Argos

by Simpson, Phillip

  It was depressing and frustrating but I was content that I had Telemachus’ company at all. He would’ve been completely justified to use another younger dog. To his credit, he didn’t. I wouldn’t have blamed him though. Telemachus was a strong young man in the prime of his life. I was an old dog at the end of mine. In that respect, we were not well suited.

  Almost twenty long years had gone by since Odysseus had left. Contrary to Penelope’s hopes, the prospects of Ithaca did not improve with the return of Telemachus. The island continued to suffer. Penelope and Telemachus (with advice from Laertes and Eumaeus) were fair and kind rulers but that was not enough. The gods had once again conspired against the kingdom of Odysseus.

  One day, Telemachus was off hunting and I was lying at the feet of Penelope in her chambers, content to doze while she sat weaving.

  Suddenly, I caught a familiar scent. I hadn’t smelt it in years and at first was a little baffled. I lifted my head to find that Penelope and I were not alone.

  There were two other women in the room and both were immortals.

  The first I recognized immediately. Athena. Today, she carried both shield and spear. The other, I had never met before but knew who she must be by the quiver of arrows slung over her shoulder and the bow she held in her hand. Artemis, Goddess of the hunt, mistress of animals. Because of her realm of influence, I shared a greater bond with her than any of the other gods. It was strange that we had never met before.

  Outside the window, I could see that time had slowed or even halted altogether. The clouds that had only moments before been racing across the sky were now stationary.

  With a start, Penelope became aware of our visitors and her head jerked upward. Weaving forgotten, she leaped upward and bowed.

  “Goddesses,” she said. “Daughters of Zeus. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Greetings, Penelope, wife of Odysseus,” said Athena, “and to you also, Argos, Lord of hounds.”

  Lord of hounds indeed. Since when did I deserve that title? Clearly, my status had risen recently, especially in the eyes of the gods. Artemis nodded once in the direction of Penelope, then our eyes met and she smiled.

  “Where are my manners?” said Penelope. “May I offer you some refreshment?”

  “No thank you,” said Athena, smiling humorlessly. “We are here for more important business and have little time.”

  “Shortly,” said Artemis, her voice brisk, “men will begin to arrive on Ithaca.”

  “For what purpose?” asked Penelope. “Are they invaders? Shall I prepare the men for war?”

  “No,” said Athena. “They will not arrive for war. They will come for an altogether more … pleasant reason.”

  “And what reason would that be, Pallas Athena?” asked Penelope, clearly confused.

  “They will come for your hand in marriage,” said Artemis.

  “But … but begging your pardon, goddesses, I am already married to the mighty Odysseus. One who has been favored by yourself, great Athena.” She paused for a moment and the next sentence came out in a rush of hurried words. “Are you trying to tell me that my husband no longer lives?”

  Athena shook her head. “No, Penelope. Your husband still lives and while he breathes, will continue to have my favor. I ask this of you for a reason. We both do,” she said, indicating her sister goddess. “I want you to show yourself to these suitors. The reason for this will become clear eventually but you must do this without question.”

  Penelope’s face broke open in a smile brighter than the sun. I, too, felt my heart soar. My master lived! The gods had confirmed it! Penelope knelt and wrapped her arms around me.

  “Did you hear that, Argos? My husband lives,” said Penelope quietly and then more loudly. “My husband lives!”

  “He does indeed,” said Athena. “But focus on the task at hand.”

  Penelope’s stood and her smile of joy faded. I could see that she was struggling with this new burden placed upon her but dared not defy the will of these goddesses. To do so meant death. Or worse. “I do not have to marry one of them?” she asked.

  Athena shook her head. “No, Penelope. I seek only to make Odysseus even greater in the eyes of the gods. Men will travel from all over the world to vie for your hand—the wife of the great Odysseus. By doing so, his fame will increase and make him all but untouchable. Even the gods will not move against him or his family. But if I asked you to marry, would you?”

  Penelope lowered her eyes, unable to meet the intense stare of the two goddesses. “I would rather die,” she said quietly. Suddenly, she looked up at Artemis. “Are you not the Goddess of childbirth and virginity? I know I am not a young maiden any longer but you are the protector of young girls. You bring and relieve disease in women. Would you make me do this?”

  Artemis nodded. “I would. There is more at stake here than you would believe.”

  “Then,” said Penelope, teeth gritted in anger, “take out your bow now, mighty Artemis. Shoot an arrow through my heart. Take my life and send me down to Hades.”

  I felt my hackles rise. My mistress had been threatened. Goddess or not, I would not suffer her to be harmed in any way. I stood and growled low in my throat.

  “Do nothing,” commanded Athena, looking at me. I heard the words in my mind. Her lips did not move. I sensed that only she and I were privy to this private conversation. “Sit!”

  I could not defy such a command. Grudgingly, I did what I was told, even though my body demanded other actions.

  Artemis smiled. “You know I will not do that, Penelope. This is a game. A game controlled by the gods. One where mortals are just pieces on a board. And you have a part to play. Play your part.”

  “Entertain them. Charm them,” said Athena out loud. “Keep them waiting. For the sake of your husband.”

  “To what end?” asked Penelope. Her spark of anger had gone, replaced with resignation.

  “You will see,” said Athena.

  Finally, Penelope nodded ever so slightly. “I will … do as you ask,” she said slowly. “I will meet with these men, however loathsome they are. What sort of man comes sniffing around another man’s wife? Especially one that is not yet in the grave?”

  “The worst kind,” said Artemis, her eyes suddenly cold. “You will see for yourself.”

  “I need to tell my son. Telemachus needs to know the truth.”

  Athena nodded. “Very well. You may tell your son. But only your son. No one else may know the truth.”

  And then, as quickly as they had arrived, they were gone. Outside, the clouds resumed their frantic pace.

  Penelope looked down at me. “The gods will be the unmaking of us,” she said.

  I said nothing of course. I didn’t need to. I agreed with every word.

  True to the goddesses’ words, the suitors began arriving not long after that fateful day. It was a strange affair. Most believed that Odysseus was dead. Only Athena and Artemis seemed to know he lived with any certainty. Although he had been gone for twenty years, Penelope wanted to believe they spoke the truth, but the gods played games with mortals. Even if she didn’t believe the goddesses, her heart told her the truth. What wife will invite suitors when she knows her husband still has a claim on her?

  It was a ridiculous situation. All to enhance Odysseus’ reputation. Did Athena really gain so much? Was her reputation enhanced by that of her chosen hero? I do not begin to understand the motives of the gods. And as for Artemis, I’m not really sure what was in it for her.

  Who sent for the suitors? It certainly wasn’t Penelope or anyone else on Ithaca. Did the gods visit each one and tell them to come and vie for her hand in marriage? Swaying them with words like “Odysseus has been absent for twenty years. Surely he must be dead by now. His beautiful widow, Penelope, is lonely and seeks a new husband. Perhaps that husband is you?” Would the gods really bother with such a mundane task? Perhaps they sent their messenger boy, Hermes—Odysseus’ great grandfather—in their stead.

 
; It hardly mattered though. The suitors arrived regardless. First, they dribbled in, one or two at a time. Then they started arriving in groups. Within a month, there were over a hundred of them in the palace, eating and drinking with a will, seemingly intent on exhausting all the dwindling food and wine supplies on the island.

  True to her word, Penelope greeted every single one with apparent charm and grace. She was a consummate performer. Only Telemachus and I knew that she secretly detested them.

  The two of us shared her loathing. We avoided the palace—particularly the main hall where the suitors mostly camped out—and took to walking for long periods of time. Telemachus knew I wasn’t capable of anything other than walking and frequent stops to rest. He didn’t seem to mind but I cursed my aging body. Why couldn’t dogs live as long as humans? Why were we given such short periods in which to live and love, hope and dream? It seemed unfair. We were meant to be together, as friends and companions, to help and guide. Why make the length of our lives so incompatible?

  During one of our walks, we encountered Eumaeus. It wasn’t a chance encounter. Eumaeus, on one of his now rare visits, had come from the palace with news of an arrival. At the time, we were resting (for my benefit) under the shade of an old cypress tree. Telemachus rose and the two men embraced. I lumbered to my feet out of politeness and Eumaeus scratched my head by way of greeting. Pleasantries exchanged, Eumaeus got swiftly to business.

  “There is a new guest in the palace. He wishes to see you,” said Eumaeus.

  Telemachus scowled. “I have no interest in welcoming yet another suitor, Eumaeus. Surely my mother is capable of that unpleasant task.”

  Eumaeus shook his head. “This is not a suitor. He has not come for your mother’s hand. In fact, he has not come for your mother at all. He has come to see you. Penelope sent me to fetch you.”

  This aroused Telemachus’ interest. “And who would this mysterious visitor be then?”

  “Mentes, king of the Taphians,” said Eumaeus. “I met him once, years ago, when he came to pay his respects to your father. He is an old family friend and a good man.”

  “And what is his business with me?” asked Telemachus.

  “He would not say, only that he has important news for you, news for only your ears.”

  “Well,” said Telemachus, “best we don’t keep our guest waiting any longer then.”

  When we returned to the palace, we found some of the insolent suitors having a celebration before the great doors to the main hall. Many of them reclined on hides of oxen slaughtered for their convenience, playing games of chance with counters and dice. Odysseus’ oxen, I hasten to add. A spit had been set up and the delicious smell of roasting meat filled the air. Drooling, it took all my will power not to head in that direction.

  Many of the suitors had arrived with a retinue. These servants were now busy mixing wine with water in great bowls and setting up tables so their masters could dine. One figure stood to the side, conspicuous because he was not taking part in any of the revelries.

  Eumaeus pointed him out and left, insisting that he had important duties to attend to. I doubted that his business could be that important. Like Telemachus, he stayed away from the palace and the suitors as much as possible.

  Telemachus greeted Mentes warmly and invited him into the main hall. With long graying hair and matching wispy beard, Mentes appeared as an old man holding an ancient bronze spear Telemachus gave no indication that he saw anything other than that.

  I was not deceived. Firstly, I could smell who it was. Secondly, it was like a flimsy image had been imposed over the appearance of the person who stood before us. I could clearly see the true shape lurking just beneath the surface. If that wasn’t enough, Mentes’ shadow playing against the wall didn’t match. It wasn’t a person at all. It was Athena.

  I was surprised that Telemachus couldn’t see her for what she truly was. It was so obvious. But he didn’t have my eyes or my senses. This ability to see the gods in whatever form they took must have been another of Athena’s many gifts to me.

  But why was she here? Why not take her true form? As I’ve said many times, the motivations of the gods are beyond me.

  Telemachus led “Mentes” to a small recess in the main hall, well away from all the suitors. Graciously, he took Mentes’ spear, placing it within a rack filled with his father’s own weapons.

  I lay down at Telemachus’ feet as he drew a pair of comfortable chairs together and the men sat, facing one another.

  “Would you care for some refreshments?” asked Telemachus. “You are welcome to anything my house can offer. As you can see, my other ‘guests’ are making the most of my hospitality.” It was true. Even as he spoke, suitors had filed into the hall and were now sitting at tables, gorging themselves on roast meat, washing it down with watered wine.

  “No thank you,” said Mentes politely. “I will not burden you further. As you may be aware, I have been a friend of Odysseus and his father, Laertes, before him. I came as a friend to give you news of your father.”

  Telemachus sat forward on his seat eagerly. “So my father is not dead? The rumors are true. He still lives?”

  Athena nodded. “Poseidon has kept him from these shores as punishment. But that punishment is now over. The gods have put a prophecy in my head. The prophecy is that Odysseus will soon return to Ithaca.” This news was almost too much for my poor old heart. It gave a start and then began hammering away excitedly. Odysseus lived and would shortly return! Athena had said as much before, but never to Telemachus. Even she wouldn’t be so cruel as to tease him so. This was confirmation and the truth of it couldn’t be denied. I sat upright in order to hear better over the noise in the hall.

  “That is excellent news,” said Telemachus, smiling. “How I wish my father was here now, to banish these suitors that circle my mother like crows over a corpse.”

  “Yes,” said Athena. “And if your father was here, they would fall before his bow and spear like saplings before a mighty wind. But in the meantime, I have a suggestion. Call a meeting of all these ‘Lords.’ Tell them to leave and go home. Then, I want you to board a ship. Go to Pylos and talk to old Nestor. Nestor was your father’s companion at Troy. He will guide you. Then, I want you to go to Sparta and seek counsel with Menelaus.”

  “I saw Menelaus only a few summers ago. What could he tell me that he hasn’t told me already?” asked Telemachus.

  “He is in possession of some recent news,” said Athena. “There is a prophecy concerning Odysseus that Menelaus knows. Trust me in this matter. He will help you find your father. When you return and if the suitors are still here, you must destroy them. You are no longer a boy. It is time to act like a man.”

  Telemachus nodded slowly, his indecision transforming into certainty. This is what he needed to do. It also meant that Telemachus was leaving again and I had no doubt whatsoever that he wouldn’t require the company of an old, useless dog on his quest.

  One moment, Athena was sitting opposite Telemachus, the next she was gone.

  At the disappearance, Telemachus realized with a start that he had been in the presence of a God. Or a Goddess. Not that it mattered.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The next morning, Telemachus took Athena’s advice and gathered the suitors together and told them to leave. Predictably, they did not listen.

  If he was dispirited by this, he did not let it show. Instead, he immediately gathered some of his best men, equipped his finest ship and set sail for Pylos. Penelope, Eumaeus, and I watched him go. I was tempted not to, sick as I was by the constant desertion of my most beloved companions, but I could not disappoint Telemachus.

  Things changed around the palace after Telemachus’ departure. None for the better.

  Penelope withdrew to her rooms with the excuse that she was weaving a burial shroud for Odysseus’ ancient father, Laertes, who was not far from death. Penelope told the suitors that she would choose a husband when the shroud was complete.

&nb
sp; Sometimes, I sat at her feet as she weaved. At the end of each day’s work, she simply undid most of what she had accomplished during the day. I thought it would’ve been easier to just do a tiny bit each day or none at all. But what do I know? I’m just a dog. The suitors must have thought she was a grossly incompetent weaver.

  More months passed and Telemachus and Odysseus did not return. Penelope did not venture outside her room at all and let no one in other than myself and some trusted slaves. Penelope was distraught. First, her husband had failed to return, now her beloved son. Her heart was broken and it was only a matter of time before her mind followed. I often found her in her room staring out of the window in her room, obsessively twisting and re-twisting the braids in her hair. She even began to pull her hair out at the roots. Sometimes, she would play with Odysseus’ old carving knife, tracing the lines of her veins with the sharp bronze blade. I feared for her sanity and her life.

  Evidently, so did Athena.

  The Goddess appeared one evening as I lay dozing at Penelope’s feet. Penelope made as if to rise but Athena stayed her with a commanding gesture. The Goddess placed the palm of one hand on Penelope’s forehead and an electric charge filled the air. The feverish intensity in Penelope’s eyes gradually faded, replaced by a calm docility more commonly encountered amongst livestock.

  Athena leant forward and whispered something I couldn’t catch in Penelope’s ear. With a nod in my direction, Athena disappeared as suddenly as she had arrived.

  After that, Penelope was hardly aware of her surroundings, taking no note of the comings and goings of the people around her. She didn’t even react when I licked her hand.

  Athena had done what she thought was best but it was hard for me to see my mistress like this. The once vibrant woman was reduced to little more than a breathing shell. Penelope continued to weave in earnest.