Eurycleia bustled up to her mistress’s room with the joyous news that Odysseus had come home, but Penelope simply did not believe her. “Dear nurse,” she sighed, “the gods have made thee mad!” The tale that Eurycleia told did nothing to convince the Queen. “One of the gods has slain my lordly suitors” conceded Penelope; “but Odysseus will come again no more.” She went down and found the stranger in the hall, but she could of nothing but to stare at him. Odysseus did not press the matter. He ordered a feast fit for a king, and anyone listening that night would imagine that Penelope had indeed despaired of her husband’s return, and married another.

But later that night, he would have found Penelope sitting opposite her husband, the constraint as palpable as ever. “Strange lady,” said Odysseus, “that can harden her heart against a man who has passed through so much to return to his wife! Come Eurycleia,” he added resentfully, “lay a mattress here upon the ground, before this proud lady’s door!”