Argos

by Simpson, Phillip

  Some of the servants sought to use Penelope’s state to their advantage. One of these was Melantho. I had never liked the woman and I think the feeling was mutual. She was solidly built with a sharp tongue and a nasty streak wider than her hips. Melantho had been taken as a slave a few years earlier and had not adapted well to her new position in life. I always got the impression she was waiting for something, an opportunity perhaps to revenge herself against her captors. I was always careful to keep my distance from her and she was wary of treating me unkindly while Penelope was around.

  With Penelope pacified by the gods, Melantho felt free to exact her revenge. Beloved of Odysseus and Telemachus, I was the embodiment of her absent captors.

  She removed my bed from outside the door of Penelope and Odysseus’ room. I had no choice but to lie on the cold hard marble, unwilling to spend the night in the main hall with the hated suitors. Besides, I had a duty to guard Penelope. One of the suitors was liable to get drunk and try to force their way into her room. Over my dead body.

  Even this small comfort was taken from me. One night Melantho passed as I dozed fitfully, stopped, and eyed me critically.

  “This will not do,” she snapped. “Not at all.” Her voice lacked any warmth. I hoped for a moment that she had recognized that letting an old dog lie on a cold floor was mean-spirited after all. Perhaps she would return my bed.

  Instead, she had a couple of burly servants carry me to the rear of the palace. “We can’t have this old smelly thing near our Queen’s chambers,” she said to the two servants. “It is not seemly.”

  I had been thrown out into the cold night. I was not strong enough to resist her or the servants and with no one to argue on my behalf, I could do nothing about it.

  Making my bed in an abandoned pigsty, I spent a cold, miserable night outside the palace. It was drafty and raining and the decaying roof did little to keep the water off my back. Every time I managed to doze off, I was awakened by uncontrollable shivering. My joints swelled with the cold, making them ache painfully.

  Thankfully, dawn came. I waited until the sun was fully up, hoping the doors to the main hall would be open. Sometimes they weren’t. The suitors, accustomed to continuing their revels long into the night, woke late. They punished any servant bold enough to disturb their sleep.

  I was hoping to slip in and find some scraps of food on the floor. The suitors were like beasts, worse than dogs, discarding bones and other waste onto the floor, expecting servants to clean up after them. At least dogs had the decency to clean up after themselves.

  Today the doors were wide open. Before I could slink inside, I heard servants discussing a new suitor who had arrived late to the proceedings.

  I wondered for a moment who it could be but the rumblings of my stomach made it hard to concentrate. Two heavily cloaked figures were approaching the palace gates and curiosity got the better of me. One was riding a horse, the other was walking at his side.

  I concealed myself in the shadows and settled down to wait, wanting to file their names and faces away for later reference. To mark them for vengeance even though I knew I was no longer capable of such actions.

  The horse trotted up to the doors. The rider dismounted and a servant took the reins, leading the horse away. Antinous, a pompous fat fool and self-proclaimed leader of the suitors, took it upon himself to greet the new arrivals in Penelope’s absence.

  “Welcome to Ithaca,” said Antinous with an oily smile. It was definitely not in his best interests to have yet more suitors arrive, but Antinous was playing a long and cunning game. “Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

  The figure who had been riding swept back the hood of his cloak. I knew that face immediately and sprung to my feet, shocked. Sprung is probably an exaggeration but you get the idea.

  “I am Elatus, son of Meges, King of Doulikhion. I have come to win the hand of the fair Penelope in marriage.”

  I cursed my slow wits. That was the reason Meges was no longer attacking Ithaca. He wanted to forge an alliance with Ithaca through marriage with Elatus. Clearly, Meges hadn’t been able to marry him off all this time. Even the most desperate woman would think twice about taking Elatus as her husband.

  “Haven’t we all,” smiled Antinous. “Come. Inside there is meat and wine. Refresh yourselves.”

  Elatus’ companion lowered his hood. If I was surprised at Elatus’ appearance, it was nothing compared to this. It was the person I hated and reviled above all others. Amycus had come back into my life.

  “Amycus,” commanded Elatus, “fetch my belongings. You will dine outside with the other servants.” Amycus bobbed his head and moved to obey.

  As Elatus moved inside accompanied by Antinous, I watched Amycus carefully. He moved awkwardly, stiffly, still suffering from the injury caused by the arrow years earlier. His pain almost made me happy. It would’ve, however, been better if the arrow had hit him a little higher to put him out of his misery. It’s what you would do with an animal—including a dog—when they were in constant pain and next to useless.

  It occurred to me that, despite my loathing for him, Amycus and I had much in common.

  In the days that followed, I kept my distance from both Elatus and Amycus, careful to avoid their unwanted attention. They were not the only ones; I dreaded the sight of Melantho almost as much.

  Whenever that woman found me in the palace, I was quickly ejected. I tried to use my senses to warn me of her approach but with the onset of years, both my hearing and smell were beginning to fail me. Often she would kick me, forcing a humiliating retreat. Never had I been so badly treated. My memories of the time spent in Meges’ arena took on an almost positive aspect.

  Several times I tried to return to my bed outside Penelope’s room but was swiftly found and ejected. I could not bring myself to give up, however. I had sworn to protect Odysseus and his family and would continue to do so, regardless of my failing health. I thought many times of finding Eumaeus, confident that he would put my world to rights. He had retreated to his home out of disgust but I had been to his modest swineherd hut on many occasions. It was, however, at least an hour’s walk away—along steep and sometimes treacherous paths. My old bones were no match for such a journey now. Mostly I could not bear to leave Penelope, especially in the state she was now. Not only that, but if I did leave, who would witness the triumphant return of both Odysseus and his son? Who would welcome them back home?

  It goes without saying that I was also banished from the kitchens. I had hoped my trespass would go unnoticed because I was starving. Not eating, or eating very little, is an unparalleled way of losing weight. The extra weight I had accumulated in recent years began to disappear in a way I found most disturbing. Soon, the skin was hanging slackly off my old bones.

  Unable to get into the kitchens, I had no choice but to enter by the doors at the front entrance.

  This proved to be more successful. The suitors were slovenly. They drank and ate to excess and took no notice of the comings and goings of one old dog. But it also had its attendant risks. Drunk men can easily turn mean. Even men not normally predisposed to such behavior have that latent ability.

  Nevertheless, keeping my distance was not always possible. My continuing survival depended on the scraps of food littering the floor of the main hall. Thoughts of Odysseus’ return only intensified my fierce desire to live. I would not die without seeing him one more time. If I was to live, I had to eat.

  So I braved the main hall and drunk men. With luck, I could partially fill my belly and then go about my futile effort to lie outside Penelope’s chambers. It had become routine. Forage for food, lie down outside Penelope’s door, get kicked and ejected by Melantho.

  After some experimentation, I found late evening, before the doors were shut, to be the ideal time to enter the main hall. By this time, most suitors were in their beds—makeshift pallets in the hall. The “noble lords” who remained—and I use both words loosely—were usually well into their cups
or passed out on the tables. Their servants had to make do huddled around fires outside.

  Clinging to the shadows, I picked my targets carefully. Ideally, I would choose an uninhabited table, one that had recently become vacant. Usually, the floor underneath would be rich with pickings. Less ideal was a table with one, two, or even a few occupants. If I was forced by necessity to risk one of these tables, I prayed to the gods that they were all far too addled with drink to notice a dog.

  This night, pickings were slim. I had left my attack too late and servants had already cleaned up underneath the majority of the tables. Only one remained but three men sat there. Two were groggy, their heads down, but one was still upright and reasonably alert, glugging regularly from his goblet.

  I was tired and a little dizzy with hunger. I had not eaten anything in three days, having been discovered in the hall each time by Melantho. At first, I had received only the odd nervous kick, as if she feared the sudden appearance of Penelope. Her beatings were gradually becoming worse, as she realized that her treatment of me would now go unpunished. Unable to ignore the pleas of my growling stomach no longer, I cautiously slipped under the table. I immediately found a half-chewed bone. To my delirious senses, it was the most delicious thing I had ever seen or smelt. The wise course of action would have been to immediately flee with my prize. But I didn’t. Hungry dogs are not usually wise ones. I did not think of the consequences, merely of satisfying my desperate hunger.

  Although the rest of my body had succumbed to age, my teeth were not amongst the victims. I still possessed the majority of them and they were certainly up to the task of destroying a bone. I attacked it, enjoying the immensely satisfying sound of crunching bone and then the delicious taste of marrow sliding down my throat. Of course, the crunching sounds underneath the table were sufficient to arouse the attention of those above me.

  A bearded face suddenly appeared next to mine, cheeks flushed and bleary-eyed.

  “And what do we have here?” he slurred. “A thief in the night?”

  I should have run off right then. But I didn’t. I was hungry and comfortable and did not want to be disturbed. Without taking my jaws off my bone, I growled deep in my throat, hoping the sound would serve as sufficient deterrent. It didn’t.

  “Ah,” he said, “an insolent, angry thief. What shall we do with such a creature?” His face disappeared for a moment as he roused his companions. “You two. Wake up. I have us some sport.”

  I heard sounds of drunken coughing and another figure above me stirred. A new face appeared level with my own. The gods had certainly abandoned me. Of all the suitors in the room, it had to be him. Elatus.

  He looked at me for a moment while his eyes tried to focus. I hoped he would not recognize me. Age and starvation had changed me a great deal. His wits were addled by drink; surely, he wouldn’t know me?

  “Well, look who it is,” Elatus slurred drunkenly. “My old friend, Argos. How are you, old friend? It’s been a long time. Time hasn’t been very good to you. You look nothing like the dog I remember from my father’s arena.”

  I suppose I should’ve been grateful that Amycus was not with him. As a servant, Amycus was not permitted to dine in the great hall. He would be entertained in the grounds outside the palace.

  I thought again about fleeing but now the bearded man and one other had taken up station on my other side. There was definitely sport to be had here, and they would not miss out on it. Men like these have a nose for such things.

  Elatus reached under the table with an unsteady hand. I thought at first that he was trying to grab me but then I realized that I was not his target. He was going for my bone. My food. If I had been less hungry, I would’ve let him have it. That would have been the wise course of action. But I was not thinking clearly and I let the instinctual part of my nature take over. I let go of my bone and snapped down on his hand.

  Elatus yelped and snatched back his hand. I think my bite surprised him more than anything but I had, gratifyingly, drawn blood.

  Too late, I tried to escape but I was no longer Argos the swift. Now, I was just Argos the old. Everywhere I turned, legs blocked my path. Someone handed Elatus a spear and he crouched down, stabbing and trying to get me out in the open. I don’t think his intent was to kill me—not yet at least.

  I retreated as far back under the table as I could, trying to evade Elatus’ spear thrusts. He had stabbed me twice already, minor wounds but painful and taxing nonetheless. I did not give him the satisfaction of yelping.

  Suddenly, my rear legs were pulled out from under me and I was dragged unceremoniously into the open. There were men standing all around, laughing and jeering. A few were armed with spears and began hitting me with the butts.

  Drunk with wine and bloodlust, Elatus’ laughs were the loudest. Now was his chance to humiliate me properly. I had beaten his prize dog in a race and made a mockery of his contest with the rhinoceros in the arena. I had caused him to lose face. That could not go unpunished. Now, in the palace of Odysseus no less, he would drag this out to the fullest extent. I would not die quickly.

  The tumult roused the other sleeping men in the hall. A crowd gathered and began jostling the others for a better view. Some of the suitors began to make wagers on how long I would last. Elatus reversed his spear and brought it down hard on my head. I must have passed out for a moment for when I could see clearly, stars darted across my vision.

  Elatus dropped his spear and waded in, pushing against the throng, kicking me repeatedly with his heavily sandaled feet. I felt a sharp pain as one of my ribs snapped.

  Finally, one of the less drunk suitors pulled Elatus off. “That’s enough, Elatus. You’ll kill the dog if this goes any further.”

  “That’s the general idea,” said Elatus, pushing the man away. He launched into another flurry of attacks. Finally, breathing heavily, he stopped. “Bring me oil,” he shouted above the cheering and general commotion that filled the hall.

  Someone placed an oil flask in his hand. With relish, Elatus poured it over my body. When my fur was drenched, he threw the flask at me.

  “Get a fire going outside,” he commanded. “I have the perfect fuel for it.”

  Several men lifted me from the ground. I did not even have the strength left to struggle. They were almost to the doors when a voice froze them in their tracks.

  “Stop!” All eyes turned to the doorway leading outside. Eumaeus stood there, his eyes blazing. “Put him down. The next man who touches him will wish they had never been born.”

  In all fairness, his threat carried little weight. Eumaeus was hardly a seasoned warrior and the suitors now outnumbered the palace guards. If they had wanted to, they could have easily ignored his command. But the suitors were there for one purpose—to win Penelope’s hand in marriage. They knew I was Penelope’s favorite dog even though they were ignorant of her current state. Anyone who harmed me would be looked upon with disfavor, their chances of a happy wedding precisely zero. Eumaeus would see to it.

  The men holding me lowered me to the ground. None too gently I might add.

  Eumaeus pushed through the crowd and knelt down next to me, stroking my head gently.

  “Who is responsible for this?” he demanded, glaring at the faces that surrounded us.

  No one spoke. I noticed that Elatus had disappeared. At first, I was surprised that fingers were not pointed at him. If Elatus lost favor, that would be one less suitor for the others to contend with. But then I realized more was at stake than just the hand of a beautiful woman. Many of these “lords” were sons of kings. Kings-in-waiting. Kings formed alliances and Meges was considered a powerful one. For these young lords, betraying one of their own meant losing a valuable ally in the future.

  “Very well,” said Eumaeus after some time, seeing that no response was forthcoming. “Be warned. If anyone touches Argos again, I will pray to the gods that their soul be sent to Tartarus.”

  I heard an uneasy murmur at this. All the suitors gathe
red knew that Odysseus was once a favorite of the gods. To dishonor him was to anger the gods. They could not ignore such a threat.

  Two guards scurried up, lifting my scrawny body. “Take him to my quarters,” Eumaeus commanded. “Fetch the healer.”

  Eumaeus stood, raking the assembled suitors with his eyes. None dared meet his fiery gaze.

  Chapter Twenty

  I must have slept or perhaps passed out again. When I regained consciousness, I found myself lying on a small pallet. I was next to a sunlit window and the pleasant sensation of warmth was flooding my body. Unfortunately, I hurt everywhere. My sides and head ached and my entire torso was swathed in linen bandages.

  I became aware of my surroundings. I was in Eumaeus’ quarters within the palace—rooms he rarely used.

  Awakening from a severe injury had become an all-too often occurrence in my life. The attendant risks of being the dog of a warrior king, I guess. I could already tell this time would be different, however. Normally my injuries would heal swiftly; the bones knitting together, the bruises subsiding without thought. Not this time. My life was drawing to an end and with it, the powers that Athena had blessed me with.

  Nearby, Eumaeus and the healer were having a tense conversation. I still did not know his name. It almost seemed fitting that I did not. A nameless healer tending to an old dog that would shortly be forgotten.

  “He is dying,” I heard the healer say, confirming my suspicions.

  “Is there nothing you can do?” asked Eumaeus. Tears on his cheeks glinted in the early morning sunlight. “He is part of this family. Argos is my master’s favorite dog and the closest friend to his son.”

  The healer shook his head. “I’m afraid not. He will no doubt linger on for some weeks to come, but he is old and old dogs do not generally recover well from injuries such as these. I can give him something for the pain though.”