Argos (29 page)

I am in constant pain and my thirst is a terrible thing. My only consolation is that neither Amycus nor Elatus come to gloat or beat me again. They are probably both too drunk to stand. It is only a small consolation but it's better than nothing.

In the distance, outside the palace gates, I see two figures approaching but do not recognize them straight away. They stride through the gates, intent on heading straight to the palace. As luck would have it, their path ensures that they pass my ignominious resting place.

As they approach, I recognize Eumaeus. My heart leaps, filled with sudden hope. At first, I do not recognize the second figure. Then, as they get nearer, I suddenly become aware of who it is. Who I have longed to see for the last twenty years.

My master, my beloved master, Odysseus has finally returned to me!

It is the happiest moment of my life. Incapable of nothing other than the barest movement now, all I can manage is a slight
raising of my head. I don't even have the strength to bark.

Both figures stop to look at me. I realize, belatedly, that there is something wrong with both of them.

Odysseus is dressed in rags and wears the body of an old beggar. Sitting downwind, I can also detect a vague hint of the “god aroma.” Judging by Eumaeus' body language, he doesn't recognize Odysseus at all. The gods have disguised my master. For what purpose, I do not know. It breaks my heart when Odysseus does not hasten to my side, to hold me one last time, pat my head and provide comfort before death claims me.

As for Eumaeus, likewise I keep expecting him to rush over and aid me. When he does not, I sense that the gods have also done something to him, stifling his emotions and impulses like they had with Penelope. Playing him like a puppet on a string.

As Eumaeus and my disguised master look on, I catch mention of myself. The wind, or perhaps the gods, ensure that I hear them clearly.

“Eumaeus,” says Odysseus, in a voice thick with emotion. It is a voice I know and love. “That must have been a fine dog over there. He is built strongly. Old as he is, he must have once been the greatest of dogs. Was he just for show or was he once as good as I think?” As he brushes away a tear from his eye, I feel something snap inside me. Odysseus is playing the game of the gods, pretending that he doesn't know me in order to surprise the suitors. He will show his hand if he gives any indication of the bond we share. I wish it could be otherwise. I would give anything for him to pat me one more time.

If I was not certain before that Odysseus had been disguised
by the gods, I am when I hear Eumaeus' response.

“This dog belonged to the master of Ithaca, the great Odysseus, gone these last twenty years,” he says. “His name is Argos. He was but a pup when Odysseus left for Troy. You should have seen him in his youth. The fastest dog you have ever seen. A great hunter, too. Once killed a giant boar sent from the darkest depths of Tartarus. But Odysseus is not here now and Argos is all but forgotten. No one cares for him any longer.”

Clearly, these are not the words of Eumaeus. I know he is nothing but a god's mouthpiece.

Odysseus hesitates for a moment, conflicted by his desire to comfort me but unwilling to reveal his true identity. Then, mind made up, he approaches and kneels at my side.

He lifts my head in his strong hands and our eyes meet. Tears are running down his cheeks. I want to lick them away but lack the strength.

I wag my tail. It is the only thing I can do even though every scrap of my being howls for more. Odysseus is the only reason I still hold onto life. The reason I have stayed alive for the last twenty years.

I feel my life fading but some force keeps me tethered to my body.

Brusquely, Odysseus wipes away his tears and stands to confront Eumaeus who has ambled over.

“Eumaeus,” he says, and I hear the ring of authority in his voice. It is not the voice of a beggar. “Eumaeus, do you know me?”

Eumaeus looks confused for a moment. He lowers his head and shakes it, much like a dog shaking its coat after a swim in
the sea. When he raises it again, I can see that his eyes are clearer.

“You are no beggar,” he says at last.

“No,” says Odysseus. “No, I am not. I want to show you something.” Swiftly, he unravels the rags around his legs, revealing a familiar scar. I was there when he received it from the Hades spawned boar. Eumaeus's eyes widen in surprise and wonderment—he knows it just as well as I.

“It's me,” says Odysseus. “Your friend. Athena has disguised me. I have returned to claim my wife and deal with these suitors”

Eumaeus smiles so wide I fear his face will fall off. He embraces Odysseus warmly, all traces of the god-imposed spell falling from him like leaves in an autumn storm. “Welcome home, my lord Odysseus,” he says, tears washing down his face. “I have missed you.”

“I have missed you too, Eumaeus,” says Odysseus, returning the embrace warmly. “Now, will you help me?”

“Of course,” says Eumaeus. “What do you want me to do?”

“When we are inside,” says Odysseus, “lock the doors to ensure the suitors cannot escape. When the time comes, help me destroy them.”

Eumaeus blows out his cheeks. “If you had asked me that twenty years ago, I probably would have soiled myself. Now I'm the veteran of countless battles and my strong spear arm is yours.”

“Good man,” says Odysseus, clapping him on the shoulder. He turns to me again and kneels once more at my side. Eumaeus joins him, his forehead creased with worry. Both men lay their hands on my body.

“I'm sorry, my lord,” says Eumaeus, crying again. “Something
came over me. It was like I had no memory of my relationship with Argos. I swear that I had no idea he was here in this state. If I'd known … ” Eumaeus trails off, sobbing. Odysseus reaches out and places his other huge hand on the back of his friend.

“I know, Eumaeus. This is not your doing. I sense the hands of the gods here. Do not blame yourself.” My master pauses for a moment, deep in thought, stroking my head gently. “There is nothing we can do for Argos at the moment,” he says finally. “To do so would be to arouse the suspicions of the suitors.”

Odysseus speaks the truth. Already, some passing suitors and their servants are glancing our way suspiciously.

“We must deal with them first and then we will come back for Argos,” concludes Odysseus. He looks down at me. “Argos, dear Argos. Hold on, my old friend. I will come back for you shortly.” Odysseus stands again, his face grim.

“Come, Eumaeus,” he says. “We have unfinished business in my hall.”

The two men stride off in that direction. As they do so, I hear Odysseus ask Eumaeus a question.

“How many battles exactly?”

“Two,” says Eumaeus. “Actually, one and a bit.”

“Better than none,” says my master and I know from his tone that he is smiling.

I watch them go, determined to live until my master returns. But my traitorous body has other ideas. My consciousness fades and I think that this is the end, saddened that I cannot hold on to my tenuous grip of life for a few moments longer. I remember the words of Cerberus, that death was just that. An ending. There is nothing that awaited me. There is only nothingness. Everything that I am, gone forever, dispersed into the waiting sky.

But Cerberus has lied to me. His father is Typhon after all, a Titan feared by even Zeus himself, now banished to Tartarus. He is a god in animal form and like all gods, doesn't always play by the rules. If I have learnt anything in my life, this is it. Never trust the gods.

I feel a dizzying sense of tumbling—not through space, but rather something else, something intangible. And then, I am lying down before Cerberus again. I rouse myself and stand, once more in my youthful body.

“Greetings again, Argos,” rumbles the great dog. “It seems we were fated to meet sooner than expected.”

I look around, shaken and a little disorientated. I did not expect this.

“How did I get here?” I ask. “Wasn't I meant to be ferried over the Styx by Charon? What of the coin to pay my passage?”

Cerberus seems to smile at me. “Don't be so hasty, Argos. You are not dead. Not yet at any rate. Soon, though. Are you so impatient for death?”

I shake my head. “No,” I say. “My master has just returned. I would like to spend more time with him.”

“We shall see,” rumbles Cerberus. “But first you need to watch something.”

“What?” I ask.

“Impatience again, Argos? You have waited twenty years, a few more moments will make little difference.” Cerberus waves one massive paw. “Watch.”

A large oval portal appears before us, showing the world above. It is like I am there, so clear is my view. The vision shows us the inside of the great hall. All of the suitors are gathered. Telemachus, newly returned from Sparta, Eumaeus, and the disguised Odysseus stand amongst them.

Penelope stands on the dais beneath Odysseus' throne. Her eyes are cloudy and she looks around with disinterest. Odysseus' great bow lies in her hands. The bow once given to Odysseus by Apollo, long before he lost that God's favor. Suddenly, she lifts it into the air.

“Hear me now,” she says and I know the words are Athena's. “I swear by all the gods that I will marry the first man who can string this bow and shoot it through a line of twelve axes.”

There is great excitement in the hall. The suitors shuffle out of the way as Telemachus sets up the axes. Telemachus is the first to try. Don't ask me why he wants to be part of the contest in the first place. I think he is just trying to impress his father.

Just as Telemachus is about to succeed, Odysseus places a gentle hand on his arm. Telemachus, with a knowing smile, admits defeat and passes it to the first suitor.

I recognize this man, but I do not know his name. Cleverly, he stretches the bow first and covers it with grease to make it supple. He needn't have bothered. He fails in his attempt just like every single one of the suitors that follow him.

Finally, a suitor named Eurymachus picks up the bow. Despite his best efforts, he can't string it either.

Antinous, self-proclaimed leader of the suitors steps forward and takes the bow from Eurymachus.

“Brothers,” he says, “clearly the gods are not with us today. Let us adjourn until tomorrow. Tonight we will make sacrifices to Apollo, lord of archers, and try again.” He hands the bow to Eumaeus for safekeeping.

“No,” says Odysseus, stepping forward. “Let me try.”

“W
ho are you?” asks Antinous, looking Odysseus up and down with undisguised contempt.

“He is a son of Castor,” Telemachus lies swiftly. “I will vouch for him.”

There is shouting from the back of the hall. Elatus pushes his way to the front. “Vouch or not,” he shouts, “this man should not be allowed to try. Where has he been before now? The rest of us have done our time, waited months for our opportunity. He swaggers in here and thinks he is our equal. Look at the way he is dressed. He is just a common beggar. I say no.” Many other voices are raised in agreement. I want to bite them.

“I also agree with Elatus,” says Antinous. He pats Odysseus on the back in a condescending manner. “I think you have had too much wine, my friend. It's gone to your head.”

“Eumaeus,” says Telemachus softly. “Give our friend the bow.”

With a smile, Eumaeus hands the bow to Odysseus. Almost too quickly for the eye to follow, Odysseus strings the bow and sends an arrow straight through all twelve axes. The arrow snaps against the far wall and clatters to the floor.

There is absolute stunned silence within the hall. I realize I am holding my breath.

With hardly a pause, I watch as Odysseus notches another arrow. This one he fires straight through the throat of Antinous. The odious man falls to the floor clutching his neck and choking on his own blood.

Not one of the suitors knows what to do. Panicked shouts fill the air. Some of the suitors begin looking around for weapons. Calmly, Odysseus holds his hand up for silence.