Kings
like presents and demi-gods like to serve their kings, by bringing
these gifts to them and preventing other gods, other kings from
getting them.
Hermes,
the trickster god, perfected this art, the art of deception, as well
as the act of envoy, along with his more serious role of guiding
souls to and from the Underworld. On the side, he guarded flocks and
played tunes on his lyre or shepherd's pipes; annoyed his sisters,
stole from his brothers and bumped off giants. But for all that –
his mischief-making - he was well-liked. And in spite of his fondness
for cattle, of the horned type.
You'd
think he'd have learned his lesson when, as an infant, he stole from
Apollo. But Zeus was delighted and failed, as a father and as the
king of gods and as the king of kings, to reprimand him. He went
unpunished. And won Apollo over, also.
That
myth is renowned. Recorded in a hymn and needs no retelling. But
Hermes had a hand in another. Though set in a land very different to
his own, where the cattle were stone. Great lumbering beasts, and
numbering only five. These he stole from a king, well, two kings, to
be precise, to give to and please another king, his father,
thundering Zeus.
Hermes,
however, in this escapade, was not so sharp-eyed and mucked up.
Royally. Upset all three kings; their queens, too, and started a war,
where the gods had to again take sides. Helen is somewhere described
as a heifer, but on this occasion ruin was brought by five such
creatures, stonier in flesh, who excreted gold, or at least were
reported to.
But
as with Apollo, Hermes, thief and herald, acted in accordance with
his whim when he came upon an old man herding five beasts with
twisted horns and gilded tails.
Hermes
was the first to speak: 'Old man driving your precious beasts, let me
help you with the task. How many days will it take us to get through
this pass?'
'That
I cannot say, Stranger,' the old man replied, 'another night and day,
maybe two,' he mused. 'I've never been this way before, through the
shadowy mountains, but King Huiwen commanded I deliver these
rock-like cows to the kingdom beyond by this road and no other.'
'What
fine-looking animals they are,' Hermes said, 'and strong, too. I'll
accompany you, old man. Perhaps my pipes will hurry them along.'
So
the two together drove them on, the old man talking of his faithful
wife and his hard-working sons, with a joyful Hermes, in step beside
him, piping and singing. All day the mountains echoed his song until
the sun dipped and the cattle tired.
In
a grassy nook, off the road, they stopped to rest. Hermes, with
cunning in his heart, offered to settle, feed and water the five cows
so as to examine them, and their tails, more closely, which he was at
liberty to do since the trusting old man was busy laying out a feast
of bread and cheese and the red nectar mortals call wine.
As
soon as they had eaten and drank their fill and the old man slept
deeply, Hermes, his wand in his hand, was away, driving the cattle,
hard, on hooves he'd silenced with winged words and a poultice of
herbs. Since the road was built of stone there was no need to cover
their tracks as he'd had to before, with Lord Apollo, his
far-shooting brother. But in his haste to quit the place, his sharp
eyes missed the nuggets of gold the troubled cattle excreted. The
Archer, an ever watchful eye on his robber brother, scooped up the
mess.
When
Dawn rose from her bed and sat on her throne, the old man woke and
saw at once his companion of the day and night were gone, and so too
were the precious cattle he'd been entrusted with. He wept, tears
running down his cheeks, but had no choice but to reverse his path,
back to the king's splendid palace, where he confessed to illustrious
Huiwen that his goods had been snatched.
The
king was naturally suspicious and convinced it was not the work of
some god but the work of Shu, the province the cows were being gifted
to, for the people there, he said, were lawless. Angered, he roused
his army, and the road that was constructed to trade was used instead
to invade. The war raged and raged and the cargo were never
recovered, if, the bard sang, they ever existed at all.
Picture credit: Mercury, 1873, Evelyn de Morgan (source: WikiArt).
This post was penned in 2019.
