Percy Jackson's Greek Gods (33 page)

When he looked back, he had to appreciate his own trickery. It looked as if fifty cows had marched
out
of the sea and joined the main herd. No one would be able to tell where the missing cows had gone. Hermes had left no footprints that could be traced to him.

He led the cows south through the fields of Greece.

By this time it was after midnight, so Hermes figured he wouldn’t be seen. Unfortunately, one old mortal farmer named Battus was out tending his grapevines. Maybe Battus couldn’t sleep, or maybe he always pruned his grapes at night; but when he saw this little baby leading fifty cows down the road, the old dude’s eyes bugged out of his head.

“What?” he warbled. “How?”

Hermes forced a smile.
“
’Sup?” He considered killing the old man. He didn’t want any witnesses. But Hermes was a thief, not a murderer. Besides, he already had the blood of an innocent tortoise on his hands. “I’m just taking my cows for a walk. What’s your name, old-timer?”

“Battus.” Battus couldn’t believe he was having a conversation with a baby. Maybe he was still asleep in bed, dreaming.

“Well, Battus,” said Hermes, “it would be best if you forgot you saw me. Anybody asks, I was never here. Do that, and I’ll make sure you get some awesome blessings when I take my place on Mount Olympus, okay?”

“Erm…okay.”

“Cool. And, hey, is that a knife in your belt? Could I borrow that?”

Battus gave the baby god his pruning knife, and Hermes led his cattle onward.

Finally Hermes found a nice cave where he could hide the stolen cows. He penned forty-eight of them inside so he could eat them later, or maybe sell them on the black market. He hadn’t decided yet. Then he used the old man’s knife to butcher the last two.

Again, a pretty creepy image—a baby god with a knife, slaughtering cows—but Hermes wasn’t squeamish. He built a fire and sacrificed the best cuts of meat to the Olympian gods (including himself, naturally). Then he put more meat on a spit, roasted it, and stuffed himself with tasty beef.

“Aw, that was good!” Hermes belched with appreciation. “Man, it’s getting late. Or early, I guess. I’d better get home.”

He cleaned up in a nearby stream, because he didn’t think his mom wanted to see her newborn child covered in blood. Then, just for fun, he took a couple of cow bones, hollowed them into flutes, and tied them together at one end in a V so that he could play them both simultaneously (because just one flute is boring). He waddled home with a full belly, playing soft music on his new double flute to keep himself awake. He got back to Maia’s cave just before dawn, crawled into his cradle, and tucked his V-flute under his blankets with his lyre. Then he passed out. Even for a baby god, it had been a long first night.

The next morning, Apollo flew to Pieria to count his cows. He always liked to start the day by admiring his cattle.

When he realized that fifty of them were missing, he freaked. He ran around yelling, “Here, cows! Here, cows!” He found hoofprints leading out of the sea, as if his cattle had gone for a swim and then returned, but that made no sense. He saw some huge, shallow indentions in the sand, like a very thin guy with size twenty-five shoes had been walking around—but again, that made no sense.

Apollo searched most of the morning, until finally he came across the old farmer Battus, who was still pruning his vines. After the “talking baby” incident, Battus hadn’t been able to get any sleep.

“Old man!” Apollo called. “Have you seen fifty cows walking this way? Possibly led by a very lightweight giant with size twenty-five shoes?”

Battus winced. He was no good at lying. Apollo could tell immediately that the farmer was trying to hide something.

“I might add,” said Apollo, “that I am a god. It would be a very good idea to tell me the truth.”

Battus heaved a sigh. “It was a baby.”

Apollo frowned. “What, now?”

Battus told him the story, which was so weird Apollo decided it must be the truth. Apollo knew of only one newborn god. He’d heard rumors that the Titan Maia had given birth last night on Mount Cyllene. (Apollo always tried to keep up with the latest gossip.) It seemed unlikely that a newborn child could be responsible for a cattle theft three hundred miles away, but Apollo himself had started singing and dancing as soon as he came out of the womb, so it wasn’t impossible.

He flew down to Maia’s cave and woke up the mama Titan. “Your kid stole my cows!” he told her.

Maia rubbed her eyes. She looked at baby Hermes, still lying in his cradle, swaddled in blankets…though his belly did look a lot bigger, and was that a dribble of A.1. Steak Sauce on his chin?

“Uh, you must have the wrong baby,” Maia said. “He’s been here all night.”

Apollo snorted. “It
had
to be him. Look at the steak sauce on his chin! My cows are probably stashed around here somewhere.”

Maia shrugged. “You’re welcome to look.”

Apollo tore through the cave, searching inside pots, behind the loom, under the bedrolls. Amazingly, fifty cows were not hidden in any of those places.

Finally Apollo marched to the baby’s cradle. “All right, kid. Fess up. Where are my cattle?”

Hermes opened his eyes and tried to look as cute as possible. “Goo goo?”

“Nice try,” Apollo grumbled. “I can smell the beef on your breath.”

Hermes stifled a curse. He knew he should’ve eaten some breath mints.

“Dear cousin Apollo,” he said brightly, “good morning to you! You think I’ve stolen some cattle? Can’t you see that I’m just a baby?”

Apollo balled his fists. “Where are they, you little punk?”

“I have no idea,” Hermes said. “How could a little guy like me hide fifty cows?”

“Ha!” Apollo cried. “I never said there were fifty!”

“Ah, tortoise poop,” Hermes muttered.

“You are under arrest for thievery!” Apollo said. “I’m taking you to Mount Olympus for the judgment of Zeus!”

Apollo picked up the entire cradle and flew off to Mount Olympus. When he set the cradle in front of Zeus and explained that this newborn baby was a cattle thief, the other gods started giggling; but Zeus silenced them.

“This baby is my son,” Zeus said. “I’m sure he’s capable of anything. Well, Hermes, did you steal Apollo’s cows?”

Hermes stood up in his cradle. “No, Father.”

Zeus raised an eyebrow. He casually picked up one of his lightning bolts and tested the point. “I’ll give you a moment to reconsider your answer. Did you steal Apollo’s cows?”

“Yes, Father. But to be fair, I only killed two. The rest are safe and sound. And when I slaughtered the cows, I sacrificed the first meat to the gods.”

“And then you stuffed yourself!” Apollo growled.

“Well, I’m one of the gods, too!” Hermes said. “But all of you got a portion, of course! I would never forget to honor my relatives.”

The gods muttered among themselves and nodded. The baby might be a thief, but at least he was a respectful thief.

“This is ridiculous!” Apollo cried. “Father Zeus, he stole from me. Put him in juvie! Put him on the chain gang!”

Zeus suppressed a smile. He knew he had to be just, but he also couldn’t help admiring Hermes’s audacity. “Hermes, you will immediately show Apollo where you’ve hidden his cows. Then you will
pay
Apollo whatever price he demands for the two cows you killed.”

“I’ll throw him into Tartarus!” Apollo yelled. “That’ll be my price!”

Zeus shrugged. “You’ll have to work that out between yourselves. Now, off with you.”

Hermes sighed. “As you wish, Father. Apollo, you drive. I’ll navigate.”

Apollo picked up the cradle and flew off with Hermes. The baby god directed him to the secret cave where he’d hidden the cattle, but he took a roundabout route. He was furiously thinking about how he could avoid punishment.

When Apollo saw his missing cows, he calmed down a little bit, but he was still angry with Hermes.

“It’s Tartarus time,” Apollo snarled. “I’ll throw you so far into the abyss—”

Hermes pulled his lyre from the blankets of his cradle and began to strum.

Apollo listened, spellbound. He didn’t dare interrupt until Hermes was through.

“What—where—how—”

“Oh, this?” Hermes said casually. “I call it a lyre. I invented it last night.”

His fingers flew across the strings, creating a waterfall of beautiful notes.

“I must have it,” Apollo said. “I’m the god of music. Please! I—I must have it!”

“Oh, but you’re going to throw me into Tartarus,” Hermes said sadly. “I’ll need my lyre to cheer me up down there in the dark.”

“Forget Tartarus,” Apollo said. “Give me the lyre, and we’ll call it even.”

“Hmm,” Hermes said. “And I get to keep the rest of these cows?”

“What?!”
Apollo demanded.

Hermes played another melody, as bright as sunlight through the trees.

“Yes, yes!” Apollo said. “Fine, keep the cows. Just give me the lyre.”

“Wonderful!” Hermes tossed the lyre to Apollo.

Then the baby god pulled out his double flute, which he’d decided to call a
syrinx
. He started playing
that
, and Apollo’s mouth hung open.

“Don’t tell me you invented that, too!”

“Hmm?” Hermes paused. “Oh, yes. Just a little something I thought up after dinner. It’s for sale…for the right price.”

Hermes played a little Mozart and some One Direction, and Apollo cried, “I must have it! The girls will go wild for that! I’ll offer you…well, I’ve got some nice magic items back at my apartment: a herald’s staff I’m not using, some flying shoes, and a sword. You can have all three!”

Hermes considered that. “Throw in the power of prophecy, and it’s a deal.”

Apollo scowled. “I can’t do that. Prophecy is
my
gig. Tell you what: I’ll give you the power to tell fortunes with dice. Nothing fancy, but it’s a good party trick, and you can make some decent money that way.”

“Deal.”

“Deal!”

So Apollo and Hermes ended up becoming good friends. Apollo forgot about the cattle thievery. He didn’t even mind that he’d totally been ripped off on the price of the lyre and the syrinx flute. Hermes got his own herd of cattle, which was how he became the god of cattle herders. He got a pair of winged sandals that made him faster than any other god. He got a sword made from adamantine and gold, with a blade so sharp, it could cut through almost anything. He got a herald’s staff, like human messengers carried when they traveled from city to city to show they had diplomatic immunity, except that Hermes’s staff was magical. Normally, a herald’s staff had two white ribbons twined around it. Hermes’s staff had two living snakes instead. It also had the power to put anyone to sleep, or to wake them up, which was helpful to a god of thieves. The staff became known as a
caduceus—
just because I knew you needed another complicated word to remember.

Oh, and the old dude, Battus, who told on Hermes? Hermes flew back to the farm and turned Battus into a pillar of stone. Battus is still standing there overlooking the road, wishing he’d never seen that stupid cattle-thieving baby.

Hermes grew into an adult (in a couple of days, being a god, and all). Usually he appeared as a handsome teenaged guy with curly black hair and just the beginnings of a wispy moustache. Of course, being a god, he could appear any way he wanted to.

He became the messenger of Zeus, and sometimes he even did secret dirty deeds for the boss man. That was Hermes’s favorite part of the job!

Case in point: One time Zeus fell in love with a river nymph named Io. (Yes, that was her name. Just I and O. I guess she came from a poor family that couldn’t afford consonants.) She was
amazingly
beautiful
,
but Zeus had the hardest time convincing her to go out with him. She always hung with a bunch of her nymph friends, so he couldn’t ambush her. She totally ignored his texts. He sent her flowers and candy. He put on a beautiful thunderstorm to impress her. He worked at it for weeks and weeks and got totally obsessed.

Finally
she agreed to meet him alone in the woods, and Zeus was like, “YES!”

Unfortunately, Hera got wind of what was going on. Maybe one of the other nymphs told her.

Anyway, Zeus showed up in the clearing and Io was waiting for him in a shimmering white dress. She smiled and said, “Hey, handsome.”

Zeus nearly whimpered with excitement, but just as he took Io’s hand, he heard a familiar voice in the woods. “Zeus!” Hera screamed. “Where are you, you no-good cheater?”

Zeus yelped and turned Io into the first thing he could think of: a cow.

Not very nice, turning your girlfriend into a heifer. It’s like word association:
chocolate—delicious. Sunlight—warmth. Io—cow!
Or maybe Hera’s voice made him think of cows, since that was her sacred creature.

Anyway, when Hera stormed into the clearing, she found Zeus leaning casually against a large white cow.

Hera narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Hmm? Oh, hello, dear! Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“What’s with the cow?”

“Cow?” Zeus seemed to notice Io for the first time. “Oh,
this
cow? Um, nothing. Why?”

Hera clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white. “That cow wouldn’t happen to be one of your girlfriends, cleverly transformed?”

“Ha-ha! Oh, come on, dear. You know I wouldn’t…Um…No, of course not.”

“Then why is the cow here?”

A bead of sweat trickled down the side of Zeus’s face. He panicked and blurted out, “It’s a gift! For you!”

“A gift.”

“Well, yes.” Zeus tried to smile. “Since…cows are sacred to you, right? I wanted it to be a surprise. But, um, if you don’t like it, I can return it to the cow store.”

Hera figured Zeus was more full of manure than the heifer. But she decided to play along.

“Why, thank you, dear,” she said. “It’s wonderful. I’ll take it with me right now.”

“You—you will?”

“Yes.” Hera smiled coldly. She summoned a magical rope and put it around poor Io’s neck. “I think I’ll put her in my sacred grove in Mycenae, where she’ll be safe and well guarded. What’s her name?”