Argos (8 page)

The room went silent. Penelope was watching her husband carefully. I could feel the tension in the air. Eumaeus and Odysseus' other companions had frozen. I half expected them to pull weapons from their belts.

“Argos is not for sale,” said Odysseus. The words came out as barely a whisper but they were clearly audible to all in the banquet hall.

“Come now,” said Meges, with forced cheerfulness. “Everything is for sale. Name your price.”

“Not for any price,” said Odysseus, his voice tight, controlled. “I will say this one more time, Meges, and heed my words carefully because I am not accustomed to repeating myself—Argos is not for sale.”

Meges was undeterred. “I will give you three horses for him.” Even I pricked my ears up at that. No dog was worth one horse, let alone three. I was incredibly flattered that I was deemed so valuable but also a little worried. It was a ridiculous offer and one that was impossible to refuse. Would my master really sell me?
No man would turn down an offer like that.

But Odysseus did. “You seem a little hard of hearing, Meges. You are my honored guest here in my palace and as such, free from molestation. But ask again, and honored guest or not, you will feel my sword.”

Meges blanched at this. He was a big, powerful man—clearly a warrior—but Odysseus was also a warrior, one whose prowess on the battlefield was legendary. Only a fool would challenge him. Meges was no hero and certainly no match for Odysseus.

A little shaken, Meges stopped pursuing the matter and wisely resumed his seat next to his son.

“What about a contest then?” asked Elatus.
Ah
, I thought.
Here it is. This is probably what they had planned all along.
It was well known that Odysseus struggled to refuse a contest or wager.

“I'm listening,” said Odysseus.

“My royal father let me bring my own dog to your island, O' noble Odysseus,” said Elatus. “I left him with your Master of Kennels. What I propose is this. We release a hare. The first dog to catch it is the winner.”

“And what of the stakes?” asked Odysseus. He was leaning forward slightly but his face betrayed nothing. Only those who knew him really well could tell how interested he was.

“I assume it would be foolish to suggest that the winner gets to keep the loser's dog?” ventured Elatus. One look at Odysseus' face told him to move on. “Ah … ah then, how about a horse's weight in gold?”

I heard someone gasp. It was a huge amount of money. Enough to keep five hundred soldiers armed and fed in the field
for months. Not many kings could afford to make such a bet. Even Odysseus, who was considered a wealthy and powerful king, would think twice about the amount. But Odysseus loved a wager. Not only that, but he would lose face by refusing or even haggling. Meges and Elatus had him and Odysseus knew it.

“Very well,” agreed Odysseus. “We will have your little contest, tomorrow at dawn.”

“My husband … ” said Penelope.

“I have made my decision,” said Odysseus stubbornly. And indeed, he had. Like his wife, once Odysseus had made up his mind, there was no changing it. Penelope had the last say on many matters in the palace but wagers were not among them. It was considered men's business and the opinions of women were not welcome.

“Now, if you excuse me,” said Odysseus, “I wish to retire for the night.” Without a backward glance, Odysseus departed. I trotted behind, sensing that he wanted to be alone but knowing that he would make an exception for me.

In the adjacent anteroom, a voice stopped him. “My lord. A moment of your time.” It was Eumaeus.

“What is it, Eumaeus? I am tired and in no mood for idle talk.”

“This is not idle,” said Eumaeus, lowering his voice so that the words came out in a whisper. “I came to offer counsel even though I can plainly see that you desire no such thing.”

“Speak then,” said Odysseus roughly. “The sooner you do, the sooner I can go to my bed.”

“I believe Meges and Elatus seek to cheat you. They will use
the money to raise an army with which to take Ithaca.”

“Don't you think I know that?” said Odysseus tiredly. “But they can cheat as much as they like. Argos will win regardless.” My chest swelled with pride at these words, but I felt the insidious touch of doubt creep into my self-confidence. Odysseus was risking a great deal—possibly even his kingdom—on me. I was fast but I knew that Meges and Elatus must be planning something. Why else make such a huge bet? I didn't want to let Odysseus down. I would rather die.

“Do you have a plan, my lord?” asked Eumaeus.

“I don't need a plan,” said Odysseus. “I have Argos.”

“But my lord … ”

“That will be all, Eumaeus. I will see you outside at dawn.”

Eumaeus wisely decided to say no more. If I'd had a voice, I would have said a thing or two though. But I couldn't and I doubted whether Odysseus would have listened to me in any case. His confidence in me was flattering. I hoped it wasn't misguided.

T
hat night, after Odysseus had gone to bed, I lay down in my accustomed place outside in the hall. I don't think I slept or if I did, it was fitful, restless, and full of dreams where I failed my master.

My ears twitched at a sound, almost silent footsteps coming along the darkened hallway. I raised my head, immediately alert, but made no sound for fear of waking Telemachus in the adjacent room.

I thought at first that it might have been Penelope but remembered that she had gone to bed hours earlier. If not her, who? The figure approached wearing a long robe with the cowl pulled up. Features were obscured by shadow but they needn't have bothered with such elaborate schemes. I caught a familiar scent.

It was Amycus.

My hackles rose. A low, threatening growl emerged from deep in my throat as I pushed to my feet.

“Come now, Argos,” said Amycus in an urgent whisper, nervously sidling toward me. He stopped an arm's reach away. “We used to be friends, you and I. Don't you remember all those times I looked after you? How I cared for you when you were but a pup, sick and hungry? Here, look what I have for you.” One hand delved into his robe and emerged holding something wonderful.

With one sniff, I knew exactly what it was. Boar. Not just boar, but a prime cut, something I'd never had before, something that was always reserved for human mouths. To my shame, my mouth began to water. Droplets of saliva dropped on to the tiles at my feet.

Tentatively, Amycus stretched it out to me, smiling. Now I may be many things but I am not stupid. I knew that Amycus must have done something to the meat. But rational thought is not really in a dog's vocabulary when it comes to food. Especially this kind of food. And as unusual as I was, I was still just a dog.

I was about to snatch it from Amycus' hand when a firm command froze me, mouth still open and drooling.

“Argos! No!”

From the shadows, another figure emerged. Odysseus. So clever and silent was my master, that not even I had been aware of his presence.

He stalked towards us, a naked bronze blade in his hand and grabbed the meat from Amycus' hand. He shoved it into Amycus'
face, trying to force it into his mouth. Amycus twisted his face away but dared not try and escape as Odysseus' blade pressed up against his belly.

“No? Don't want it?” snarled Odysseus. “I wonder why? It's not poisoned by any chance, is it, Amycus?” Odysseus kneed the Master of the Kennels in the gut, dropping the man to the floor before me.

“No … no, of course not, my lord,” gasped Amycus. I snarled and locked my jaws around his arm, more to stop him escaping than any real desire to hurt him. He deserved it. If I was honest with myself, I would probably have welcomed an opportunity to do him harm but one thing stopped me: Odysseus had not given the command.

“Then you won't have a problem eating it yourself,” Odysseus said, thrusting the meat toward Amycus' face again. I could see the terror plainly etched on his face.

“I didn't think so,” said Odysseus. “Stand up,” he commanded. I let go of his arm and Amycus did as he was told, cowering before his lord.

“How much did they pay you, Amycus?”

“I … I don't know what you're talking about, my lord Odysseus.”

Odysseus hit him again in the stomach. Amycus doubled up.

“I will ask you one more time. If I don't get the answer I want, my sword rather than my fist is going to start asking questions.”

“Wait. Wait!” wailed Amycus. “I'll tell you! Just don't kill me. They promised to make me the Master of the Kennels on both islands,” he sniveled.

“I find it interesting that you were offered something that wasn't theirs to give,” said Odysseus drily. He kicked Amycus again. “Go back and tell your new masters that you will accept only one of those posts. I have a feeling, however, that they might have changed their minds and you will find yourself without either. Now, get off my island. If you ever set foot on Ithaca again, I will kill you.”

Terrified, Amycus fled.

Odysseus looked down at me. “Argos, really,” he said. I knew chastisement when I heard it. Nothing should have induced me to trust Amycus.

At least I had the good grace to look ashamed.

The next day dawned. Odysseus, Eumaeus, and several retainers met Meges, Elatus, and their followers on a large field outside the palace gates.

Elatus held the lead of a dog. Well, I was pretty sure it was a dog but certainly like none I had ever seen. It was tall and lean, with extraordinary long limbs. You could see almost every bone and muscle etched clearly through its coat.

“That's an interesting looking creature,” remarked Odysseus. His face betrayed none of the fury I knew he felt over my attempted poisoning. Odysseus always planned carefully. He would have his revenge but it would be on his terms.

“Indeed,” said Meges, looking smug. “Elatus has taken a personal interest in breeding our dogs. Especially ones built for speed. The last few years, he's selected only the fastest and leanest dogs. We bred those with a dog we brought from a trader who claimed it was from a distant land no one had ever seen.”

“It certainly looks like it,” said Eumaeus. “I've never seen the like.”

“And nor will you again,” said Elatus, smirking.

“Well,” said Odysseus, clapping his hands briskly. “Shall we get on with this wager then?”

Meges shouted a command and one of his men hurried forward with a cage. There was a hare inside.

“Shall we go over the rules again?” asked Meges.

“As you wish,” said Odysseus, shrugging.

“It's the first dog to catch the hare and bring it back to its master,” said Elatus.

“That wasn't what was agreed!” protested Eumaeus. “Last night you made no mention of the dog bringing it back.”

“Does this swineherd speak for you, Lord Odysseus?” asked Meges, unable to keep the derision out of his voice.

“He is not just my swineherd, Meges,” said Odysseus. “He is also my friend. Mind your tongue.”

“It must have slipped my mind,” said Elatus. “It is of no concern and will make little difference to the contest.”

Odysseus pretended to consider. “I agree,” he said finally.

“But they can't just change the rules!” exclaimed Eumaeus.

“Enough, Eumaeus,” said Odysseus in a voice that brooked no argument.

“Very well then,” said Meges. “Prepare your dog.”

The cage was set before us. I was lined up on one side of the cage while my rival was set on the other as one of Meges' men opened it.

The hare bolted. Moments later, on an agreed signal, both I and the other dog were set free. I took off, my paws seemingly on fire, but was immediately dismayed by the strange dog. I had never met another dog that could keep pace with me and yet this one was. The rough ground, pocked and pitted with holes, however, gave me an advantage. My larger paws and more robust build were better suited to this sort of terrain.