Argos (25 page)

“No thank you,” said Athena, smiling humorlessly. “We are here for more important business and have little time.”

“Shortly,” said Artemis, her voice brisk, “men will begin to arrive on Ithaca.”

“For what purpose?” asked Penelope. “Are they invaders? Shall I prepare the men for war?”

“No,” said Athena. “They will not arrive for war. They will come for an altogether more … pleasant reason.”

“And what reason would that be, Pallas Athena?” asked Penelope, clearly confused.

“They will come for your hand in marriage,” said Artemis.

“But … but begging your pardon, goddesses, I am already married to the mighty Odysseus. One who has been favored by yourself, great Athena.” She paused for a moment and the next sentence came out in a rush of hurried words. “Are you trying to tell me that my husband no longer lives?”

Athena shook her head. “No, Penelope. Your husband still lives and while he breathes, will continue to have my favor. I ask this of you for a reason. We both do,” she said, indicating her sister goddess. “I want you to show yourself to these suitors. The reason for this will become clear eventually but you must do this without question.”

Penelope's face broke open in a smile brighter than the sun. I, too, felt my heart soar. My master lived! The gods had confirmed it! Penelope knelt and wrapped her arms around me.

“Did you hear that, Argos? My husband lives,” said Penelope quietly and then more loudly. “My husband lives!”

“He does indeed,” said Athena. “But focus on the task at hand.”

Penelope's stood and her smile of joy faded. I could see that she was struggling with this new burden placed upon her but dared not defy the will of these goddesses. To do so meant death. Or worse. “I do not have to marry one of them?” she asked.

Athena shook her head. “No, Penelope. I seek only to make Odysseus even greater in the eyes of the gods. Men will travel from all over the world to vie for your hand—the wife of the great Odysseus. By doing so, his fame will increase and make him all but untouchable. Even the gods will not move against him or
his family. But if I asked you to marry, would you?”

Penelope lowered her eyes, unable to meet the intense stare of the two goddesses. “I would rather die,” she said quietly. Suddenly, she looked up at Artemis. “Are you not the Goddess of childbirth and virginity? I know I am not a young maiden any longer but you are the protector of young girls. You bring and relieve disease in women. Would you make me do this?”

Artemis nodded. “I would. There is more at stake here than you would believe.”

“Then,” said Penelope, teeth gritted in anger, “take out your bow now, mighty Artemis. Shoot an arrow through my heart. Take my life and send me down to Hades.”

I felt my hackles rise. My mistress had been threatened. Goddess or not, I would not suffer her to be harmed in any way. I stood and growled low in my throat.

“Do nothing,”
commanded Athena, looking at me. I heard the words in my mind. Her lips did not move. I sensed that only she and I were privy to this private conversation.
“Sit!”

I could not defy such a command. Grudgingly, I did what I was told, even though my body demanded other actions.

Artemis smiled. “You know I will not do that, Penelope. This is a game. A game controlled by the gods. One where mortals are just pieces on a board. And you have a part to play. Play your part.”

“Entertain them. Charm them,” said Athena out loud. “Keep them waiting. For the sake of your husband.”

“To what end?” asked Penelope. Her spark of anger had gone, replaced with resignation.

“You will see,” said Athena.

Finally, Penelope nodded ever so slightly. “I will … do as you ask,” she said slowly. “I will meet with these men, however loathsome they are. What sort of man comes sniffing around another man's wife? Especially one that is not yet in the grave?”

“The worst kind,” said Artemis, her eyes suddenly cold. “You will see for yourself.”

“I need to tell my son. Telemachus needs to know the truth.”

Athena nodded. “Very well. You may tell your son. But only your son. No one else may know the truth.”

And then, as quickly as they had arrived, they were gone. Outside, the clouds resumed their frantic pace.

Penelope looked down at me. “The gods will be the unmaking of us,” she said.

I said nothing of course. I didn't need to. I agreed with every word.

True to the goddesses' words, the suitors began arriving not long after that fateful day. It was a strange affair. Most believed that Odysseus was dead. Only Athena and Artemis seemed to know he lived with any certainty. Although he had been gone for twenty years, Penelope wanted to believe they spoke the truth, but the gods played games with mortals. Even if she didn't believe the goddesses, her heart told her the truth. What wife will invite
suitors when she knows her husband still has a claim on her?

It was a ridiculous situation. All to enhance Odysseus' reputation. Did Athena really gain so much? Was her reputation enhanced by that of her chosen hero? I do not begin to understand the motives of the gods. And as for Artemis, I'm not really sure what was in it for her.

Who sent for the suitors? It certainly wasn't Penelope or anyone else on Ithaca. Did the gods visit each one and tell them to come and vie for her hand in marriage? Swaying them with words like “Odysseus has been absent for twenty years. Surely he must be dead by now. His beautiful widow, Penelope, is lonely and seeks a new husband. Perhaps that husband is you?” Would the gods really bother with such a mundane task? Perhaps they sent their messenger boy, Hermes—Odysseus' great grandfather—in their stead.

It hardly mattered though. The suitors arrived regardless. First, they dribbled in, one or two at a time. Then they started arriving in groups. Within a month, there were over a hundred of them in the palace, eating and drinking with a will, seemingly intent on exhausting all the dwindling food and wine supplies on the island.

True to her word, Penelope greeted every single one with apparent charm and grace. She was a consummate performer. Only Telemachus and I knew that she secretly detested them.

The two of us shared her loathing. We avoided the palace—particularly the main hall where the suitors mostly camped out—and took to walking for long periods of time. Telemachus knew I wasn't capable of anything other than walking and frequent
stops to rest. He didn't seem to mind but I cursed my aging body. Why couldn't dogs live as long as humans? Why were we given such short periods in which to live and love, hope and dream? It seemed unfair. We were meant to be together, as friends and companions, to help and guide. Why make the length of our lives so incompatible?

During one of our walks, we encountered Eumaeus. It wasn't a chance encounter. Eumaeus, on one of his now rare visits, had come from the palace with news of an arrival. At the time, we were resting (for my benefit) under the shade of an old cypress tree. Telemachus rose and the two men embraced. I lumbered to my feet out of politeness and Eumaeus scratched my head by way of greeting. Pleasantries exchanged, Eumaeus got swiftly to business.

“There is a new guest in the palace. He wishes to see you,” said Eumaeus.

Telemachus scowled. “I have no interest in welcoming yet another suitor, Eumaeus. Surely my mother is capable of that unpleasant task.”

Eumaeus shook his head. “This is not a suitor. He has not come for your mother's hand. In fact, he has not come for your mother at all. He has come to see you. Penelope sent me to fetch you.”

This aroused Telemachus' interest. “And who would this mysterious visitor be then?”

“Mentes, king of the Taphians,” said Eumaeus. “I met him once, years ago, when he came to pay his respects to your father. He is an old family friend and a good man.”

“And what is his business with me?” asked Telemachus.

“He would not say, only that he has important news for you, news for only your ears.”

“Well,” said Telemachus, “best we don't keep our guest waiting any longer then.”

When we returned to the palace, we found some of the insolent suitors having a celebration before the great doors to the main hall. Many of them reclined on hides of oxen slaughtered for their convenience, playing games of chance with counters and dice. Odysseus' oxen, I hasten to add. A spit had been set up and the delicious smell of roasting meat filled the air. Drooling, it took all my will power not to head in that direction.

Many of the suitors had arrived with a retinue. These servants were now busy mixing wine with water in great bowls and setting up tables so their masters could dine. One figure stood to the side, conspicuous because he was not taking part in any of the revelries.

Eumaeus pointed him out and left, insisting that he had important duties to attend to. I doubted that his business could be that important. Like Telemachus, he stayed away from the palace and the suitors as much as possible.

Telemachus greeted Mentes warmly and invited him into the main hall. With long graying hair and matching wispy beard,
Mentes appeared as an old man holding an ancient bronze spear Telemachus gave no indication that he saw anything other than that.

I was not deceived. Firstly, I could smell who it was. Secondly, it was like a flimsy image had been imposed over the appearance of the person who stood before us. I could clearly see the true shape lurking just beneath the surface. If that wasn't enough, Mentes' shadow playing against the wall didn't match. It wasn't a person at all. It was Athena.

I was surprised that Telemachus couldn't see her for what she truly was. It was so obvious. But he didn't have my eyes or my senses. This ability to see the gods in whatever form they took must have been another of Athena's many gifts to me.

But why was she here? Why not take her true form? As I've said many times, the motivations of the gods are beyond me.

Telemachus led “Mentes” to a small recess in the main hall, well away from all the suitors. Graciously, he took Mentes' spear, placing it within a rack filled with his father's own weapons.

I lay down at Telemachus' feet as he drew a pair of comfortable chairs together and the men sat, facing one another.

“Would you care for some refreshments?” asked Telemachus. “You are welcome to anything my house can offer. As you can see, my other ‘guests' are making the most of my hospitality.” It was true. Even as he spoke, suitors had filed into the hall and were now sitting at tables, gorging themselves on roast meat, washing it down with watered wine.

“No thank you,” said Mentes politely. “I will not burden you further. As you may be aware, I have been a friend of Odysseus
and his father, Laertes, before him. I came as a friend to give you news of your father.”

Telemachus sat forward on his seat eagerly. “So my father is not dead? The rumors are true. He still lives?”

Athena nodded. “Poseidon has kept him from these shores as punishment. But that punishment is now over. The gods have put a prophecy in my head. The prophecy is that Odysseus will soon return to Ithaca.” This news was almost too much for my poor old heart. It gave a start and then began hammering away excitedly. Odysseus lived and would shortly return! Athena had said as much before, but never to Telemachus. Even she wouldn't be so cruel as to tease him so. This was confirmation and the truth of it couldn't be denied. I sat upright in order to hear better over the noise in the hall.

“That is excellent news,” said Telemachus, smiling. “How I wish my father was here now, to banish these suitors that circle my mother like crows over a corpse.”

“Yes,” said Athena. “And if your father was here, they would fall before his bow and spear like saplings before a mighty wind. But in the meantime, I have a suggestion. Call a meeting of all these ‘Lords.' Tell them to leave and go home. Then, I want you to board a ship. Go to Pylos and talk to old Nestor. Nestor was your father's companion at Troy. He will guide you. Then, I want you to go to Sparta and seek counsel with Menelaus.”