What is our crime?

The doors were barred, and the guests were unarmed. Odysseus was sitting on his throne. His throne.
It was empty for 15 years but no more, and they were all looking at him aware of that fact. They were all contending for this sit, for this throne which will not be theirs. Peering over the crowd, Odysseus studied these guests. Most were frozen on the spot, others were still gnawing on the opulent dishes served earlier, his cheese, his meat, lips still moist from his wine. All eyes were at him. This now would be the end of his journey, the last thing he needs to do. He scoured their eyes, prying for any regret, any shame, but all they revealed was fear and confusion. It didnât matter of course.

He held his famous bow in hand, whilst his son was at his feet holding a short spear. He was still young, but strong, and Odysseus trusted him even though this morning was the first time they ever laid eyes on each other.

He notched his bow slowly. Half of the guests took a step back, one of them started to choke on the mutton that he had chewed on. Odysseus picked him, and loosed. The iron head arrow hit him in his chest and he fell dying still gasping for air. One guest started to scream, and a fat fuddled guest leapt towards the door in the back of the room but was struck down by an arrow half way short to the door. The scream died out just as sharply.

Then a tall bearded man, wearing a sheep cloak jumped forward waving, "Wait! Wait! What is our crime!?", he yelled.
The whole room fell to silence as Odysseus's indifferent face grew angry. "You tried to take my world" his hoarse voice spat the words in more pain than fury. "The world I built with my own hands".

He notched the bow again, and a broad shouldered man dashed forward barehanded, straight towards Odysseus. His son through himself between them, the point of his spear dug deep into his upper chest. Another thinner guest dressed all in satin jumped to help his large friend, only to fall back with an arrow in his stomach.
Many guests were at this time running to the back of the hall, towards the locked doors, and another arrow found a guest's back. A few reached the doors and started to pound on them in despair. But most ran towards semi-covers and half-shades. The large man, blood flowing strong from his wound and the spear still in him found strength to push himself closer, but was pushed to his knees in pain as the son twisted the spear. Odysseus shot another arrow to the back of the hall. Another man came running from the back holding a wide clay plate, and Odysseus shot him through the plate, splitting it in two. Two others ran from the other side of the room one was holding a small wooden shaft, he took an arrow in the brow. The other managed close, but the son swiftly pulled an axe from behind the throne, and dug it deep into the man's side. Suddenly the sheep cloaked man appeared from behind that man and managed to hit the son with a wooden shaft and to take control of the axe. An arrow struck his arse, and he rolled on the ground. Another, slimmer man jumped in front waving one hand at Odysseus, and fell by an arrow that was meant for the man he was protecting and his now blood soaked sheep skin.

Non others came up, maybe only half a dosen guests remained alive, all but one crying or praying in their self made shelters. Only the cloaked man stood holding the axe before him, he did not charge.
The son pulled the spear from the dying man and pounced straight on the axed guest. Blood dripping between his legs the guest was surprisingly swift, dodging the spear and slashing his axe sideways. The son moved just in time to block the axe with the back of his spear. But the axe was heavy and found the sons thigh. The guest raised the axe in preparation of a high blow, but an arrow hit him in the throat. He fell on his back. The son, filled with battle rage did not loose time, he moved around the room and finished all the craven guests.

On the ground, in the middle of the room, the cloaked man lay gasping for a few final breaths.
"You took this island, when it belonged to no man but the gods", his words were barely a high pitch squeak. "They gave it to you, to rule", these words left him as no more than the faintest whisper. "But they themselves took the world from the Titans", these were no more than thoughts. "It is their world not yours, their island". And with this his spirit left this world.
No mortal heard these words but the gods. They listened fascinated, like kids around an old well-practiced story teller. They heard the thoughts of the dying man, who was once a guest, but who was never invited.
"He says the whole world belongs to the Titans, Zeus", called Herra.
"But I took it from them, wife".
"That you have, that and the island which you gave me to give Odysseus", called Athena, the warrior goddess.
"That I have".
"But for what crime did he punish them, Zeus?", asked Herra.
"They tried to take his world that we gave him, wife."
"He built it with his own hands" explained Athena, who would become goddess protector of all Greeks.
"But for this same crime the Titans can judge you, King of Gods", called Herra.
"They tried and failed, woman. That is their crime. For that they were punished, not for the attempt, as Odysseus the mortal thinks, but for their failure."
"For their failure", echoed Athena, who would become a symbol to prowess, and later to all western novelty.