Argos (8 page)

F
or 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.

J
ust 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.”

“News of my master? From whence does the bat come, most clever of birds?”

“From Hades itself,” the crow says. “Hurry, night falls soon.”

Then the crow flies away. I rush the remaining sheep into their stalls, nipping the last few on their fat rears to get them to move quickly, and then I run as fast as I can toward the mist-shrouded mountain that juts out of the earth in the middle of our island.

I reach the mountain as black night falls over Ithaka. I know the cave where the bat hangs upside down, sleeping through the long hours of the day. Telemachos and I waited out a storm there only last summer. Then, just as I arrive at the cave's mouth, a thousand bats fly out into the night. Have I arrived too late?

“Greetings, Stag Hunter,” I hear a shrill voice from over my head say. I look up and see the tiny creature clinging to the stone above me. Truly, he is no larger than a mouse—a mouse that flies.

“Greetings to
you
, Night Flyer. I will not detain you long from your insect hunting. The crow said you had news of my master, Odysseus. Is it true? You have seen him?”

“Yes, I have seen him,” the bat says. “I was on Circe's island while he was there, and then I followed his swift ship on its mission to Hades, for I too visit the underworld to see my kin.”

I whimper out loud when I hear this
.
It is true. My master has been sent to Hades!

Regaining my composure, I call up to him. “Tell me, then, what you saw, O winged one. Do not me spare me the truth, for I have suffered many years to hear my master's ultimate fate.”

“I will tell you what I know, loyal one. But it is a hard tale, for men do not go easily into the underworld and return unchanged.”

I sit on my haunches and crane my neck upward to hear his story.

“All day, Argos, your master's ship with full sail sped north as Circe instructed. Soon they reached the deep ocean and the land of the Kimmerian people, hidden in fog and cloud. There they harbored, and Odysseus and his men sacrificed many sheep and made offerings to the gods and said prayers to Hades and Persephone, the queen of the underworld, as they were instructed. The blood from their sacrifices made a giant pool, and toward it the spirits of the dead were drawn, just as Circe had said, but your master would let no one near it until Teiresias came.

“Terrible was that night, for many spirits gathered around
your master and his men. They were the hordes of the perished dead, brides and unmarried men, elders and tender children, and many fighting men, still splendid in their armor. They swarmed about with an inhuman noise, filling the men with terror, but your master drew his large sword and would not let the spirits of the perished come near. Don't move!”

“Is that what my master said?”

“No, brave one. A mosquito flies near your left shoulder. Don't you hear it?”

“No, winged one.”

With a flash of leathery wings, the bat swoops down and a moment later is hanging above me again.

“Delicious. Now, as I was saying . . . Then a familiar soul approached—Elpenor, one of your master's men, who had fallen to his death while drunk in Circe's palace just before they left. Your master had not buried him, so quickly had they left for the underworld. Seeing him, your master wept piteous tears.

“Elpenor, the phantom, spoke thus: ‘Son of Laertes and seed of Zeus, I pray that after you leave the house of Hades and set sail for Aiaia, you set me on a pyre there and burn me with my armor, then heap up a grave mound on the beach and plant the oar with which I rowed for your black ship. Do this for
me, or I am cursed for eternity.'

“And your master promised this. Then more souls came—most tragic of all, your master's mother, Antikleia.”

I know that my master's mother had died, but to see her spirit in Hades must have been terrible for him. My
poor master.

“What did my master say when he saw his mother, Night Flyer?” I ask.

The bat is silent for a moment.

“Never have I seen such sorrow on a man, Boar Slayer,” the bat says finally. “He wept and wept, but still he could not go to her, for his duty was to find Teiresias first, or else his prophecies would be lost. But then, emerging from the shadows, the blind prophet Teiresias appeared, carrying his golden staff. Ahhh, the moths are thick tonight, Boar Slayer.”

“Moths? But . . .”

“One moment.”

Up, down, around, he darts. Never have I seen such flying agility. My neck becomes tired just following him. And then, a few moments later, he returns to his perch.

“Truly the moths on Ithaka are among the finest in the world, Argos.”

“That may be, cousin. But what did Teiresias say?” I demand.

“Patience, four-legged one. A bat must eat many times its
weight in food each night. That is our curse and our delight. Now then. Returning to my tale, Teiresias said, ‘Son of Laertes and seed of Zeus, how is it that you are here in this cursed place, far from sunlit Ithaka? Sheath your sword and draw back so that I may drink this blood and speak to your fate.'

“Hearing this, your master sheathed his sword, and the prophet drank deeply.

“‘Glorious Odysseus,' he began,' you seek to return to your home, but one god is against you. Poseidon, the earth shaker, bears you ill will because you blinded his son, Polyphemus of the Cyclopes. But even so, you might return, though after much suffering, if you obey my instructions and contain your desires and those of your companions.'

“‘Tell me then, perfect seer, what I must do and I will follow it closely,' your master begged.

“‘First, when you return to your fast ship, sail over the blue waters, escaping its grasp if you can, to Thrinakia. There you will find fat cattle and sheep pasturing, but touch them not, for they belong to the god Helios, who sees and hears all things. Keep foremost in your mind your sweet homecoming and leave those beasts unharmed, and you might reach fair Ithaka, after much suffering. But if harm comes to them, then your destruction is foretold, for your ships and your men will
perish, although the gods may smile on you alone.'

“‘I swear to you, then, we will follow your instructions,' Odysseus promised.”

“And he will, Night Flyer,” I say. “Of that I am certain.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not, Argos, for I saw the briefest smile cross Teiresias's lips when your master said this.”

I ignore this remark, for what does a bat know of my master's will? Still, the bat is silent for a moment, and I begin to think I have insulted him. Or he still hungers.

“Please, continue, winged one,” I say. “I will interrupt no more, and then you may eat your fill.”

“So be it,” the bat replies. “Then Teiresias drank again and continued his prophecy, for he was nearly through reading the thread of your master's fate.”

“‘If you return to Ithaka, City Sacker,' he said, ‘yours will not be a joyous homecoming. Your companions will all be dead, and your ship will be lost. On a borrowed vessel you will arrive to find strange men in your house, eating away your wealth, and courting your wife.'

“‘Steadfast Penelope would marry again?' your master cried.

“‘No, brave one,' Teiresias answered. ‘Godlike Penelope is ever loyal, but the men make her suffer and insult her honor. You may avenge this insult if you can, by bronze or trickery.'
Your master then gripped his sword tightly, Argos, and I knew that he would use bronze to defend his house.

“‘Do I die then, perfect seer?' your master asked after his rage subsided.

“Teiresias shook his head. ‘No, Odysseus, if this thread is followed, Death will come to you, as it does all men, but it will be in old age, and it will come from the sea. Fear it not, then, for there is much more suffering and death to come sooner.'

“Then your master asked, ‘May I speak to my mother now, blind one? I would know of her sad fate, for when I left Ithaka, her health was strong and death seemed far away.'

“Teiresias nodded. ‘Let her drink this blood as I have, Odysseus, and her words will come, as will the words of all the souls here.'

“And saying that, Lord Teiresias turned and disappeared in the gloom of Hades.

“Then Odysseus's mother, who, before, could not to speak to your master, such was her lamentation, spoke to him in winged words.

“‘My child, how did you come here into this gloom and darkness?' she asked. ‘Are you still alive? Why are you not in Ithaka with your wife and son?'

“Your master answered, ‘Dearest Mother, I came to speak
with the soul of Teiresias. It was a duty I had to obey, even though I have not been to Ithaka in many years. Indeed, I have been wandering since the days I helped defeat the Trojans alongside the great Agamemnon.'

“‘I know of your battle with the Trojans, my son. Many great warriors are here because of it,' she replied.

“For a moment they were silent while Odysseus contemplated what he had done. But then he looked to his mother and said, ‘Now that I have answered, I have many questions for you, for I have not set foot on Achaian land for many years. Tell me, how did you die, swiftly or with a long sickness? And what of my father and the son I left behind? Do they know I still live? And tell me about Penelope, my loyal wife. Does she need anything? Does she believe I live?'

“So your master spoke, and his mother answered quickly, ‘Your wife endures many hardships and spends her nights weeping by the sea. Telemachos administers your lands as well as he can, but he is still just a boy, though he grows strong, and he has a faithful companion, a fierce and loyal dog. Your father lives on, but he is poor, for he cares not for anything but your safe return and he grows old harshly. As for me, I died not quickly nor from illness, but rather the sweet spirit of life left me over my longing for you, your cleverness and gentle ways.'

“Hearing this tale of woe, your master sought to embrace his mother, but three times she fluttered away as his arms encircled her, like a dream or a shadow. Then your master cried, ‘Mother, will you not wait for me? My arms long to touch you! Even though we are in Hades, is there not relief from this dismal mourning? Or are you nothing but a ghost that Queen Persephone has sent my way to make me grieve even more?'

“Odysseus's mother answered thus: ‘O my ill-fated child, this is what happens when we die. The sinews do not hold us together once the spirit has left its cage of white bones. The soul flitters like a moth and flies away. That is why you must leave. Go back to the land of light as fast as you can, back to your good wife Penelope, but remember what you have seen here.'

“But while she said this, other souls gathered round, the souls of wives and daughters of gods and princes, all sent by Persephone, and each one spoke of the sorrows of the perished. Then the soul of great Achilles, noblest of the Achaians, approached, and soon Minos, too, came forward, glorious son of Zeus, and the giant Orion too. Beyond them struggled Sisyphos, trying to push the great stone up the mountain, and when he had nearly reached the summit, the pitiless boulder
rolled back down to the plain. Your master watched him try and fail again. He would never gain the summit; that was his fate.

“More of the perished gathered about Odysseus, clamoring to hear news of the living, but their noise was too great, and your master, fearing that Persephone might send some monster of the underworld after him, left that place as fast as he could and boarded his ship. Apollo's chariot could be seen in the east, so I did not fly to his ship, though I heard him cry, ‘Cast off the cables and set your oarlocks!'

“That was the last I saw of them, loyal one,” the bat says. “I do not fly by day, and so I did not follow their swift boat on its way back to Aiaia. I found a dark cavern in which to hide until the next night, and then I flew toward this land.”

For a long time I cannot speak. Finally I say, “How can I thank you, winged one, for your endeavors?”

“There is nothing you can do for me, Boar Slayer. We bats are not like other creatures fashioned by the gods. We fly, yet we are not birds. We eat insects, yet we are not reptiles. We are blind, yet we see all. That is our fate. Go now, back to your home and sleep. Your master sails ever closer, though as long as he sails over water, he faces the wrath of Poseidon. Pray to your
gods for fast winds. That is all you or anyone can do.”

Then the bat unfolds its wings and flies out of the cave, darting right and left, up and down, as is their way, until he is swallowed by the darkness completely.