Argos (22 page)

O
nce the suitors had left and Odysseus's palace was dark, with only a handful of servants still cleaning, Telemachos turned to Odysseus and asked quietly, “Noble father, do you have a plan to overcome the suitors? We are but two still, and they number more than one hundred.”

I snarled at the mention of the suitors, and noble Odysseus said, “There are three of us, I believe. Is that not so, pup?”

I licked my lips, baring my sharpest teeth, and they both laughed.

“Truly, I say to you, I believe this loyal one is ready to send more than a few of them to their fates,” Telemachos said.

“We shall see soon enough,” Odysseus said, turning serious, and scratching my ears. Then he said, “Tonight, my son, go
through the house and make sure all of my armor and weapons are hidden. When the suitors return in the morning, we must ensure they leave their spears and swords outside. That will give us the advantage. Now it is late and I must make more plans tonight, as well as give thanks to Athena, for she is my protector.”

Noble Telemachos rose and left to do Odysseus's bidding. I stood with him, but he said, “Stay, loyal one. I have no enemies here, but my father does. Guard him tonight, for the servants may think him only a beggar.”

And so I remained with Odysseus. Some time later, a servant girl appeared in the door and called out to us. “Stranger,” she said. “My mistress would speak to you if you are still awake.”

“I am,” Odysseus said, rising. “Take me to the lady.”

I followed them into the palace. The servant girl took Odysseus into the sitting room, where Penelope waited for him, and I entered too. A fire warmed the room, and a fleece had been spread out over a chair for Odysseus to sit upon.

“Stranger, welcome, and please make yourself comfortable,” Queen Penelope said, smiling. “And who is this lion that accompanies you?”

How unlike dogs did the gods make men! No dog could resist wagging its tail upon seeing his mate after twenty years,
and yet Odysseus revealed nothing, but said, “My queen, this is Leander, a loyal dog sent by your son to guard me against the suitors who bear me ill.”

When he had seated himself, and I beside him, Mistress Penelope said, “Please do not take offense, but I have some questions for you, stranger. First, who are you and where are you from? Where is your city? Who are your parents? I think I see in you noble lineage, but it is covered in rags and torn clothing.”

Then did Odysseus answer, “Lady, no man could take offense to these questions. Your faithfulness is known as far as the farthest islands and goes up into Olympus itself. But ask me not my name and lineage, I beg you, for the answers will fill my heart with grief, and it is not right that it should do so in a house in mourning such as this.”

“Stranger, your words are fine and well said,” my mistress replied. “Truly, this is a house of grief and has been since my husband left for Ilion. As you saw tonight, the suitors, all powerful men, lords of their estates across Ithaka, wear my house out. For years now they have pressed me to marry one of them, but I weave my own plans. I set up a loom here in this room and said to them all, ‘Young men, my suitors, it may be that great Odysseus is perished, and his father, King Laertes, lies
near death himself from grief. When I finish weaving this shroud for him, then I will choose one of you.' And so each day I spin and weave at my great loom, and each night I burn what I have woven. I did this for three years, but last year a disloyal servant saw me burning the shroud and told the suitors. They forced me to finish it, and now I cannot escape my marriage.”

Saying this, my mistress began to weep. I walked over to her and placed my head in her lap, and she stroked it gently. Then she said, “I have confessed much, stranger. Now, won't you tell me your name and city and relieve a widow of her anguish for a short time?”

After a few moments, brave Odysseus said, “O loyal wife of Odysseus, son of Laertes, since you ask so plainly, I will tell. You may not know it, but there is a land called Crete, a beautiful country with good harbors, fertile soil, and tall pine trees for shipbuilding. There was I born and given the name Aithon, son to greathearted Deukalion, and grandson to Minos, who conversed with Zeus himself. And there did I meet your husband, noble Odysseus, when a strong storm forced him to take shelter on the way to Ilion. I took him into my home for twelve days and entertained him with proper hospitality, and on the thirteenth day, the wind relented and he set sail with his men on a fine black ship.”

Hearing this, my mistress gasped. “Surely this is untrue and designed to ease a grieving widow's mind!”

Great Odysseus placed his hand on his heart, saying, “Nay, lady. It is true that I knew your husband and knew him well.”

“My friend,” my mistress said. “I think I shall give you a test to see if what you say is forthright. Tell me, what sort of clothing did my husband wear on his body, and what sort of man was he himself and his companions as well?”

My mistress began to stroke my head for she was truly vexed by the stranger's tale. How soft her hands were, how gentle!

Noble Odysseus answered thus, “Lady, many years have passed since then, and look at me now, how I have fallen from high place. But still I will tell you what he wore and who his men were. Great Odysseus wore a woolen mantle of purple hue with two folds, but the pin that held it was golden and artfully made: a hound much as this one at your lap, holding a deer in its paws. It was much admired. Of his men, their faces are a blur to me but one—his herald. He was a little older than your husband, round in shoulders and dark complexioned, and wooly haired. His name was Eurybates, and Odysseus valued him among all his companions. Is this so what I have told you?”

But my mistress could not answer because she was weeping.
Bitter tears splashed onto my forehead. Dogs cannot cry, thank the gods, but her tears fell from my own eyes as if they belonged to me. Finally my mistress collected herself and said, “Stranger, while before you had my pity, now you have my friendship and a place of respect here in my palace. The clothing I gave my husband is as you described it, and all who saw it shine admired the pin. But I know now that I will never welcome my husband into this house again.”

Then my mistress buried her face in my neck. Now, I am a brave dog and have seen many things, but nothing except for the loss of my mother on that red ship moved me like this. How I wished then that I could say words of comfort to my mistress, but the gods severed human talk from us when Kronos first strode the earth.

For a time Odysseus said nothing; truly, he is the wisest of men. How many husbands would have taken their mourning wives in their arms and said, “I am here, O wife, but in disguise”? But instead he said this: “O respected wife of Odysseus, son of Laertes, let not your lamentations spoil your famed beauty. Mark what I tell you, for this I say in all honesty. Your husband is near.”

My mistress raised her lovely head and said, “Now that I have called you friend, you say this cruel thing? To give false
hope is to give no hope, stranger, so regard carefully what you say.”

Then great Odysseus knelt beside us and put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Loyal Penelope, I am as faithful to you as this dog is to your son. I know this to be true. Although brave Odysseus has suffered much and lost all his men, he is close at hand, I swear to Zeus.”

My mistress rose from her chair and made her way to the door. Turning then, she said, “I do not doubt that your words are true, if you believe them to be so. But I cannot believe them. Still, you are my friend and honored guest. I will tell the maidservants to bring a basin to wash your feet and new clothes for you to wear. They will prepare a bed too, for that is fitting in this house. Tomorrow you will dine at our table, seated beside brave Telemachos in a seat of honor, for you have sought to bring comfort to a grieving widow, and I thank you for that.”

Then Odysseus said, “Noble wife of Odysseus, I am not accustomed to beds, so I will sleep here on the floor beside the fire. Nor do I want some young servant girl to wash my feet. But if you do have an old nurse or servant, one who has suffered as much as I, then I will allow her to do so.”

“Dear friend,” my mistress said, “truly you are as thoughtful
as any guest who has come to my palace. There is such a woman here, an old nurse who once comforted my unhappy husband as a youth. Her name is Eurykleia, and I shall call her at once.”

My mistress departed, leaving Odysseus and me alone in the room. He put his hands on my head and drew my forehead to his, looking into my eyes.

“You remind me of another great and loyal companion,” he said to me. “One whose name will be known as long as men treasure loyalty and courage.”

I licked his hand in honor of my father. After a few minutes, the old nurse Eurykleia entered the room, carrying a basin and a cloth, and sobbing.

“Why do you weep, kind nurse?” noble Odysseus asked. “Is this request loathsome to you?”

“No, stranger, it is not the task that brings my tears,” she said softly. “I saw you when you entered the palace, and my old eyes thought they had seen noble Odysseus himself. But then I learned from the servants that you were just a vagabond and not the king he was. Still, there is something about you that reminds me of my master Odysseus, and my ancient heart is moved to tears, though I know not why, except that I miss
him greatly. Please forgive me, stranger, and I will gladly wash your feet.”

“Do not be troubled, loyal nurse, by your tears for your master, for they bring even more honor to this house,” the Wily One said to her.

The old nurse came around to where Odysseus sat and placed his feet in the basin. Slowly, gently, she washed his feet and legs until suddenly, when her hand reached the area just above his knee, she let his foot go, and it fell onto the side of the basin, tipping the vessel and spilling the water onto the floor.

“It is you!” she whispered. “You have the scar from your first boar hunt, just above the knee. My master has returned!”

The old woman jumped to her feet and began to run out of the hall to proclaim the news. But I knew this was not brave Odysseus's plan, so I too sprang to my feet, and I am faster than an old nurse, and I was able to leap between her and the door, blocking it. A moment later, Odysseus had the nurse in his arms. “Nurse, do you want to kill me?” he whispered fiercely. “I tell you straight out, if you say anything, that will be accomplished!”

The old nurse sank to her knees. “Master,” she said, “forgive this old nurse. I raised you from a child, and though you are
not the same man in aspect who left twenty years ago, the gods have favored me and brought you home. But fear not, I am as stubborn as stone and will tell no one. But if it pleases you, I would retrieve another basin and anoint you in oil, as befits a king.”

This she did, and when she had finished, she swore again to Odysseus not to reveal his identity, and after she left, we settled down to sleep. I lay on the floor near the divan where he slept, and occasionally brave Odysseus's arms would slide toward the floor and brush my back. When he turned over, he would reach down and pat my head, and I would lick his rough, oar-callused palm. I am sure he was dreaming of his beloved Argos.

Later that night, though, I heard sounds from the rooms above, and I rose to investigate, careful not to wake Odysseus. Creeping into the great hall toward the stairs, I saw a dim light growing brighter. I sniffed and caught the scent of my mistress Penelope, holding a candle as she descended the stairs. She seemed to be dream walking.

I followed her as she entered the room where Odysseus slept. Running ahead of her, I licked his face, waking him just as noble Penelope reached the divan. Then Odysseus jumped to his feet, drawing his dagger! My first thought was that only
the cruelest gods would let a man kill his wife by accident after so much suffering. I barked and jumped in front of Odysseus. Truly, the gods favored me! My bark woke my mistress from her dream walk. I heard a gasp behind me, and then her gentle voice, asking, “Where am I?”

Brave Odysseus lowered his dagger and took my mistress by the arms. “You have been dream walking, noble Penelope. Tell me, what spirits possess you and torment your sleep?”

He guided her to the divan, and she sat there for a moment, pale and speechless, until her senses came to her.

“Friend, forgive my intrusion. My days are tormented by grief and my nights are tormented by dreams. Come, listen to my dream and see if you can interpret it, for I can find no message in it, yet it comes round every night.”

I do not understand human dreams. Dogs—when they dream—dream of the hunt. Sometimes we hunt alone and sometimes we hunt with a pack, as our ancestors did and our cousins the mountain wolves still do. That is all. I have dreamed of my brothers and sisters many times, hunting alongside me. Together we are tireless and can track any prey. Those are fine dreams.

But this was my mistress's dream: “I have twenty geese who swim in the pond and scratch about the house. They feed on
grains of wheat and drink from our trough. But in my dream, a giant eagle with a carved beak swooped down from the mountaintop and killed them all with his sharp talons. I began to weep—in my dream—and the ladies of the village tried to comfort me, but they could not. Then the eagle landed on the jut of the roof and said aloud in a human voice, ‘Do not fear, daughter of famed Ikarios. This is a blessing, not a dream. The geese are the suitors who eat your food and drink your wine, and I, the eagle, am a portent of your husband come home. He will destroy the suitors just as I slew the geese.' And then I wake and look outside, and there are the geese feeding on the grain and drinking from the trough, as always. What say you of this? What is your interpretation, friend?”