Episode 72P – Naked and Afraid – Myths Your Teacher Hated

Episode 72P Show Notes

Source: Greek Mythology

This week on MYTH, Odysseus is getting wrecked. You’ll see that scarves are the perfect accessory, that leaves make a great bed but not a great outfit, and that Odysseus would kill for a fig leaf. Then, in Gods and Monsters, you’ll see why you should never trust infants. This is the Myths Your Teacher Hated podcast, where I tell the stories of cultures from around the world in all of their original, bloody, uncensored glory. Modern tellings of these stories have become dry and dusty, but I’ll be trying to breathe new life into them. This is Episode 72P, “Naked and Afraid”. As always, this episode is not safe for work.
When we left the story last time, we’d picked up just after the end of the Trojan War. . Things had gone bad almost immediately, and wise Odysseus had led his men into disaster after disaster: getting bloodied after raiding a random city for shits and giggles, getting his men stoned on premium lotus, getting men killed in the home of Polyphemus the Cyclops and then getting cursed by said Cyclops because Odysseus was too prideful not to reveal his real name, almost getting home before getting blown off course again, getting most of the crew eaten by cannibal giants, cavorting with a sorceress for a year, traveling to the Underworld for some advice that they’re all going to ignore, surviving the sirens but losing more men to Scylla and Charybdis, and then getting everyone but Odysseus himself killed after eating the sun god’s cattle (despite having been warned not to in the Underworld). Floating aimlessly on the shattered remains of his ship, Odysseus drifted to the island of the nymph Calypso where he became her boy toy for seven long years until Athena finally convinced the other gods to cut the guy a break. We then headed to Ithaca, where suitors are squatting in Odysseus’ palace to try and make his wife Penelope marry one of them and make them king instead of the prince Telemachus. A trip to find news of his father resulted in stories, but no concrete information. Penelope found out that her son had snuck out to go galavanting and had a bit of a breakdown, especially after learning that the suitors were planning to murder Telemachus. Back on Ogygia, Odysseus got the word that he was free to leave and promptly built a raft and sailed off into the wild blue yonder, only to get hit by the mother of all storms when Poseidon found out he was almost home. He just had time to regret heading out onto the open sea again before his raft was smashed to splinters, tossing him through the air to certain-doom.
The massive wave smashed down on Odysseus’ head as he cursed his fate, wrecking his surprisingly luxe raft and sending him sailing off into the drink. He had just long enough to think that the men who had died quick, valiant deaths at Troy had been the lucky ones before he crashed into the heaving waves. Hurled with terrible ferocity, Odysseus was driven deep beneath the surface. Having spent a lifetime on the ocean, he immediately began to kick for the surface far above, but he honestly didn’t think he was going to make it. The fine, flowy clothing that Calypso had gifted to him as he left had become waterlogged and dragged him down into the icy depths like the ragged claws of Death itself. His lungs burned as he fought, hoping desperately that he hadn’t gotten turned around in the confusion of impact and was actually headed for the surface. The world pulsed around him in time with his heartbeat and a dark tunnel began to creep in at the edges of his vision. He had maybe seconds before he would have no choice but to breathe in a lungful of cold seawater and a painful death.
Odysseus burst through the waves, gasping desperately for the sweetest air he’d ever tasted (even if it was heavily laced with saltwater). His eyes burned from the briney spray but even so, he could see the form of his raft still bobbing on the water. It was more than a little the worse for wear from the divine assault, but it turned out that it hadn’t actually been smashed to splinters as he’d feared – instead, it had just been hit hard enough to fling him from the deck. Still woozy from his brush with death, Odysseus swam desperately for the raft and his salvation with the powerful strokes of an experienced swimmer.
Finally, after what felt like years of desperate effort, Odysseus felt the solid wood of his well-built craft under his hand. With a great heave, he pulled himself out of the surf and onto the planks of the raft where he could finally lay on his back and rest. Everything hurt, and he didn’t think he’d ever been quite this tired, but he was alive. Poseidon hadn’t quite managed to kill him.
In a continuing theme for this particular tale, Odysseus got unreasonably lucky yet again. As he floated on, tempest tossed and alive but still in dire danger and almost certain doom, he caught the attention of a mortal-turned-deity, Ino of the lovely ankles (the specific epithet given to her by Homer in the original). She’s a fairly minor sea deity who pops up again in a few stories, though usually in a less-pleasant context. Having had a pretty tough mortal life (much like her sister Semele, mother of Dionysus who Ino raised after Semele was offed by Hera’s machinations), she felt pity for the poor mortal man clearly being targeted by a vengeful Poseidon.
The goddess burst forth from the raging sea to speak to the very surprised Odysseus on his battered, broken raft. “Hey there, new friend! You seem to be having a very bad day. What’d you do to piss off the god of earthquakes so badly? You know what? It doesn’t really matter. I can’t stand watching mortals eat shit from the Olympians, so I’m gonna help you out of this predicament. You seem a clever fellow, so I’m guessing you realize that listening to my advice is your only real chance here. First off, you need to get naked. Those clothes are just going to weigh you down on this last leg of your ocean voyage. Leave them here on your sinking ship and swim for it.
“I know that sounds like the worst possible idea, but it’s actually the best. You can’t see it over the towering waves, but land is actually really close to you right now. If you can make it to Phaeacian lands, you are fated to be safe from any further interference from Poseidon, so you’ll basically be home free. Here – take my veil (some translations say scarf instead, so pick whichever makes more sense to you). Tie it around your waist and you’ll have protection, a tiny sliver of immortality. With that tied to you, my new friend, you need fear neither pain nor death. It only works in the ocean, since that’s my domain, so as soon you feel solid earth under your hands, quickly untie it and throw it back into the wine-dark sea as far from shore as you can manage. Make sure to turn your head away as you do this – it’s important. Don’t. Look.”
She handed him the filmly slip of fabric and then disappeared beneath the waves again. He stared at the insignificant-looking thing and weighed his options. There weren’t many, so it didn’t take long, even as exhausted and sluggish as his brain currently was. On the one hand, he could do as this bit of literal deus ex machina said, strip naked, tie the allegedly magic scarf around his waist, and dive into the raging water in the hopes of making the deadly swim. On the other hand, he could decide that this was clearly a trap and that the impossibly coincidental arrival of a minor sea deity was the work of the angry sea god who’s been trying to kill him for a decade now.
You didn’t survive all of the shit that Odysseus has been through by now without developing a healthy paranoia. “Oh hell no. You’re not killing my ass that easily. I am definitely not about to leave the relative safety of my durable little raft for a certain watery death. Now that I’m looking for it, I can actually see the shore off in the distance and it’s not nearly as close as she made it sound. She claims that I’ll be safe if I reach it, but I’ve been hurt before. Gods are fucking liars, and I’m not about to take anything one of them says at face value. You know what? I think there might be a third option after all. I’ll hang on to my raft as long as I can and let it take as much of the storm’s abuse as it can. Once it finally starts to come apart, once the breakers smash it to pieces, I can make that final mad dash for the shore from a much better spot.” So resolved, Odysseus settled himself to ride this thing out as long as he could, hoping that the storm would keep driving him closer to shore.
So naturally, Poseidon picked that exact moment to fuck shit up. Seeing that Odysseus was going to stick with his raft, the god of earthquakes sent a monstrous wave to finish the job. The colossal tidal wave towered over the flimsy bundle of sticks in a truly cinematic moment straight out of a disaster movie. Me, I picture a dramatic rack focus shot here. It hung there long enough for Odysseus to realize that he had made a terrible mistake before smashing down on his head with bone-crunching force. The raft, already beaten and battered, gave up the ghost. Timber exploded in all directions, filling the air with lethal shards of wood.
Odysseus isn’t a mythical hero for nothing, and he pulled out some thrilling heroics just in the nick of time. As the raft shattered to chunks, he leapt onto one of the largest surviving pieces, riding it down the side of the enormous breaking wave in a maneuver somewhere between surfing and riding a pissed off horse. Realizing that his third way plan was shot to hell, Odysseus decided that he didn’t have much left to lose by trusting the mysterious benevolence of Ino. Even as his wooden bronco bucked beneath him in a bid to toss him to his death, he managed to strip off the sodden clothes that Calypso had gifted him, tie the hopefully magical veil to his waist, and plunge into the sea in a long, arcing dive. Hoping that shore was closer than it seemed, he began to swim.
Poseidon watched all of this with a lot of anger and maybe just a little bit of grudging respect. “Fuck you, mortal man. Go then. After all your suffering, after all your roving across the tractless sea, go on home. I doubt you’ll like what you find there as much as you’ve dreamed. May you choke on your joy.” Even after that little speech, Poseidon wasn’t ready to be done. Climbing into his chariot drawn by horses as wild as the sea with manes of flowing foam, he headed for the port city of Aegae (from which we get the name of the Aegean Sea) where his golden palace hides deep beneath the waves. Being the god of the sea, he naturally made it to shore well before Odysseus and got ready to hurt Odysseus just a little bit more while he still could.
Athena was done with her uncle’s shit. She met him there, on the shore, and she stopped the raging winds as suddenly as they had erupted. Only the North Wind was allowed to blow, flattening the breakers at the shore and driving an exhausted Odysseus over the final stretch of sea. After a decade of wandering following a decade of war, Odysseus had finally reached the home waters of the Phaecians where fate had decreed him free from Poseidon’s baleful influence.
Of course, that didn’t mean he couldn’t still meet his end from plain old vanilla catastrophe. He had left the open ocean, technically, but he hadn’t made landfall yet. For two more days, the waves tossed the last of the wandering Greeks between death by exposure on the deep blue sea and doom by jagged jutting rocks near the shore. Over and over and over, Odysseus narrowly avoided being smashed to bloody bits on the unforgiving stone, always certain that this would be the one that got him. At some point, he started to wonder if maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if this was the end at long last.
On the third day, a bruised, waterlogged Odysseus found himself bobbing on calm, windless waters. As he crested a gentle swell, he saw it – land. Bathed in the rosy light of dawn, Odysseus felt a thrill of hope in his heart that he had thought long beaten down. It was the hope of a child who sees a long-absent parent returning or of someone wracked by agonizing illness suddenly feeling just a little better. There, just over there he could see solid earth and trees, trees gods damn it! Renewed vigor electrified his limbs and he swam for safety.
Hope withered and died in his chest only moments later. Between him and land lay a line of jagged rocks that churned the waves to froth. The waves broke there with a booming explosion of fury leaving nowhere to hide. Odysseus had seen enough shipwrecks to know what lay in store for him if he was driven into those rocks – you’d need a spatula to scrape what was left of him up. He looked desperately for some other option, but no dice. Beyond the ragged reef rose a smooth, rocky crag with no way up. The water this side of the breakers was too deep to try and stand or he might be able to make a fight of it. His only choice was to try and swim parallel to the reef and hope for some better beach to show up before another storm rose up to drown him once and for all. “It looks like Poseidon’s gonna get my ass after all. I’ve dodged death for years, fought monsters and watched my men die in my stead, and now, here, within sight of my goal, I’m gonna drown. He’ll send another gale to drag me out to the open sea again until seawater fills my lungs and I become food for the damned fish. Or hell, maybe he’ll just pull out all the stops and throw another unexpected monster to rise up from the waves to eat me. The sea teems with them here, and that seems more Poseidon’s speed, given how much he hates me.”
As if in response to his dark muttering (I mean, it’s not the wisest move to complain about the god of the sea while currently in said sea), an epic wave rolled across the open ocean and tossed Odysseus directly at the jagged rocks and certain death. His own brutally flayed body flashed before his eyes, bones crushed, skin lacerated. Calm washed over him and with it, insight straight from Athena herself. He lunged desperately for a protruding bit of reef with both hands in another bit of thrilling heroics. Sinews bulging, Odysseus clung to the tiny spit of rock until the wave rolled on by. He had a short moment to breathe a sigh of relief before the mighty wave rushed back away from the shore again. The unexpected fury caught him by surprise and carried him along back out to the high seas. Too late, he clawed desperately at the unforgiving rock, leaving bloody strips of ragged flesh behind as he was carried out and away.
Pale death drew near for Odysseus then, so close he could nearly feel the brush of Thanatos’ grim wings, but once again it was Athena to the rescue. She gifted the exhausted swimmer with a much-needed burst of adrenaline to fight against the surging currents. He forced his battered body past the breakers into the relative calm nearer the reef to resume his search for beach access, a sheltered cove, anything that might let him drag his exhausted self onto dry land.
Finally, he saw it – the mouth of a river filled with calm, placid water. Odysseus marshalled his last reserves and swam for fresh water and safety. No rocks, no storm, no monsters…Odysseus had finally left Posiedon behind. With the brackish water came the waning of the sea god’s power and the waxing of the local river god’s. The wandering king called out to the minor deity, careful not to repeat the mistake that had gotten him into this whole mess in the first place. Tired as he was, he dug deep for the proper respect.
“Hey buddy! Not sure who you are exactly, but I definitely need your help and your considerable power. That asshole of a sea god is dogging my heels, fucking up my life and leaving me under the shadow of a curse that never seems to die. I know that the immortal gods will intercede for mortals who ask nicely and shit, so I’m throwing myself on your mercy. My world has been hell, and you’re my only hope. Please, river god – I’m begging you here!”
The unnamed god heard the pitiful cries of the seaswept, sunburnt mortal and rolled up his watery sleeves. The river current died down to a bare trickle and, with it, the swelling breakers smoothed out. Odysseus flailed into the sandy shore on the last burst of ocean waves, knees buckling as he finally climbed out of the water. His body was swollen and bruised from the weeks of abuse on the open ocean. He retched, briny water pouring out of literally every orifice as he panted in utter exhaustion. He was spent, and blackness crept in at the edges of his vision as he came close to passing the fuck out. He took time to let his hammering heart calm down a little and his breathing steady before taking the goddesses veil off his waist and dropping it into the once-more swift current of the river. Despite the very specific warning not to look when he did this, which almost always has dire and immediate consequences, nothing at all happened. The scarf floated down the river to the sea, where Ino caught it in her hands and took it back.
The weeks of struggle were catching up to him, and Odysseus struggled his way up the banks and into the deep reeds that grew there. Flinging himself to the dry, solid, unmoving earth, he kissed the green grass in gratitude for his safe arrival. He’d done it. He’d made it across the sea and escaped the wrath of Poseidon, which was not to say he was safely home. Flopping himself down on his back, Odysseus looked up into the sky and wondered aloud what came next.
“Alright you miserable bastard, what now? If I spend the night out here in cold spray, soaked as I am, I’ll freeze to death by morning. Hell, I’m already shivering and I’m still warmed up from that terrible swim. Of course, if I head inland and try to climb that slope to the dark, foreboding woods over there, I’m pretty sure I’ll sleep super great right up until a bear eats my ass. So which way do you want to die Odysseus – the icy fangs of exposure or the literal fangs of some wild beast?” He reviewed his own argument, found it flawless, and realized that he really did just have the two options (assuming he didn’t want to go for option C, pun intended, and thrown himself back into the ocean to drown). Considering the choices, Odysseus decided to risk the forest. Worst come to worst, at least he’d die after a nice nap on a soft bit of greenery.
Before long (which was good since he was still dead-ass tired), he came to a small grove in a little clearing. The bushes around the edge screened him away from the wind, and the thick foliage from the trees overhead would keep any sudden rainstorm from soaking him through. Even better, there was a little hollow between two olive trees that looked dark and warm and cozy. The two trees sprang from the same root though one was wild and one was domesticated. The entire clearing was coated in a thick carpet of leaves, more than enough for bed and blanket both. With a weary smile, Odysseus scraped together a huge pile, bedded down in the pillowy leaves, and covered himself in a thick layer for warmth and protection. It didn’t take long for sleep to find him, another gift from Athena according to the tale (though in his current state, I doubt he needed much help).
While the weary traveler rested a while, free from his labors for a time, Athena journeyed ahead of him to the Phaeacians’ city. They had originally come here from Hyperia, a gentle land that lay uncomfortably close to the savage home of the brutal Cyclopes. The monstrous giants had made something of a habit of raiding the smaller, weaker human city whenever they needed something (or just felt like bullying someone a little, you know, as a treat). Their mythical king Nausithous finally had enough of this bullshit and led his people in a great migration away from their homeland, eventually settling here in Scheria, an island of debated location, though many scholars place it somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean, far from the Ionian islands where Odysseus was king of Ithaca (and many of the other, smaller Greek islands, including Cephallenia, Neritum, Crocylea, Aegilips, Same, and Zacynthus, according to the Iliad). Though closer to home by a long shot than Ogygia had been (likely even farther out in the center of the vast Atlantic), it was still far enough from home to be completely isolated from Odysseus’ experience.
They had built a great city here on their isolated island, with tall, stout walls, charming houses, splendid temples to the undying gods, and vast fields for feeding the people. Of course, King Nausithous had long ago died, his shade traveling down to duky Hades; the land was now ruled by wise King Alcinous. Athena headed straight for his palace, godly brain churning with plans and schemes to get Odysseus the rest of the way home. It wasn’t the king she was looking for, but his daughter Nausicaa (no, not the one from the classic Miyazaki film though this version is definitely the influence for the latter).
The young woman was said to be beautiful enough to be a match for the deathless gods themselves, though just humble enough to avoid pissing them off for it. As we’ve seen before, the princess had two handmaids only slightly less powerful and beautiful than she who slept in her room and spent their time waiting on her. Their gleaming, intricately carved door was shut of course, but such things are no barrier to a goddess.
Athena ghosted through the palace like a gentle breeze, unseen and unmarked by all who lived there, until she came to Nausicaa. Her form blurred as she took the likeness of the daughter of Dymas, one of the king’s sailors – a young woman the same age as the princess and a good, trusted friend. She was one of the few who could criticize the princess, and Athena took full advantage of that. As she had done with Penelope, the goddess of wisdom and cunning spoke to the princess in her dreams to get through to her subconscious.
“Nausicaa, your poor mother must be embarrassed about having such a careless daughter. I mean, your clothes are just scattered all over your room willy nilly. It surely won’t be long before you get married, and those dresses will make fine gifts to your bridesmaids (good bridesmaid gifts are super important for making a good first impression as a bride). This simply won’t do. Come on, let’s go wash them together before anyone else wakes up. You won’t be single for long girl, I’m sure of it. All the best Phaeacian men are courting you, and I’m sure you’ll meet the right one soon. You should go ask your dad to harness the mules to a wagon for you so you can carry all of your sashes, dresses, and pretty clothing to the washing pool. They’re so far from the palace, and it’ll be a lot nicer to ride than to walk, right?” Confident that Nausicaa would do what Athena wanted now, the bright-eyed goddess headed back to Olympus to do goddess stuff.
The pale light of Dawn soon spread over the sleeping island, waking Nausicaa from her strange but vivid and insistent dream. Considering her dream-friend’s advice, Nausicaa decided to go see her parents, who were both early risers. The queen was at the hearth with several ladies in waiting, spinning yarn on a spindle from lustrous blue sea-wool. The king was already on his way out the door for a council meeting with the island lords when Nausicaa came in. She was an old hand at wrapping her beloved father around her little finger, and she wheedled him for what she needed. “Daddy? Could you maybe have the mules harnessed to the wagon, the tall one with the good wheels? I want to take some clothes down to the river for a good washing. They’re beautiful, Daddy, but they’re all dirty now. If you’re going to be meeting the island lords, debating the finer points of law, you should really be in spotless robes, don’t you think? And my older brothers do too. Two of them are married, sure, but the other three are full-grown, lusty bachelors always demanding crisp linens when they go out to dance with the ladies, and all of that falls on me.”
Despite being a princess, Nausicaa was too shy to bring up her own hopes for marriage to her parents, but her dad knew her well enough to see what she was getting at anyway. “You know I could never deny you anything, my beloved daughter. Head on down to the stables, and I’ll make sure the good wagon is waiting for you.” As she left, pleased with how the morning was going, the king called his stablemen up to give them the orders as promised. By the time the princess had carried her clothes down to the stables, the wagon was hitched up and ready. The queen had packed a nice picnic lunch complete with a skin of nice wine for Nausicaa and a golden flask of olive oil for her and her maids to rub on after cleaning to soften their skin. Nausicaa thanked her mother for her thoughtfulness, climbed onto the wagon, and flicked the reins. Her maids, not fancy enough to ride with the dirty clothes, walked alongside the wagon.
They reached the riverbanks by early morning, a pleasant spot where the current was always strong, cool, and clear to scour out even the most stubborn of stains. Loosing the mules to munch on the fresh clover that grew nearby, Nausicaa and her maids carried armfuls of laundry from the wagon to get down to business. The girls made a game out of it, racing each other to finish first and spread the clean clothes on the rocks to dry. When everything was clean, the girls stripped down and washed the sweat and grime off their own bodies, finishing off with the olive oil and a picnic.
Having eaten to their hearts’ content, the young women decided to play a ball game until the clothes finished drying under the noonday sun. Pale Nausicaa naturally led the fun, starting up a song along with the game. The story goes into detail comparing the lovely Nausicaa to the famously beautiful Artemis who, like the young princess, was unmarried and innocent. She also just so happened to be cavorting near the spot where our hero Odysseus just happened to be taking a naked leaf nap. Nausicaa tossed the ball to one of her maids with just a little too much mustard and it sailed over her head to splash in a deep pool, much to everyone’s dismay. The assembled women all yelled in disappointment, waking Odysseus from his goddess-inspired sleep.
Heart pounding in terror that some dread beast was about to rip open his throat, Odysseus sat up and looked around. “Man of misery, what have I stepped into this time? Is this going to be a repeat of those awful cannibals the Laestrygonians? Have I been discovered by savage, lawless men who will murder me for trespassing?” He paused, listening more closely. “No, those are the voices of young women, or maybe mountain nymphs? Wait, are they speaking my language? Okay Odysseus, there’s nothing to do but to sneak out and see for yourself. Up and at ‘em, big boy.”
Even as he muttered to himself, he climbed out of his bed of leaves and found a particularly leafy branch to use to hide his dick and balls. Hey, he might be a violent warrior who captured slaves for being in the wrong place, but he was still civilized. He wasn’t about to do the no-pants dance in front of a bunch of strange young women. He could smell food though, and he was ravenous, so holding the branch to hide his shame, he headed down to the riverbank.
The young women took one look at the dirty, battered, unshaven wild man stumbling towards them out of the woods and took the utterly reasonable step of getting the fuck out of there. Only King Alcinous’ daughter, the princess Nausicaa, stood her ground in the face of this expected danger. Athena had granted the young woman a measure of her own courage (though she also had plenty of her own to start with), so she held fast as the shambling leaf pile approached her. Odysseus considered flinging himself at her knees to beg for her help, but figured that she might reasonably be spooked by that gesture. He decided that it made more sense to stand where he was and ask for her help from here.
“Princess? You look like a princess, so I’m just taking a stab in the dark here, so you might be a goddess of some kind instead – Artemis maybe? Actually, now that I get a good look at you, you might really be Artemis; you’ve got her build and her wild eyes. If you are in fact a mortal, your parents must be so proud of having you as a daughter. And your husband, assuming you have one, must count his lucky stars every time he lays eyes on you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone else quite like you before, and I feel a sense of wonder at being in your presence.
“Actually, I did see something that reminds me of you once: in Delos, beside an altar to Apollo. There was a young slip of a palm-tree springing into the light from the soil. I was there at the head of the army at the beginning of the campaign that ruined my life. I’m too awestruck to come to you and grasp you by the knees through the pain that wracks my body right now. I only escaped the heaving ocean waves yesterday after 20 days on the open sea, trying to escape from the isolated island of Ogygia. I’ve washed up here at the mercy of some power, no doubt intended to suffer yet again. There’s no way that the gods are going to just stop poking me with their misery sticks.
“I need your help, princess. I’m a stranger here. I don’t know where I am, and I don’t know anyone here. I beg you to show me the way to town, and maybe lend me some rag to cover up with so I don’t have to carry my little branch everywhere for my twig and berries. Please? I need help.” He stood there, naked and shivering and uncertain as the shocked princess Nausicaa considered how to respond. The moment stretched out for a subjective eternity…but we’re going to have to wait until next time to hear her answer, because it’s time for Gods and Monsters. This is a segment where I get into a little more detail about the personalities and history of one of the gods or monsters from this week’s pantheon that was not discussed in the main story. This week’s god is Hermes.
As a major Olympian, there are many, many stories about this trickster god (and you know how much I love a trickster god), so we’re going to focus on one of the more famous and interesting stories about this little thief – his birth and first heist (although this story isn’t acknowledged in the Iliad or the Odyssey). His mother, Maia, was a nymph, the eldest of the seven Pleiades. She tried to avoid the company of the gods by hiding out in an isolated cave on Mount Cyllene in Arcadia. In the dead of night, under the shroud of absolute darkness, Zeus came into the picture. You can already see where this is going. Being an unrepentant abuser who was too powerful for anyone to rein in, he saw the beautiful nymph, realized Hera was too asleep to say anything, and snuck down to earth for a secret tryst whether Maia wanted to or not. The story doesn’t really say one way or the other, but given that she was trying to hide from them all, I have to imagine that she didn’t. As is so often the case, poor Maia became immediately pregnant with a god-baby. In a fairly unusual case even for a child of Zeus, the little baby godling was born the very next morning.
Exhausted from what had to be a very bad night, Maia wrapped up the baby she hadn’t been planning for just 24 hours before and took a nap. In some versions, he is nursed by the nymph Cyllene, who the mountain is named after. The little baby Hermes was a precocious trickster from the word go, and he wasn’t content to spend his first hours of life lying in a crib not doing shit. Realizing that his mother was asleep and unable to stop him, he snuck out of his crib and headed out to look for adventure.
Through magical god knowledge, Hermes knew that his brother Apollo kept a herd of cattle not too far away in Thessaly. The wandering baby chortled at the idea of pranking his older brother. He’s already the archetypical pest of a little brother. Coming into the pasture, Hermes peeled off 50 cows and drove them towards Pylos. He figured his brother wouldn’t take kindly to having a bunch of cows stolen, so he decided to cover his tracks, somewhat literally in this case. He created a pair of directionless sandals from the bark of a fallen oak tree to make it hard to follow him to Pylos. To make it even more confusing, he somehow managed to drive the cows backwards (a thing they are notoriously unwilling to do) and over a bunch of rocky places that didn’t take prints well.
As he made his escape from his very first bit of thievery (cementing his status as god of thieves and rogues), he came across an old man named Battus. With money from…somewhere (maybe he snatched a purse somewhere along the way, I dunno, don’t poke holes), he paid the man off to keep his yap shut. The whole exchange went maybe too easily for Hermes’ suspicious mind and he doubted whether the old man would actually keep their bargain. He decided to test the old man by circling back in disguise. I’m assuming he didn’t pretend to be a more different baby, but as a grown-ass man (and maybe as his brother Apollo). Or maybe he just put on a fake mustache and a trench coat. Either way, he offered Battus a shit-ton of money for news of the stolen cattle. Battus was apparently not the kind of man to stay bought, and he almost immediately sold out the young thief, spilling his guts on absolutely everything he knew about the kid. Disappointed, Hermes turned the surprised Battus into a stone as punishment for his betrayal.
When he reached the river Alpheus, he sacrificed two of the cattle to the gods (who he hadn’t yet joined) and hid the rest in a small grotto. To further hide his crimes, he burned the heads and hooves of the slaughtered cows (possibly inventing the idea of burnt offerings, depending on the source). With the cattle stashed and the trail obscured, a quietly giggling Hermes snuck back home.
As he neared home, he came across a tortoise wandering aimlessly. In a bit of utterly needless cruelty inherited from his father (sky gods are assholes, even baby sky gods), the tiny Hermes killed it. He ripped the poor thing to pieces, gutting it, and drying its shell. With some intestines he had kept from the slaughtered cows, he strung the hollow tortoise shell and created the very first lyre.
The door was closed and locked, but that was no hindrance to Hermes, god of liminal spaces. A keyhole is nothing but a boundary between inside and outside, so he was able to pass through the tiny hole. He climbed back into his crib and re-swaddled himself for a little nappy nap. His mother Maia was not fooled by her son’s pretend snores, and she suspected he had been up to shenanigans. She warned the little baby that the gods would be angry when they found out whatever it was he had been up to.
Apollo pretty quickly noticed that he was missing a whole bunch of cows and set out in search of the audacious thief who would dare steal from the gods. Seek though he might, no sign could be discovered of the missing cattle. He wasn’t the god of prophecy and hidden knowledge for nothing though. Apollo received an omen that led him to the cozy little cave on Mount Cyllene and the impish little Hermes. It clearly pointed to the infant as the thief, and an angry Apollo loudly demanded his cattle back.
Hermes had no issue with bald-faced lying, and he swore to his older brother (who didn’t know who the kid was yet) that he definitely hadn’t stolen the cows. In fact, he didn’t even know what a cow was. He was just a widdle baybee. Apollo figured that the little shit protested too much and dragged the baby to see his father Zeus (who just happened to be Hermes’ father too). He held up Hermes before the king of the gods and accused him of being a thief. Hermes, for his part, put on the most innocent-looking expression he could muster, which of course made him look super guilty.
Zeus knew his son when he saw him, and he also knew that the little scamp was absolutely full of shit. Fortunately, he also thought that this whole prank was super hilarious. “Alright kid, that’s pretty funny. I like you, but it’s time to fess up. Take Apollo to the cows you stole and everything will be okay.”
Shrugging, Hermes did as he was asked. They all traveled to earth, to the little grotto where the 48 cows were hidden. Apollo counted quickly and came up two short. Hermes explained that he had divided the two cows up into 12 equal portions as sacrifices for the 12 gods. Apollo did another quick count and noted that there were only 11 Olympians; who was the 12th portion for. “Me,” said the ever humble Hermes.
Apollo was pissed, but he had most of his cows back so he made the best of things, but he was gonna complain about it the whole time. To try and soothe the angry god, Hermes began to strum on his brand new murdered turtle instrument. Apollo, who would one day become the god of music, was charmed by the beautiful melody. Apollo asked for the instrument, offering the herds of the gods in exchange. Thus did Hermes become the herdsman of the gods instead of his brother Apollo. Needing something to pass the time, he carved himself a set of pipes he named a syrinx (an alternate to the story we saw with Pan, who is usually considered a son of Hermes, in Episode 72F).
Apollo was even further charmed by this inventive little baby and asked for the pipes as well (thus cementing his place as god of music). In exchange, he offered the golden staff that would later become the caduceus, the winged staff Hermes always carries. This whole exchange helped lead to Hermes becoming the god of trade and merchants Apollo offered to let his former nurses teach the baby Hermes the art of divining the future from a pebble.
Zeus still needed a word with the thief. While it was pretty funny, he couldn’t have gods stealing from other gods like that. Hermes swore that he would never lie or steal again, at least not to or from the gods if Zeus gave him his proper place on Olympus, and that was good enough for Zeus. He offered his son the role of messenger of the gods, which is who we know him as. He was also a chthonic god, serving in many stories as the guide of souls to the Underworld. He soon grew to young manhood, serving happily in his new role forever after.
That’s it for this episode of Myths Your Teacher Hated. Keep up with new episodes on our Facebook page, on iTunes, on Stitcher, on TuneIn, on Vurbl, and on Spotify, or you can follow us on Twitter as @HardcoreMyth and on Instagram as Myths Your Teacher Hated Pod. You can also find news and episodes on our website at myths your teacher hated dot com. If you have any questions, any gods or monsters you’d want to learn about, or any ideas for future stories that you’d like to hear, feel free to drop me a line. I’m trying to pull as much material from as many different cultures as possible, but there are all sorts of stories I’ve never heard, so suggestions are appreciated. The theme music is by Tiny Cheese Puff.
Next time, Nausicaa is going to introduce Odysseus to her parents. You’ll discover that creepy children exist in mythology too, that Phaeacians make the best sailors, and that isolated communities don’t like strangers. Then, in Gods and Monsters, you’ll meet the giant with a disturbing number of eyes. That’s all for now. Thanks for listening.