Horror seized the suitors, while Ulysses again raised the bow and pierced the breast of Eurymachus with his shaft ere he could draw his sword and rush upon him. Telemachus with his spear stood by his father’s side to protect him, while he sent arrow after arrow into the crowd and one after another was struck down into the dust. Telemachus fetched helmets, shields, and spears for both the herdsmen, and they quickly armed themselves. Melantheus, the goatherd, who had more presence of mind than the rest, managed to slip out of the side door unobserved and bring down some of the weapons which Ulysses and Telemachus had wisely hidden in the upper chambers. Ulysses suddenly discovered that half of the front row of men were armed and spears began to hurtle past him. “What is this?” he cried in dismay to Telemachus. “One of the maids or Melantheus must have brought them weapons. See how they defend themselves.” “Ye gods, it is all my fault,” said Telemachus. “I left the door of the armory ajar and the crafty goatherd has taken advantage of it.” “See, there he is sneaking out to fetch another spear,” cried Ulysses. “Eumæus! Philœtius! Follow him! Bind him! Hang him up, while my son and I fight on!” When the suitors saw that Ulysses and Telemachus were left alone they took fresh courage, and it would have gone hard with the two against the combined onset of their foes, had not Athene in Mentor’s form entered at the critical moment armed from head to foot and thrown back the nearest ones with a powerful blow of her shield. “Mentor, cursed old man,” screamed all the suitors, “do not dare to help these two men, for when we shall have conquered them, then woe to thee and thy house! Flee, while there is yet time!” This angered Pallas Athene, and she spurred Ulysses on with encouraging words. He felt the presence of the goddess and renewed his superhuman efforts. The two herdsmen now returned with a fresh supply of lances, and Mentor saw that the rest of the task could be left to the brave men. At last the greater part of the suitors had fallen. Some had already breathed their last. Most of them were writhing on the spears with which they had been pierced and lay bathed in their own blood. It was a horrible sight. As the four heroes prepared to give the death blow to the few survivors, Leiodes sprang suddenly from behind a column, and clasping Ulysses’ knees, called loudly for mercy. “Give me my life,” he prayed. “I took no part in the evil deeds of the suitors, for I was their priest and only carried out the holy customs when they sacrificed thy steers.” “If thou hast been their sacrificial priest and prophet, thou must surely have foretold many evil things concerning me and have called down misfortunes upon my head in thy prayers. And for this thou shalt die a well-deserved death,” replied the king with dark looks. He raised his sword and with a quick stroke severed the head of the still-kneeling priest, so that it rolled in the dust.