Mythos: A Retelling of the Myths of Ancient Greece

Half-Brothers

By the time Apollo arrived at the foot of Mount Cyllene his temper had frayed almost to breaking point. The world knew the cows were sacred to him. It was obvious that they were a rare and valuable breed. Who would dare?

A hamadryad drooping herself from the branches of her aspen could offer no clue but informed him that further up an assorted gaggle of nymphs had gathered around the mouth of Maia’s cave. Maybe he would find his answer there? She would go herself if only she could leave her tree.

When Apollo reached the top of the mountain he saw that the whole population of Cyllene had congregated at the cave. As he drew nearer he became aware of a sound emerging from it – a sound such as he had never heard before. It was as if sweetness and love and perfection and all that was beautiful had come to life and were gently coursing through his ears and into his very soul. Just as the scent of ambrosia enticed a god to table and made him sigh with glorious anticipation, just as the sight of a comely nymph caused the hot ichor in his veins to sing and fizz until he felt he could burst, just as the warm touch of skin on skin thrilled him to his deeps – so now these invisible noises seduced and bewitched the god until he thought he might go mad with joy and desire. If only he could pluck them from the air and absorb them into his breast, if only …

The magical sound abruptly stopped and the spell was broken.

The crowd of naiads and dryads and other spirits that had clustered around the cave’s entrance now dispersed, shaking their heads in wonder as they went, as if emerging from a trance. Shouldering through them, Apollo saw that, beside the mouth of the cave, on piles of stone, two vast sides of beef were on display, sliced into neat steaks. His furious outrage resurfaced.

‘Now you will pay!’ he roared as he rushed inside. ‘Now you will –’

‘Sh!’

Apollo’s cousin, the oread Maia, was sitting in a basket chair sewing. She put a finger to her lips and inclined her head in the direction of a crib by the fire in which a rosy-cheeked baby gurgled in its sleep.

Apollo was not to be put off. ‘That demonic child stole my cattle!’

‘Are you mad?’ said Maia. ‘My little angel is not so much as a day old.’

‘Little angel my foot! I know how to read a thrush’s entrails. Besides, I can hear the beasts stamping and lowing in the back. I’d know their moo anywhere. That baby is a thief and I demand –’

‘You demand what?’ Hermes had sat up and was now staring at Apollo with a quelling eye. ‘Can’t a boy get a wink of sleep? I had a heavy night of it transporting cattle and the last thing I need is for –’

‘You admit it!’ yelled Apollo, striding towards him. ‘By Zeus, I’ll strangle the life out of you, you little –’

But as he picked Hermes up, ready to do who knows what to him, a strange device made of wood and tortoiseshell fell from the crib. In falling it made a noise that instantly recalled the magical sound that had so transfixed Apollo when he stood outside the cave.

He dropped Hermes back into his cot and snatched up the device. Two thin bars of wood had been attached to the tortoiseshell and lines of cattlegut strung tightly across them. Apollo picked at one string with his thumb and again the marvellous sound came to him.

‘How …?’

‘What, this old thing?’ said Hermes, raising his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Just a little nonsense I put together last night. I call it a “lyre”. You can get some interesting effects from it though. If you pluck it just right. Or you can strum if you like. You press down on a couple of strings and – here, give it me, I’ll show you.’

They were soon picking, plucking, slapping, strumming, twanging and swapping new chords like excited teenagers. Hermes was in the process of demonstrating the principle of natural harmonics when Apollo, entranced as he was by the feelings stirred in him by this extraordinary device, came to himself. ‘Yes, that’s all very well,’ he said, ‘but what about my bloody cattle?’

Hermes eyed him quizzically. ‘You must be, let me see … don’t tell me … Apollo, right?’

Not to be recognized was a new experience for Apollo and one that he found he didn’t quite like. Being spoken to in superior tones by a day-old baby was another on his list of least favourite experiences. He was about to crush this cocky little squirt with a cutting remark and possibly a swift right hook to the chin when he found himself facing a dimpled outstretched hand.

‘Put it there, Pol. Delighted to meet you. Hermes, latest addition to the divine roster. You’ll be my half-brother, I think? Mother Maia here took me through the family tree last night. What a nutty bunch we are, eh? Eh?’

Another new sensation for Apollo was being playfully poked in the ribs. He felt he was losing control of the situation.

‘Look, I don’t care who you are, you can’t go round stealing my cattle and not expecting to pay for it.’