Hestia Hymnos
Time flowed on without fail, yet Artemis still did not descend.
The next day, and the next, and the next, and the next after that…
Perseus already knew Zeus was scolding Artemis and keeping her from coming down, but as the days stretched longer and longer he set the matter of Demeter aside for the moment and slipped back into ordinary life.
In the meantime King Acrisius had recovered enough strength to begin a new chapter of his own. With his wife dead by her own hand and his son lost, he was busy filling the emptiness—hunting for a new woman, among other personal affairs. Perseus remained an awkward presence to him, yet at the same time the only person who could bring news of his son Sisyphe, so the king never dared treat him carelessly.
The air between them stayed stiff, but once Perseus shared Sisyphe’s story the king’s heart softened a great deal. When he further learned that Artemis had left in good spirits and that they would see her face again within a few short years, fresh vitality surged through the man’s once-lifeless frame.
“Orai~! Build it even grander and more splendid~!”
“Lord Apollo is watching!”
“If you don’t want to lose both eyes, quit slacking and work faster!”
With King Acrisius’s permission a vast museum began rising in Argos. Completion would take time, yet they were already hauling heroes’ relics and sacred objects from every temple into nearby warehouses, living days of constant bustle. In this age the means of moving anything were limited; even shifting household goods a short distance meant hard labor. Once everything had been relocated they still had time left before the building itself was finished, so they simply started on the next task.
Thump-thump-thump—♪
Thump-thump-thump—♪
Thump-thump-thump—♪
While the laborers pounded away outside, music and merriment filled the Argos temple high above the polis. It was less the music of this era than something Perseus himself had devised, and the ones enjoying it most were Orpheus and the little children.
Thump-thump-thump~! Thump-thump~!
In the dark of night—♪ into Nyx’s pitch-black arms—♪ we set out seeking Eos—♪
Though the bell may ring and Hermes’ rooster crow—♪ my eyes saw only Nyx—♪
The first time we met—♪ it was in Nyx’s cold embrace—♪
Yet deep in Zeus’s heart I felt his love for us—♪
Oh Zeus, to you I give my thanks!
For the flame you gave that frees me from the night!
In your eternal love for me!
Never let me leave~!
When one part ended they simply repeated it the same way.
But children, once they start having fun, never know when to stop, so everyone cheerfully joined in again.
In the dark of night—♪ into Nyx’s pitch-black arms—♪ we set out seeking Eos—♪
Though the bell may ring and Hermes’ rooster crow—♪ my eyes saw only Nyx—♪
The first time we met—♪ it was in Nyx’s cold embrace—♪
Yet deep in Zeus’s heart I felt his love for us—♪
Oh Zeus, to you I give my thanks!
For the flame you gave that frees me from the night!
In your eternal love for me!
Never let me leave~!
Thump, thump, thump~!
Clap-clap-clap—♪
Oh Zeus, to you I give my thanks!
For the flame you gave that frees me from the night!
In your eternal love for me!
Never let me leave~!
Clap-clap-clap—♪
Oh Zeus, to you I give my thanks!
For the flame you gave that frees me from the night!
In your eternal love for me!
Never let me leave~!
Clap-clap-clap—♪
Oh Zeus, to you I give my thanks!
For the flame you gave that frees me from the night!
In your eternal love for me!
Never let me leave~!
Clap-clap-clap—♪
Never let me leave~!
After they had repeated the best parts over and over, Perseus—who had been singing along for the children’s sake—rose from his seat and asked them,
“Kids~! What is this song called~?!”
Zeus Praise Song!
“That’s right! Exactly that! Hahahaha~! Aren’t you clever!”
Zeus Praise Song or whatever—it was really just a revised version of the Siloam hymn that every military training camp hammered into your ears until you were sick of it. Easy to sing, memorable enough to stick, and designed to plant seeds of faith in the children’s hearts. It worked better than expected; the elders watching from the side let out startled voices of amazement.
“Before we started singing I told you what this song means, didn’t I? Anyone remember? Raise your hand—anyone! Whoever gets it right gets fruit!”
“Me me me!”
“No, me!”
“I know too!”
“All right, all right~! You there—the one over there!”
“Because Lord Zeus gave us the flame, we can live warm like this! That’s why the night goddess Nyx can’t hurt us! So whenever we use fire we have to be grateful and careful!”
“Perfect answer!”
“Yay!”
He clapped with exaggerated voice and gesture, and every child beamed with joy. Most of them were orphans; this was groundwork for taking them into the temple. All of them were still young, brimming with energy and sharp-witted enough that they settled right into Perseus’s heart.
“Do you all remember what Orpheus and I told you before we taught the song?”
“What was it?”
“We said you’d have to work here in this temple from now on.”
“Yes! I remember!”
“Uncle said if we stay here we get to eat tasty food!”
“That’s right!”
“So we ran the whole long way here in one go!”
The children chattered happily, while the old man who had brought them could not hide the worry in his eyes—fear that Perseus might still turn the children away. He was not a native of Argos and knew Perseus only by rumor; the Argive townsfolk who had introduced him, by contrast, showed no concern at all.
“That’s right. Luckily we have no intention of giving you hard work. We’ll give you good food and a place to sleep; all we ask is that you listen to the praise songs we teach, memorize them, and sing them every day. That will be enough.”
“The one we just sang?”
“Praise songs! That was fun!”
“What about the rest of you?”
“Yeees~!”
“If you had fun, then we’re happy too. This is a place that serves the gods, so we have to spread the faith far and wide—this is part of that work. Our job is to carry good stories and songs about the Olympian gods to as many people as possible. Keep that promise and I’ll look after you.”
“So we just have to sing?!”
“Sometimes we’ll sing in wide places like the agora, and we’ll visit other cities too, but I have no plans to stop the singing itself.”
“That’s easy!”
“Yeah!”
“Better than going hungry!”
Singing and free meals—for orphans it was paradise. Their lively answers made Perseus smile and nod; the old man who had brought them finally bowed his head.
“Lord Perseus… I heard you were younger than the rumors claimed, and for a moment this old man doubted you… Forgive me… I never dreamed you would take in such young blood kin… How can I ever express my thanks…”
“Elder, elder—ai-go, elder! What’s all this? Please lift your head! We’re not feeding and housing them for free either, so don’t take it so hard. These children know they’ll work for our temple; it was a deal that benefits both sides, wasn’t it?”
“Everyone says that… Words come easy, but reality is never so kind… Taking these children in makes you no less than a saint…”
“The same goes for you, elder. In this chaotic world where a man can barely look after his own body, you wandered city to city with so many children—body and heart must have been worn thin. From now on I’ll take charge of them, so please set down the burden in your heart and enjoy the rest of your days.”
“Thank you… thank you… I will never forget this grace, and I will tell many others…”
Only after repeating his thanks several more times did the elder finally raise his head. The orphans wanted to offer their own words of gratitude to the man who had cared for them until now; after a short music lesson under Orpheus they sang a song of thanks. Before leaving Argos the old man listened to their voices, unable to hide his joy, and walked away with tears in his eyes and reluctant steps. The sight was so pitiful that the two heroes could not hold back the flood of emotion that day.
Thud, thud.
Perhaps because they had grown far too sentimental, the two men strolled pleasantly together beneath the beautifully glittering night sky of the polis. Orpheus smiled as he plucked his lyre; Perseus recited the next praise song he planned to write. Both gazed after the place the old man had gone and could not shake their lingering regret.
“He was a man of many tears. That’s probably why he could look after the children through these hard times. He’s already shed so many—I hope he keeps whatever affection remains locked in his chest and simply sends them off with happiness.”
“My friend Perseus, I too think this was well done. I was just about ready to leave, yet teaching the children has been so enjoyable I can scarcely bring myself to go.”
“You’re not the sort who should stay in a place like this. Sorry for keeping you so long. I heard that even after the Trial of the Moon ended you stayed in Argos writing poetry about it?”
“That was entirely of my own free will—nothing to apologize for~! I’m grateful, if anything! Who would have imagined Lady Artemis herself would descend! And not only her—Lord Apollo as well! The absolute peak of my life; how could I not rejoice?!”
“I also heard you wrote about me. I hope I didn’t cause you trouble. Using a friend’s heroic tales just because you know him—doesn’t that feel like a humiliation for a poet? And making me the protagonist probably didn’t yield much material… Wasn’t it hard?”
“You are more than enough of a hero for my poetry; that is nothing to worry about either.”
“And the children…”
“Hah~! Enough! I consider this fate as well.”
“……? In what way?”
“Doesn’t your heart race a little when you think that someday one of those children might grow great and inherit my name?”
“Oh—you can look at it that way. Thinking like that does make the heart race, true. Any child who caught your eye?”
“Indeed there were~! A few who linger in my sight; perhaps one day they will receive the childhood name of Orpheus~! Of course, only after I’m dead, that is~! Hahahaha~!”
Meaning he would never hand over the name Orpheus while he still lived.
“What confidence. You’re a Greek hero through and through.”
“Look who’s talking~!”
In this age a hero without pride and confidence was no better than a corpse. In that regard Orpheus had plenty of guts—he was a hero well suited to the times. Even if his comrades treated him like a fool, they never truly dismissed him; that alone said much.
“The praise song you composed was excellent. The lyrics and gestures were short and simple enough for children to sing, and that very simplicity makes them easy to spread among the people. Who will you write for next? Lady Hera? Or Poseidon?”
Orpheus kept pestering that Apollo should be next, but Perseus shook his head. His manner suggested he had already decided on a god from the very beginning, which only sharpened Orpheus’s curiosity.
“Oho~! Who is it~? Who becomes the star of the next hymn?”
“We took in orphans, so the god who watches over those children comes first.”
“Oh—surely not.”
Perseus nodded in answer to Orpheus’s reaction.
“Hestia.”
In other words, he had prepared everything for this goddess from the start.