Argos

by Ralph Hardy

  “But King Aiolos showed him no mercy. ‘Most pathetic of living creatures, hated most by the gods, I have no right to thwart them and give you more wind,’ he sneered. ‘Truly they think you must be punished, and let it be so. Leave this island at once and never return!’

  “So rising to his fee-fee-feet, the brave one took his companions back to the ship. Grie-ie-ieving still, your master and his men rowed and sailed for six days. Every night your master fed me with his own hands, Boar Slayer, and kept me alive. But that is all I shall tell today, for I grow wea-wea-weak. If tomorrow I still live, I will tell you the rest if I can, for truly it is a terrible tale that I have to say.”

  Saying this, the plover closes her eyes and tucks her head into her wing.

  “We will stay with her throughout the night, Boar Slayer, and guard her from the harbor cats,” a gull says to me. “Return in the morning if you can.”

  “Return! Return! Return!” his flock repeats.

  I thank them and make my way back up to my master’s estate. Inside the house I hear the wailing of servants, and I hear my mistress crying out to Zeus. I find Telemachos lying on his bed sobbing, and I lie down beside him and lick his face.

  What else could I do?

  CHAPTER X

  Bleak morn

  In the morning I run down to the harbor just as dawn’s rosy fingers stroke the sky. The beach is empty. I run along the golden sand, searching for bird tracks. Instead I find gull feathers and the scent of a cat. Just then a shadow passes over me, and I look up. A gull swoops down and calls my name. I follow it and find a flock of his brothers standing under a small boat that rests on its side against the jetty. Around the flock I count three dead gulls.

  “Brother Gulls, tell me who did this so that I can avenge you!” I cry. “Was it the orange harbor cat? I smelled his scent on the beach.”

  “Aye aye, aye, Boar Slayer,” the largest of the gulls says. “That is the one. He came at us stealthily just an hour ago when the night was darkest. Most of us were able to escape his claws, but these three did not. They died defending the plover.”

  “Bleak is this morn! Bleak! Bleak!” the remaining gulls screech.

  “I am sorry for your flock’s loss,” I say, lowering my head. “But the plover? She still lives?” I ask. My heart races as I wait for his reply.

  “Aye-aye-aye, she does. Though how much longer I cannot say. Come, draw closer. She has been calling for you.”

  The gulls part and let me come close. The plover looks even weaker than before. Her eyes are hooded and dull, and her broken leg has turned black.

  “Boar Slayer, is that you?” she asks.

  “It is I, bravest of birds. I have come to hear the rest of the tale, if you are strong enough to tell it.”

  “I am, loyal one, for it is a short tale, though it is full of death. Let me-e-e tell it straight away. Your master and his men, after sailing for six days, arrived at the glorious harbor of Telepylos, home of the fea-ea-earsome Laestrygonians. There your master tied up his ship and ordered the others to as well. Then he sent two men and a herald to see-ee-ee who was king of the island and what manner of men lived there and if they eat bread. For several hours we saw nothing, no trace of men or cattle, and I heard your master wonder out loud who it was that had built this fine harbor nestled benea-ea-eath such high cliffs. Then, suddenly, we heard a shout, and two of the men your master had sent off to find the island king were running as fast as they could toward our ship!”

  “‘Where is the herald?’ Odysseus asked, once they had boarded. ‘Why do you run? Are we being attacked?’

  “But the men could not spea-ea-eak, so terrible was their fe-fe-fear. Finally one cried, ‘We must flee, brave Odysseus! Their king, Antiphates, is a giant and he has already eaten your herald. This land is cursed!’

  “Just then we heard a deafening war cry, and thousands of giants appea-ea-eared from behind their houses, where they had been lying in wait! They fanned out along the cliffs and threw huge boulders down at us, smashing our ships before your master’s men could untie them. Others threw long javelins, skewering your master’s men like fish. Truly, I have never see-ee-een such doom.”

  The plover closes her eyes. For a long time she says nothing, and I fear that she is too weak to continue.

  “But what of my master, fair plover? Tell me he lived!” I beg.

  The plover slowly nods her head. “Your master took his sharp sword and cut the rope tying his ship to the harbor. Then he ordered his men to go below and lea-ea-ean their weight on the oars. Many of them were afraid to take their chances below the deck, and they dove into the sea-ea-ea hoping to escape; still, what hope did they have? The Laestrygonians hurled stones at them or speared them as they swam. But the men who went below on your master’s ship lived. How they made the waves fly benea-ea-eath them! But theirs was the only ship that escaped, Boar Slayer. All the others were lost. Oh, terrible day!”

  “All but one was lost?” I cry. “Tell me that isn’t so!”

  “Alas, Boar Slayer, that is true. I saw their destruction with my own eyes. But let me-e-e finish. Your master and his men sailed for another day, glad to have escaped death, yet grie-ie-ieving that they had lost so many companions. The next morning your master took me in his hands and said these words: ‘Bird of my homeland, we are lost and know not how to return to Ithaka, but your fate is not ours. Fly now home to our island, so that I can say that at least one Ithakan returned from this dreadful journey.’ Then he tied a small stick to my broken leg as a splint and tossed me into the open air. I don’t know how many days I flew, but the gods smiled on me-e-e and brought here so that I may die on my homeland.”

  Around us the seagulls squawked at this sad tale.

  “You may not die, yet, brave plover,” I say. “My master’s servant is skillful with all manner of animals and birds. I will take you to him, and we will see what he can do for you. But first, when you were high in the sky, did you see which way my master sailed? Was there land close by?”

  “Yes, Boar Slayer. I looked back as I flew and saw they were sailing toward a fog-shrouded island. A tern from the island came up to me-e-e then, and I asked the island’s name. He said it was Aiaia, the land of Circe, of the lovely hair. Then he flew off to find his supper, and I did not look back again.”

  I turn to the gulls who had protected the plover. “I thank you for your sacrifice,” I tell them solemnly. “I will find a way to avenge your loss. Farewell.”

  “See that you do,” the largest gull snaps.

  “Avenge! Avenge! Avenge!” his flock echoes.

  Then I gently take the plover in my mouth and carry the small bird back up to my master’s estate. There I find Eumaios in the barn and lay the plover down beside him.

  “What have you got there, Argos?” he asks. He lifts the plover and carefully examines its broken leg. After inspecting her, he shakes his head.

  “There is only one way to save your friend before infection kills her,” Eumaios says. Then he lays the plover down on a table and takes out his sharpest knife. With a quick stroke, he cuts the broken limb close to her thigh. The plover makes not a sound but lies there with her eyes closed as Eumaios bandages her stump. Then he makes a nest with a child’s tunic and some straw, and places her there, along with a shallow bowl of water.

  “If she is alive by nightfall, then she will live many more days,” Eumaios says to me, stroking my head.

  All through the day I do my work, herding the sheep and goats, and when I can, I race back to check on the plover. On my third visit she is sitting upright and the bowl of water is half empty.

  “I shall live, Argos, I think. My strength returns and I can stand on one leg. See-see-see?”

  She rises on one leg and stands there proudly.

  “I am glad for you, Sister Plover. Wait a little longer, and then, when you are ready, fly back to your home by the shore. I must say good-bye now, because I have another task I have to complete.”

 
I leave the barn and take the trail down to the harbor. Just as I pass the last tree that flanks the trail, a crow lands in front of me.

  “Greetings, Boar Slayer,” he says.

  “Greetings, Sir Crow. Do you have news for me?”

  “Only this,” he says. “You seek the orange har-har-harbor cat, do you not?”

  “I do. Do you know his whereabouts?”

  “Alas, the cat knew you were coming for him, and just this afternoon he stole aboard a fishing boat leaving the har-har-harbor. He will not return for some time, I think.”

  In my mind I see the gulls he had killed, lying near the plover they had promised to protect. The fur along my back rises.

  “You will let me know when he returns, will you not, Sir Crow?”

  “Aye, Ar-Ar-Argos, that I will, for I love him not either. But it may be many days or even months before he comes back.”

  “What are days and months to me?” I say. “It is my destiny to wait on this island for my master’s return. And I will wait for the harbor cat too.”

  The crow spreads his wings and hovers above me for a moment.

  “Sir Crow?” I call, before he can fly away. “Do you know of the island Aiaia, where the goddess Circe lives?”

  “I do” he says, rising higher. “Is that where your master is?”

  “Yes, that is what I was told. That he sailed into its shrouded harbor a week ago.”

  “If that is true, Ar-Ar-Argos, then your days of long waiting are over.”

  I inhale sharply. My days of waiting are over? The crow circles around me until I grow dizzy.

  “Why do you say that, most intelligent of birds? Is the island close by? Are the winds from there favorable enough?”

  Finally, after flying another circle, he says this: “You cannot wait for that which never comes, Ar-Ar-Argos. No man returns from Aiaia. Dreaded Circe has your master now. Wait instead for the cat. He, at least, will return alive.”

  Then the black-winged bird flies away, leaving me to my misery.

  CHAPTER XI

  Titus is poisoned

  One of my friends is dying. Titus, loyal pet of Eurylochos, who sails with my master, was poisoned last night, and lies panting beside me. Titus, who was whelped by Acacia and has hunted alongside me for hares, ate poisoned meat set out by one of mistress Penelope’s suitors—meat that was intended for me. Of that I am certain, for it is I who guards my mistress’s chamber when the suitors, pretending to be drunk, try to climb the stairs leading to her room. It is I who snarls and bites when a servant is mistreated. It is I who believes that brave Odysseus still lives.

  This morning I heard Titus vomiting and ran to his den beside the goat shed. I found him pawing the earth, then turning in mad circles like one of Telemachos’s spinning toys or a pup chasing his tail. Titus, son of Balthasar, does not chase his tail like a pup. He is an old dog, but the poison was entering his brain.

  “Where did you eat last night, Titus?” I asked.

  Titus would not look at me. He turned his back, ashamed. His black fur was dirty and matted with mud and burrs. He had no one to pull them from his flanks.

  Finally he said, “One of your mistress’s suitors put meat out by the kitchen hearth where you lie at night. Forgive me, Argos, but I was hungry. Since my master left, we have little food, and I grow too old and slow to hunt on my own.”

  “I would catch rabbits for you,” I might have said, but Titus is proud and this would have stung him as badly as the poison. Instead I said, “You must drink, brother. Drink and eat grass. Come, I will take you to water.”

  He willed himself to stop spinning and said, “It is too late, Argos. They have killed me.”

  Still I led him to the stream beyond our western field and made him drink until his belly was round like a melon. I brought him grass and sweet herbs, but soon he could no longer swallow.

  Now above us vultures begin to circle, calling their bird kin, and then perching in the pines, waiting.

  “Stay with me, Argos,” Titus begs through foaming lips. “Don’t let the vultures have me.”

  “I go nowhere,” I say. “Now, lie down, and perhaps the gods will smile on you today.”

  He lies beside me then, curling into himself, his pink tongue lolling out of his mouth.

  “Does it grow dark, Argos?” he asks after some time.

  “Yes, brother,” I say. “But it is only the sun behind a cloud.”

  “Do the vultures come close?”

  “No, Titus.” I lie. “They know you have many days ahead.”

  “Do I smell a mountain wolf?”

  “No, there is a den of foxes nearby, but they are harmless.”

  In truth, I can smell a lone, old mountain wolf, lying in the wood, waiting for me to leave. A mountain wolf will not eat the dead, but they will attack a sick animal.

  Titus opens his eyes for a moment. They are glassy, and the spark of life is dim in them.

  “Brother? Did you see the man who poisoned you?” I ask.

  I don’t think he hears me, but after some time, he says, “The one with the red beard and the limp. He put the meat in your bowl.”

  I know the knave. I have heard some men say he crushed his own foot to avoid the war with the Trojans. Being lame, he is most desperate to win Penelope’s heart and often stays late to catch her alone.

  Titus is panting mightily, the way we do after a long and good hunt.

  “It grows cold, Argos, does it not?”

  “Yes, Titus, there is a cold wind blowing,” I say, though it is a hot summer afternoon.

  I lie down next to him. The vultures leave their perches, spinning gyres above us, but they know not to come close. After some time Titus speaks.

  “My master will come for me soon, Argos.”

  “Yes, very soon.”

  “We will hunt again.”

  “Yes, even the mighty boar will run from you.”

  But at that moment I feel Titus’s body relax, and his panting stops. He is dead. After a few minutes I rise and trot over to the old mountain wolf, who has wasted a day waiting to attack my friend and is now feeling hunger. He is alone, and thus dares not attack me, for I am the larger.

  “Cousin,” I say. “Do not waste your efforts on my friend. I know where you can find fresh meat to ease your stomach’s pains. Keep watch for me tonight, and I will bring you the prize.”

  The wolf looks at me with doubt in his yellow eyes but backs away into the wood. It’s time to get rid of the vultures too. I return to where my friend lies, but as I do, I pretend to stagger. My tail droops and I hang my head low. I curl up beside my friend and wait. The vultures grow bold. They screech to one another and then, one by one, land on the small hill above the stream and teeter toward us. I close my eyes as if I too have been poisoned, and when they come so close their smelly beaks nearly make me gag, I leap to my feet and hurl myself among them, biting and clawing. I kill three before they can fly off, and rip the wings off many more.

  “Feed not on this carcass,” I bark at them, “or you will feel my teeth, most despised of birds!”

  Hearing this, the vultures fly away, screeching their anger, but I care not. I return to Titus and sit beside him as the long evening shadows fall. Finally I hear Telemachos calling me. I bark, and after a few moments he comes running down the hill. He sees the dead vultures and then the body of my friend, and he knows I will not leave Titus unattended.

  So my master’s son picks up Titus and carries him to the edge of our vineyard, and he with his spear, and I with my claws, dig a grave for the body. Afterward Telemachos covers it with large stones so scavengers cannot dig it up. Then, together, we walk back to my master’s house in the gathering darkness.

  The suitors are leaving; my mistress Penelope has thrown them out, as she does every night, weary as she is of their promises and lies. The last to leave is the lame red-haired man. He looks about furtively, then lingers at the door, hoping for a final word with my mistress. This was a mistake,
for now he has no one to protect him.

  “Good widow,” the man says, “we have tarried too long and now the road is dark. Perhaps there is room for me in your house tonight?”

  My mistress shakes her head at his request.

  “The moon is full. It will light your path,” she says. “And I am not a widow.”

  Then, before he can utter another plea, Telemachos closes the door firmly.

  And now I am alone with him. The man curses and starts back along the road. He is armed only with a long spear, which he uses as a crutch as well as a weapon. I trot toward him, and he points it at me while uttering another loud curse. I back away and then, pretending to ignore him, wander off toward the sheep stall where I sometimes sleep. From there I can track him as he limps along the path leading down the hill and through the valley toward his own miserable hut. After giving him a head start, I take a shortcut and pass him. Then I double back to wait.

  At one point along the path, the trail narrows and there is a sharp turn overgrown with wild olive trees with low branches that block the sun—or the full moon. I wait for him there. And I smell my cousin. He lies hiding behind the boulders that have tumbled down from the mountains above us.

  I can hear the man before I see him. He is singing loudly, as if to give himself courage to walk alone at night. He rounds the turn with his spear pointing straight ahead in case an attacker is poised to strike, as they often do at this spot. But still I wait in the shadows. Then, when he raises his spear again to use it as a staff, I jump from the shadows and clamp my jaws around it, wresting it from his grasp.

  “You!” he screams, kicking at me with his lame foot. But I am quick and feel not the blow. With his spear in my mouth, I run down the path and then turn into the thick wood where he cannot follow.

  “Cousin!” I call. “He is yours!”

  Then I leave the man to his fate and the mountain wolf.

  And thus do I avenge Titus.