
He counts the seals — and us among them
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ζατρεφέας, πάσας δʼ ἄρʼ ἐπῴχετο, λέκτο δʼ ἀριθμόν· ἐν δʼ ἡμέας πρώτους λέγε κήτεσιν, οὐδέ τι θυμῷ ὠΐσθη δόλον εἶναι· ἔπειτα δὲ λέκτο καὶ αὐτός.
He went over them all, the well-fed seals, and counted their tally; and us he counted first among the seals, nor did he suspect in his heart any trick. Then he too lay himself down.
Menelaus is telling Telemachus how he ambushed the Old Man of the Sea. Hidden under sealskins on the Egyptian shore, he and three men wait as Proteus comes up at noon to count his seal-herd.
Menelaus is deep in his own tale now. The disguise has worked: Proteus, coming up from the sea at noon, counts his seal-herd and folds the four hidden Greeks into the tally without a flicker of suspicion. Homer lets the arithmetic carry the suspense — the god numbers his flock, reaches the men, passes on. Then, unguarded, he lies down among his seals to sleep.
The quiet horror is in that trust. A shape-shifting god, master of every disguise, is caught precisely because he cannot imagine being deceived in turn. The hunter's whole craft here is patience under a rank sealskin; the prey's undoing is that he counts by touch and takes the count for truth. The ambush is sprung before a hand is laid on him.
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