
Beds spread in the portico
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ὣς ἔφατʼ, Ἀργείη δʼ Ἑλένη δμῳῇσι κέλευσεν δέμνιʼ ὑπʼ αἰθούσῃ θέμεναι καὶ ῥήγεα καλὰ πορφύρεʼ ἐμβαλέειν στορέσαι τʼ ἐφύπερθε τάπητας, χλαίνας τʼ ἐνθέμεναι οὔλας καθύπερθεν ἕσασθαι. αἱ δʼ ἴσαν ἐκ μεγάροιο δάος μετὰ χερσὶν ἔχουσαι,
So he spoke, and Argive Helen bade the handmaids set bedsteads under the portico, and throw on fair purple rugs, and spread coverlets on top, and lay in woolly cloaks for a covering above. And they went out of the hall holding a torch in their hands.
The tales are done and Telemachus has asked for sleep. Helen, the mistress of the house, sets her servants to make up the guest-beds.
The evening closes on a bedding-scene done in full: at Helen's word the maids carry out bedsteads to the covered porch and layer them — purple rugs beneath, coverlets over, woolen cloaks on top — then go off with torches to light the guests to rest. The tale-telling is over; the house takes care of its own.
This is xenia completing itself. A guest is not truly received until he is fed, heard, and given a warm bed under the host's roof, and Sparta performs every step without a hitch. Set against Ithaca, where strangers must fend among the suitors, the smoothness is the point: this is what a house in order looks like, down to the last folded cloak.
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