by Ralph Hardy
“Just this morning I saw-aw-aw a black ship beach near the promontory on the west of the island. I flew down to see if marauders were trying to land there, for it is sheltered and the cove is little known. But only two men disembarked, loyal Ar-Ar-Argos. One of the men was armed with a bronze-tipped spear. And then the ship turned back and sailed away.”
“Telemachos has returned!” I cry, and shake all over, as we dogs often do.
“Yes, it was he. But why did he land there? Only the swineherd lives near there. Telemachos should have brought an ar-ar-army, for surely he alone cannot overthrow the suitors!”
“There is a reason to it, Sir Raven. Fly back, cleverest of birds. Fly back and follow my master’s son. I would hear tell of his arrival at the swineherd’s cottage.”
“I will, noble Ar-ar-argos.” He snaps his beak three times, which is how a bird smiles. “Surely the evil that has reigned on our island since your master left is about to end,” he cries as he flies away.
I spend the rest of the day guarding sheep and resting. In the afternoon, two suitors come and demand the shepherd give them three lambs to be roasted. My master’s flock grows ever smaller, but there is little I can do. For now.
In the late afternoon the raven returns. He lands on a branch outside my master’s palace and calls out to me, stretching his black wings.
“Ar-Ar-Argos! Telemachos has landed safely on Ithaka, along with his loyal friend Theoklymenos.”
My ears have not deceived me. Telemachos is safe! I stand too quickly and can feel my old bones creak. “Do go on, intelligent one.”
“Not long after they landed on the black-rocked beach, a falcon swooped overhead; in his talons, a pigeon struggled. The falcon flew between Telemachos and his ship while tearing feathers from the pigeon. As the feathers floated down, Theoklymenos fell to his knees, crying, ‘This is a great portent, Telemachos. Surely it means you are destined to win Ithaka!’
“‘The gods make many promises, loyal one,’ thoughtful Telemachos responded. ‘For now, we must go our separate ways. You will go to my house and seek out Eurymachos, who is the noblest suitor, and the most eager to marry my mother and take my father’s land. Befriend him and learn his plans. The rest of my men on the ship will sail back around to the port and seek lodging there.’”
“And what direction did Telemachos take?” I ask the raven.
“After that, I saw-saw-saw that the falcon had dropped the dead pigeon on the beach near the breaking surf. So I flew over to eat it before it got wet.”
I remain patient, as one must be when talking to ravens.
“But where did Telemachos go?” I ask again after a few moments. “Is he on his way here?”
“It was a wood pigeon, you see. The plumpest kind. And it was about to get wet. I’m not a seabird. I don’t eat fish.”
The raven seems quite pleased with himself, hopping around on his thin legs. If I were younger, I could have charged him. I’m sure I would at least have bitten some tail feathers before he could fly away. But instead I wait. Eventually, the raven hops back over to where I sit.
“Where did Telemachos go? That was your question?”
“Yes, Sir Raven, most intelligent of all the birds.”
That compliment pleases the black bird. He ruffles his feathers and preens for a moment.
“Telemachos lifted his spear, a powerful one with a bronze tip that caught-caught-caught the sunlight, and then he took the trail that leads to the swineherd’s hovel.”
Then the raven flies off, but he circles back and hovers over me for a moment.
“I fly now to the swineherd’s cabin, Ar-Ar-Argos. The boy should be reaching it soon. I shall return in the morning with tales of his arrival.”
I bark once to show my appreciation, and then I set off to make my evening rounds. How my sides ache and my feet throb as I do this. How dark the pastures look to me, how dimly I see the sheep.
Come soon, master. Soon.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
A father’s embrace
This morning one of the mongrels that watches the swineherd’s pigs comes bounding up to me, his pink tongue lolling from his mouth.
“B-B-Boar Slayer! I have n-n-news for you!” he sputters.
In truth he smells as bad as the pigs he guards, but I simply maneuver myself upwind and say, “Catch your breath, noble friend, guardian of my master’s swine, and tell me what you saw this morning.”
Hearing this, the dog first slurps great gulps of water from my bowl and then tells me what he saw.
“M-m-m-my master woke early, as he always d-d-d-oes, brave Ar-ar-ar-gos, and so did the old m-m-man staying with him, a strang-strang-stranger. They made b-b-b-b-breakfast and began to eat it w-w-w-when a young man appro-appro-appro-appro— Came up the road to our house. When he got closer, I and the other dogs ran up to him. Then I sm-sm-sm-smelled him. It was Tele-Tele-Tele-Telemachos, returned from his journey seeking Ody-Ody-Ody— His father. We all barked for happ-happ-happ— Joy!”
“Calm down, young pup,” I say as gently as I can. “I won’t bite you! Put your tongue back in your mouth and slow down!”
I let the pup drink more water and rub his belly on the stiff grass. Meanwhile, my old dog heart is kicking like a goat. Finally he is ready to resume.
“My mast-mast-master and his old guest came outside to see why we were barking. Telemachos ran up to my master and kissed his face, his shining eyes, his hands. Oh, it was noble sentiment, brave Argos! Then my master began to w-w-weep with joy.”
“‘You have returned, Telemachos, sweet light of my life!’ he cried. ‘I thought this old man would never see your face again. Come into my home and tell me of your trip to Pylos. Did you hear word of your father?’
“Then tall Telemachos and my master and the stranger went inside. I snuck in just as my master closed the door, so I could hear his tale. There were only two chairs, and Telemachos said to the stranger, ‘Sit, sir, for I am still young and your legs have carried your weight longer.’”
Oh, how gentle and polite is my master’s son, I think.
“The old man smiled at this sign of respect, and he and my master took seats while Telemachos propped his sharp spear against a wall. Then c-c-c-courteous Telemachos said, ‘I heard nothing about my father, loyal Eumaios. There are rumors and whispers, but the gods alone know his fate, for no man alive has seen him since he won victory at Troy. But now tell me, does my father’s bed still hold spiderwebs, or has one of the suitors taken it over?’
“‘No, brave Telemachos,’ my master, the shepherd, answered. ‘Your mother is steadfast, but still weeps away her wretched days and nights.’ He sighed deeply, and then said, “Come, young master. We have eaten, but there is bread and honey for your repast, and figs to round out the meal. It is but simple fare, I admit, but you are welcome to it.’
“And hungry Telemachos thanked my master and ate, then he drank cool water from the jug. Finally he turned to my master Eumaios and asked, ‘Uncle, who is this stranger, for he is not like any man I know on Ithaka. What ship brought him here?’
“Then my master said, ‘He is an old man who has seen much. He fought with your father against the Trojans and now has landed on Ithaka as my guest. Take him to your home and treat him as such, for I am poor and can offer this most honorable man little.’
“‘Alas, stranger,’ Telemachos said. ‘I would gladly give you a mantle, sandals, and a sharp sword, but I cannot admit you to my house, for the dreadful suitors there are laying waste to it.’
“Then the old man spoke, saying, ‘Your gifts are much appreciated, noble Telemachos, but tell me, do you not have brothers to help you against the suitors? Are there not men in the village who would follow your command against them?’”
Hearing this, I smile. Ah, master, even in front of your son, you remain the Wily One, do you not?
“Should I continue, ancient one?” the pup asks.
“Please do,” I say.
After scratching his
ear, he resumes his tale. “‘Let me put it plainly, sir,’ Telemachos said. ‘The first god Kronos had but one son, Arkeisios. He had but one son, Laertes, and Laertes had but one son, Odysseus, and in turn Odysseus had but one son, myself. So I have no brothers, nor uncles to help me. And the men in the villages, those who did not leave with my father, are the very ones seeking to take my father’s land and bed his wife. These men have followers as well, so that they number more than one hundred. That is why I cannot offer you respite as a man should to his guest, for I too am a stranger in my own home.’
“This tale moved the old man to tears, and he sat heavily against the wall. Then Telemachos turned to my master and said, ‘Loyal Eumaios, go quickly to my dear mother Penelope and tell her I have returned. Tell her I am safe and will stay here. Give her this letter and tell no one else, for there are many there who plot against me.’
“‘And should I go on from there and send a message to your grandfather?’ my master asked. ‘For poor Laertes also weeps for his son and grandson.”
“Tell my mother to send a loyal servant to Laertes, then come back here swiftly. The Fates’ threads are winding tight, my loyal friend, and though no mortal knows if and when my own father returns, I believe I am destined to see him again soon.’
“Th-th-then my master Eumaios put on his sandals and left. I followed him out the door, hoping he would feed me, but alas, he was in too great a hurry. But just as he turned down the path to come here, a tall and beautiful woman clothed in a gold-thread mantle appeared.”
“Athena!” I exclaim.
“Yes, b-b-brave one, it was the goddess herself. I turned back and followed her. She approached the door of the cottage, but only the old man saw her, for Telemachos had turned his back. The old man came out to greet her and . . .”
“And what? What did the goddess say to the old man? Tell me, little one!”
“She-she-she said, ‘It is time, brave Odysseus, to reveal yourself to your son.’
“And then she struck the old man with a wand, and he changed before my eyes! Brave Argos, the old man grew tall and stalwart. His jaw firmed and his skin turned to bronze. His beard changed from white to black, and the old mantle my master had given him fell away, revealing a mantle of the finest silk threads. I have never seen anything like it, noble one!”
Yes, I think. To see my master in his glory is unlike anything else.
“Th-th-then Athena herself d-d-d-disappeared, leaving your master alone to greet his son after twenty years.”
“What did brave Telemachos say? Did he fall to his knees or rush to embrace his long-lost father?”
But the young pup looks at me with something like pity.
“B-b-brave Argos, Telemachos had not seen his father since he was a babe. Every pup knows that. He didn’t recognize him. Instead he stepped back and said, ‘You have changed, my friend, from what you were formerly. Surely you are one of the gods. Be gracious to us, for we have little here, but what we do have we offer to you.’
“Then your master, the long-suffering Odysseus, rushed to his son and embraced him, crying, ‘I am not a god, but your father, for whose sake you have been grieving.’
A whimper escapes my lips then, but fortunately the mongrel does not hear it, so excited is he to finish the tale.
“Brave Odysseus kissed his son’s face, his hair, while tears streamed from his face. O Argos, it was a sight to behold! But still Telemachos did not believe him! He pulled away and said the most hurtful words, ‘No, you are not my father, but some divinity who seeks to trick me, as if I have not grieved enough! Only one moment ago you were an old man, and now you resemble a god!’
“Then Odysseus spoke. ‘It is I, truly, my son. No other Odysseus will you ever see. But here I am as you see me, and after terrible suffering and hardships, I have returned to my own country. And to my family.’
“When he spoke those words, young Telemachos believed him at last and sank into his arms, shedding tears and crying pitifully.”
I too lower my head at the thought of their misery, for joy cannot yet be theirs while the suitors remain in their home and Penelope mourns.
“Should I continue, brave one?” the pup asks.
I nod, for I cannot speak at the moment.
“Th-th-then mighty Odysseus said, ‘Come, Telemachos, tell me of the suitors. How many are there and what are their names? I have pondered this matter for many years and would know if you and I together can defeat them.’
“Telemachos shook his head. ‘O father,’ he said, ‘I have heard of your prowess, your fame as a fighter and your cunning, but what you speak of is impossible. No two men could face that number alone, for there are more than twice ten. Indeed, they now number more than one hundred, though at least four were killed by wolves or some similar beast.’”
I am that beast, I think.
“‘No, Father,’ Telemachos continued. ‘I fear your revenge will be bitter upon us, though I am willing to taste it. Yet, if you can think of someone to stand by us, our odds would increase.’
“Then, brave one, your master smiled.
“‘There are two who would aid us, my son, and they are gods. For Athena and Zeus the father may come if we call, though they sit high in the clouds. Now, listen close to my plan.’”
Suddenly the pup rolls over onto his back and begins to wriggle with his legs in the air.
“What was the plan, pup? Did you hear it? Get up and tell me!”
The pup rolls back over, but looks at me with shame. “A-a-alas, brave Argos, I can not. At that moment a flea bit me in the pink of my ear and I had to scratch it, so I know not what he said.”
Pups these days are the most foolish of creatures. Still, praise is due.
“You did well, young pup,” I tell him. “Now run back to your home and keep your ears clean of fleas. If you learn the plan, come back and tell me. I will remember your loyalty when my master is returned safely home, and you will be given a large flock of sheep to guard.”
“Th-th-th-thank you, brave Argos. Farewell.”
We touch noses, and then the mongrel scampers off.
How desperately I want to run to the swineherd’s hovel to see my master! But I know I must wait here, and my legs are too wobbly to carry me. The gods are weaving destruction, and I am but one of many spiders in the web.
CHAPTER XXXIX
Comes a beggar
Dawn comes, and the raven swoops low over the barn where I lie resting. In truth, my legs are weak today, and I cannot yet rise.
“Noble raven,” I call. “Did you come from the home of the swineherd?”
The raven does not answer, but alights on the fence and ruffles his feathers.
“What news do you bring of my master and his son? Have they devised a plan?” I ask again.
Still the raven speaks not.
“Noble raven, did you hear me?”
Finally the bird speaks.
“Is it true, brave Ar-Ar-Argos, that you called the kingfisher ‘most intelligent of birds’? Did you say that?”
I realize then what I had done; ravens are the most vain of all birds. Even a peacock has more modesty.
“I did say that, noble raven. But only a bird as silly as a kingfisher would believe it, thus proving the opposite, yes?”
The raven turns his head sideways and regards me for a moment.
“Haw-haw!” he laughs. “You are very clever, Ar-Ar-Argos. Truly, you understand the mind of my cousin. They are-are-are quite susceptible to false praise.”
“Indeed. Now, what of my master and his son? What did they say this morning upon rising?”
“Ahh, brave Ar-Ar-Argos. A plan is under way, I think. Overnight, Athena changed your master back to an old man, and this morning young Telemachos rose and took up a shar-shar-sharp spear in his grip, saying to the swineherd, ‘I am going to my home so that my mother will know I have returned. You should take the stranger to the city and let him beg there. You have been gracious enough to him, b
ut he must not be a burden upon you any longer.’
“Then your master agreed, saying, ‘The young warrior is right, my friend. I am too old to be of use here. Take me to the city so that I might find a purpose there and charity from the city folk. You have served me kindly, and the gods will reward you if they are just.’
“Then did brave Telemachos leave, carrying his stout spear, and after breaking their fast, the swineherd and your master also left, on their way to the city.”
“If they are on their way to the city, then they will pass by here!” I cry. “After twenty winters my master returns to his land!” If I were younger, I would have run in mad circles at the prospect of seeing him, but alas, now my legs will not carry me in such a fashion.
“Calm yourself, loyal Ar-Ar-Argos,” he says. “Your master is still in disguise. The moment is not yet at hand for revenge.”
The raven is right. I do not know my master’s plan, and until I do, I will have to be careful not to give any clues to the suitors that my master has returned, for they are a suspicious lot, and would kill even a beggar if they suspected he was loyal to Odysseus. And kill me too.
I thank the raven, praising him again for his surpassing intelligence and wisdom, and he flies off with puffed feathers and a dip of his wing. I know it will take several hours for Telemachos to arrive, so I struggle to my feet and make my rounds, checking the sheep and the goats, one of whom gave birth to a kid last week, and so I must be vigilant about the eagles who like nothing better than tender young goats, enough, even, to risk my wrath.
After Apollo’s chariot passes its zenith, I trot slowly down to the swineherd’s path and see, dimly, in the distance, a tall young man carrying a spear. Telemachos has returned! I bark and run up to him on tottering legs, letting him rub my belly and scratch my ears. Then I follow him up to the house, but not before I smell, far off, but upwind, the suitors, who will be arriving within the hour. A growl escapes me.
