Argos

by Simpson, Phillip

  I knew he was right but that didn’t stop me wanting to go.

  The ships were almost ready now. A stocky figure approached from the beach. Even from a distance, I recognized the powerful silhouette. My master.

  He halted just in front of us and I moved toward him, rubbing my head against his leg. He patted my head fondly.

  “I have to go now, my queen,” he said.

  “I know,” said Penelope, getting to her feet.

  He embraced her warmly and kissed her on the lips. Telemachus was next, receiving a fond caress and a kiss on his forehead. “Be a good boy for your mother.”

  Then it was my turn. Odysseus bent down and wrapped his arms around me. “Look after my family, Argos. Keep them free from harm.” To show I understood, I licked his face. Odysseus smiled and after one last hug, stood and made his way back toward the ships.

  “Return to me safely, my husband,” urged Penelope to his retreating back.

  “I will,” he promised, turning for a moment and meeting her gaze. “I love you. I will be home before you know it.”

  Chapter Ten

  I pined for Odysseus every single day. Not a moment went by when I did not think about him. I would often journey down to the beach every time I saw a sail so I would be there when he arrived home. Each time was the same. A ship would arrive, goods were loaded and unloaded, people would embark and disembark. Not one of them was my master.

  I sank into depression. I missed him terribly, like a piece of me had sailed over the seas with him. I think it was my heart.

  Athena’s prophecy came true. A week passed and then a month. The months became seasons and then stretched into years. I knew how to count the passage of time by the seasons and realized after a while that almost ten years had passed. Odysseus still had not returned.

  I never lost hope and still haven’t. My master will return to me one day. I feel it in my bones. I will never give up on him.

  Telemachus grew into a strong boy who I knew would make Odysseus proud. He was a handsome lad, inheriting the finer features of his mother rather than the blunt, rugged face of his father. He had his father’s strong wrestler’s build and excelled at all athletic pursuits. Quiet and a bit of a loner, Telemachus was prone to sit isolated, lost in thought. I suspected that he missed the father he had never truly known.

  I would often accompany him, knowing he welcomed my company because I was just as comfortable with silence as he was.

  I spent more time with him than Penelope because I realized that he needed my protection more. He was young, and like all young animals, made poor decisions. I gravitated toward his company because he reminded me of Odysseus. He was the closest thing to my master I could find. But our relationship went both ways. We played together and he would often groom me, combing the fleas from my coat and gently untangling matted hair. Knowing how much I had meant to Odysseus, he strove to understand his father through me. We needed each other.

  I still slept in the hallway outside Odysseus’ and Penelope’s bedchamber. Telemachus would have welcomed me in his room but I steadfastly refused any invitation. His room was adjacent to his parents’. By positioning myself in the hallway, I could keep watch on both of them. Not that I needed to. The gods, it seemed, had lost interest in us now that Odysseus had left Ithaca.

  The exception was during storms for Telemachus became very fearful during lightning storms. Perhaps he had a dim memory of the God Apollo standing over his cot with a knife.

  One particular night, a few years after Odysseus’ departure, a powerful storm hit the island. Fearsome winds threatened to rip the tiles off the palace roof. The rain was so heavy it was impossible to hear anything above the steady drumming. The flashes of lightning were intense, almost as though Zeus himself was hurling his deadly bolts in the sky directly above us. Thunder shook the palace walls down to their very foundations.

  I was as frightened as every other inhabitant of the palace. Well almost. There was one who was more frightened than others. Telemachus.

  Telemachus had left his door ajar, probably hoping I would join him. A flash of lightning briefly illuminated Telemachus sitting up in bed, his linen bedsheets clutched tightly to his chest, his face a mask of terror. I could see the relief plainly etched on his face as I hastened to the side of the bed and sat within easy reach of his questing hand. When the lightning flashed again, he stretched out his hand and placed it on my head. We were both reassured by the contact. The hand remained on my head the entire night and even when I was sure he was asleep, I did not move for fear of waking him. After that night, it became my custom to sit beside his bed, to protect and comfort him while he slept.

  I never transferred my affections completely to Telemachus because I would always be Odysseus’ dog, and felt that if I did so, I would show disloyalty to my master. But Telemachus and I shared a close bond nonetheless.

  Penelope was stronger than Telemachus and besides, had many servants and companions to keep her company. Even so, I knew she missed Odysseus as much as I. When the bedroom door was ajar, I sometimes saw tears rolling down her beautiful cheeks.

  As for myself, well, I was getting older. I wouldn’t say that I was getting old but I was probably just past my prime. I still felt strong and healthy and could run almost as swiftly as I had in my youth, but the passage of the years was taking its toll. My natural love of food had ensured I had put on a little weight and sometimes, in the depths of winter, my joints ached.

  My time was not just spent in Telemachus’ or Penelope’s company. I had a reputation as a hunting dog without peer, thanks to Odysseus’ boasting and my own innate abilities. As a result, many of the young men in Odysseus’ household who had been too young for war took me out hunting with them.

  Although immensely enjoyable, these adventures were always tinged with sadness. Sadness that Odysseus was not here to enjoy the hunt with me.

  I often thought about what he would be doing. Would he be preparing to fight? Donning his armor perhaps? Sharpening his sword? Perhaps he was actually engaged in combat. Such thoughts always set my heart hammering in fear. Fear that my master would be injured or killed without me to protect him. I hated the thought that he might die alone without his family or me by his side.

  Eumaeus spent as much time as he could with us, often joining us out during our explorations. I had noticed that he came to the palace less and less, as if the memories of his friend it contained were too painful. Perhaps he didn’t like seeing Penelope miserable?

  If he was bitter at having been left behind, he gave no sign. Eumaeus wasn’t a warrior after all. His place was with his pigs but I knew that if Odysseus had asked him to join him, he would’ve jumped at the opportunity. He missed his friend terribly.

  I often wondered why Odysseus didn’t take him to Troy. Even without the skills of a warrior, I am sure that Eumaeus could’ve made himself useful. I suspect that Odysseus had been loath to endanger the life of his friend.

  One spring day, Eumaeus found us down at the beach. Telemachus and I gravitated toward the area, always hopeful to spot a sail on the horizon. Telemachus was practicing shooting game birds with a new bow without much success. There were only two birds in his bag—birds that I had dutifully fetched for him.

  “Greetings, Telemachus,” Eumaeus said, a huge smile on his bearded face. I ran up to him joyfully and he scratched me behind my ears. “And to you also, Argos.”

  “Eumaeus!” said Telemachus, running up to the big man. “I’ve missed you. Where have you been?”

  “A swineherd is never idle,” he said. “Pig pens to muck out. Pigs to feed. Come, sit with me, Telemachus.”

  Man and boy sat down on a large boulder facing the sea. The wind was blowing from the east. When the wind blew from that direction, I always raised my head, hoping to catch the scent of my master. As always, I was disappointed.

  “Don’t you have others to do those things for you, Eumaeus?”

  “I do,” said Eumaeus. “But that’s no
t how things are done on Ithaca. A man leads by example. Your father taught me that. I will not sit idly by and watch while my men work hard. Besides,” he said, winking at me knowingly, “it’s a way to keep my belly from growing.” He patted his stomach affectionately. I noticed that it had expanded over the last ten years. Eumaeus had clearly been rewarding himself for his hard work with an overabundance of food. A man after my own heart.

  “Have you ever travelled, Eumaeus?” asked the boy, suddenly serious.

  “You mean around Ithaca? Of course. It’s not a big island. I think I’ve seen every part of it.”

  “No,” said Telemachus. “Stop being silly, Uncle. I mean over there,” he said, nodding in the direction of the sea. “Over the great green.”

  Eumaeus shook his head slowly. “No. The sea does not agree with me. A strange thing to say for a man raised on an island but that is the truth.”

  “Is that why my father did not take you with him?”

  “Of course not. Odysseus would have laughed every time I threw up. He did not ask me to join him because I am not a warrior. A battlefield is no place for a swineherd.”

  “Do you miss him?”

  Eumaeus laughed. “Every single day. Some days he would frustrate me, sending me on some errand or insisting that I accompany him, even though he knew I had other responsibilities. But he is a great man and I love him.”

  “Tell me again what he is like, Eumaeus.”

  “Well, he isn’t tall like me but he has huge shoulders. A wrestler’s shoulders. You remind me of him, Telemachus, but you are much more handsome than your father. Not that his lack of good looks stopped him. How he managed to wed one of the most beautiful women around is still a mystery to me. Must be that wit of his.”

  Telemachus lapped this up eagerly, even though we had both heard it many times.

  “He loves you, Telemachus,” continued the big man. “And your mother. That’s why he left his most treasured possession behind.”

  “You mean Argos?” asked Telemachus.

  “I do,” said Eumaeus, nodding. “He knew he couldn’t take you or your mother with him. But it broke his heart to leave Argos behind, especially because like you, he only got to spend just over a year with him. A dog like Argos can be enjoyed for many years. He left Argos behind to take care of you, to watch over you. And Argos has certainly done that,” he said, scratching me under the chin.

  “Do you think my father still lives?” asked Telemachus, a hopeful note in his voice.

  Eumaeus nodded. “Of course. A man like your father is too crafty to die on the battlefield. He’s more likely to die in his bed of old age.”

  “When do you think he will come home?”

  “When the job is done. When the war is won. I have heard rumors. It might be soon now, Telemachus. But I shouldn’t fill your head with false hopes. The gods are fickle. Ultimately, it will be up to them to decide when and if your father returns safely.”

  Telemachus said nothing. He stared out at the dark sea as if hoping to catch a glimpse of his father. Eumaeus patted him on the back. “I would not worry too much, my boy. Even the gods would think twice about angering Odysseus.”

  “Tell me again of the boar, Uncle. The great boar sent from Hades to kill my father.”

  Eumaeus nodded. I sighed with pleasure and laid down at Eumaeus’ feet. Even though I had heard the story countless times, I never tired of hearing about my master.

  Other burdens pressed upon young Telemachus. He would be king of Ithaca one day. In fact, he was already king in all but name. News that the war against Troy had ended reached the island and yet Odysseus still did not return. Most of the inhabitants of Ithaca believed that Odysseus was dead. You could tell the ones who did. I always knew by their attitude toward Telemachus, how they bowed, using their words cautiously for fear of causing offense. The minority who still believed that Odysseus lived were much more relaxed around the boy.

  Penelope was still Queen, however. She ran the palace and made all the decisions. That would not change unless Odysseus returned or when Telemachus became of age. Until then though, Telemachus had several duties required of him.

  As a king-in-waiting, he was expected to have certain skills. Oratory was one of the more important. He had a tutor who worked with him for an hour a day, honing his ability to hold a conversation or conduct a reasoned debate. I always accompanied him despite the initial protests of the tutor. After a few lessons, the tutor gave up trying to kick me out and resigned himself to my presence. I liked going. If by some miraculous chance I learnt how to speak, the lessons would come in useful.

  The tutor often focused on logical thinking, something that Odysseus had excelled in. Unlike Odysseus, Telemachus had a shy, retiring nature and was awkward and uncomfortable speaking in public. The tutor, however, insisted that with time and practice, Telemachus had the makings of an excellent orator. The key was to consider all the facts and compose a response in your head before speaking. Easier said than done. Even though I sometimes wish for the power of speech, I know that it can be a curse. There are many times when I count myself lucky that I was born a dog. Displaying my emotions and thoughts in a physical manner has always been a simple affair. Humans have a much harder time of it.

  Telemachus had a separate tutor for geography and navigation using the stars. As a result, many of our lessons had to be conducted in the evenings. Telemachus enjoyed these lessons the most, primarily because he finally learnt where Troy was.

  One night, after the lesson had finished, Telemachus and I lay side by side under the stars—he on his back, me snuggled up against his warm body.

  “If he does not return, I will find him myself,” he said, talking to me like he sometimes did when we were alone. “I know where he is now. I can get there using the stars. When I am old enough, I will ask my mother’s permission to go. Would you like to come too, Argos?”

  I wagged my tail. Telemachus probably thought that my reaction was caused by the mention of my name. Little did he suspect that I knew exactly what he was talking about. His plan filled me with hope and lifted my spirits for a long time afterward.

  Oratory, geography, and navigation weren’t the only skills Telemachus needed to acquire. He also spent an hour a day in the gymnasium. Like his father, he was an accomplished athlete. Wrestling in particular appealed to him and he had both the build and the ability to be one of the greats. I enjoyed watching him but I had to resist the urge to jump in and help him at times. Not that he needed my help but I felt very protective and didn’t like it when the other boys were rough with him.

  Generally free from midday to early evening, Telemachus preferred to spend this time alone. He wasn’t exactly alone though. I was his shadow. The two of us were familiar sights in Ithaca, roaming the fields and rocky cliffs, climbing mountains and exploring beaches.

  On one such adventure, we became lost. Ithaca is not a huge island although it is larger than many. You could sail around it in less than a day. Following the coastline on horseback might take three. But the interior of Ithaca was rugged and mountainous, with treacherous caverns and pits eager to swallow the unwary. Not only that, but once in the mountains, the scenery became monotonous. One rocky outcropping looked much like the next. It was easy to become disorientated. I had even known Odysseus to lose his bearings once.

  Provided that it wasn’t night with the stars shrouded by clouds, all a wayward soul had to do was to climb to the highest peak and look for the great harbor in order to get his bearings. This was the massive harbor where all ships arrived and left. For us, it was even easier. The palace overlooked the harbor. Once we knew where the harbor was, finding the palace was a simple matter.

  On that day, we still had several hours before night fell. Unconcerned, Telemachus took his time, climbing carefully, following the goat tracks worn into the rocky hillside. Born and raised in this environment, I was sure-footed as any goat and kept up with him easily.

  We were still climbing, Telemachus
leading the way, when three goats appeared suddenly on the path before us. The track was narrow and the goats, stupid creatures that they are, could not turn. In a panic, they charged directly for us. In any other situation, I am more than a match for any goat. In fact, I’d take my chances with a whole herd of them and still emerge victorious. Not that defeating a herd of goats is anything to boast about.

  Clearly agitated, the lead goat lowered his head and charged at Telemachus. They probably weighed the same amount and Telemachus was a skilled wrestler but the goat had momentum and horns on its side. Telemachus warded it off with his arms but lost his footing and began sliding down the scree slope.

  Savage instincts to attack the goats competed with my rational desire to help Telemachus. His slide had turned into a tumble and he was getting perilously close to a crevice.

  Without further thought, I hurtled down after him, heedless of my own safety, dislodging pebbles and larger stones in my haste. I reached him only moments before he would have toppled into the darkened crevice, fastening my jaws on his tunic.

  Telemachus’ relief was short-lived as the tunic started to rip. I tried to get better purchase on the cloth but it was useless. I couldn’t open my mouth for fear that he would fall. For the first time in my life, I cursed my useless paws. Why couldn’t I have had hands instead? Worse, the ground was shifting underneath me, slowly dragging me into the crevice too.

  I did everything I could, but it simply wasn’t enough. There was a terrible ripping sound and Telemachus, his face a mask of horror, slowly toppled into the crevice. I sat howling my loss when a large displaced rock struck me with bone-shaking force and knocked me off my feet.

  I fell into darkness.

  Chapter Eleven

  When I finally regained consciousness, I was thoroughly disorientated and frightened. All around me was darkness. My sides hurt. I wasn’t sure at first how I had come to be here. Then I heard a groan nearby. The familiar sound snapped me back to reality and I remembered what had happened. It was Telemachus and he was in pain. I barked to let him know where I was.