daily on fatted hogs. Even the bandits who roam from shore to shore, murdering and plundering the good people of Greece, have some fear of the gods in their hearts, which is more than I can say for those arrogant pricks. I guess they must have heard some rumor of the master’s death that hasn’t made its way to the rest of us, leaving them with no fear of drawing this whole sordid affair out. Otherwise, surely they would make their pitch to the queen for her hand and either succeed or fail and be done with it instead of leeching off this fat estate for years and years. They butcher three, four hogs a day and drain wine like it’s going out of style. The king was wealthy, to be sure, and no twenty men in the world could have equalled his treasure” (which is definitely an exaggeration).
Eumaeus ranted passionately while Odysseus ate in ravenous silence. Athena had told him about the suitors, sure, but his loyal slave brought the whole situation to life in a way that she hadn’t bothered to. An icy rage built slowly in his belly at the stories spun of these suitors, and he brooded in silence about the best way to pay them back for so grossly abusing his hospitality. Once he had finished his meal, he filled the bowl he’d been using with wine and passed it to his host. “Friend, who was this man who bought you so long ago and holds such vast wealth and power? You say he died defending Agamemnon’s honor? What was his name, if you don’t mind me asking? I might have heard tell of just such a man in my wide wanderings.”
Eumeaus shook his head sadly. “No random wanderer landing here with news of him is likely to win over his wife and son. So many opportunistic rogues have come through over the years, lying through their teeth for bed, board, and anything they could drop into their pockets. Hell, at this point any tramp that washes up here in Ithaca scurries off to the palace first thing with made up news about the man himself. Each and every time, the mistress kindly ushers this new liar in, pressing him for details as her grief-stricken tears wash down her face anew, and every time it’s proven false. I bet you could rig up a convincing enough tale in no time if you knew you could get a fresh shirt out of the deal. Besides, I’d bet the master is a feast for crows and dogs by now, or that fish are picking the pickled flesh from his bones at the bottom of the briny sea. He’s dead, and this island will never see his like again. I’ll never work for anyone as good as him again. I can scarcely bear to say his name but…Odysseus is long gone and never coming back!”
Odysseus smiled a secret smile. “My new friend, you sound dead certain that he’s never coming back but I promise you, I swear on my honor, that Odysseus is on his way. If there’s a reward for this knowledge, let me receive it on the day his foot crosses the threshold and not before. Then, you can dress me in his clothes and make me all spiffy, but I won’t take a thing before that day. I swear by Zeus, first of all the gods, that this very month, just as the old moon dies and the new moon rises, Odysseus will return to Ithaca and take his vengeance on any man who offends his wedded wife and princely son!”
“Good news indeed if true, but I have no doubt that I’ll never need to pay that particular reward out. Odysseus is never coming home, not ever. Come, drink some wine and let’s talk of more pleasant things. It’s too depressing to speak of the dead king, and I know that old Laertes and Penelope and Telemachus long for his return even more than I. Poor Telemachus – he’s probably had the worst of it, to be honest. He grew up as fine as his father in the midst of this den of vipers but now he’s wandered off to Pylos in search of news of his father, and those vipers lie in wait to bite him when he comes back. They plan to tear out the last vestige of the royal line here in Ithaca, root and branch, and put themselves in power instead. I hope he’s okay. Sorry, I didn’t mean to let myself get worked up, but thinking about the tragedies that have befallen the line of Arcesius always upsets me. Come, tell me your story. Who are you? Where are you from? Who dropped you here in Ithaca, and why did they leave you all the way out here? I doubt you hoofed it out to the middle of nowhere on your own.”
Odysseus took a moment to collect his lies before speaking. “I’m more than happy to tell you my story. If we had enough food to last us and people to do the work, I could easily bend your ear for a full year and still not reach the end of my epic tale of hardship and woe. Since that’s not exactly feasible, I’ll give you the condensed version instead.” He goes on to spin just an impressive pile of bullshit only very loosely based on his actual experiences, but with enough truth to keep it all believable. Odysseus really is a master bullshit artist.
“I was born in Crete to a rich man, Castor, and a slave, a concubine he’d purchased, but he raised me equal with the true-born sons of his lawful wife. Everyone loved him, but Death came for him as it does for all men and his sons carved up his land amongst themselves, leaving just a pittance for me as a bastard. Through charm, hard work, and a willingness to throw a spear, I managed to win myself a wife from the wealthy Cretians. Life was good for a time; with courage and skill granted to me by Ares and Athena, I worked my way up the army ranks, which was good because I loved battle and hated farming. Long before we ever set sail for Troy, I had already led 9 commands to raid foreign shores for glory and plunder.
“When Zeus contrived that accursed expedition, the people clamored for Idomeneus and I to take a fleet to Troy and win glory for our homeland. There was no honorable way to deny the people, and so we sailed off into the wild blue yonder to besiege proud Troy for nine long years. We finally pulled King Priam’s city down around his ears in the tenth year, but disaster soon found us. Our fleets were scattered, but my ship was lucky enough to make it home when so many did not. I thought I had been spared, but Zeus was plotting further mischief for me.
“I was able to enjoy being home for only a month before battlelust struck me. ‘Sail for Egypt!’ whispered a voice from inside my wandering soul and so I did. Nine ships set sail with me, and my crew and I feasted for 6 days before leaving Crete behind. In only five days, we reached the river Nile without losing a single ship. Everything seemed to be going so well! We moored our black ships in the river delta and I sent a patrol out to scout the way from higher ground while the rest of the troop stayed behind to guard the ships. The land around us was lush and ripe for plundering, and my men ignored my orders and went berserk. They rushed down en masse to the unprotected farms to drag off the women and children as slaves, murdering any man they found. It was easy and the men grew careless. They never realized that the cries of the people had reached the ears of the nearby city. At dawn the next day, the entire city came out to meet us, and my men were all scattered, hung over, and unready. In their thundering chariots, the Egyptians bore down on my men and slaughtered them.
“Bronze swords flashed everywhere and crimson blood spilled out onto the sands. Those who weren’t killed outright were rounded up and enslaved themselves. All was lost, but I had a brilliant idea to get myself out alive. Gods, I wish I’d just died there with my men, sword in hand and glory on my shoulders. Instead, I ripped the helmet from my head, dropped my shield, and cast aside my long spear. I ran out in front of the king’s chariot and pretended to be a common soldier begging for mercy, hugging his knees and weeping. It worked, and he spared me, though he had to hold back his men who, in their bloodlust, longed to hack me to pieces. The king feared the wrath of Zeus if I fell after being welcomed.
“I lived there in Egypt for seven years and, in spite of my ill beginnings, I did quite well in that foreign land. I managed to amass a small fortune, including plenty of gifts from the Egyptian people, who had accepted me among them. In the eighth year, my luck turned sour yet again. This swindler and all around scoundrel of a Phoenician sailed into port one day – a real bastard if ever there was one. He was a smooth talker and he convinced me to join him as he headed back to Phoenicia where his house and fortune lay. He pretended to be my friend for a full year before convincing me to join him on a little expedition to Libya to help him sell his cargo there. By now, I’d come to realize what a piece of shit this asshole was but, since I was living in his house, I didn’t really have much of a choice but to go with him. I kept my eyes open though. My instincts were screaming at me that he meant to sell me there along with his cargo and claim my Egyptian fortune as his own in the process.
“He never got the chance. As soon as we’d left the islands behind and hit the open waters, Zeus piled up his thunderheads above our ship, blackening what had been a clear blue sky. Just as we were realizing that we were in real trouble, Zeus smashed the ship to splinters with a blistering thunderbolt. Sailors were hurled everywhere, screaming and burning and dying amidst the blood and the smoke and the brimstone. Somehow, I survived the blast and managed to grab ahold of the broken mast as it floated away from the wreckage. I clung to that piece of flotsam for nine days before finally drifting ashore on the night of the tenth. It turned out that I washed up on the shores of Thesportia, where the kindly king Phidon took me in with no expectation of reward. His son had found me, half dead from exhaustion and exposure and had brought me to the palace. They dressed me in their own shirt and cloak since my own clothes were little more than rags by then.
“That was when I first caught wind of your king, Odysseus. Phidon said that he’d hosted the man himself not long before in lavish style as he made his way back towards his native land. He even showed me the vast wealth that Odysseus had left there, stored in the king’s vaults until he could make it safely home and come back for it. Odysseus had apparently headed for Dodona from there (an important oracle not quite as famous as Delphi) to hear the will of Zeus in the rustle of the god’s sacred oak tree. He told Phidon he meant to ask how he should return to his palace after so long away, whether openly or in secret.
“As for me, a Thesprotian ship happened to be headed for Dulichion and so the king ordered them to take me to see King Acastus to help me on the next leg of my journey home, but the crew were cruel brigands and they played me false. As soon as we were out of sight of land, they sprang their trap. They beat me, stripping me of the fine clothes the king had gifted me and leaving me with only the filthy rags I wear now. They came here, to Ithaca, and bound me hand and foot as they went ashore to catch their supper. The gods finally showed me some mercy, and their knots came apart easily under my fingers allowing me to make my escape. I slipped myself down the gangplank and into the water with hardly a splash and swam away without anyone noticing until I was out of sight. I hadn’t made it far before they discovered my escape, and I heard them cry out in anger and begin to beat the bushes searching for me. I hid and the gods protected me from their vile sight, so they eventually gave up and sailed away without me. I wandered off in search of a kindly soul and, as luck would have it, I found exactly that in you, my new friend.”
Eumaeus was moved by the tall tale (which held little nuggets of the real adventures we’ve already seen), but he still refused to believe the news about Odysseus. He was convinced that the old man was lying, though he couldn’t figure out why, but maybe it didn’t matter. The palace wasn’t his concern, and he didn’t really go into town anymore if he could help it. He was still bitter about the last stranger who’d come through with supposed news of Odysseus, only for it to turn out that he had murdered a man and was fleeing justice. He’d claimed he’d seen Odysseus living in the halls of King Idomeneus over in Crete and that had been a lie, and he knew that his new guest was also lying to him and he wasn’t going to bite. Eumaeus was still going to treat his guest kindly after being lied to, but only because Zeus demanded it.
Odysseus, who was absolutely lying through his teeth, feigned surprise at the old man’s suspicions. He offered a bargain to convince the swineherd: if Odysseus returned as predicted, Eumaeus would send the old beggar back to Dulichion, where he longed to be; if Odysseus didn’t, Emaeus could have his men fling the old beggar off a cliff to make the next beggar think twice about peddling lies. Emaeus rolled his eyes at this suggestion, knowing full well that playing host to the wanderer and then murdering him shortly thereafter would draw down the wrath of man and gods, as well it should.
While they talked, the other swineherds started coming in from the fields for the evening meal. Their leader ordered a nice fat hog slaughtered for their meal for once, since they were the ones who did all the actual work thank you very much. They toasted the gods and begged them to bring Odysseus back home at long last before slaughtering and roasting the pig. The choicest piece was offered to Odysseus as guest, who thanked his host for his generosity. Once everyone had eaten and libations had been made to the gods, everyone settled down to sleep.
A terrible storm raged over the island that night on the cruel West Wind, and Odysseus took the opportunity to test the swineherd one more time. “Do you mind if an old man spins a yarn in his own praise? Maybe it’s the wine, but I have a story just bursting to get out. I wish to the gods that I could be young again like the time when we sprang an ambush on the Trojans. Odysseus led our raid along with Menelaus, and they picked me as the third in command – a great honor. We snuck up to the city’s ramparts, hiding in the thick brush below the walls as a foul night much like this one rolled in. The North Wind raged, filling the air with ice and covering the world in pale snow. The other men had thought to wear shirts and cloaks under their armor and so were able to huddle up behind their shields and stay nice and toasty. I hadn’t been as smart, and like a fool, I’d left my cloak back at camp, never thinking it might get cold.
“As the third watch approached and a deadly chill rippled through the night air, I nudged Odysseus with my elbow to let him know that I would be dead of the cold soon because of my own hubris. Odysseus hushed me, warning me that I might wake one of the sentries, but also because he’d already come up with a clever scheme to save my life. He sent a runner back to tell Agamemnon that we were too exposed so far from the ships and to send reinforcements from the beach. Thoas set out at once, casting aside his thick cloak to make better time. I was able to wrap myself warmly inside it, saving me from death while also putting our forces in better condition to smash the Trojans at first light. It’s too bad he’s not here now to offer me something warm to wear over these flimsy, filthy rags.”
Eumaeus smiled. “A nice story, old man, and a pointed one too. We don’t have much in the way of clothes here, being poor as we are. There’s only one cloak per man, but don’t worry – I won’t let you freeze, at least not tonight. You’ll have to go off in your rags again tomorrow, unless Telemachus comes back since he has the money and the kindness to give you something better.” The swineherd stood and threw some sheep and goatskins over a bed near the fire then wrapped their guest in a spare cloak (despite having just said there were no spares). Odysseus and the young men slept the night away indoors, but Eumaeus preferred to be under the open sky with his pigs, even in terrible weather. It was the responsible thing to do, and it warmed Odysseus’ heart to see such loyalty and dedication. He liked this old swineherd.
Odysseus is finally finding himself among friends, so we’re going to leave him there for the moment, 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 victim is Alectryon.
Last time, we discussed the early life of Hephaestus, god of the forge, and his mistreatment by his godly parents, especially Hera (who in many versions is his mother without any father at all). In retribution for his mistreatment (specifically, being thrown off a motherfucking mountain because of how he looked), he had decided to do something clever to get even. He had made gifts for all of the Olympian gods, including a golden throne for Hera. Last time, we mentioned how Dionysus managed to talk Hephaestus into getting wasted and letting Hera go, but there’s another version of the story. Unfortunately, it has been mostly lost to history, reconstructed from references, fragments, and artwork.
In this version of events, Hera sat stuck on the cunning trap, unable to free herself. Zeus tried to help her up, but found himself unable to do so – which was terrifying for a usually unstoppable force. Powerless and desperate for some divine help, he offered up a gift truly worthy of a god (though not a goddess, which is a shame since Athena didn’t take a crack at it) to anyone who freed Hera: the hand of Aphrodite, goddess of love, sex, and beauty, in marriage. For her part, Aphrodite only agreed to this because she assumed that her lover, Ares, would be the one to pull it off. Let’s back up a bit to a story from a fragment of the Anacreontea from the 5th Century BC.
Ares had been out on the battlefield one day, flexing and brandishing his spear and generally being the embodiment of machismo. He saw Eros flitting about with his small bow and began to mock the supposedly weaker god for his small weapon (which was probably meant as a dick metaphor, knowing Ares). Eros smiled and offered the god of war a small javelin. “Here, try this one. Be careful though; it’s quite heavy.” While Eros’ mother Aphrodite looked on with a secret smile, Ares took the weapon with a sneer, then grunted in surprise, and then groaned in agony. “Holy shit, it is heavy. Take it back!” Eros shook his head. “No, you keep it.” The rest of the story is lost, but this somehow led to Ares and Aphrodite carrying on an affair in some kind of secret.
Therefore, when Ares stepped up to the challenge, Aphrodite was excited about how her soon-to-be-husband was about to drape himself in glory before consecrating their existing relationship into marriage. She couldn’t have planned this better herself (not that she was much of a planner). Ares stormed in, oiled muscles bulging and rippling, and strode over to where Hera sat. This account is mostly lost outside of some scenes on vases on such, but there are two likely outcomes. The first is that Ares raged and howled and tried to tear the throne apart with his bare hands to absolutely no effect, forcing him to give up and slink away in shame. The other is that the chair actually fought back to protect itself, catching Ares by surprise (I mean, this would be the first killer robot ever made). The God of War had leapt into combat with the Divine Builder’s chair, and he had lost. This was a foe that was too deadly for his spear and he was forced to fly in ignoble retreat, tail tucked firmly between his legs.
In this account, Dionsysus then had a clever idea to end this madness and proposed a thought to Hephaestus – if he were to return to Olympus and free Hera from her bondage himself, then it would be he who won the beautiful Aphrodite’s hand for his own. Hephaestus thought this a fine plan. He’d had a crush on the goddess of love and beauty for some time now, but had never thought she would ever give him the time of day. Given that the lovely goddess sneered a little whenever she looked his way and made it clear that ‘ugly and unlovable’ wasn’t really on brand for her, he was probably right to assume that. Maybe doing what the hunky Ares had been unable to do would change her mind. He agreed to head back with Dionysus.
As before, Hephaestus was easily able to release Hera from her captivity, thus winning wedded bliss with Aphrodite. Or at least, a wedding. Aphrodite wasn’t thrilled about this outcome but she was a goddess of her word and had made a solemn, unbreakable vow. The god of the forge and the goddess of sex and beauty were married, but it was not a terribly happy one, which brings us to the story told by the bard in the hall of Alcinous in the last episode (and the reason we went down this little rabbit hole).
The sun-god Helios was driving in his daily course once, several weeks after the wedding, and spied Aphrodite stripping naked for a sexual tryst. What made it gossip-worthy was her partner; Aphrodite was cavorting in the hall of Hephaestus but not with Hephaestus himself. Instead, she was grabbing and moaning with her old lover Ares, who she still had a thing for. Helios is something of a gossip and so, as soon as the sun had set, the god raced to find Hephaestus and tell him what had happened that day.
The lord of the forge was understandably furious about this infidelity and so he and Helios put together a plan to catch Ares and Aphrodite en flagrante delicto, Hephaeustus also brought along a little goody he’d made for when the trap was sprung. Hephaestus made a big show of going out for the day with a lot of errands to do that would definitely keep him away for many hours. He waited in hiding and, sure enough, Ares quickly turned up. His anger rose still higher, but he tamped it down. Soon, he would have his revenge. Hephaestus waited until he was sure things must be getting hot and heavy and then he slunk through the secret passages of his own palace until he came to where Ares and Aphrodite were fucking. He waited until they were in the most embarrassing position he could think of and then he used his goody – an invisible, binding net. It ensnared the thrusting couple mid-coitus, locking them in place. It was good, but it wasn’t enough. Hepehaestus needed more revenge.
He sent out an invite to all the gods and goddesses to come and get a little looky-loo at two of the most attractive immortals in their own little peep show. The goddesses all thought this was kind of gross and found excuses to avoid having to be a part of…whatever this was. On the other hand, the gods all thought this sounded very exciting and sexy. Who hadn’t fantasized about being the man meat in that sexy sandwich? They gathered in a creepy huddle around the bound couple, still mid-thrust, and made lewd comments about Aphrodite’s body and about what they would do if they could take Ares’ place. They also mocked the pair (more for getting caught than actually cheating since pretty much all of them had cheated multiple times). A version of this story shows up in the Percy Jackson books, and now you know why.
But wait, what about Alectryon? He hasn’t shown up in this story yet. Well, later versions of the story have Ares setting up the young soldier Alectryon outside the bedroom door as a guard during his tryst with Aphrodite. Unfortunately, on the day that he really needed to be alert and aware of the incoming vengeful husband, he fell asleep on duty. Once he was finally released from his humiliating, pornographic captivity, Ares turned Alectryon into a rooster, which is why roosters always announce the arrival of Helios in the morning now.
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.
Next time, Athena is going to keep on meddling like it’s her job (which it definitely isn’t). You’ll see that Odysseus thinks being a pig herder is just as good as being a king, that Helen of Troy is good at reading birds, and that some ambushes are anticlimactic. Then, in Gods and Monsters, you’ll see that the original Elmer Fudd was a real dick. That’s all for now. Thanks for listening.