This chapter is titled "Telemachus Sets Sail," which pretty much sums it up.
Telemachus gets up the next morning, dresses, and slings "his well-honed sword" over his shoulder. I would very much like to know if this was a normal part of his apparel, or if he was putting it on to make a point (so to speak).
He orders heralds to call out and summon the household "to full assembly." When everyone's gathered in "the meeting grounds," Telemachus comes before them. As well as the sword over his shoulder, he's holding a bronze spear, and two sleek dogs follow at his heels. He sits in his father's seat.
Before he can speak, an old lord, Aegyptius, pipes up. This man has a special relationship with the family; one of his sons sailed with Odysseus, and in fact was the last man that the Cyclops ate when Odysseus and his men were trapped in the cave.
By the way, the fact that Homer mentions this now, before the reader has had a chance to hear about that particular episode, brings up an interesting point. In his introduction to Fagles' translation of the Theban plays, Bernard Knox tells us that the ancient Greek playwright who worked with characters from Greek mythology (and most playwrights did) wasn't working for a surprise ending in the usual sense. His audience knew who the characters were; "and though the dramatist could (and often did) invent new variations, the main outlines of the best-known were fairly stable."
Therefore, the playwright was charged with presenting the well-known material in the most beautiful, interesting, or dramatic way possible; he could work in unexpected twists and startling premises or turns of events (look how Euripides handled Helen's situation), but there were certain parameters, certain expected outlines to be followed.
So perhaps we should surmise that a reader of Homer's work was already supposed to possess a certain basic knowledge of Odysseus' story. Otherwise it would be rather odd to have this mention of "the brutal Cyclops" several chapters before his story has technically been told.
Moving on -- this lord still mourns his son Antiphus, though he has three others. One "mixed with the suitors" of Penelope, and two work their father's farms. Weeping for his lost son, the old lord asks who has called this assembly. He adds his best wishes and the help of Zeus on whatever brave man it is.
Telemachus is happy to have such a kind introduction. He steps forward, acknowledges that he is the man responsible for the summons. He then cries out bitterly against the suitors who now plague his household, eating Telemachus and his family out of house and home. If only some mighty man like Odysseus were there to sweep them away! In his anger and frustration (and youth), he dashes down "the speaker's scepter" and bursts into tears.
Everyone feels sorry for him, except Antinous -- one of the suitors who gave him a hard time the night before. He sneers at "high and mighty Telemachus," asking him if it's fair to "fling your accusations at *us*?" It's Penelope, he claims, who truly deserves the blame for the current situation -- Penelope, "the matchless queen of cunning."
For almost four years now, she's been leading them all on, he says. If Odysseus is truly dead, she said to them, then she needs to weave a shroud for his father, old Laertes. There is no one else to perform this duty for him, and it would be a shameful thing for her to neglect it.
Every day she's been weaving this shroud. It's going pretty slowly, and one of her women finally let the suitors in on the secret: every night, Penelope has been unravelling the work of the day. The suitors confronted her, and forced her to finish the shroud.
She has no more excuse, Antinous exclaims to Telemachus now. Now Telemachus should order her to marry "whomever her father picks, whoever pleases *her*" -- but pick *someone*, or the suitors will stay and continue to "devour your worldly goods and wealth." They won't leave until she marries someone.
Telemachus forces himself to speak calmly. He can't order his mother back to her father's house to marry from there, as is traditional. He would bring the wrath of the Furies on his household if he did so. The suitors must leave -- either go back to their own households, or visit someone else. Again, as he did the night before, he prays that if they don't go, may Zeus punish them suitably.
Zeus at this moment sends down a sign. Two eagles fly into view
"and down they glided, borne on the wind's draft a moment, wing to wingtip, pinions straining taut till just above the assembly's throbbing hum they whirled, suddenly, wings thrashing, wild onslaught of wings and bankin down at the crowd's heads -- a glaring, fatal sign -- talons slashing each other, tearing cheeks and throats they swooped away on the right through homes and city."
Everyone is stunned for a moment, wondering what this means. An old warrior named Halitherses, who is skilled at understanding omens, especially "bird-signs" (apparently an entire family of omens in itself), speaks up. He claims that this is a bad omen for the suitors. Disaster is heading their way. Odysseus "won't be far from loved ones any longer," and he's going to be pretty ticked at anyone who's been giving his family a hard time while he's been gone.
One of the suitors then speaks up, scorning this interpretation. He says that the movements of the birds signal that Odysseus *is* dead, and the suitors are staying where they are. He again urges Telemachus to send his mother to her father's home, to be married from there -- not until then will the suitors leave.
Telemachus says he's done with asking. Everyone knows how things stand now, so what's the point of talking. All he asks now is a good swift ship and a crew of twenty men. He's going to sail to Sparta and Pylos for news of Odysseus' journey home. If Telemachus hears that his father's alive and heading home, he'll stick it out for one more year with things as they are. If he hears Odysseus is dead, he'll come back to Ithaca and give him full funerary rites and honors -- and he'll give his mother over to another man to wed.
(I can't help thinking through all of this how ghastly it is that a grown woman, especially one whom even the patriarchal ancient Greeks admit is easily as intelligent as any man, and more intelligent than many, is being shuffled about in this way, with no say in her own future. Homer's indignation seems to be all for Odysseus' household being mistreated in his absence.)
Mentor, Odysseus' old friend and brother-in-arms to whom Odysseus gave over the charge of his household when he sailed off to Troy, speaks up then against the suitors. One of the suitors objects to the idea that they're misbehaving in any way. Odysseus wouldn't mind their being there -- "well-bred suitors feasting in his halls." They're noble guests; what's wrong with that? He then laughs at the idea of Telemachus making such a journey as he's described, and the assembly disperses.
Telemachus walks down to the beach and prays to Athena for help -- after all, it's *her* advice he's taking. She hears him, comes to earth in Mentor's form, and urges him on. Telemachus should go home and get his rations ready. She/he will go and get his ship and crew prepared.
Telemachus then returns home. Antinous sleazes up to him, urging him to sit down and eat and drink with the suitors just like in the old days. They'll even get a ship and crew for him, just like he asked.
Now, breaking bread with a declared enemy is a strict no-no. In fact, it's a contradiction in terms. If you sit and take food and wine with a man, you can't act against him, according to Greek hospitality -- especially if you're the host.
Telemachus knows this, and refuses Antinous' request. He pulls his hand away from Antinous and walks away, while the other suitors mock him. Ooh, there goes big baddie! We'd better watch out -- we're in trouble now! Or Greek words to that effect.
One of the suitors, a particularly nasty young piece of work, suggests that Telemachus will go out and get himself drowned, just like his dad; and then the suitors will have all the trouble of divvying up Telemachus' stuff -- perhaps as a consolation prize to be split among the suitors who don't get to marry Penelope.
Telemachus ignores them as best he can, and goes down to the store rooms for the things he'll need for his journey. There he meets Eurycleia, and tells her what he needs. He urges her to secrecy, in spite of her weeping protestations against his leaving in such a manner. She reluctantly swears not to tell his mother where he's gone until Penelope notices his absence herself.
Meanwhile, Athena has been getting together ship and crew, as promised. When night falls, she magically conks the suitors into drunken unconsciousness, so they won't notice Telemachus leaving and give him any trouble. She then tells Telemachus that all is ready, and they set out to the boat together. Telemachus is excited as he gives his first commands as a captain of a crew. He calls out commands, and the ship sets out to its first stop -- Pylos.
