Argos

by Simpson, Phillip

  Some dogs are able to sleep on their backs, legs akimbo and twitching in the air. I’ve seen it myself. But I have never been willing to do so—able to, yes but not willing. I found the position undignified. Not only that, but it also looked incredibly vulnerable and I doubt humans enjoyed such a sight either. I wouldn’t welcome seeing Odysseus or Telemachus exposing themselves in such a manner. And as for Penelope …

  Such was my discomfort however, that I forced myself to roll over so that I was lying on my back. The pain immediately lessened so that I finally became aware of my surroundings. I was in Telemachus’ room, on a stuffed blanket next to his bed. I looked down and saw that my sides had been heavily wrapped with linen bandages.

  It must have been early evening, judging by the lit oil lamps. In the dim light, I could see the tip of a small foot poking out from the side of the bed above me. Both my nose and my eyes told me it was my beloved Telemachus. A surge of relief washed over me. Telemachus had been rescued. He was here!

  There were three other humans in the room—all familiar to me. Eumaeus, Penelope, and the healer—the same one who had aided me after the incident with the hare. I’m embarrassed to confess that I still had not learnt his name. He had short gray hair and a neatly trimmed beard of the same color. He always smelt of olive oil. They were talking quietly amongst themselves, their expressions grim. Tentatively, I rolled onto my side and began the agonizing process of standing. Eumaeus was suddenly at my side.

  “Argos! Stay! Lie down. You must rest,” he said, placing his calloused hands on me, trying to force me down onto my bed. Stubbornly I refused, trying to rise despite his best efforts to the contrary.

  Seeing that I would not be denied, Eumaeus relented and helped me to my feet, supporting me with both of his strong hands. I stood unsteadily and managed to wag my tail. Penelope saw this and quickly moved to my other side, kneeling next to me. She took my face into her hands and our eyes locked. I could see tears glistening in those dazzling blue eyes.

  “Argos, dear brave, Argos. What would we do without you? You have saved my son. I will not forget this. Not ever. I am sorry. I finally see your true merit for what it is.”

  Hot, salty tears were running down her face and I did something then that I usually reserved for Odysseus, Telemachus, and occasionally Eumaeus. I licked her face. She did not resist. In fact, she smiled and then laughed, wrapping her arms around my neck. I wagged my tail more forcefully, enjoying the salty goodness delivered by those beautiful eyes.

  I have always enjoyed licking the faces of those I love, especially when there is some salt to be had. The taste is delightful. Usually, my playful tongue only encountered sweat—especially in the case of Odysseus and Eumaeus. Both men rarely cried. As for Telemachus, he was an inexhaustible well of the stuff—especially when he was younger. Tears, replaced by laughter, never lasted for long on his face when I was around. The irony of this didn’t escape me. I loved licking up his tears but by making him laugh, I was depriving myself of more of this delicious treat.

  As much as I was enjoying myself, I had other more pressing matters to attend to. Reluctantly, I pulled away from Penelope’s embrace.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I think he wants to see Telemachus,” said Eumaeus, his eyes looking suspiciously damp. “Here, let me help him.”

  Gently, Eumaeus lifted my front paws to the side of the bed. It hurt but my pride would now allow a whimper of complaint.

  Telemachus lay sprawled on the bed, asleep or unconscious. I suspected the latter. It was a humid evening and his body was uncovered. He looked pale but I could see the reassuring rise and fall of his chest. The leg that had been severely broken and twisted by his fall into the crevice, was now straight, splinted by stout wooden poles and wrapped in clean linen. The nasty gash on his forehead had also been wrapped. Just looking at him filled me to the brim with a variety of emotions. Relief that he was still alive. Joy. Worry that he would not recover.

  I desperately wanted to hop onto the bed and lick his face but I knew that I would just disgrace myself. Penelope would never allow it in any case and I did not want to sour the moment we had just shared. So instead, I just stood there, forelegs perched on the bed, supported by Eumaeus, watching the young boy that in many ways I considered my brother.

  “There. Satisfied?” asked Eumaeus, his voice light, teasing. I detected a note of worry in it, too. He helped me down and I returned slowly to my bed, circling several times on the soft blanket to ensure that I had just the right position. I lay down and curled into a ball. My sides hurt but now that I knew I had company, I did not want to embarrass myself by lying on my back.

  “Telemachus must not be disturbed,” said the healer sharply. “I think it would be wise to remove the dog from this chamber during the boy’s convalescence.”

  “No,” said Penelope bluntly. “Argos will remain in the room with my son. If it wasn’t for Argos, Telemachus would not be alive now. The comfort provided by being in this room is the least I can do for the dog.”

  “Argos will not disturb him,” said Eumaeus. “He knows better than that. This dog possesses more wisdom and intelligence than most humans I have met. He merely wishes to be in the presence of his master’s son.”

  The healer nodded but I could tell he was unconvinced. “Very well. But if the dog gets up onto the bed, he could injure Telemachus further. With all due respect, Lady Penelope, I would not risk it if I was you.”

  “Then lucky for you that you are not me,” she snapped. Her face softened for a moment. She looked tired and stressed. I could tell that this incident had taken its toll. “I’m sorry,” she said to the healer. “You have done an excellent job looking after my son and for that I am thankful. I did not mean to berate you. I know that your chief concern is for Telemachus but you must trust your queen in this matter.”

  The healer nodded again, her words soothing the sting of his earlier reprimand. “I will return later to check up on the boy.”

  “And Argos,” said Eumaeus.

  The healer looked confused for a moment. “Yes, the dog. Of course. I will examine his sides and change his bandages when I look in on Telemachus.”

  “Thank you,” said Penelope simply.

  The healer took his leave. “And thank you also, trusted Eumaeus,” said Penelope, turning her gaze on the swineherd. “Thank you for rescuing my son. Your bravery and courage will be rewarded.”

  “I require no reward, my lady,” said Eumaeus humbly, dipping his head for a moment. “I would do the same for Odysseus or for you. Truth be told, it was a simple enough matter to clamber down into that hole.” I noticed that Eumaeus had a number of fresh scrapes and bruises. His hands sported several deep gashes. Rescuing Telemachus had not been as easy as he was making out.

  “Regardless,” she said. “You have my gratitude.” Penelope sat down on the edge of the bed. I saw her reach for her son as Telemachus stirred briefly but her touch seemed to settle him.

  “Do not fear, my queen,” said Eumaeus. “Telemachus will live. The healer said as much.”

  Penelope continued to gaze at her son. “I know that, Eumaeus. That is not what I am worried about.”

  “Then what?” asked Eumaeus.

  “I fear the hands of the gods in this.”

  “Why?” asked Eumaeus, clearly puzzled.

  “Athena came to me in my dreams last night. She told me that Odysseus lives. The war with Troy is over.”

  Eumaeus strode over to Penelope and took her hands in his. “That’s great news, my queen!” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” said Penelope, nodding her head slowly. “There is no reason for Athena to lie to me. Odysseus is one of her most favored mortals. But that is not all she said.”

  “Then what?”

  “She was warning me. Athena once told Odysseus that we would be safe once he left for the war. But it seems circumstances have changed. She told me that Odysseus has done something el
se to anger the gods. He already has the disfavor of Apollo. Now he has brought the enmity of one even greater down upon his head.”

  “Who? Surely not Zeus himself?”

  Penelope shook her head. “No, not mighty Zeus. His brother. Poseidon, lord of the sea.”

  “But why?” asked Eumaeus, releasing her from his grasp. “What would Poseidon have against Odysseus?”

  “I don’t know,” confessed Penelope. “The Goddess Athena did not reveal that to me. She only said that Odysseus had done something to anger the sea God. If that is true, what is to stop Poseidon from punishing Odysseus through his only son? Was it sheer chance that my son fell into a crevice? An accident, perhaps? Or was it something else?

  Eumaeus took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Only the gods themselves know the answers to your questions, my queen,” he said. “I do know one thing though. Athena did not leave us without protection.”

  I became aware that both humans were looking at me. I lifted my head, wagging my tail nervously.

  “See,” said Eumaeus, smiling. “He knows we’re talking about him. You told me once that Athena had ensured that Odysseus pick him. That Argos was special. That he was sent to Odysseus to protect him and his family.”

  “That is true,” said Penelope slowly. Her lips flickered into the barest hint of a smile.

  “Then you have nothing to worry about,” said Eumaeus. “With Argos around, you and Telemachus are safe. Already he has saved the lives of both Odysseus and Telemachus. Twice. Not to mention yours. You told me that he saved you from eating the poisoned food at the wedding.”

  “Also true,” said Penelope. “I admire your confidence, Eumaeus, and whilst I agree with you, it would be remiss of me not to point out one important fact.”

  “And that is?” asked Eumaeus.

  “My husband, Odysseus, from no fault of his own, has brought down the ire of certain gods upon both himself and us. The gods are powerful. More powerful than we can comprehend. And Argos, for all his strength and unusual abilities, is still but a dog. A dog versus the gods? Even my husband would not make such a wager. Argos or not, we and especially Telemachus, must be on our guard.”

  The words sent a chill through me. I thought all that nastiness with the gods had ended after Odysseus’ departure. And perhaps it had. Perhaps Penelope was wrong. To me, Telemachus falling into the crevice had all the hallmarks of an accident. But then again, perhaps not. I thought back to what had happened to Telemachus and myself on the mountain. Something had spooked those goats. I hadn’t smelt another animal nearby but I also hadn’t smelt what I was starting to think of as a “godly aroma”—that enticing scent that I remembered so well from my encounters with Athena and Apollo. But that didn’t necessarily mean they weren’t responsible. Maybe the gods had become wise to my abilities and disguised their scent? They were gods after all. It was not exactly comforting.

  With that disturbing thought still foremost in my mind, I settled my head onto my bed and tried to sleep. Sleep I did, but it was not as restful or comforting as I would have liked.

  The next morning, I was relieved to find that Telemachus had regained consciousness. Eumaeus, Penelope, and the healer were once again in attendance at his bedside. Both Eumaeus and Penelope were smiling—a good sign.

  With the help of the healer, he was able to sit up.

  “Argos?” he asked, in a weak voice no louder than a whisper. It was the first word he said and it made me happier than I’d felt in a long time.

  “Here,” said Eumaeus. “Next to you on the floor at our feet.”

  My sides were still sore but I managed to put my front paws on the side of his bed without assistance. Telemachus’ face lit up with a smile.

  “Argos!” he said. “I feared the worst. I thought … I thought that maybe …” His voice trailed off. I positioned myself so that the boy could pat my head. Obligingly, he did so but I could tell the effort cost him.

  “That’s enough,” warned the healer. “We don’t want to tax his strength just yet.”

  I took the hint and lowered myself to the floor but continued to stand so that I was able to see him better.

  “What happened?” asked Telemachus weakly.

  “You fell into a crevice,” explained Eumaeus. “Argos came and got me and led me back to where you had fallen. I pulled you out.”

  Telemachus’ face registered confusion. “But how? Argos fell into the crevice with me.”

  All four humans looked at me, their faces displaying a mixture of surprise, admiration, and something that I couldn’t read. Was it respect?

  “I confess,” said Eumaeus, scratching his beard thoughtfully, “that I guessed as much judging from his condition. He must have found a way out. Got to the cliffs and into the sea. Which would explain the fishermen.”

  “Yes,” agreed Penelope. “I suspected those fishermen weren’t smart enough to be that creative.”

  “Did you pay them?” asked Eumaeus.

  “I did,” said Penelope. “In gold. Enough to keep them in food for months. Or wine for days.”

  “Is Argos all right?” asked Telemachus.

  “He will be fine,” said Penelope. “The healer has seen to him, just like he has seen to you. Don’t worry about him for now. I want you to concentrate on getting better.” She kissed her son on the forehead. “Now, I’ll have some food brought in but I want you to get some more rest.”

  “Can Argos stay?” asked Telemachus plaintively. My heart went out to him.

  Eumaeus laughed easily. “Of course he can. We can hardly kick him out. He’d just find a way back in.”

  They left us alone then. I sat down next to the bed so that Telemachus could easily rest his hand on my head. It reminded me of all the times I had stayed beside his bed during particularly violent storms. I sighed, comforted by the reassuring contact. Everything was going to be all right.

  I could tell from Telemachus’ breathing that he was drifting back off to sleep. Before he did, I heard him whisper one simple sentence. Three words that were worth more to me than all the roasted boar meat in the world.

  “Thank you, Argos.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Days passed. Telemachus, filled with the recuperative powers of the young, recovered swiftly. Soon enough, he was hobbling around the palace again. I was his constant shadow, keeping a cautious eye on him, always wary. The news that the gods could still have designs on Telemachus was never far from my mind. It made me anxious, even jumpy and at times, and I caught myself growling at a strange scent or even an unusual sound.

  His leg was healing cleanly and the healer explained that although he might walk with a slight limp, Telemachus would otherwise make a full recovery. Like Penelope and Eumaeus, I couldn’t have been happier.

  I recovered just as quickly or possibly even more so. My sides knitted and it no longer pained me to run or jump. I began to thirst for a time when Telemachus and I could go hunting together or even just walk down to the beach.

  Telemachus tired easily though. He certainly wasn’t up to any strenuous exercise and wouldn’t be for some time. Even a walk down the steep path to the beach was too much for now. To recover his strength, he often took short naps during the day.

  The inactivity started to grate. Out of loyalty, I often stayed in his room while he rested but I began to pace restlessly. I was torn by a desire to protect him on one paw and on the other, to enjoy the sun and fresh air. On one summer’s day, it became too much. The warm bedchamber was stifling—I needed to get out.

  Promising myself that it would not be for too long, I took myself out behind the palace. I found one of my favorite sunspots, quiet, sheltered from the wind, a place where I could lie undisturbed. I basked in the sun, enjoying the delicious sensation of the warmth seeping into my body, soothing my bones. I never intended to but before I realized it, I was asleep.

  I awoke to find that I had not awoken at all. I was no longer outside the palace. In fact, I was nowhere. All around
me was nothingness. Just a white mist. Daunted, I comforted myself in the knowledge that this was clearly just a dream. Dreams were hardly unusual for me. I had them all the time. Mostly they consisted of chasing boars. Sometimes a rabbit. More often than not, I caught it, awakening to a growling stomach. I often woke to find my legs were still moving as if I was truly chasing my prey. Embarrassing, I know.

  Not this time, however. There was not one boar or rabbit in sight. Not even a scent of one. I was about to investigate my surroundings when a familiar scent intruded. It was the “god aroma.”

  I sensed a presence and spun around. A spear length away, a tall woman in bronze armor stood facing me.

  “Greetings, Argos,” said Athena. She held up one hand just as I was opening my mouth. “Don’t try to speak,” she said. “Even in … this place, you still do not have that power. Instead, think what you would like to say and I will hear it.”

  “Greetings, Athena. Goddess?” I ventured.

  “I can hear you, Argos,” she reassured me.

  “What is this place?” I asked.

  “It is nowhere,” she said, unhelpfully. “It is an adjunct of Olympus. A place where we may shape as we please. It can be nothing and everything.”

  That was definitely unhelpful, I thought, only then remembering that she was probably reading my thoughts. Instead, I asked, “Why am I here, Goddess?”

  “I have brought you here to warn you, dear Argos. I am being closely watched by the other gods—particularly Apollo and Poseidon—which is why I could not visit you in person. This was the next best option.”

  “Warn me against what, exactly?”

  “The rules do not give me the ability to furnish you with exact details, Argos, but suffice to say that you are in danger.”

  “Me?” I asked, surprised. “But why me and from what?”