Argos (12 page)

G
alenos, the blind tutor, has taught Telemachos well. Tonight, now that the cowardly suitors have left for the evening, the youth comes to me and bids me to follow him. We climb a hill overlooking the shore and sit together in the gathering darkness, with only the night-flying bats to keep us company. Telemachos has brought with him a woven mantle, and he spreads it out on the grassy hillside for us to lie upon. Then he rests his head on my flank, and after a few minutes—during which I think he has fallen asleep—he asks, “Argos, do you know how the universe began?”

Of course dogs have no use for this type of speculation, so I remain silent, though I lick his ear so that he will continue.

“You see, according to Galenos, when the universe was born,
there was only Chaos, the void of emptiness between heaven and earth. Then Erubus was formed, the place of unending death and night.”

I whimper as he says this, but Telemachos adds hastily, “Not night like this, Argos, but ceaseless, silent blackness. Then Eros was formed from their union, and she separated night and day, and then Gaea appeared, our mother earth. She was joined by Uranus, who made the heavens, like those above us.”

I confess now that I am growing drowsy. The mantle on which I lie is soft, and this story of the gods is not like the rousing adventures that Telemachos usually tells me. But Telemachos continues his tale, and so I remain awake, as a dog must do, but with one eye closed.

“Then Gaea and Uranus created the Cyclopes, the hundred-armed Hecatoncheires, and the twelve Titans,” the boy continues. “But Uranus was threatened by his children and forced them back into Gaea's deepest canyons and gorges, which angered her. She convinced the youngest Titan, Kronos, to help her overthrow Uranus and he did, but he too, after marrying his sister Rhea, became cruel and jealous of his offspring, and swallowed them as they were born.”

I growl hearing this, and Telemachos pats my head to comfort me before continuing.

“Let me finish, Boar Slayer.” He laughs. “You see, Rhea hid her sixth-born child, giving it to the nymphs to raise, and wrapped a stone in its place, which Kronos swallowed instead. Do you know who that child was, Argos?”

I lick the boy's ear again. The child was Zeus. Every dog knows that.

“That's right. Zeus. And once he was grown, he returned to Mount Olympus and tricked Kronos into swallowing a magic drink, which made him heave up Zeus's other siblings from his stomach. Then there was a great war, greater even than the one my father fought against the Trojans. Kronos recruited all but three of the Titans to his side, while Zeus freed the Cyclopes and the Hecatoncheires from Gaea's caves to fight alongside him. After many terrible battles, Zeus, armed with lightning bolts, prevailed. Then he exiled his foes, except for the Titan Atlas, whom he punished by forcing him to hold the earth on his shoulders.”

But who or what holds up Atlas?
I want to ask, but I do not do so, because then Telemachos begins to name the constellations glittering above us, and that is something no dog can remain awake for, and so I fall asleep.

Sometime later Telemachos sits up, and I spring to my feet with a snarl. I sniff the wind and find no threatening scent of
wolf or man, but still the fur along my back rises. Someone or something is on the hill with us; that I know. Telemachos senses it as well.

“Who's there?” he calls out. “Announce yourself!”

Telemachos draws his xiphos, but it is I who see it first: a large stag standing over the ridge, looking down on us. Even in the darkness I can see its enormous antlers, as wide as a spear, perched high above its head. For a moment I think I should give chase, but something tells me not to—a voice in the wind, perhaps. So I remain beside Telemachos, who now sees it too.

“Leave it be, Argos,” Telemachos says softly. “This is not a night for hunting.”

Then the stag leaps to the crest of another hill and disappears from view. After a few moments Telemachos rolls up the mantle, and we begin to make our way down to my master's house. Several times we stop and look back from whence we had come. The stag appears again, high on the ridge, watching us. Surely, I think, the stag is an omen sent by the gods. But what does it portend, fortune or misfortune? How does one know?

Then I remember something Galenos had said to Telemachos when the boy asked a similar question. The tutor said, “An omen may be good or evil; we know not which until after
the moment has passed and the deed has been done, and then we make our claim to have known all along.”

Tonight one of the suitors claims to have seen a giant stag grazing near Mount Nerito. “Its antlers were as broad as a man is tall,” he announces, but the rest of the suitors jeer at him. “There are no more giant stags on Ithaka,” one sneers. “Our forefathers killed the last great deer a generation ago,” he continues. “And the mountain wolves got the rest,” another suitor adds. Soon they are discussing other matters: the swiftest ships, the greatest javelin throwers, and the best grapes for winemaking. But Telemachos looks at me with raised brows, and I know we will be hunting tomorrow. Hunting for giant stag.

We leave before dawn's rosy fingers reach my master's estate. My mistress is awake and bids us good hunting, and Telemachos kisses her and then touches her feet to show respect. She has raised him well. When we reach the top of the ridge we turn around, and she waves to us one last time before entering the house.
How lovely she looks in the dawn,
I think.

Telemachos carries a knife, his bow, and a quiver of arrows; that is all, except for some dried meat and honey. We are to travel light and fast. I think we both had the same thought:
a few of the younger suitors had seemed interested in the stag sighting also. They wanted its antlers to prove their merit to my mistress, and so we must kill it first.

Telemachos is young and strong, and together we run swiftly along the goat trails that lead to Mount Nerito. We stop only so that I might sniff the air for our quarry's scent, but as we reach the mountain pastures, we slow our pace and approach stealthily. A stag does not grow large if it is not watchful for wolves and hunters. I lead Telemachos to the stream that feeds a small pond on the west side of the mountain. There we both drink our fill, and then, near the pond, we find a laurel-covered perch in which to wait for our prey. I know many deer stop at the pond to drink during the heat of the day, and that is our best chance to see the stag. As we wait, we see many smaller deer approach the pond—deer we would have taken any other day. But we hunt only the giant stag, so Telemachos lets them live.

Apollo's chariot is high in the sky when I hear branches breaking. In such stillness the noise echoes as loud as an army striking their shields. Telemachos hears it too. He puts his hand on my shoulder to steady himself while he readies his bow. We both see it at the same time: our prey. The stag's swooping antlers appear first, followed by his handsome head, then his
powerful shoulders. He stops at the edge of the clearing to sniff the wind, and then he slowly steps toward the glistening pond, turning his proud head side to side, ever watchful.

Truly, I had never seen such a magnificent creature! Now that it is daylight, I can see that his pelt is nearly bloodred and his antlers are as long and sharp as a javelin. His neck is thicker than a man and his hindquarters ripple with muscle as he walks. But it is his eyes that give him away. They are the eyes of a god. Telemachos knows it as well.

“That is not a stag,” he whispers as he slowly lowers his bow.

Just then we hear the twang of a bowstring. I bark a warning, but it is too late. The stag leaps, but before he lands, an arrow protrudes from his shoulder. The stag bellows and begins to run, twisting and zigzagging through the underbrush, as two more arrows pierce the air. But they miss.

“Come, Argos!” Telemachos whispers. “We must find the stag before the other hunters do!”

We back away slowly until the laurel leaves close in behind us, and then we run in the direction that the stag has taken. It is easy—too easy—to follow its bloody trail, but even a wounded stag can outrun a man for some distance, until it must lie down to die. After a few minutes I realize where the stag is running—to the summit of Mount Nerito. I know a
shorter way to get there. I bark and change direction; Telemachos follows me. Soon, we are climbing up steep cliffs and clambering over boulders, but straight up is the fastest way.

My only fear is that the stag will collapse before it reaches the summit, and the hunters will find it before we do. Telemachos knows what I do: a god in the form of an animal can be killed. Neither can it change back into a god with a human object in its flesh. We have to find the stag and remove the arrow lodged in its shoulder, or the god will die. And then the other gods will punish us.

Below us, I can hear the cries of the hunters running up the trail that leads to the summit. We both know their voices; they are the young suitors who ate at our table the night before. If they catch us with their stag, they will think we intended to claim it as our own, and they will kill us. And Telemachos has no shield or javelin, only his bow and knife. As we near the summit, the brush and small trees begin to thin, leaving us exposed to the hunters, so we climb even faster. At the top of the mountain is a small clearing surround by a ring of boulders. It is there I know we will find the stag. And it is so.

The stag is lying on his side. Foam covers his mouth and neck, and blood still seeps from the arrow, which has worked its way deeper into his shoulder. He tries to rise and run, but
there is nowhere for him to go, and he is too weak to stand very long. Telemachos runs up to the stag and tugs him gently to the ground. Then Telemachos withdraws his knife. The stag's eyes widen in fear.

“Lie still, immortal one,” Telemachos says gently. “We seek only to help you.”

I stand guard by the trailhead from which the hunters will soon emerge, so I do not see Telemachos cut the arrow out, but I hear him whisper, “I have it,” when he has done so. Then I hear him cry, “Goddess, have mercy on us!”

I turn and see Artemis herself.

She stands taller than a man, but her face and build are slender and lovely to behold. In one hand she holds the arrow that felled her, and the other hand cups Telemachos's chin.

“I thank thee, Telemachos, son of Odysseus, for coming to my aid,” she says, with a voice that rings like a golden bell. “In return, I will grant this: that your arrows shall never miss their mark, whenever you draw your bow.”

I bark a warning. The hunters are coming close.

“Goddess, we must all flee!” Telemachos whispers.

Artemis smiles and brings her hands together. Suddenly a fierce wind rises up, swirling the leaves around us, and then I hear the harsh squeal of a boar. He appears out of a small cave
and charges toward the trail where the hunters are climbing up to us. We watch the boar disappear, and a few moments later we hear the screams of terrified men. I turn back around, and Telemachos stands alone. He is rubbing his eyes, and the goddess is gone.

I run up to him and tug at his bow, leading him away from the summit. Soon his head has cleared, and we are bounding down the slope. We don't stop running until we reach my master's estate. Tonight, when the suitors arrive for their customary dinner, three chairs are empty at the table.

And they will never be filled, I think.

N
early seven years have passed with no news of my master, although I have asked every bird and sea animal that alights or lands on Ithaka if they have news for me. They report nothing, yet I think he lives, as does my mistress, for nearly every night she sends servants to the harbor seeking news from incoming ships. I have much to do here: the flocks need my vigilance, my mistress needs a guard, and Telemachos needs a companion.

How tall he has grown! How handsome and strong! In the summer his skin turns to bronze, and his curly dark hair becomes like gold ringlets. Truly he is his father's son. But he has few companions. The other boys his age have gone to sea or become apprentices to winemakers and blacksmiths,
farmers, and merchants. But except for hunts, Telemachos remains close to home. He is the son of a king and will one day rule Ithaka, but he cannot leave his mother, for the suitors would dishonor her if he did. So he waits for his father, Odysseus, to return.

The years have been hard on me. My muzzle is now flecked with white, and my hearing is not as sharp as it once was. In the cold mornings, my joints are stiff and my hips ache. I have reached the age when I should remain inside, lying on a fleece rug curled up next to a fire. But that is not my fate. So I too wait for my master, Odysseus, to return.

Daily the suitors come and insult the servants and eat our stores of food, olive oil, and wine, so there is no end to the misery on Ithaka. Our house grows poorer; the suitors, fatter. I seldom see my mistress; she has become a prisoner in her own home. If she goes to the village, the other women spread false gossip about her; they cannot believe a wife can be so loyal to a man considered dead. Moreover, while the suitors pursue my mistress, the other women in the village are left unmarried and resentful, for she is the prize the greatest men on the island seek. So she remains inside the estate, hidden away from the quick tongues and hard stares of the village folk, with only her servants, her son, and a dog for company.

As for me, I find my way to the harbor every day or so, in case there is news from the gulls. This morning I am at my usual post near the harbor when a mangy cur approaches me. I know the dog by sight only—we have never spoken, and she is newly arrived on Ithaka. But she is known around the harbor as a fish eater, and most dogs do not eat fish. Moreover, her lineage is suspect. She is at least ten shades of gray and brown, and her fur is not sleek and thick but wiry and sparse. Pink, scaly skin shows through along her hindquarters, and her eyes are small and runny. Truly, she is misbegotten. So when she says she has something to tell me, I am skeptical. What could a fish-eating mongrel have to say to me? Still, I let her approach.

“You are Argos, loyal servant to Odysseus, are you not?” the dog asks, without lowering her head or rolling onto her back as a lesser dog might.

“I am. What do you have to tell me, stranger? And what is your name and lineage so that I may call you properly?”

This is cruel of me and I regret my words instantly, but the gulls have not come for several days, and I am worried and anxious about my master, so I am not in the frame of mind to be interrogated by a mutt. But she seems to take little offense.

“You need not know my name nor my lineage, sir. This matter concerns you, not me,” she says without reproach.

I look at the dog more closely. Her ribs show through her skin and her stomach is shrunken. She is not a handsome dog, to be sure, and she smells as if she slept in fishnets, yet she carries herself well, and her eyes, although no doubt infected, are bright with intelligence.

“Forgive my manners, friend,” I say. “I am much concerned about my master and forget myself sometimes. Now tell me, what do you wish to say?”

She steps closer, and it takes all my will not to wrinkle my nose in disgust. “Your master's son, Telemachos, is in danger,” she says.

And then she runs away.

“Wait!” I cry. I bark several times, but she doesn't stop. Instead, she disappears in the alleys that bisect the harbor. I start to chase after her, but just then a gull flies over my shoulder and lands on the jetty. I run to him. Soon more gulls arrive.

“What news do you bring, High Flyer?” I demand, keeping an eye on the alley where the dog disappeared. “Have you seen my master?”

“Not I-I-I, Boar Slayer, but another gull may have. A few days ago, a sister said the fog covering Kalypso's is-is-island lifted for just a few moments, and she saw a man there, staring
out at the sea. Then the fog closed in again, and she saw him no more.”

A whimper escapes my lips.

“Be brave, loyal Argos. Your master is the Wi-W-Wily One, is he not? Did he not conquer Troy itself with his cunning? He will escape that i-i-island one day, for surely his fate has yet to be written.”

“Fate! Fate! Fate!” screech the other gulls.

“Thank you, White Wing. I will take your counsel. Now, I have another question. You saw me speaking to that dog that just ran away. Can you fly high and look for her? I do not know why she left so suddenly, but she has much to tell me, I think.”

“I-I-I know where she is, Argos. While you were speaking, a fishing boat came in on the other side-side-side of the harbor. No doubt she heard its bell and ran to meet it. She is a strange dog and eats only fish; the boat brings her dinner. You will find her there, poking through the nets, I-I-I am sure of it.”

Saying this, the gull spreads its wings and rises above me.

“Farewell,” he cries.

“Farewell! Farewell! Farewell!” his flock repeats, pummeling the air with their wings.

I bark once and then run down along the beach to the other
side of the harbor. The gull was right: I find the fish eater gobbling down a baby squid. Fishermen mill about, so I say nothing to her. While I watch, the dog eats two squid and several small fish, including fins and tails. Truly, I have never seen such a thing. Then, when she is satiated, the strange dog looks at me once and then trots back to an alley. I follow her to the entrance of a small temple for a goddess, though I know not who. Finally the dog sits back on her haunches and waits for me to speak.

“You said my master's son was in danger, sister. How do you know this? What kind of danger does he face?” I demand.

But instead of answering me, the strange dog enters the temple, which is just a small building held up by eight columns. In the center lies a bronze bowl for offerings, but there are none. The dog sniffs the bowl and then turns to face me.

“Please, friend, tell me what plot concerns Telemachos! If he is in danger, I must be there to protect him. That is my duty.”

“Do you know who this temple is dedicated to, Argos?” the dog asks, ignoring my plea.

I shake my head, trying to remain calm.

“I thought as much. It is dedicated to Amphitrite, the sea goddess. Yet no one comes to it, even though the island has many fishermen and sailors. Why is that, Boar Slayer?”

Her questions are maddening and for a moment my lips curl into a snarl. Was Telemachos not in peril?

“I do not know, sister. There is a larger temple for Poseidon along the shore. The sailors and fishermen go there to make their offerings to the earth shaker.”

The strange dog sneezes, and a wave of fish breath sweeps over me.

And then I know who she is.

“Yet, this is also a beautiful temple,” I say. “It is not right that no one comes here. I shall lead Telemachos here this very evening, and he will make an offering, I am sure.”

The strange dog smiles and licks her lips. Her tongue, though, was not pink, but as green as the sea.

“Goddess,” I say. “Take pity on me, your loyal servant, and tell me who threatens my master's son. I must know.”

How that dog's eyes glow when I say that.

“Hear me then, Argos, most loyal of dogs,” she says. “There is a suitor by the name of Akakios who plans ill for young Telemachos. Akakios owns many ships, and his plot is to kidnap Telemachos and send him far away by sea. Thinking her son dead, your mistress Penelope will have to choose a husband, since she has no heirs.”

“How will Akakios ensure that my mistress marries him and
not another suitor, for there are many to choose from, cursed be they all?” I ask.

“The evildoer will tell Penelope during his courtship that he has heard from a sailor that Telemachos lives. If Penelope promises to marry him, then he will send out his entire fleet to find him. What choice will she have?”

The fur along my back rises, and my ears flatten. Already, though, a plan begins to form in my thoughts.

“Thank you, Goddess,” I say. “I will keep my promise to you. If I can save Telemachos, many offerings will be made in your honor.”

I lower my head and lick the dog's strangely shaped paw. There are webs between her claws.

“Go now, and quickly, Argos,” the dog goddess says. “Akakios strikes soon.”

I turn to leave, then stop.

“Goddess, why do you concern yourself about Telemachos? It must be more than just your empty temple that brought you here to Ithaka, is it not?”

But the dog is not there. Instead, while my back was turned, she has changed into the shining goddess Amphitrite herself. She is glorious to look upon, and I have to close my eyes.

“The ways of the gods are not for you to know, Boar Slayer,”
she says. “But I will tell you this. My husband, Poseidon, the earth shaker, hates your master and seeks to destroy him. Yet I love my husband not and would see his plans thwarted. I cannot save your master at this time, but I can save his son. That is why I came to you. Now hurry.”

I turn and run. In a short time I reach my master's estate, and there I catch my breath and begin fleshing out my plans. Soon I have it. Not for nothing am I the Wily-One's pet; I will use my master's trick against my foe.