Argos (5 page)

O
n the morning of the tenth day, the wind subsides and I run down to the harbor to speak to the gulls.
Surely they will know what happened to my master's ship,
I think. I find the flock standing in a circle around a fallen bird. As I draw closer, I can see it's a small plover, a shorebird, and it is resting on the sand. Its pinfeathers are battered and one leg lies stretched out behind its body, broken and useless. The wind has nearly killed it.

A gull leaves its flock and flies up to me.

“What news do you have, Sir Gull? Did your family and flock survive the winds?”

“Aye, aye, aye, most of us, Boar Slayer. Others, caught in the storm, are just returning. And that one has a tale to tell,” he
says, pointing his beak at the plover.

“A tale about what?” I ask, feeling dread wash over me.

“Your master.”

“Can she talk?”

“Yes, but her leg is broken, and she may not live long. Hurry.”

I run up to the flock of gulls, and they part so that I can stand near the fallen plover. Up close, I can see the pink flesh beneath her damaged feathers. She opens her black-lidded eyes and regards me with a fixed stare.

“Sister Plover, I am Argos, loyal dog to Odysseus, sacker of cities. May the gods look down on you with benevolence.”

“I know who you are,” the bird says weakly. “And the gods are not benevolent.”

“You know my master as well? And know you his fate?” I ask, ignoring her heresy.

“Yes. I was hatched on Ithaka, Boar Slayer, and know your master's entire family. Now, come closer so that I may talk more ea-ea-easily. I will tell you what you wish to he-he-hear.”

I lie down beside the wounded plover, for her voice is weak.

“I normally stay close to the shore,” she says, “but when I saw your master's ship coming ne-ne-near to the harbor I flew out to see-ee-ee if they had fish in their nets. I landed on the stern and saw your master slee-ee-eeping on the deck. I think
a god or goddess must have closed his eyes, for he-he-he was the only man aslee-ee-eep. I wondered why this should be-be-be, so I listened closely to the other sailors, and I was able to piece-piece-piece this story together from them. It seems that for the last month, your master has been on the island where Aiolos rules, along with his six sons and six daughters. There your master and his men stayed in fine houses, fea-fea-feasting on fragrant food and watching glorious dances and musicians. At night the city sacker would tell stories of the war with the Trojans, and honor and glory were heap-heap-heaped upon your master and his men. Finally, rested and restored, your master asked for conveyance back here to Ithaka, and Aiolos gave him a bag made of ox skin.”

“What was in the bag, dear plover?” I ask. “Coins? Spices?”

The plover shakes its small head. “Patience, Argos. I will tell the tale in full as long as I have breath. May I continue?”

“Pardon me, friend. Please do.”

“For nine days and nights, your master's swift boat and his companion ships caught a steady western wind and sailed ever closer to Ithaka. Not once did his steersman even use the rudder, so straight they sailed. Then, on the tenth day, as you know, they rea-rea-reached the waters off our fair island and were see-see-seen by the harbormasters. That was when I flew
to their ship. As I said, I found your master slee-ee-eeping on the deck. Then I saw one of the sailors carefully lift the ox-skin bag out of the ship's hold. A few other men gathered around while one kept an eye on your master in case he woke.

“‘There must be gold or silver in this bag that Aeolus gave to the Wily One,' the man said. ‘Why else would Odysseus guard it so closely?'

“Another man put his hand on the bag. ‘Wait!' he whispered. ‘Surely if it is gold or other riches, then brave Odysseus will share it with us, friends. Let us not betray him this way!'

“But that man was pushed aside.

“‘Open it quickly,' another sailor said. ‘Odysseus stirs!'

“And so they opened the bag. Oh, terrible day, the day of my death! I was perched right there when he untied it, relea-ea-easing all the winds of the earth. Such a force I have never see-ee-een, for who can see-ee-ee the wind, yet it wears down mountains, does it not? I was blown against the mast and pinned there, broken legged, as the ship's sail twisted round and filled with wind. How hard your master's men rowed, Argos! Odysseus himself lashed them all to their oarlocks before tying himself to the mast beside me so that no one would be blown off the ship. For nine days the wind blew us ea-ea-east. We ate nothing and drank only blessed rain that
fell into our open mouths, for to untie oneself to search for food meant death. How your master grie-ie-ieved, Boar Slayer! He cried out for Penelope and for his homeland, but his cries were drowned by the gale.”

“Finally we landed back on the Aiolian island, and the winds died. We harbored there, and Odysseus untied his wretched men. He even picked me up and urged me to fly, but I was too wea-wea-weak. So he carried me with him as he and a few of his men climbed the steps from the harbor that led to King Aiolos's house.”

“Aiolos himself rushed out to gree-ee-eet us. ‘Why did you return, Odysseus?' he asked. ‘The winds should have carried you straight to your homeland!'

“Then, Argos, your master fell to his knees and wept. Finally he said these piteous words: ‘Alas, King Aiolos, while the gods induced my sleep, my greedy companions opened the bag of winds that you had warned me about. Now that we have returned, I beg you to capture the winds again and let us return once more to our dear homeland, for surely that is in your power!'

“But King Aiolos showed him no mercy. ‘Most pathetic of living creatures, hated most by the gods, I have no right to thwart them and give you more wind,' he sneered. ‘Truly they
think you must be punished, and let it be so. Leave this island at once and never return!'

“So rising to his fee-fee-feet, the brave one took his companions back to the ship. Grie-ie-ieving still, your master and his men rowed and sailed for six days. Every night your master fed me with his own hands, Boar Slayer, and kept me alive. But that is all I shall tell today, for I grow wea-wea-weak. If tomorrow I still live, I will tell you the rest if I can, for truly it is a terrible tale that I have to say.”

Saying this, the plover closes her eyes and tucks her head into her wing.

“We will stay with her throughout the night, Boar Slayer, and guard her from the harbor cats,” a gull says to me. “Return in the morning if you can.”

“Return! Return! Return!” his flock repeats.

I thank them and make my way back up to my master's estate. Inside the house I hear the wailing of servants, and I hear my mistress crying out to Zeus. I find Telemachos lying on his bed sobbing, and I lie down beside him and lick his face.

What else could I do?

I
n the morning I run down to the harbor just as dawn's rosy fingers stroke the sky. The beach is empty. I run along the golden sand, searching for bird tracks. Instead I find gull feathers and the scent of a cat. Just then a shadow passes over me, and I look up. A gull swoops down and calls my name. I follow it and find a flock of his brothers standing under a small boat that rests on its side against the jetty. Around the flock I count three dead gulls.

“Brother Gulls, tell me who did this so that I can avenge you!” I cry. “Was it the orange harbor cat? I smelled his scent on the beach.”

“Aye aye, aye, Boar Slayer,” the largest of the gulls says. “That is the one. He came at us stealthily just an hour ago when the
night was darkest. Most of us were able to escape his claws, but these three did not. They died defending the plover.”

“Bleak is this morn! Bleak! Bleak!” the remaining gulls screech.

“I am sorry for your flock's loss,” I say, lowering my head. “But the plover? She still lives?” I ask. My heart races as I wait for his reply.

“Aye-aye-aye, she does. Though how much longer I cannot say. Come, draw closer. She has been calling for you.”

The gulls part and let me come close. The plover looks even weaker than before. Her eyes are hooded and dull, and her broken leg has turned black.

“Boar Slayer, is that you?” she asks.

“It is I, bravest of birds. I have come to hear the rest of the tale, if you are strong enough to tell it.”

“I am, loyal one, for it is a short tale, though it is full of death. Let me-e-e tell it straight away. Your master and his men, after sailing for six days, arrived at the glorious harbor of Telepylos, home of the fea-ea-earsome Laestrygonians. There your master tied up his ship and ordered the others to as well. Then he sent two men and a herald to see-ee-ee who was king of the island and what manner of men lived there and if they eat bread. For several hours we saw nothing, no trace of men
or cattle, and I heard your master wonder out loud who it was that had built this fine harbor nestled benea-ea-eath such high cliffs. Then, suddenly, we heard a shout, and two of the men your master had sent off to find the island king were running as fast as they could toward our ship!”

“‘Where is the herald?' Odysseus asked, once they had boarded. ‘Why do you run? Are we being attacked?'

“But the men could not spea-ea-eak, so terrible was their fe-fe-fear. Finally one cried, ‘We must flee, brave Odysseus! Their king, Antiphates, is a giant and he has already eaten your herald. This land is cursed!'

“Just then we heard a deafening war cry, and thousands of giants appea-ea-eared from behind their houses, where they had been lying in wait! They fanned out along the cliffs and threw huge boulders down at us, smashing our ships before your master's men could untie them. Others threw long javelins, skewering your master's men like fish. Truly, I have never see-ee-een such doom.”

The plover closes her eyes. For a long time she says nothing, and I fear that she is too weak to continue.

“But what of my master, fair plover? Tell me he lived!” I beg.

The plover slowly nods her head. “Your master took his sharp sword and cut the rope tying his ship to the harbor. Then he
ordered his men to go below and lea-ea-ean their weight on the oars. Many of them were afraid to take their chances below the deck, and they dove into the sea-ea-ea hoping to escape; still, what hope did they have? The Laestrygonians hurled stones at them or speared them as they swam. But the men who went below on your master's ship lived. How they made the waves fly benea-ea-eath them! But theirs was the only ship that escaped, Boar Slayer. All the others were lost. Oh, terrible day!”

“All but one was lost?” I cry. “Tell me that isn't so!”

“Alas, Boar Slayer, that is true. I saw their destruction with my own eyes. But let me-e-e finish. Your master and his men sailed for another day, glad to have escaped death, yet grie-ie-ieving that they had lost so many companions. The next morning your master took me in his hands and said these words: ‘Bird of my homeland, we are lost and know not how to return to Ithaka, but your fate is not ours. Fly now home to our island, so that I can say that at least one Ithakan returned from this dreadful journey.' Then he tied a small stick to my broken leg as a splint and tossed me into the open air. I don't know how many days I flew, but the gods smiled on me-e-e and brought here so that I may die on my homeland.”

Around us the seagulls squawked at this sad tale.

“You may not die, yet, brave plover,” I say. “My master's servant is skillful with all manner of animals and birds. I will take you to him, and we will see what he can do for you. But first, when you were high in the sky, did you see which way my master sailed? Was there land close by?”

“Yes, Boar Slayer. I looked back as I flew and saw they were sailing toward a fog-shrouded island. A tern from the island came up to me-e-e then, and I asked the island's name. He said it was Aiaia, the land of Circe, of the lovely hair. Then he flew off to find his supper, and I did not look back again.”

I turn to the gulls who had protected the plover. “I thank you for your sacrifice,” I tell them solemnly. “I will find a way to avenge your loss. Farewell.”

“See that you do,” the largest gull snaps.

“Avenge! Avenge! Avenge!” his flock echoes.

Then I gently take the plover in my mouth and carry the small bird back up to my master's estate. There I find Eumaios in the barn and lay the plover down beside him.

“What have you got there, Argos?” he asks. He lifts the plover and carefully examines its broken leg. After inspecting her, he shakes his head.

“There is only one way to save your friend before infection kills her,” Eumaios says. Then he lays the plover down on a
table and takes out his sharpest knife. With a quick stroke, he cuts the broken limb close to her thigh. The plover makes not a sound but lies there with her eyes closed as Eumaios bandages her stump. Then he makes a nest with a child's tunic and some straw, and places her there, along with a shallow bowl of water.

“If she is alive by nightfall, then she will live many more days,” Eumaios says to me, stroking my head.

All through the day I do my work, herding the sheep and goats, and when I can, I race back to check on the plover. On my third visit she is sitting upright and the bowl of water is half empty.

“I shall live, Argos, I think. My strength returns and I can stand on one leg. See-see-see?”

She rises on one leg and stands there proudly.

“I am glad for you, Sister Plover. Wait a little longer, and then, when you are ready, fly back to your home by the shore. I must say good-bye now, because I have another task I have to complete.”

I leave the barn and take the trail down to the harbor. Just as I pass the last tree that flanks the trail, a crow lands in front of me.

“Greetings, Boar Slayer,” he says.

“Greetings, Sir Crow. Do you have news for me?”

“Only this,” he says. “You seek the orange har-har-harbor cat, do you not?”

“I do. Do you know his whereabouts?”

“Alas, the cat knew you were coming for him, and just this afternoon he stole aboard a fishing boat leaving the har-har-harbor. He will not return for some time, I think.”

In my mind I see the gulls he had killed, lying near the plover they had promised to protect. The fur along my back rises.

“You will let me know when he returns, will you not, Sir Crow?”

“Aye, Ar-Ar-Argos, that I will, for I love him not either. But it may be many days or even months before he comes back.”

“What are days and months to me?” I say. “It is my destiny to wait on this island for my master's return. And I will wait for the harbor cat too.”

The crow spreads his wings and hovers above me for a moment.

“Sir Crow?” I call, before he can fly away. “Do you know of the island Aiaia, where the goddess Circe lives?”

“I do” he says, rising higher. “Is that where your master is?”

“Yes, that is what I was told. That he sailed into its shrouded harbor a week ago.”

“If that is true, Ar-Ar-Argos, then your days of long waiting are over.”

I inhale sharply.
My days of waiting are over?
The crow circles around me until I grow dizzy.

“Why do you say that, most intelligent of birds? Is the island close by? Are the winds from there favorable enough?”

Finally, after flying another circle, he says this: “You cannot wait for that which never comes, Ar-Ar-Argos. No man returns from
Aiaia. Dreaded Circe has your master now. Wait instead for the cat. He, at least, will return alive.”

Then the black-winged bird flies away, leaving me to my misery.