Argos

by Simpson, Phillip

  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.

  I paused mid-stride, frozen with indecision and fear. It was pointless to go around to the front of the palace. I dared not confront Elatus or Amycus.

  “Get away from here,” she shouted, waving her arms angrily at me. “Queen Penelope does not need or want you.” Melantho was lying but I could hardly question her. As for an outright physical challenge, I stood no chance. Melantho had every advantage.

  She was taking liberties with her new-found power, and Penelope’s distracted state. I guess she was hoping that I would just crawl away and die. When Penelope finally regained her senses and inquired as to my whereabouts, she could then genuinely say she didn’t know.

  I had no choice but to limp away with my tail between my legs.

  I found the pigsty that had been my earlier home and curled into a ball, the better to lick my wounds. Eventually, I fell into a fitful sleep. If I had remained awake, I would’ve heard raised voices calling my name. None of the servants sent by Eumaeus to find me thought of searching the pigsty.

  I awoke at dawn unsure of how many days had passed. I was cold, hungry, and no longer alone. A colony of fleas had taken up residence on my body, torturing me with their bites. My sides were still very painful from my injuries so it was almost impossible to retaliate. I resigned myself to the fact that the fleas and I were now (for the moment at least) companions.

  I staggered to my feet and contemplated my options. I could not return to the palace. If I entered through the front gates, I would be spotted by Elatus and Amycus. I doubted whether Eumaeus’ threat would stay either of their hands for long. The entrance to the palace through the kitchens was off limits. Melantho would be watching.

  I desperately wanted to return to Penelope. I sensed that she needed me even through her gods-imposed stupor. That said, my need was perhaps greater as my stomach gave a great rumble. A dog can stoically ignore many things—injuries, fleas, inclement weather—but hunger is not one of them.

  I thought then of a place where I might be able to steal some food. The stables. Why I hadn’t thought of it earlier? A stone’s throw from the entrance to the palace and far enough away to avoid detection, I knew there would be food even if it was hardly tempting. Food more fit for horses, mules, and donkeys, but food nonetheless. With any luck, there might be some fruit.

  I hastened as fast as I was able. The longer I remained in clear view, the greater my danger. I skirted around the outside of the palace and then circled behind the stables, keeping them between the palace and myself.

  I smelled them before I got too close. The stables smelled almost as bad as the pigsties. Large piles of mule and cow dung dotted the ground around the large building.

  I slunk around, on the hunt for food but wary of any humans. There were few I could trust now.

  Eventually I found what I was after, in a pile between the palace gates and the stables. I was in plain view of the palace but I had no choice in the matter. I was probably lucky to find it in the first place. My nose, once acute, was not as powerful as it had been in my youth. The rotting food had been deposited in the same pile as the manure. There were half eaten, worm filled apples, figs, and a few slimy olives.

  I began to eat, my hunger such that I ignored the heaving of my stomach. I vomited a few times but continued to eat regardless, needing to regain my strength.

  So intent on this revolting task that I failed to hear the footsteps approach. My hearing was starting to fade along with my sense of smell, only realizing I was not alone when the feet stopped within my peripheral vision. I gave a start and looked up.

  Amycus stood there, grinning broadly. He examined me for a moment, savoring the fact that I was in such a state.

  “Hello, Argos,” he said. “It’s been a long time.” His words echoing those of his master, Elatus. With exaggerated care, he looked from side to side to ensure that we were alone. “So sad to hear about your fall from grace,” he sneered. “It seems that the gods are smiling on me. It was pure chance that I happened to look over in this direction a few moments ago. And what did I see? Poor Argos slinking around like a snake. Are you enjoying your meal, Argos? So sorry to disturb you. It looks delicious. No, don’t run away.”

  I wouldn’t exactly have called it running away. It was more like a slow limp. I knew I had no chance of escaping Amycus, but I had to try. Amycus grabbed me and dragged me back, thrusting my face into the stinking pile. “Eat some more,” he said. “Go on. Eat it. Isn’t it nice?”

  I could hardly breathe, let alone eat. I kept my mouth shut for fear that worse than rotten fruit would find its way inside.

  “I almost died, you know,” said Amycus, puffing with exertion. “That arrow almost took my life. When I recovered, Meges had me beaten for my failure in the arena. If that wasn’t enough, I was demoted. Elatus insisted I become his servant and since that time, I have had to endure more humiliation than you could dream.”

  I doubted that. Whatever Amycus had been through couldn’t compare to the suffering I had dealt with in the last few months. It wasn’t a competition though. Frustrated that I would not open my mouth, Amycus gave up. He began kicking me instead. The pain was extreme and my consciousness waned.

  It was, I suspect, the final beating of my life and thankfully, I missed most of it.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “And that is where you found me, great Cerberus, before you brought me to this place,” I say.

  “I haven’t actually brought you to this place,” says the great hound of Hades. “Your soul is still harnessed to your body. You st
ill live. Only your consciousness exists in this place—for the moment at least.”

  “I am dying then?” I ask, knowing the truth of it even before the words leave my mouth.

  “Of course,” says Cerberus. “All dogs die. All mortals die. The extra life granted you by Athena drains from your body as we speak. Only your will to live keeps your heart beating.”

  “What happens when I die?” I ask.

  Cerberus’ central head grins at me. It is a fearsome sight although he probably intends it to be reassuring. “For dogs, nothing. Your body rots and your soul dissipates, joining the stars in the sky. There is no life after death for lowly creatures such as yourself. There is only nothingness.”

  I hoped for a different response but at least he is being honest.

  “And what of humans?” I ask. “What happens to them?” I know most of this already, of course, but I am fishing for information. Information about my fate and that of my master, Odysseus.

  “Their souls come here,” says Cerberus. “Not all to the same place though. Past these gates lie the fields of Asphodel. They are for those ordinary souls. Those humans who did not commit crimes; who lived modest lives. Most humans go to the fields of Asphodel.”

  “What happens to those who do commit crimes? Those with evil in their hearts.” I think of Meges, Elatus, Red and Plump, and even Melantho. But mostly my thoughts turn to Amycus.

  “Ah,” says Cerberus, his voice like the slow rumble of distant thunder. “Those souls go to Tartarus. There is no darker place or worse fate for mankind. It is filled with poisonous gas and monsters more terrifying than myself. It is where Zeus cast the Titans after their defeat. Even his father, Cronus, was not spared the horrors of Tartarus.”

  I feel satisfied by this response. Elatus and Amycus in particular, deserve this fate.

  “Then there are the fields of punishment,” continues Cerberus. “Reserved for those who have committed crimes against the gods. My master, Hades, invents specific punishments for each resident, one that fits their crime.”

  “Is there no other place for souls to reside in Hades?” I ask innocently. I know there is, of course. I just want Cerberus to tell me about it.

  Cerberus smiles knowingly which only serves to terrify me. “You speak of Elysium.”

  “Tell me about it,” I plead.

  “Many think there is no beauty in this realm,” he says. “For the most part, they are correct. The exception is Elysium. It is a place of great beauty, filled with pristine meadows and woods. Darkness is banished from that place. There are animals there—animals used for the purposes of hunting, to be killed and eaten. The next day, their bodies are resurrected from their bones.”

  “So animals are allowed into Hades after all?” I ask.

  Cerberus shakes his great central head. “Not in the sense that you are thinking of. These are special animals, bred by my master.”

  “And who gets to dwell in this beautiful realm?”

  “Heroes,” says Cerberus. “Those who have led an especially distinguished life. Those who have honored the gods. The virtuous. As you can imagine, the place is not particularly crowded.” Cerberus laughs at his own joke and a blast of hot, fetid air almost knocks me over.

  “Will my master, Odysseus, go to Elysium?” I ask.

  This time, all three of Cerberus’ great heads nod in unison. “It is likely. He is one of the greatest heroes known to the gods. But the gods do argue about who is worthy of such an honor. From what you have told me, Athena will argue on his behalf. Probably his great-grandfather, Hermes, too. There will be gods, like Poseidon and Apollo, who do not want him to enter, however. Mighty Zeus ultimately determines who dwells in this beautiful place.”

  I nod thoughtfully. Of all people, my master deserves to spend eternity in Elysium. I hope that the gods will be gracious enough to allow Penelope and Telemachus to join him. I know from experience, however, that the gods are not always gracious or fair.

  “I know you are concerned about the fate of your master, Argos, and it serves you well,” continues Cerberus. “But now you must turn your attention to yourself. Your life ebbs and you must be on Ithaca when the spark finally fades from your body. Shortly, I will return you to the mortal realm.”

  “Must I go so soon?” I ask. I mean it too. I have enjoyed talking to Cerberus, savored his company, relished our shared interests. Not only that, but I have enjoyed being in a young body again, comfortable and free from pain.

  Cerberus nods his head. “You must. There is something you must see.” He pauses for a moment and bows all three heads slightly in my direction. “It has been an honor to meet you, Argos, and I feel privileged that you have shared the story of your life with me. You and I have much in common. We are both everlasting in our loyalty toward our respective masters.”

  “Thank you, great Cerberus,” I say, bowing low before him. “The honor is all mine.”

  “I will never forget you,” says Cerberus. “I will pray to the gods that you and I will meet again.”

  “I would enjoy that,” I say, even as I feel my spirit body dissipating. Suddenly, the dark realm of Hades is gone. I open my eyes and find myself back on the dung pile. It is somewhat of an anticlimax.

  I lie on that dung pile for the next few days, feeling my life slip away from me. I cling resolutely to those feeble strands, stubbornly refusing to die. Fleas feast on my body unmolested.

  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 t
o 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.”