t Telemachus paid no heed, and when at last they returned to
their houses, he went upstairs to his own room. The old woman who had
nursed him when he was a child carried torches before him to show him
the way. When he sat down on his bed and took off his doublet, she
folded and smoothed it and hung it up. Then she shut the door with its
silver handle, and left Telemachus, wrapped in a soft fleece of wool,
thinking far into the night of all that Athene had said to him.

When day dawned he dressed and buckled on his sword, and told heralds
to call the lords to a council meeting. When all were assembled he
went into the hall. In his hand he carried a bronze spear, and two of
his hounds followed him, and when he went up to his father's seat and
sat down there, the oldest men gave place to him. For Athene had shed
on him such a wondrous grace that he looked like a young god.

"Never since brave Odysseus sailed away to Troyland have we had a
council meeting," said one old lord. "I think the man who hath called
this meeting is a true man--good luck go with him! May the gods give
him his heart's desire."

So good a beginning did this seem that Telemachus was glad, and,
burning to say all that had been in his heart for so long, he rose to
his feet and spoke.

Of the loss of his father he spoke sadly, and then, with burning
words, of the cowardly wooers, of their feastings and revelings and
wasting of his goods, and of their insolence to Penelope and himself.

When he had thus spoken in rage and grief, he burst into tears.

For a little there was silence, then one of the wooers said angrily:

"Penelope is to blame, and no other. For three years she has deceived
us. 'I will give you my answer when I have finished weaving this
robe,' she said, and so we waited and waited. But now that three years
have gone and a fourth has begun, it is told us by one of her maids
that each night she has undone all she has woven during the day. She
can deceive us no longer. She must now finish the robe, and tell us
whom she will marry. For we will not leave this place until she has
chosen a husband."

Then, once again, with pleading words, Telemachus tried to move the
hearts of the wooers.

"If ye will not go," at last he said, "I will ask the gods to reward
you for your wickedness."

As he spoke, two eagles flew, fleet as the wind, from the mountain
crest. Side by side they flew until they were above the place of the
council meeting. Th