by Ralph Hardy
Now! I think.
I hear the hum of his bowstring and see the arrow take flight. He has aimed for the largest buck, a proud deer that did not test the wind when it shifted and brought new scents. That costs the deer his life.
Telemachos, who is not a boastful boy, whispers his gratitude to the gods and then hugs my neck. Together we clamber down to the stream. Telemachos ties a leather cord to one of the buck’s legs, and we drag the carcass back to the farm until one of the servants comes out to help us the rest of the way. Later, that servant shows Telemachos how to dress the deer so that none of it is wasted. The skin is hung to dry, the hooves are boiled for a jelly, the entrails given to the lesser dogs after a priest reads them. That is our way on this island.
Now it is late afternoon and the suitors have arrived, as they do almost daily, to vie for my mistress’s hand and my master’s estate. Although they come day after day, month after month, they are guests and cannot be refused hospitality. To do so would bring shame and dishonor on the house of Odysseus throughout Achaia, which my mistress would not allow. Nor do we have enough servants and shepherds to drive them away when they are rude or insolent, though they hear my growls when they berate a servant or complain to a shepherd that his sheep are not fat enough.
Just as I am about to head to a far pasture to bring in a flock, one of the suitors sees the deer Telemachos has slain, dressed and ready for the spit. He orders the servant to prepare a fire and to cook it straightaway, for the men were growing hungry, complaining that “Fair Penelope offers us little meat.”
“No,” declares Telemachos firmly, stepping between the suitor and the servant. “The deer is my kill, and it is for my family and servants to eat. Not for men who should hunt for themselves.”
The suitor draws back his hand to cuff the insolent Telemachos, but I leap between them, baring my teeth. Behind me, I hear Telemachos draw his xiphos, a small sword, but sharp enough to sting. The suitor, who had left his spear at the door to the main house, turns and walks away, uttering oaths at Telemachos for his rude behavior. Later that night the suitors are sent home, cursing and hungry, but the family of Odysseus, son of Laertes, dines well.
Throughout summer and autumn we continue to hunt. Telemachos misses many kills and makes many more. Such is hunting. We trap hares, his arrows find more deer, and he spears a feral pig. The boy grows strong; his spear arm fills out with muscle, and his legs grow stout enough to carry his kill many leagues. But of his father, my master Odysseus, the boy and I hear not, despite my pleas to the seabirds to bring back news, and sadness descends on the house of Laertes as another winter approaches.
CHAPTER XIV
A reminder of home
Winter comes fierce and unforgiving to Ithaka. The livestock grows lean and huddles together against the cold winds; mountain wolves grow bolder, encroaching on nearby farms—but not my master’s; and few ships enter our harbor, so we hear no news. Then early this morning, while I am making my rounds, the mountain sparrow returns! Again, he seems bathed in a golden drop of light.
“Boar Slayer,” he calls down to me. “I leave for Aiaia when rosy dawn comes. If your master and his companions still live, though madness has seized them, I will tell you of it when I return in the spring and winter has left our island.”
Hearing this, I have an idea. My master is known as the Wily One, but I am clever also.
“Wait, Sir Sparrow,” I call. “Can you take something to my master, something from Ithaka? Perhaps it will jar his mind and the madness will leave him!”
“What can I carry, Argos?” the sparrow asks. “I am small and my wings will not support any great weight. Even a grasshopper in my claws soon becomes too heavy, and Aiaia is a long journey from here.”
I say nothing. Instead, I sit down and pull up my rear leg and begin to scratch my neck. In winter I do not shed, so I claw mightily. Soon a clump of my black fur falls to the ground.
“Take this,” I say to the mountain sparrow. “Surely my fur is light enough for your journey, and your claws can easily grip it. When you reach Aiaia, leave this fur where my master can see it. If the gods are good, then he will remember his life here.”
The mountain sparrow flies down and grasps the fur in his claws. “It might work, loyal one, for sometimes the gods are good if we act without their help. When I return, I hope it is with good news!”
Then, clutching the tuft of fur in his claws, the mountain sparrow flies away. I follow him as he darts among the junipers along the edge of the estate, and then he turns south and east, flying into the dawn, and I can see him no longer. Then I return to my rounds.
Spring comes and Ithaka turns green again. Meadow flowers bloom, and the shepherds spend long nights delivering lambs and kids. In the warm afternoons, Telemachos and I take long walks along the goat trails that cross this part of the island, and he complains bitterly about his tutors or the latest insult from the suitors. Not once does he mention his father.
When we return in the evening, Telemachos strokes my face and scratches my ears, and then, reluctantly, joins the suitors for dinner. A few of the suitors, realizing that he no longer speaks of Odysseus, have tried to befriend him in order to win my mistress Penelope’s favor. They sometimes offer him choice cuts of meat and give him small gifts such as soft sandals and flutes, which he accepts graciously, as his mother has taught him.
Tonight, as the suitors are feasting, one of them, Ktesippos, a balding fat man with the swollen belly of a giant sow, offers to teach Telemachos how to wrestle.
“I am the greatest wrestler on Ithaka,” he boasts. “No man has thrown me, nor remained upright in my grip. Here, let me show you.”
He stands up and comes around to where Telemachos sits. I rise to my feet, but Telemachos puts his hand on my shoulder.
“Come, boy,” Ktesippos says. “Stand up and face me. Let me see your stance.”
And Telemachos does stand up, but he wrestles Ktesippos with words, not muscle, saying, “You may be the finest wrestler on Ithaka, Ktesippos, since only schoolboys and old men are left on this island. But when my father, the city sacker, returns, he will break your arms and throw you on your back, and you will regret the day you sought to replace him!”
Then, hearing these stinging words, Ktesippos swings his right hand to cuff Telemachos, but Telemachos ducks, and then punches the clumsy suitor in his ample gut. The big man falls to his knees while the other suitors laugh and hurl food at the groaning man.
“Come, Argos,” Telemachos says. “These craven men do not deserve to sit at the table of brave Odysseus with his son.”
A few of the suitors hear these winged words and stand up to protest, but Telemachos and I turn and leave the room. From there we walk to a hillside shrine for Zeus, and there Telemachos makes an offering to Zeus asking that his father return soon, and he swears then to the father of the gods that never again will a day pass without his father’s name passing his lips. I will help him keep that promise.
A week has passed since the night the suitors behaved so disgracefully, and the birds have begun to return to Ithaka. I watch each flock, hoping it brings the mountain sparrow, but none do. And then, this evening, I hear a familiar voice.
“Boar Slayer, I return bearing news of your master,” the mountain sparrow calls as he alights on a branch near the sheep pasture where I stand guarding spring lambs.
“Greetings, loyal friend,” I reply, my heart tumbling like a newborn lamb trying to walk. “Do you come from Aiaia? Did my plan work? Did my master remember his land and his family? Tell me at once!”
“What plan was that?”
“Sir Sparrow, you took a clump of my fur and were to give it to my master!”
Suddenly a ray of light appears, shining on the bird’s tiny crested head.
“Of course! That plan! Yes, your plan worked, Argos! Brave Odysseus saw your black fur and a veil was lifted from his eyes. How piteous were his tears and those of his men when he spoke to them. Even fair Circe
was moved by his suffering.”
Oh, what joy I feel then! I leap into the air twisting and turning, unable to restrain myself.
“So she will let him leave now, will she not, friend?” I ask, once I can stand still. “My master sails soon?”
But the sparrow dips his head and says softly, “Argos, the gods give and then take away, is that not so?”
“What do you mean, Sir Sparrow? Surely the goddess will release my master! What more could she want?”
Then the sparrow flies down from the branch so that I will not miss a word.
“Let me tell you straightaway what happened, loyal one, before I forget. When I reached Aiaia, I flew directly to your master. I found him carving a small flute, but his eyes were mindless, Boar Slayer, as if he had no thoughts in his head. I landed on his knee then, which took great courage, I must say, because we birds do not enjoy a man’s touch, and I dropped your fur onto his lap.
“After a moment he lay down his carving knife and picked up your fur, studying it with great intensity. Then I saw a smile creep across his noble face, and his eyes grew bright—as bright as twin stars, Argos. Then he leaped to his feet and began to seek out fair Circe. He found her in her garden and approached her, saying, ‘Goddess, it is time to think again of returning to my own country, if truly it is ordained that I shall return. Accomplish now the promise you gave. See me on my way home. The spirit within me is great, and my men and I wish to see our home.’
“Then fair Circe nodded, as if she had known this day would come. ‘Son of Laertes and seed of Zeus,’ she said sadly, ‘you shall no longer stay at my house if you wish to leave. But first there is another journey you must undertake.’
“‘And what is that journey, fair Circe?’ your master asked.”
“‘You must sail to the house of Hades, the land of the dead,’ the goddess answered. ‘Once there, you must slaughter your sheep and make a pool of their blood. When the spirits of the dead drink this, they will become as flesh and speak to you. But let the prophet Teiresias drink first, for his is the tale most worth knowing, for the dead speak only of the past, while Teiresias knows how your fate will spin, as he, though blind, can see the future and help you return to Ithaka.”
And then the sparrow begins to weep.
“I left then, Boar Slayer,” he finally manages to say. “I could not follow your master to Hades. I was too afraid.”
“Sir Sparrow,” I say gently. “I thank you for what you have done in the service of my master. Now it is spring and you must build a nest. Go and fashion a strong one for your family. You can do no more for me. Nor can anyone, I think.”
CHAPTER XV
Come the mountain wolves
For several months a tutor, Callius, potbellied and bald, has arrived at my master’s house daily to teach young Telemachos the subjects every future king must know: astronomy, geometry, philosophy, and history. These are subjects that do not concern a dog, so I usually fall asleep next to my young master or find a shady place to scratch my ears and rub dirt on my fleas. Why do humans worry about the stars when to scratch an itch is the greatest pleasure the gods can give?
I do not like the tutor much. He is also said to be a healer, but I do not believe it. If he had talents, then he would not need to offer services as a tutor, for there is much illness and infirmity among the people who live in the villages. I have heard rumors that he has poisoned more people with herbs than he has cured. Moreover, he smells unclean, and he is rude to the servants. Worse, he is sharp-tongued toward Telemachos, insulting him when he misses a question, and more than once I have seen him strike the boy on the hand when Telemachos made a mistake with his silly numbers.
After a few weeks of his tutelage, I heard Telemachos ask my mistress why she had chosen Callius, of all tutors, to give him lessons.
“Telemachos, my son,” she said, “Ithaka is full of farmers, fishermen, and sailors, but there are very few philosophers on our fair island. Your father sat under the tutelage of Callius’s father, and now his son teaches my son. Do you not think that is the way it should be?”
“But he smells, Mother,” Telemachos protested. “He smells and he is cruel and he calls me stupid.”
“Students always say their teachers are cruel, and no one would dare call the son of mighty Odysseus stupid. Now, you have much to study and learn if you are to rule Ithaka wisely one day. Be a good boy and try your best, will you not?”
And then she embraced the young boy and ruffled his curly hair. Telemachos said nothing about the whippings Callius gave him when he missed a question. Or when he answered one correctly.
Two days ago, the tutor struck Telemachos thrice on his palm with a leather strap. The first time he did this because he claimed Telemachos made a mistake with his geometry. The second time he struck him because Telemachos showed the tutor that he had not made a mistake; the tutor had instead. And the third time he struck him because Telemachos refused to apologize for correcting him. Still, I did nothing, though the hair along my back rose when I saw this. Telemachos will one day be a king, and I cannot fight his battles for him, and I have greater worries that concern me.
On the west side of our island, fair Ithaka, a pack of mountain wolves grows large. With few men on Ithaka to hunt them and keep the pack small, they have multiplied in number over the years, and large packs need more and more food. The land there is rocky and barren, so few men have built farms or raise sheep. Only fishermen and bandits live there, and they are afraid of mountain wolves, so the pack’s leader has become bold. In order to feed his growing pack, he leads his fellow wolves closer and closer to our side of the island, where the sheep are fat, and they are guarded by small dogs and young boys with short spears. Friends of Telemachos. And no match for mountain wolves.
My master would know what to do. He would rally the men from the farms and villages, arm them with bows and spears, and go mountain wolf hunting. “Kill the leader and the pack dies after,” I have heard him say, speaking of mountain wolves—and men. But my master is far from home, and the men from the farms and villages sailed with him but for the cowardly ones who come daily to try to steal our land and wed my mistress Penelope.
They are afraid of the mountain wolves too. When they leave my mistress in the evening, they band together, spears level, as they make their way along the narrow trails that lead to the nearby village. No one lingers for a quiet word alone with mistress Penelope, a final plea for her charms. To do so risks being alone if the wolves come.
So I must find the pack leader and tell him to stay away from our village and this rich, sheep-filled side of the island. Or kill him if he will not.
Apollo’s chariot passes six times before I hear again from the shepherd dogs in the valley that the mountain wolves are nearby. Two ewes are missing, and then yesterday a shepherd boy found one of them torn asunder. The boys in the village have been pulled from their schools and made to stand guard over their family’s livestock because dogs alone do not frighten these wolves. And they grow more bold daily. Boys in the village speak of mountain wolves seen when the sun is high, brazenly stalking a calf separated from its mother. One of the boys said the lead wolf is the size of a small horse, gray as the slate rocks that tumble down from the hills. And just last night, in the distance, I heard them howl. They have come now to our side of Ithaka.
Apollo’s chariot has passed again, and now an old shepherd from our farthest pastures is speaking to loyal Eumaios, who is charged with caring for all of my master’s sheep. The old shepherd says that thirteen sheep were killed overnight by the pack of mountain wolves just west of here. Three goats are missing on the south of the island, and he thinks they too will not be found alive. I cannot pretend otherwise: the mountain wolves will soon be at our door. My master’s estate is the largest on Ithaka, with more sheep, goats, and oxen than I can count, and all Ithaka knows this. Even the mountain wolves.
This morning I spoke to an elder magpie and asked him to fly west and relay this
message to the mountain wolves. “Tell them,” I said, “to remain west of Mount Nerito, to fill their bellies with wild hares and feral pigs, or else face my wrath.”
The magpie has returned with their reply. “The whole of Ithaka now belongs to their pack, their leader said, and they will kill anything that tries to stop them. Those were their words, Boar Slayer.”
“How many are there?” I ask the magpie.
“I counted twelve males, Argos,” he says. “But many of them are young, not more than two years old. They are brash and full of themselves, I think.”
“Twelve males? That is indeed a large pack.”
“And what of their pack leader, Lykaon?” I ask. “Is he as big as the shepherds say?”
“He is, Boar Slayer. I have never seen a wolf so large. In size he is your match.”
“I thank you for your efforts,” I tell the magpie. “A time will come, and soon, I think, when I may need you again. With your intelligence and my brawn, we make a formidable team.”
“Formidable indeed, loyal one,” he says, and bobs his black head at least twelve times. Then he flies away into the trees, and I begin to ponder how to kill a wolf.
CHAPTER XVI
Tales of Hades
Just as evening is about to fall, a crow alights upon the sheep paddock where I am guiding the sheep into their stalls. He watches me for some time and then says, “You are Ar-Ar-Argos, the Boar Slayer, loyal companion to Odysseus, are-are-are you not?”
“That is what I am called, friend. Who seeks to know my name and master?”
“I do not know his name, but in the cave on the east side of Mount Nerito a bat hangs, waiting for night to fall. He has news of your master. Go to him, for soon he leaves for other lands.”
