Argos (27 page)

This night, pickings were slim. I had left my attack too late and servants had already cleaned up underneath the majority
of the tables. Only one remained but three men sat there. Two were groggy, their heads down, but one was still upright and reasonably alert, glugging regularly from his goblet.

I was tired and a little dizzy with hunger. I had not eaten anything in three days, having been discovered in the hall each time by Melantho. At first, I had received only the odd nervous kick, as if she feared the sudden appearance of Penelope. Her beatings were gradually becoming worse, as she realized that her treatment of me would now go unpunished. Unable to ignore the pleas of my growling stomach no longer, I cautiously slipped under the table. I immediately found a half-chewed bone. To my delirious senses, it was the most delicious thing I had ever seen or smelt. The wise course of action would have been to immediately flee with my prize. But I didn't. Hungry dogs are not usually wise ones. I did not think of the consequences, merely of satisfying my desperate hunger.

Although the rest of my body had succumbed to age, my teeth were not amongst the victims. I still possessed the majority of them and they were certainly up to the task of destroying a bone. I attacked it, enjoying the immensely satisfying sound of crunching bone and then the delicious taste of marrow sliding down my throat. Of course, the crunching sounds underneath the table were sufficient to arouse the attention of those above me.

A bearded face suddenly appeared next to mine, cheeks flushed and bleary-eyed.

“And what do we have here?” he slurred. “A thief in the night?”

I should have run off right then. But I didn't. I was hungry and comfortable and did not want to be disturbed. Without
taking my jaws off my bone, I growled deep in my throat, hoping the sound would serve as sufficient deterrent. It didn't.

“Ah,” he said, “an insolent, angry thief. What shall we do with such a creature?” His face disappeared for a moment as he roused his companions. “You two. Wake up. I have us some sport.”

I heard sounds of drunken coughing and another figure above me stirred. A new face appeared level with my own. The gods had certainly abandoned me. Of all the suitors in the room, it had to be him. Elatus.

He looked at me for a moment while his eyes tried to focus. I hoped he would not recognize me. Age and starvation had changed me a great deal. His wits were addled by drink; surely, he wouldn't know me?

“Well, look who it is,” Elatus slurred drunkenly. “My old friend, Argos. How are you, old friend? It's been a long time. Time hasn't been very good to you. You look nothing like the dog I remember from my father's arena.”

I suppose I should've been grateful that Amycus was not with him. As a servant, Amycus was not permitted to dine in the great hall. He would be entertained in the grounds outside the palace.

I thought again about fleeing but now the bearded man and one other had taken up station on my other side. There was definitely sport to be had here, and they would not miss out on it. Men like these have a nose for such things.

Elatus reached under the table with an unsteady hand. I thought at first that he was trying to grab me but then I realized that I was not his target. He was going for my bone. My food. If I had been less hungry, I would've let him have it. That would have
been the wise course of action. But I was not thinking clearly and I let the instinctual part of my nature take over. I let go of my bone and snapped down on his hand.

Elatus yelped and snatched back his hand. I think my bite surprised him more than anything but I had, gratifyingly, drawn blood.

Too late, I tried to escape but I was no longer Argos the swift. Now, I was just Argos the old. Everywhere I turned, legs blocked my path. Someone handed Elatus a spear and he crouched down, stabbing and trying to get me out in the open. I don't think his intent was to kill me—not yet at least.

I retreated as far back under the table as I could, trying to evade Elatus' spear thrusts. He had stabbed me twice already, minor wounds but painful and taxing nonetheless. I did not give him the satisfaction of yelping.

Suddenly, my rear legs were pulled out from under me and I was dragged unceremoniously into the open. There were men standing all around, laughing and jeering. A few were armed with spears and began hitting me with the butts.

Drunk with wine and bloodlust, Elatus' laughs were the loudest. Now was his chance to humiliate me properly. I had beaten his prize dog in a race and made a mockery of his contest with the rhinoceros in the arena. I had caused him to lose face. That could not go unpunished. Now, in the palace of Odysseus no less, he would drag this out to the fullest extent. I would not die quickly.

The tumult roused the other sleeping men in the hall. A crowd gathered and began jostling the others for a better view.
Some of the suitors began to make wagers on how long I would last. Elatus reversed his spear and brought it down hard on my head. I must have passed out for a moment for when I could see clearly, stars darted across my vision.

Elatus dropped his spear and waded in, pushing against the throng, kicking me repeatedly with his heavily sandaled feet. I felt a sharp pain as one of my ribs snapped.

Finally, one of the less drunk suitors pulled Elatus off. “That's enough, Elatus. You'll kill the dog if this goes any further.”

“That's the general idea,” said Elatus, pushing the man away. He launched into another flurry of attacks. Finally, breathing heavily, he stopped. “Bring me oil,” he shouted above the cheering and general commotion that filled the hall.

Someone placed an oil flask in his hand. With relish, Elatus poured it over my body. When my fur was drenched, he threw the flask at me.

“Get a fire going outside,” he commanded. “I have the perfect fuel for it.”

Several men lifted me from the ground. I did not even have the strength left to struggle. They were almost to the doors when a voice froze them in their tracks.

“Stop!” All eyes turned to the doorway leading outside. Eumaeus stood there, his eyes blazing. “Put him down. The next man who touches him will wish they had never been born.”

In all fairness, his threat carried little weight. Eumaeus was hardly a seasoned warrior and the suitors now outnumbered the palace guards. If they had wanted to, they could have easily ignored his command. But the suitors were there for one purpose—to win
Penelope's hand in marriage. They knew I was Penelope's favorite dog even though they were ignorant of her current state. Anyone who harmed me would be looked upon with disfavor, their chances of a happy wedding precisely zero. Eumaeus would see to it.

The men holding me lowered me to the ground. None too gently I might add.

Eumaeus pushed through the crowd and knelt down next to me, stroking my head gently.

“Who is responsible for this?” he demanded, glaring at the faces that surrounded us.

No one spoke. I noticed that Elatus had disappeared. At first, I was surprised that fingers were not pointed at him. If Elatus lost favor, that would be one less suitor for the others to contend with. But then I realized more was at stake than just the hand of a beautiful woman. Many of these “lords” were sons of kings. Kings-in-waiting. Kings formed alliances and Meges was considered a powerful one. For these young lords, betraying one of their own meant losing a valuable ally in the future.

“Very well,” said Eumaeus after some time, seeing that no response was forthcoming. “Be warned. If anyone touches Argos again, I will pray to the gods that their soul be sent to Tartarus.”

I heard an uneasy murmur at this. All the suitors gathered knew that Odysseus was once a favorite of the gods. To dishonor him was to anger the gods. They could not ignore such a threat.

Two guards scurried up, lifting my scrawny body. “Take him to my quarters,” Eumaeus commanded. “Fetch the healer.”

Eumaeus stood, raking the assembled suitors with his eyes. None dared meet his fiery gaze.

I
must have slept or perhaps passed out again. When I regained consciousness, I found myself lying on a small pallet. I was next to a sunlit window and the pleasant sensation of warmth was flooding my body. Unfortunately, I hurt everywhere. My sides and head ached and my entire torso was swathed in linen bandages.

I became aware of my surroundings. I was in Eumaeus' quarters within the palace—rooms he rarely used.

Awakening from a severe injury had become an all-too often occurrence in my life. The attendant risks of being the dog of a warrior king, I guess. I could already tell this time would be different, however. Normally my injuries would heal swiftly; the bones knitting together, the bruises subsiding without thought. Not this time. My life was drawing to an end and with it, the
powers that Athena had blessed me with.

Nearby, Eumaeus and the healer were having a tense conversation. I still did not know his name. It almost seemed fitting that I did not. A nameless healer tending to an old dog that would shortly be forgotten.

“He is dying,” I heard the healer say, confirming my suspicions.

“Is there nothing you can do?” asked Eumaeus. Tears on his cheeks glinted in the early morning sunlight. “He is part of this family. Argos is my master's favorite dog and the closest friend to his son.”

The healer shook his head. “I'm afraid not. He will no doubt linger on for some weeks to come, but he is old and old dogs do not generally recover well from injuries such as these. I can give him something for the pain though.”

Eumaeus nodded and clumsily swiped away his tears. “Please do.”

“Make him comfortable and keep him warm,” said the healer, packing his sachet and making to leave. “His last days will pass peacefully enough.”

I think under normal circumstances, I would have been relieved to hear these words. I was an old dog, older than any dog had a right to be. I had experienced great joy and great pain during my time. Death would be welcomed.

But I couldn't die just yet. I had spent the majority of my life waiting for the return of the most important person in my life. My master. Odysseus. Now that I knew he was so close, I would not allow my body to betray me. In my long life, short as it must
seem to humans, I had been stabbed, poisoned, beaten half to death, and imprisoned. I had endured hardship, starvation, and loss. I was not an easy dog to kill. Despite what the healer believed, I would live. Live long enough to at least see Odysseus one more time. It would, I know, be a struggle but I had overcome worse in my time. Death was just another spear to dodge. Eventually Hades would find his mark but only on my terms.

My stubborn pride could not abide any other outcome.

Another week went by. Still Odysseus did not return. Nor did his son. I gradually recovered some of my strength even though I was still as weak as a newly weaned pup. The healer mixed up a concoction that dulled the pain somewhat.

Eumaeus was an attentive nursemaid but he was also responsible for other matters outside the palace. I was strong enough to get to my feet now but only just. During one of Eumaeus' absences, I felt the call of nature. I would not embarrass myself by soiling my bed—especially in Eumaeus' chamber. Weak as I was, I insisted on going outside. On every other occasion, Eumaeus had accompanied me, helping me stagger out through the kitchens to the rear of the palace where I could conduct my business in relative privacy, keeping my dignity intact. This had the added benefit of avoiding the suitors.

My bladder protested hotly. I could not deny its urgency.
I stumbled upright and tottered out into the corridor, finding my way through the kitchens and to the isolated spot where I normally went. I relieved myself with a sigh and then made to enter the palace once again.

The doorway was blocked by a solid presence. My heart sank. It was Melantho, arms crossed over her ample breasts. Her scowl would have frightened the most fearsome creatures lurking in the depths of Tartarus.

“And where do you think you're going?” she demanded.