Menelaus was keeping the double marriage feast of his son and
daughter, and his house was thronged with wedding guests. All sat
silent and attentive, listening to the strains of a harper, and
watching the gambols of a pair of tumblers, who were whirling in giddy
reels round the hall. Presently voices were heard at the entrance, and
one of the squires of Menelaus came and informed his master that two
strangers of noble mien were standing without, craving hospitality.
"Shall I bring them in," asked the squire, "or send them on to another
house?"

"Hast thou lost thy wits?" answered Menelaus in some heat, being
touched in his most sensitive point. "Shall we, who owe so much to the
kindness of strangers, in the long years of our wanderings, send any
man from our doors? Unyoke the horses, and bid our new guests enter."

Four or five servants hastened to do his bidding. The horses, covered
with sweat from their hard journey, were unyoked and led into the
stable, and Telemachus, with his companion, was ushered with all
courtesy into the great hall of Menelaus. The palace was one of the
wealthiest and most splendid in Greece; and Telemachus, accustomed to
a much humbler style of dwelling, stood amazed at the glories which
met his eyes. After bathing and changing their raiment they returned
to the hall, and were assigned places close to the chair of Menelaus.

The prince greeted them kindly, and said: "Welcome to our halls, young
sirs. Ye are, as I see, of no mean descent, for Zeus has set his stamp
on your faces,[1] and none can mistake the signs of kingly birth. When
ye have eaten, we will inquire of you further."

[Footnote 1: In Homer, all kings and their families are supposed to be