Argos (13 page)

He halted just in front of us and I moved toward him, rubbing my head against his leg. He patted my head fondly.

“I have to go now, my queen,” he said.

“I know,” said Penelope, getting to her feet.

He embraced her warmly and kissed her on the lips. Telemachus was next, receiving a fond caress and a kiss on his forehead. “Be a good boy for your mother.”

Then it was my turn. Odysseus bent down and wrapped his arms around me. “Look after my family, Argos. Keep them free from harm.” To show I understood, I licked his face. Odysseus smiled and after one last hug, stood and made his way back toward the ships.

“Return to me safely, my husband,” urged Penelope to his retreating back.

“I will,” he promised, turning for a moment and meeting her gaze. “I love you. I will be home before you know it.”

I
pined for Odysseus every single day. Not a moment went by when I did not think about him. I would often journey down to the beach every time I saw a sail so I would be there when he arrived home. Each time was the same. A ship would arrive, goods were loaded and unloaded, people would embark and disembark. Not one of them was my master.

I sank into depression. I missed him terribly, like a piece of me had sailed over the seas with him. I think it was my heart.

Athena's prophecy came true. A week passed and then a month. The months became seasons and then stretched into years. I knew how to count the passage of time by the seasons and realized after a while that almost ten years had passed. Odysseus still had not returned.

I never lost hope and still haven't. My master will return to
me one day. I feel it in my bones. I will never give up on him.

Telemachus grew into a strong boy who I knew would make Odysseus proud. He was a handsome lad, inheriting the finer features of his mother rather than the blunt, rugged face of his father. He had his father's strong wrestler's build and excelled at all athletic pursuits. Quiet and a bit of a loner, Telemachus was prone to sit isolated, lost in thought. I suspected that he missed the father he had never truly known.

I would often accompany him, knowing he welcomed my company because I was just as comfortable with silence as he was.

I spent more time with him than Penelope because I realized that he needed my protection more. He was young, and like all young animals, made poor decisions. I gravitated toward his company because he reminded me of Odysseus. He was the closest thing to my master I could find. But our relationship went both ways. We played together and he would often groom me, combing the fleas from my coat and gently untangling matted hair. Knowing how much I had meant to Odysseus, he strove to understand his father through me. We needed each other.

I still slept in the hallway outside Odysseus' and Penelope's bedchamber. Telemachus would have welcomed me in his room but I steadfastly refused any invitation. His room was adjacent to his parents'. By positioning myself in the hallway, I could keep watch on both of them. Not that I needed to. The gods, it seemed, had lost interest in us now that Odysseus had left Ithaca.

The exception was during storms for Telemachus became very fearful during lightning storms. Perhaps he had a dim memory of the God Apollo standing over his cot with a knife.

One particular night, a few years after Odysseus' departure, a powerful storm hit the island. Fearsome winds threatened to rip the tiles off the palace roof. The rain was so heavy it was impossible to hear anything above the steady drumming. The flashes of lightning were intense, almost as though Zeus himself was hurling his deadly bolts in the sky directly above us. Thunder shook the palace walls down to their very foundations.

I was as frightened as every other inhabitant of the palace. Well almost. There was one who was more frightened than others. Telemachus.

Telemachus had left his door ajar, probably hoping I would join him. A flash of lightning briefly illuminated Telemachus sitting up in bed, his linen bedsheets clutched tightly to his chest, his face a mask of terror. I could see the relief plainly etched on his face as I hastened to the side of the bed and sat within easy reach of his questing hand. When the lightning flashed again, he stretched out his hand and placed it on my head. We were both reassured by the contact. The hand remained on my head the entire night and even when I was sure he was asleep, I did not move for fear of waking him. After that night, it became my custom to sit beside his bed, to protect and comfort him while he slept.

I never transferred my affections completely to Telemachus because I would always be Odysseus' dog, and felt that if I did so, I would show disloyalty to my master. But Telemachus and I shared a close bond nonetheless.

Penelope was stronger than Telemachus and besides, had many servants and companions to keep her company. Even so,
I knew she missed Odysseus as much as I. When the bedroom door was ajar, I sometimes saw tears rolling down her beautiful cheeks.

As for myself, well, I was getting older. I wouldn't say that I was getting old but I was probably just past my prime. I still felt strong and healthy and could run almost as swiftly as I had in my youth, but the passage of the years was taking its toll. My natural love of food had ensured I had put on a little weight and sometimes, in the depths of winter, my joints ached.

My time was not just spent in Telemachus' or Penelope's company. I had a reputation as a hunting dog without peer, thanks to Odysseus' boasting and my own innate abilities. As a result, many of the young men in Odysseus' household who had been too young for war took me out hunting with them.

Although immensely enjoyable, these adventures were always tinged with sadness. Sadness that Odysseus was not here to enjoy the hunt with me.

I often thought about what he would be doing. Would he be preparing to fight? Donning his armor perhaps? Sharpening his sword? Perhaps he was actually engaged in combat. Such thoughts always set my heart hammering in fear. Fear that my master would be injured or killed without me to protect him. I hated the thought that he might die alone without his family or me by his side.

Eumaeus spent as much time as he could with us, often joining us out during our explorations. I had noticed that he came to the palace less and less, as if the memories of his friend it contained were too painful. Perhaps he didn't like seeing Penelope miserable?

If he was bitter at having been left behind, he gave no sign. Eumaeus wasn't a warrior after all. His place was with his pigs but I knew that if Odysseus had asked him to join him, he would've jumped at the opportunity. He missed his friend terribly.

I often wondered why Odysseus didn't take him to Troy. Even without the skills of a warrior, I am sure that Eumaeus could've made himself useful. I suspect that Odysseus had been loath to endanger the life of his friend.

One spring day, Eumaeus found us down at the beach. Telemachus and I gravitated toward the area, always hopeful to spot a sail on the horizon. Telemachus was practicing shooting game birds with a new bow without much success. There were only two birds in his bag—birds that I had dutifully fetched for him.

“Greetings, Telemachus,” Eumaeus said, a huge smile on his bearded face. I ran up to him joyfully and he scratched me behind my ears. “And to you also, Argos.”

“Eumaeus!” said Telemachus, running up to the big man. “I've missed you. Where have you been?”

“A swineherd is never idle,” he said. “Pig pens to muck out. Pigs to feed. Come, sit with me, Telemachus.”

Man and boy sat down on a large boulder facing the sea. The wind was blowing from the east. When the wind blew from that direction, I always raised my head, hoping to catch the scent of my master. As always, I was disappointed.

“Don't you have others to do those things for you, Eumaeus?”

“I do,” said Eumaeus. “But that's not how things are done on Ithaca. A man leads by example. Your father taught me that. I
will not sit idly by and watch while my men work hard. Besides,” he said, winking at me knowingly, “it's a way to keep my belly from growing.” He patted his stomach affectionately. I noticed that it had expanded over the last ten years. Eumaeus had clearly been rewarding himself for his hard work with an overabundance of food. A man after my own heart.

“Have you ever travelled, Eumaeus?” asked the boy, suddenly serious.

“You mean around Ithaca? Of course. It's not a big island. I think I've seen every part of it.”

“No,” said Telemachus. “Stop being silly, Uncle. I mean over there,” he said, nodding in the direction of the sea. “Over the great green.”

Eumaeus shook his head slowly. “No. The sea does not agree with me. A strange thing to say for a man raised on an island but that is the truth.”

“Is that why my father did not take you with him?”

“Of course not. Odysseus would have laughed every time I threw up. He did not ask me to join him because I am not a warrior. A battlefield is no place for a swineherd.”

“Do you miss him?”

Eumaeus laughed. “Every single day. Some days he would frustrate me, sending me on some errand or insisting that I accompany him, even though he knew I had other responsibilities. But he is a great man and I love him.”

“Tell me again what he is like, Eumaeus.”

“Well, he isn't tall like me but he has huge shoulders. A wrestler's shoulders. You remind me of him, Telemachus, but you
are much more handsome than your father. Not that his lack of good looks stopped him. How he managed to wed one of the most beautiful women around is still a mystery to me. Must be that wit of his.”

Telemachus lapped this up eagerly, even though we had both heard it many times.

“He loves you, Telemachus,” continued the big man. “And your mother. That's why he left his most treasured possession behind.”

“You mean Argos?” asked Telemachus.

“I do,” said Eumaeus, nodding. “He knew he couldn't take you or your mother with him. But it broke his heart to leave Argos behind, especially because like you, he only got to spend just over a year with him. A dog like Argos can be enjoyed for many years. He left Argos behind to take care of you, to watch over you. And Argos has certainly done that,” he said, scratching me under the chin.

“Do you think my father still lives?” asked Telemachus, a hopeful note in his voice.

Eumaeus nodded. “Of course. A man like your father is too crafty to die on the battlefield. He's more likely to die in his bed of old age.”

“When do you think he will come home?”

“When the job is done. When the war is won. I have heard rumors. It might be soon now, Telemachus. But I shouldn't fill your head with false hopes. The gods are fickle. Ultimately, it will be up to them to decide when and if your father returns safely.”

Telemachus said nothing. He stared out at the dark sea as if
hoping to catch a glimpse of his father. Eumaeus patted him on the back. “I would not worry too much, my boy. Even the gods would think twice about angering Odysseus.”

“Tell me again of the boar, Uncle. The great boar sent from Hades to kill my father.”

Eumaeus nodded. I sighed with pleasure and laid down at Eumaeus' feet. Even though I had heard the story countless times, I never tired of hearing about my master.

Other burdens pressed upon young Telemachus. He would be king of Ithaca one day. In fact, he was already king in all but name. News that the war against Troy had ended reached the island and yet Odysseus still did not return. Most of the inhabitants of Ithaca believed that Odysseus was dead. You could tell the ones who did. I always knew by their attitude toward Telemachus, how they bowed, using their words cautiously for fear of causing offense. The minority who still believed that Odysseus lived were much more relaxed around the boy.

Penelope was still Queen, however. She ran the palace and made all the decisions. That would not change unless Odysseus returned or when Telemachus became of age. Until then though, Telemachus had several duties required of him.