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Updated: May 13, 2025
“Hermes,” prayed the orator, “Hermes Dolios, god of craft and lies, thieves’ god, helper of evil,—be with me now. To Zeus, to Athena the pure, I dare not pray. Prosper me in the deed to which I set my hand,”—he hesitated, he dared not bribe the shrewd god with too mean a gift, “and I vow to set in thy temple at Tanagra three tall tripods of pure gold.
“Very good, Excellency.” Hiram seldom quarrelled to no purpose with his betters. “Let your Lordship deign to leave this small matter to his slave. By Baal’s favour Hasdrubal and six of his crew sleep on shore to-night. Let us pray they be not deep in wine. Wait for me one hour, perhaps two, and your heart and liver shall be comforted.” “Go, go! I will wait and pray to Hermes Dolios.”
The Thracian had a merry wit and a story-teller’s gift that more than paid for the supper of barley-porridge and salt mackerel, and after the viands had disappeared was ready even to tell tales against his master. “I’ve turned my brain inside out, and shaken it like a meal sack. No wisdom comes. The kyrios has something on his mind. He prays to Hermes Dolios as often as if he were a cut-purse.
“Do not, however, affect to be more virtuous than your race. Persians make their boast of truth-telling and fidelity. You Hellenes, I hear, have even a god—Hermes Dolios,—who teaches you lying and thieving. The customs of nations differ. Mazda the Almighty alone knoweth which is best. Follow then the customs of Hellenes.” “You speak in riddles.” “Plainer, then. You know the master I serve.
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